Acting Brave (Fenbrook Academy #3)

by Helena Newbury

  ***

  By the time I arrived home, I was calmer. I just felt exhausted, as if every last emotional reserve was drained. I’d overreacted and I knew it—my old memories of Chicago had surfaced again to wreck everything.

  I thought about calling Ryan to apologize. But it wasn’t entirely my fault. Why had he felt the need to get drunk in the first place? Why couldn’t he have just talked to my friends?

  I was almost at my bedroom when Nick stumbled out of the bathroom. Normally, he wore a robe when he was on his way to and from the shower—in fact, he tended to steal my robe, which looked kind of ridiculous on him. But that evening, maybe because he thought he’d be alone, he’d just wrapped a towel around his waist. “Shit!” he said. “Sorry. You’re back early.”

  I shook my head. “No biggie. I’ve seen your chest before.” Come to think of it, he looked thin. His clothes had been hiding it.

  “Actually, I need to talk to you,” he said. “I read about something online, about redevelopment in Chicago. I think maybe I should—” He broke off as he saw me staring at his upper arms.

  My stomach had dropped through the floor. Now I knew why he’d always worn a robe, before. I leaned back against the wall. “When did you start using again?” I asked, my voice shaking.

  Chapter 43

  Jasmine

  I saw him open his mouth to deny it, but I grabbed his arm and twisted it. The track marks were vivid bruises against his pale skin. I locked eyes with him and he slumped, crestfallen.

  I let his arm go and gave a long, loud yell of frustration. All of my anger at myself, at Ryan, at the whole situation, came bubbling out. I was trying. I was really trying, with the show and with Ryan and with my brother and everything. Couldn’t something just go right, for once?!

  “I’m stupid,” I said out loud, shaking my head. “I’m so stupid. Of course you’re using again. Did you ever even stop?”

  “Yes!” he said hotly. “For ages. Years. This is...recent.” He looked so ashamed that I actually softened for a second.

  “Where do you get the money?” I asked. “Are you dealing?” My hands knitted in my hair, anger mingling with sick fear. “Oh, please God, don’t say you’ve got drugs in the apartment. Please don’t say you’ve been dealing from here!”

  “No! I’m not dealing at all!”

  “Then where’s the money coming from? The Fairy fucking Godmother?” I could hear my voice regaining its old Chicago edge. Slipping back into that world was as horribly familiar as sliding into a warm pool.

  “I’ve been doing a few jobs for people. You know how it is.”

  Yes. I did know exactly how it was. Just like back in Chicago: a favor here, a package delivered there. We’d both done jobs like that for our dad and, occasionally, for other people. A life of looking over your shoulder. There were brief, shining moments when you felt temporarily rich, but they lay like diamonds in tar, a thick black ooze of misery and fear, of lying sleepless in your bed at night wondering if the police would kick in the door. Exactly the life I’d run away from. And now it was back, staring me right in the face.

  “I’ve just been doing it sometimes,” he said. “Just to unwind. Just a little bit.”

  “It’s heroin!” I screamed. “There’s no such thing as a little bit, you fucking idiot!” I pushed him in the chest with both hands and he went staggering back into the bathroom. “Get your things and get out!”

  He went quiet for a few seconds, letting me calm down, then said, “You won’t make rent if I do.”

  He was right. I still hadn’t been paid by the TV show. If I kicked him out, I’d have to give him back most of the money he’d paid,—however angry I was, I wasn’t going to throw him out onto the street with no money for a place to stay. He was still my brother.

  My eyes were on the floor but I could hear him walking very slowly toward me. I let him draw me into a loose hug, his head on my shoulder. “I’m getting myself straightened out,” he said quietly. “I promise. That’s why I wanted to move in with you. It’s a break from the past. Once I’ve got the money saved, I’m going to get clean.”

  I knew I shouldn’t believe him...but I wanted to believe him. The alternative was that there really was no escape from our old life. If he couldn’t make it out, if he got dragged back down again, then there was no hope for me, either.

