Summer Stock

by Vanessa North

Trey slipped off his shoes and set them aside.

  “What are you doing?” Ryan asked.

  “Coming up there with you.”

  “You’ll get paint on your feet!”

  “They’ll wash.”

  The paint was tacky rather than wet, but it did stick to his feet. He didn’t care. He was dressed for painting—and they would wash. Whatever was going on in Ryan’s head that had brought him so low—that wouldn’t wash. That could only be rebuilt over time.

  At the top of the balcony, Ryan stood with his arms folded over his chest, stone-faced.

  Trey stopped at the top stair, ran a fingertip down Ryan’s cheek to his jaw, and sighed. “You’re only here for the summer. Don’t beat yourself up trying to be the man you think I deserve when you’re going to leave anyway. Can’t we just enjoy each other’s company and, I don’t know, leave each other better than we found each other?”

  “I don’t have much luck at leaving people better than I found them.”

  “My ex-husband is in jail for trying to kill me.” The words slipped out. Trey hadn’t meant to say them. Hadn’t known he could say them. The world seemed to slip sideways as he caught his breath, and Ryan’s hands were on him, holding him up. That warmth on his skin brought him back to the surface instead of letting him drown in his own shock.

  “I don’t know what to say,” Ryan whispered.

  “You don’t have to say anything. I just didn’t want you to think I had impossibly high standards or anything.” Trey’s nose stung, and he couldn’t meet Ryan’s gaze. “I think you’re beautiful. And talented. And kind. And I really fucking like you too.”

  Ryan’s arms came around him, and they hugged each other for a long, hard minute, chests heaving. It was Ryan who broke the silence and stepped back.

  “I don’t have a lot of guy friends. In LA, it was always me and Ali against the world. There’s West but . . . there wouldn’t even be him if it wasn’t for Ali. I don’t know how to do this. Do I still get to have hot FaceTime sex with you if we’re friends?”

  Trey laughed and wiped his eyes on his shoulder. “I don’t know, I kind of ruined that with my dumbass comment about your reputation. Maybe we should try doughnuts and getting to know each other next so I don’t fuck up on stuff.”

  Ryan’s hands rubbed Trey’s arms, grounding him while his mind leaped around for something to cling to other than the confession he’d just made.

  “You’re shaking; come here, sit down.”

  They huddled together on the narrow balcony, shoulder to shoulder and knee to knee, with Ryan’s arm slung around Trey’s shoulders. For a long time they didn’t say anything, then Ryan laughed his low cackle, and Trey glanced over at him.

  “What?”

  “I bet you built epic blanket forts as a kid.”

  Trey laughed. “Yeah. I always liked building things, and my sisters had bunk beds, which were fucking awesome for blanket-fort building.”

  “You’re gonna be okay.” It sounded more like a question than a statement.

  “Some days I don’t think so. But right now it feels like maybe I am.”

  “Good.”

  “Why don’t you have a lot of friends? You’re good at this stuff.”

  Shaking his head, Ryan gave him a rueful smile. “I have lots of acquaintances. People who can score me weed on a moment’s notice. People who can tell me where to be seen on any given Friday night in WeHo. People who want to sleep with me—or with Ali and figure I’m a good way to get to her.”

  “People who use you.”

  “I’m a useful guy.”

  The bitterness in Ryan’s voice soured Trey’s stomach. “Don’t say shit like that. You’re a good guy. You’re smart and funny and hugely talented. You deserve to be around people who want to be around you for those reasons.”

  “I’m not that smart.” Ryan bounced his shoulder against Trey’s. “No arguments about my ‘talent’ though. I’ve seen enough to know mine is bigger than average.”

  Trey snorted. “I take back the bit where I said you were funny. Learn to take a compliment.”

  “Sorry. Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” Trey ran a finger along the paint at the top of the stairs. “It’s just about dry. You need a ride home?”

  Ryan shook his head and stood up. “I took West’s Volvo. Thanks for letting me help out today. After being a fuckup for years, it’s good to be useful. I mean—”

  “I know what you meant. And I appreciate the help. It went a lot faster with another set of hands.”

