Fan Service

Chapter 25

25

In the back of Devin Ashwood’s private town car, Alex brought her phone so close to her face she almost hit herself in the nose.

Fuck.

Her stomach twisted as her cell continued to chirp with new texts from the group chat. She fumbled open the leather pocket on the back of the seat in front of her but found it empty. A fancy car like this should have motion-sick bags back here like on airplanes.

What could she possibly reply?

So. Funny story. I have actually been hanging out with Devin Ashwood for a month, but I couldn’t tell you guys because he made me sign an NDA.

The truth sounded flimsy even to her. The NDA might forbid her from discussing all his werewolf stuff—which, fair. That was a liability. But she probably could have mentioned he was in town, maybe even that they’d spent time together, especially if she’d checked with Devin first to suss out his comfort level with external comms.

If Alex was honest with herself, it wasn’t just legal documents keeping him her dirty little secret.

It felt like her life had split in half that day in the Dunkin’ parking lot. On one hand was the Devin Ashwood she’d thought she’d known from a distance. That idea of a person, an amalgamation of trivia and daydreams, belonged collectively to the fandom and to her friends. Almost like a mascot. They’d always shared everything they knew about that Devin Ashwood. Every photo, every random fact or scrap of a quote. But then she’d met him. In real life. And he’d gotten up on a ladder and cleaned out her gutters so her dad wouldn’t fall.

She didn’t know how to reconcile these two versions of him. Alex hovered covetously over her Devin. The one who was still infuriating but also sweet and scared, in some ways she’d anticipated and in some she hadn’t.

Sharing Devin wasn’t a big deal when she hated him, but Alex couldn’t stop herself from being covetous now. She wanted him in private ways, for parts of him to belong to her and only her. It was a fundamental shift. A betrayal.

Devin with his face painted.

Devin reading fanfic, curled up on the couch.

Devin with his head between her legs, mouth wet, calling her “baby.”

She never meant to get in this deep, to hide so much from her best friends. Worse, Alex had been selfish enough to willfully mislead them so she could still benefit from their advice without disclosing something that was objectively huge.

They’d turned on Devin Ashwood for her all those years ago without blinking, but now Alex’s disdain had evaporated like so much fog, only to be replaced by—

“Everything okay?” Devin put his hand on her knee. “We’re almost at the stadium.”

Because of flight delays, they had to go directly from the airport to the basketball game.

“I’m good.” Alex shoved the device back into her purse, deciding it was better to say nothing to her friends than to keep lying.

She’d figure out what to tell them when she got back to Tompkins in a few days. When she’d managed to swim clear of the riptide of Devin’s attention. When everything went back to normal.

At the stadium, a man with massive shoulders and a security badge that read Rahul stopped them at the side door.

“Name?”

A muscle in Devin’s jaw ticked. “Devin Ashwood.”

Rahul stared down at his clipboard. “I’m sorry, Mr. Ashwood, was it? I’m not seeing that name.”

“I’m sure it’s there.” Devin had on his press smile, but sweat beaded at his hairline. “Can you check again, please?”

He’d been a ball of nerves since they’d landed on the tarmac at LAX, obsessing over what he ate on the plane, how his hair looked, who would be at the event. Was all this anxiety a consequence of the full moon agitating his wolf?

Alex subtly put her hand on his elbow, trying to soothe him while Rahul scanned the list once more.

They were taking such a huge, foolish risk putting Devin in front of a massive crowd and a live televised audience. This was his first public appearance since the video and, allegedly, a stint in rehab. Even an industry outsider like Alex knew there would be extra eyes on him today. If he lost control for a moment on that court, the first hint of the partial shift would blow his chances of shrugging last month’s bad press off as a onetime fluke.

She’d tried to talk him out of playing, but Devin insisted this was exactly what he’d trained for: the chance to live his normal life despite the Change. Still, the last thing they needed was for him to get worked up before the game.

“Sorry, buddy,” Rahul said with a grimace. “Not on here.”

“That’s impossible.” A familiar low rumble sounded from Devin’s chest, the prelude to a growl.

“Would you excuse us for just a second?” Alex tugged Devin into a patch of sunlight to the side of the entrance.

He wouldn’t meet her eyes. “This never happens to me.”

She almost laughed. Was he really embarrassed right now? Alex had never been on any list. In her life. Unless you counted honor roll at Tompkins High.

“Hey.” She kept her hand on his arm and lowered her voice. “None of this celebrity stuff matters to me. At all. Let’s blow the whole game off and go eat tacos.”

Devin’s mouth twitched and his shoulders relaxed. “You’re the only person in my life who’s ever encouraged me to play hooky.”

Alex brightened. Maybe she did have something to offer him besides werewolf training.

“I’ll tell Billy to bring the car around.” Devin took out his phone but swore when he saw the screen.

“What is it?”

The tension was back in his face, in his limbs. “Brian Dempsey’s here.”

Alex held back a groan. So much for tacos.