  “I won’t be here forever, anyhow,” Nick said, almost whispering, now. He always was good at calming me down, after our father had left me in tears. “Just for a little while. Okay?”

  I hated myself for being weak. But was I being weak by letting him stay, or would it be more cowardly to throw him out on the streets, just so that I wasn’t reminded of Chicago? I felt almost as if I was scared of getting infected, as if crime and violence was a virus and he could re-infect me after I’d been cured for so long.

  But what sort of sister would I be if I threw him out, just to keep myself safe?

  “Fine,” I whispered. “You can stay. But I don’t want to know about it. Keep it in your room.”

  I felt him nod. “Thank you.”

  And just like that, the past came a step closer.

  ***

  The next day, we were back to filming. The sets were all finished now and we were making our way steadily through the script for the pilot. In the scenes we’d be filming that morning, Ryan’s character—Tony—would be showing my character—Isabel—how to interrogate a suspect. Except, when we were in the interrogation room together, it was her he was more interested in interrogating, with a view to getting her into bed. This was all leading up to the bedroom scene that would come near the end of the show—the one we’d already filmed. It was confusing, having to act as if we were still at the flirting stage when we’d already simulated sex, but that’s TV.

  I showed up early, clutching an extra-hot, venti Americano in the hope it would see me through the morning. I hadn’t slept well. Whenever I managed to submerge myself in sleep, the Chicago nightmares would start. Ryan getting drunk and Nick’s drug use had brought them back in full Technicolor clarity. I could smell the cigarette smoke of that back room, feel the spilled beer sticky on the edge of the pool table. I’d woken up, run to the bathroom and dry-heaved into the toilet, my whole body shaking. And then, even though it was only 6am, I’d had a shower and gotten dressed because no way was I going back to sleep and risking seeing their faces again.

  I knew what would fix it. I knew that if I went out to some random bar tonight and picked up a random guy, I could have someone to cling to in bed that night, someone I could fold my arms around if the nightmares came back. But I’d given that life up in favor of Ryan, traded the thing I knew worked for a forlorn hope at something better. Now, after our blow-up at Flicker, I’d lost both.

  Given all that, it’s fair to say that I wasn’t in the best of moods when I showed up on the set. I was exhausted and stressed out and I was feeling betrayed—by Ryan, as well as by my brother. I was ready to go on the attack. I wanted to lash out at this guy who’d got under my skin and persuaded me to let my defenses down, only to go ahead and get drunk right in front of me, the very first time he met my friends. Well, I’d tell him where he could shove it—

  And then I saw him.

  Tony was meant to be a hard-living, rough-at-the-edges kind of a cop. Today, make-up wouldn’t even have to draw in the dark shadows under Ryan’s eyes or tousle his hair. He looked as if he’d slept in his car. As soon as he saw me, he started toward me but I folded my arms and just stared at him in an I’m not talking to you way.

  He looked angry for a second, then sad. Then he said, “Look, if we’re going to fight we’d better do it now. We’ve got to film in an hour.”

  I knew he was right, but I just glared at him.

  Ryan grabbed one of the lighting guys. “We’re going in there,” he said, pointing to the interrogation room. “To run some lines.”

  “Okay,” the guy said, “Sure.”

  And with that, Ryan grabbed my elbo
w and pulled me into the interrogation room, slamming the door behind us.

  The room was the real thing, a place where hundreds or maybe thousands of prisoners had been interrogated before they’d closed the police station down. Thick walls with chipped plaster where prisoners had managed to break free and slam a cop into it. A metal table and chairs bolted to the floor, both of them a maze of scratches and dents. Officially, of course, it was an interview room. But interrogation was what really went on in here.

  I stalked to the far side of the room, my arms still folded. I could feel Ryan’s eyes on my back. I was still mad at him, but seeing the state he was in had made me soften just a little. On the other hand, it reminded me of the drinking, and my dad’s sullen moods the night after a bender, and that made my stomach tighten in sick, cold fear.