  “My hands are at your service whenever you want them.” Ryan grinned over his shoulder as he descended the stairs.

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Later, Trey.”

  “Later.”

  Trey double-checked that the back door was locked and the lights were off in the office, then he dragged the ghost light onto the stage and switched it on.

  “You’re gonna be okay.”

  Ryan’s words echoed through Trey’s head as he turned off the house lights and locked the theater. Maybe Ryan was only here for the summer, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t be good for each other while it lasted.

  Trey was pretty damned sure Doc Wharton had moved the seashells around on the waiting room walls in the two weeks since he’d last seen her. Was that even fair? Wasn’t she supposed to be a calming, steady influence? Surely she had patients who needed things to stay constant, right?

  “Hello, Trey,” she called from the door to the hallway. “Why are you scowling at my painting?”

  “Did you move those shells around?” He gestured at them as he stood to follow her to her office.

  “I did.”

  Huh. He didn’t know what to say to her matter-of-fact answer.

  “You don’t usually notice things like that.” She shut the door behind him and sat down at her desk. “And you missed your appointment last week. How have you been?”

  He shrugged. “I almost had a panic attack. I got to the Xanax before it got too bad. But it was weird what triggered it.”

  “Where were you when this happened?”

  “I was at a party on the beach. And Ryan—that’s the guy I told you about last time—Ryan reached out like he was going to help me stand up, and it just hit me all at once.”

  “What happened next?”

  “I took a Xanax; he drove me home. We, um—” He blushed and looked at his fingernails. “We made out a little, and then I started getting sleepy, so he went home.”

  “Let’s go back to before you took the Xanax. What happened between Ryan reaching for you and you taking the Xanax? How much time passed?”

  What had happened? “I did the naming things trick. I don’t know, a few minutes?”

  “Good. Did it help?”

  “Yeah. I think so.”

  “It sounds like you handled the attack just like we talked about, and you got through it okay. I’m proud of you.”

  Relief fizzed along his skin, and he smiled. “Thanks.”

  “So you saw Ryan again? I’m guessing he’s not a tourist?”

  Trey shook his head. “No, as a matter of fact, he’s an actor.”

  Her eyebrow shot up. “Shakespeare by the Sea?”

  “Yup. But, also TV and movies and stuff. His stage name is Bryan Hart.”

  “Bryan Hart? The Bryan Hart, from Gravity Wells? I love that show! What’s he doing in Banker’s Shoals?”

  “Caroline Hertzog is his cousin.”

  “Huh. Who knew? I can see the resemblance now that you say that.” She typed something into her computer. “So, he’s here for the summer and you guys are seeing each other? How is that going?”

  “I think we’re more just friends who make out sometimes.”

  She paused for a moment, and he wasn’t sure, but he thought she might be blushing.

  “Okay. How’s that going?”

  He laughed and ran a hand through his hair. “I told him about my ex.”

&n
bsp; That made her look up suddenly. “Did you?”

  He nodded. “I actually said it out loud. I said, ‘My ex-husband is in jail for trying to kill me.’ And I thought I was going to fall over, but I didn’t. And I just said it again to you, and it was even easier.”

  “Trey, that’s huge.”

  “Yeah.” His face flushed at her enthusiasm.

  “You should be proud of yourself. This is a legitimate breakthrough! How do you feel about it?”

  “Well, he didn’t freak out.”

  She sat back in her chair, smiling. “That’s not what I asked.”

  “I feel good? I’m glad I told him. Luckily I was too surprised to be embarrassed.”

  “Okay, talk to me about that. Why would you be embarrassed?”

  “Because I married a guy who beat the shit out of me. I married him, and I stayed married to him. His shit is still in my garage.”

  “You aren’t to blame for his actions, Trey, he is.”

  “I know.” A spike of anger lanced through him, but faded as quickly as it came. “I don’t blame myself, but that doesn’t make it any easier to understand how—” He shook his head. They’d talked about this so many times, and every time he was helplessly ashamed for reasons he couldn’t articulate and helplessly angry at her for making him examine all the ugly feelings he didn’t want to think about.

  “Let’s leave that for now.” She surprised him by giving him a broad smile. “Why do you think you told Ryan?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know, actually.”

  “You’ve been spending time with him at the theater, seeing him romantically—even inviting him into your home. Obviously you enjoy his company—that’s a good foundation for building trust.”

  Trey nodded. He did trust Ryan. Maybe after his history, trusting someone he’d only recently met was foolish. But Ryan sparked lots of feelings in him that weren’t necessarily wise.

  “He makes me want to trust him. He’s so . . . nice, but also lost, if that makes sense?”

  “What do you mean by ‘lost’?”

  “He’s successful enough at his job that people have heard of him, right? But he’s here doing summer stock because of some big scandals in the tabloids. He calls himself a fuckup, but from what he’s said, most of the things he’s done are pretty harmless. I get the feeling he’s kind of . . . impulsive? Yeah. Impulsive. But that’s part of what’s appealing.” He paused—it wasn’t just Ryan’s impulsiveness that was appealing, but the reckless abandon that came with it was enthralling. “And he’s fucking sexy.”

  She laughed. “He sounds like a guy still figuring life out.”

  “Yeah. I mean, I think he’s closer than he realizes. He’s amazing.”

  Ryan found Mason in his office, scowling at his laptop, at six o’clock on Tuesday morning. He’d said good-bye to West, who was flying back to California later, and come to the theater early, forgoing his morning run, because he and Mason needed to have it out once and for all.

  He knocked on the doorframe. “Got a minute?”

  Mason looked up, scowl deepening. “Yeah, what’s up?”

  “You and I need to talk. Mind if I shut the door?”

  Mason waved at it. He shut the door and sat down. He didn’t like upsetting Mason. He’d idolized this man for over a decade. “You crave approval but settle for attention.” He took a deep breath.

  “I’m sorry, Mason, but who I date, or fuck, or whatever, is my business, not yours. I know I promised I wouldn’t sleep with anyone in the cast or crew, but the fact is, Trey and I are both consenting adults, and you don’t get to tell us we can’t see each other.”

  Leaning back in his chair, Mason stared at him. “I don’t?”

  “No, you don’t.”

  Mason smiled and shrugged. “Okay.”

  Ryan stared at him in disbelief. “That’s it? Just ‘Okay’? What the fuck, Mason?”

  “Yeah . . . okay. You’re consenting adults. Whatever you want to do.”

  “So you’re telling me you’re making a complete one-eighty on what you said before, just like that?”

  Mason closed his laptop. “Yes, Ryan. Because you aren’t asking my permission. And you don’t need my permission. You’re not only an adult, you’re behaving like one. So, okay.”

  “Did Caro say something to you?” Ryan squinted, not quite believing what he was hearing. Or, oh god—“Or Trey?”

  Mason sighed heavily. “Oh for fuck’s sake, Ry. No. You stomp around my theater like a child for a decade, then yeah, I’m going to treat you like one. Two weeks ago, you were still acting like a child. Hell, you’re acting like one now.”

  That brought Ryan up short. “All right, well, as long as we agree that you don’t get to dictate my sex life.” He stood and held out his hand.

  With a bemused expression, Mason stood up, clasped his hand, and Ryan led him through an elaborate bro-shake.

  “We shook on it; you can’t take it back,” Ryan warned.

  “The only thing I’m taking back is when I said you were behaving like an adult. I’m going to have a smoke, and no, you can’t have one.”

  Ryan followed Mason out to the parking lot and watched him light up. He didn’t really understand what had just happened in Mason’s office. And he wasn’t entirely sure Caro had nothing to do with it.

  “Why are you here so early?” he asked.

  “Financials. I have to keep the bills paid, not just direct your pretty ass.”

  “I know that. I guess I didn’t realize you came in before sunrise to work on them.”

  “Speaking of work. I want you to work with Annsley on the party scene—the bit where she turns you down. It’s an important moment, and she’s playing it for laughs. Which is fine—”

  “But she’s missing the nuance.” Ryan had noticed the same thing. “It’s funnier if she nails the poignancy of that moment too.”