  I could hear him breathing as he paced back and forth, trying to find the words that would calm me. He’d never seemed so like an animal, a huge beast trapped in the tiny room, forced to communicate when all he wanted to do was to grab me and pull me to him. “I’m sorry,” he said at last.

  I was staring at a mark on the wall at about head height. A dark stain. Blood? Surely not. Surely they’d have cleaned that up, if it was blood. Or was the idea to intimidate suspects into complying? The whole room seemed to be designed to do that.

  “It’s because I got drunk, right?” he said haltingly.

  I didn’t answer, but I could feel my spine going tense and I knew he saw it.

  When he spoke again, his voice was lower. “Did he used to drink?”

  You’re old enough for the good stuff, now—

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” I said tightly.

  I heard something, then. A sort of hard, muscular tightening. Maybe his knuckles cracking as his hands formed fists, or his back reacting as those huge shoulders set. The sound of him getting angry.

  Chapter 44

  Ryan

  I wanted to break his neck. I wanted to push the guy who’d hurt Jasmine down to the ground and smash his head into the floor until it was a bloody pulp. I wanted to know who the bastard was—an ex-boyfriend, I guessed. I wanted to know what he’d done to her...and, at the same time, I didn’t want to know because I couldn’t stand the thought of it happening.

  “Just don’t get drunk around me,” she said in a tiny voice.

  “I won’t,” I said quickly. Goddamnit, I’d reminded her of some horrible thing, put it right back there in her mind where it could hurt her, all because I found it hard to talk to her friends. I wanted to dig a pit and throw myself into it. I reached for her, putting a hand on her back, and she jerked under my touch. I can’t even touch her, now. Have I lost her already?

  The anger at her attacker and the frustration at my own clumsiness was boiling up inside me. With anyone else, I would have lost it, right there. I would have ripped the table from its fixings and hurled it at the wall.

  But the sight of her did what it always did—it acted like a safety valve. I focused on her, and I could feel the rage slowly settling.

  “Jasmine,” I said quietly. “I will never drink like that around you again. I never want to do anything to hurt you. Or upset you. I’m sorry.”

  She nodded. She drew in a deep, shuddering breath and I knew she was holding back tears. Then she turned around and—

  There.

  Right there.

  Someone else was looking at me, the same person I’d glimpsed a few times, now. A scared, vulnerable girl hiding underneath the woman—

  And then she swallowed and sort of shook her head, red hair flying, and she was Jasmine again. “Sorry,” she said. “Didn’t mean to freak out on you.”

  I just stood there blinking at her.

  “It’s okay,” she said. Her voice was normal, now, the tears gone. But it was too late. For the first time, I knew what was going on.

  It was an act. It was all an act. And, like an idiot, I’d fallen for it. I’d seen what everyone else had seen and not what I should have been seeing. I’d only finally seen it now because I was watching her so damn closely.

  “Are you acting?” I asked.

  She stared at me, her face going pale. “What? No!” She smiled, trying to laugh it off.

  “Are you acting right now?” I asked, horrified. “Have you been acting, this whole time?”

  She opened her mouth and I could see from her expression that she was about to brush the accusation away. But she caught the look in my eyes, the cop look, I guess, and her lie died in her throat. She just looked up at me, helplessly.

  I gripped her shoulders. “Jasmine, you don’t have to lie to me! You don’t have to act with me! Whatever you’ve been hiding, I want to see it. I want to see you.”

  She shook her head, not meeting my eyes. “No. You don’t.”

  “Yes I do!”

  She shook her head again, going even paler, but I held her that way until she finally met my eyes again. I gave her a slow, firm nod. A tear formed in one eye and started to spill down her cheek. I brushed it away with my thumb. “You have to start trusting me,” I said. “This is no way to live. You can’t act 24-7.”

  “I have to.”

  “You can’t! You can’t pretend all the time. You’ll go nuts!”

  “I have to!” she almost screamed it. Then she looked up into my eyes, her face contorted with pain. “It’s the only way I can keep going!”