  “Exactly. She’s good, but she doesn’t have a natural ear for the timing; she hams it up too much.”

  “I’ll work with her.”

  “Good, take her somewhere this afternoon and work on that scene until she gets it right. And show her how to use her body language better. She moves like she’s competing in a beauty pageant.”

  Ryan flinched. Annsley was stiff, but they’d only been rehearsing for a little over a week. “You cast her.”

  “Yeah. And I see what she’s capable of. Go get it out of her.”

  So he did.

  That afternoon, he took the bubbly, dark-skinned lead actress for a walk on the beach outside the theater. Annsley was vivacious and funny—in some ways, she reminded him of Ali. Her sense of humor, however, tended much more toward the obvious joke, not the sly teasing that had made Ali a reality-TV favorite. He had seen her clowning around with the rest of the cast, but when they were alone together, Annsley usually clammed up. How could he get her to loosen up around him?

  They cut through the theater parking lot to the boardwalk, and Ryan stopped to get a pair of sunglasses out of the Volvo. A red Toyota was parked so close, he barely had room to open the door enough to grab them.

  “Damn.” Annsley shook her head. “People need remedial parking lessons.”

  “Right?” Ryan locked the car. “I hope he’s gone when I get back or I’m gonna have to crawl through the passenger side.”

  As they stepped off the boardwalk onto the wet sand at low tide, he kicked off his shoes and held his arms out wide. “It’s hard to believe in three weeks this place will be crawling with tourists; right now it’s paradise.”

  Annsley laughed and kicked off her own shoes. “Working here is definitely a perk of the job.”

  “So, Mason asked me to run through the party scene with you. He thinks we’re playing it too hard for the laugh.”

  “You mean I’m playing it too hard for the laugh. But thanks for trying to spare my feelings.”

  “It’s a joint effort. Want to run lines?”

  “Here?” She gestured toward the waves
.

  “It’s perfect; no one can hear us. And don’t try to project now. Try to live in the character for a bit, okay? Start from ‘your father.’”

  “Um. Okay.” She cleared her throat. “Your father got excellent husbands, if a maid could come by them.”

  He cupped her jaw in his hand. Leaning close, he ran a thumb down the side of her face, as though this were a real proposal, and not a rehearsal for a play. As his thumb slipped over her lips, he murmured, “Will you have me, lady?”

  She sucked in a breath, her eyes going wide and her body freezing like a deer in headlights. The breath rushed out of her, then she squared off her shoulders and gave him a sad smile. Taking his hand from her face, she gave it a gentle squeeze and cocked her head to one side.

  “No, my lord, unless I might have another for working-days: your grace is too costly to wear every day. But, I beseech your grace, pardon me: I was born to speak all mirth and no matter.”

  Grinning, Ryan stepped away from her and let out a whoop.

  “There. That was perfect. Your body language just there—the way you froze for a moment and then you found yourself? That little hesitation is the nuance that was missing. Can you do that on stage?”

  Annsley laughed and turned away, crossing her arms over her chest. “Is that what it would be like for Beatrice when the prince courts her? Like having a celebrity touch her like that?”

  Ryan shrugged. “I imagine yes? I don’t know. He was a prince.”

  “So are you, dude.” She punched him in the abs, softly though. “I don’t know how to play it cool when there’s a guy standing in front of me, someone I idolize, who’s living my dream, and he’s all smooth and—”

  “Stop.” He grabbed her hands. “First, I’m just a dude. A dude who grew up here on Banker’s Shoals. You’re probably from some place way cooler.”

  “I’m from Asheville.” She pulled her hands away from him and crossed them over her chest again.

  “Well. At least Buncombe is a blue county, am I right?”

  She laughed. “Okay, so you grew up here and you made it big, so anyone else can do the same, as long as they wish really hard? Your privilege is showing.”

  “We both know it’s more complicated than that. But you’re gorgeous on that stage, and when you deliver the lines like you’re feeling them in your soul? It wrecks me. You can do this. You think Mason casts people who can’t do the work? That man is the finest Shakespearean actor I’ve ever seen. He believes in you. I believe in you.”