  We stood there staring at each other. Then I pulled her to me and hugged her close as she descended into wracking sobs. I gripped her tight, wrapping my arms right around her back, covering as much of her as possible. I wanted to shield her from everything bad in the world. “Not with me,” I said at last. “Don’t do it with me. Okay? I want to know you. You. Not the you that everyone else sees. The real you.”

  “Why?!”

  “Because that’s the one I’m in love with!”

  She froze. The room went utterly silent.

  She shook her head. “You don’t know her.”

  “Give me a chance to.”

  She tore herself out of my arms and stumbled away from me, steadying herself on the edge of the table. I stayed quiet, giving her room. At last she said, her voice raw, “You can’t ask lots of questions. Okay? Or it won’t work.”

  I nodded quickly. “Fine. Only tell me what you want to. But just stop acting.” I wasn’t sure if it would work. She was obviously keeping a lot from me, and it was tearing her apart inside. But this would be a good start. “I want to know if you’re hurting. I don’t want you to put on a mask. Not with me.”

  She didn’t say anything for a long time. I could see her struggling with herself and it made my heart ache to watch the battle, knowing that, if she said no, this would be it. I’d have built her defenses up even higher instead of tearing them down. But there was nothing I could do, no more I could push her. She had to take the next step by herself.

  At last, she turned around to face me. “I’ll try,” she whispered.

  Chapter 45

  Jasmine

  He let out a long breath and sat down at the interrogation table. A moment later, I joined him. I kept my eyes on the table, not trusting myself to look at him. I felt horribly exposed. I’d opened up a huge, gaping hole in Jasmine and he was looking straight through into Emma. It felt so wrong, so alien that I thought I was going to be sick. And yet, at the same time, it felt lighter.

  It was as if I’d just shed a huge, bulky spacesuit. I just wasn’t sure if I could survive without it. The words he’d said were still thrumming through my body, making it vibrate. He’s in love with me. He’s in love with me. Me. Emma. It was so shocking, so wonderful, that I couldn’t even take it in except in tiny little flashes, each one burning away some of the cold darkness inside me. My heart felt like it was seeing sunlight for the first time in years.

  I let the auburn curtain of my hair hide my face until I felt as if I was under control, the occasional hot tear falling to plop on the scarred desk. When I finally looked at him,
my breathing was steady. He was looking at me with the most sincere look of hope and love that I’d ever seen—it nearly made my heart stop. What are you doing?! My brain was screaming it at me over and over. You can’t let him see Emma!

  But I had to. If I wanted him, I had to. That’s what I told myself. That’s why I did it. And I convinced myself that I could let him see me - the broken, twisted mess that I was inside - without letting him know the facts. He could see what I was now, without ever having to know how I’d gotten that way. That’s what I thought.

  I should have known I was kidding myself. I should have remembered that he was a cop, and cops never stop once they smell a mystery. But I was in love with him.

  I think that was the first time I really let myself admit it.

  I took a long, deep breath and nodded at him, as if to say, I’m okay. But I gave him a warning look, too, to remind him that we were on fragile, untested ice, here. I’d let down my defenses, but that was enough for now. I couldn’t go any further or I’d just fall apart.

  He nodded back to me. He understood. “I’m sorry,” he told me. “I shouldn’t have gotten drunk. I sighed. “I just felt—out of my depth. Your friends.”

  That at least gave me something else to think about. It was a relief, because sitting there being Emma for even a few minutes had me almost shaking with how vulnerable I felt. I didn’t need to act in order to talk about my friends. I didn’t have to be Jasmine or Emma, I could just...talk. I realized that I’d been so annoyed and upset by his drinking that I hadn’t really stopped to consider why he’d done it. “My friends?” I frowned and the anger started to rise again “What’s wrong with my friends?” There was a defensive note in my voice. Are they not good enough for you?!

  He sighed and ran his hands through his hair. He definitely looked paler than usual. I wondered how bad his hangover was. “They’re kind of intimidating,” he said.

  That stopped me in my tracks. Intimidating?! How the hell could Nat and Clarissa and Karen be intimidating? They were the least intimidating people I’d ever met. But the anger that had been bubbling up inside me was gone. Now I was just confused.