A TAF reboot promised Devin everything he craved: purpose, security, adoration, even—she guessed—a way to give meaning to his ability to transform.

Someone else would have called him out for caring too much about a TV show. Alex couldn’t.

If Brian Dempsey has no haters, that means I’m dead.

Devin was on the phone, pacing in a tight circle, trying to clear up the list situation, when a woman in a bright jumpsuit and incredible gold Jordans walked up and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Jade?” Devin’s face went on a journey from relieved to guarded in the span of seconds.

The woman gave him a fond closemouthed smile. “Need some help?”

With a few whispered words to Rahul and the flash of some kind of printed pass, all three of them were swept through the door a few moments later.

“You’re a lifesaver.” Devin squeezed Jade’s hand. “I owe you one.”

“You owe me several,” Jade said with the kind of indulgence Alex recognized as someone else who knew better than to care about Devin Ashwood and did it anyway.

“I gotta get changed. Alex, you good?” he said, jogging backward down the hall to the locker room.

“Yeah, don’t worry about me.” She tugged at her simple black T-shirt dress. She’d gone out and bought all those new clothes, had made a huge effort to show Devin she could fit in here, and still somehow ended up back in something three years old from Goodwill. Unvarnished. There was probably a metaphor there. You can take the girl out of the small town…Oh well. Alex had plenty of practice being snubbed.

“We missed proper introductions.” Jade extended her hand. “I’m Jade Nelson. Devin’s former agent.”

Alex accepted the handshake. “Alex Lawson. I’m his—” Oh god.

Acquaintance? Sex partner? Hired help? Charity case?

“Friend,” she settled on.

“Nice to meet you.” Jade’s grip was firm, assured. “Devin could use more friends.”

She led the way to some kind of VIP box with plush reclining seats, full catering, and an open bar. Weirdly, no one here seemed interested in sitting. A group of fifteen or so people, all in suits, lingered near the buffet, where elaborate trays of food remained untouched.

Alex gulped.

“Don’t worry. They’re sheep in sharkskin,” Jade whispered, steering Alex over to the group and introducing her around.

To Alex’s immense surprise, the cluster of moguls seemed to find it both endearing and fascinating that she worked as a small-town vet tech. She barely had time to explain what she did before they started launching into stories about their own pets, wanting her opinion on whether such and such behavior was normal or not. After a half hour, Alex had one woman trying to convince her to move to Malibu and become a live-in pet sitter.

For a moment after they parted ways, Alex found herself considering it, this sister life where she walked dogs in the California sunshine, where she had ties to nothing and no one, except maybe Devin Ashwood.

Her heart yearned in more ways than one.

The freedom and anonymity presented by the size and scale of LA were everything Alex thought she’d always wanted. Her mother had given her up to chase this kind of life, one where each day was filled with strangers and limitless potential.

I should want this , she thought at the same time she realized she didn’t.

Sticking out in Tompkins might suck sometimes, but at least her presence made a difference. She was a pebble in the machine, a divergence in the brook. Alex had always considered herself an outcast, a misfit, but getting to know Devin, learning about how, slowly, everyone had left him—his parents, his ex-wife, his costars, his team—she finally saw how much community she had in comparison.

“Wait, I’m sorry. Excuse me, but were you a member of Werewolf Support Group?” A strawberry-blond woman, who belatedly introduced herself as a publicist named Viola, pointed frantically to the sticker on the back of Alex’s phone, which rested next to her purse on the bar top.

Alex started, staring at the cartoon werewolf reclining on a chaise lounge with the caption Shift Happens .

She’d forgotten about the faded and peeling image of the archive mascot. That sticker, a gift from Cam, had weathered almost two decades on Alex’s desk before, on a whim, she stuck it on the back of her boring black case earlier this year.

“Uhh, yes.” She blushed. Of all the places to get called out for fandom involvement…

They chatted for a while. It turned out Viola used to be active on the forums. Sometimes it felt like that site, this fandom, was the scaffolding of her life, guiding Alex, shaping her as much as she’d shaped it.

“Holy shit, you’re the Mod? No way. I lived for Mod Notes. No one could tear down Brian Dempsey quite like you.” Viola reached into her giant leather purse and passed Alex a crumpled purple flyer. “I’m having a party later in Silver Lake. You should come.”

Alex smiled. “Maybe.” She doubted she’d be able to leave Devin during the full moon.

The conversation wrapped naturally when music blared and an announcer clad in an incongruous tuxedo came out to kick off the game.

Alex and Jade made their way toward the plexiglass partition that overlooked the stadium floor, taking seats in the front row.

The host, a white man Alex vaguely recognized from Entertainment Tonight , introduced the lineup for both sides one by one. Most of the names on the backs of the jerseys belonged to C- and D-list network talent, supporting characters literally and figuratively. The few higher-caliber stars were either very young or very old, bookends of a career in this business.

With a jolt, Alex realized Devin, jogging in place while he waited his turn, likely fell into the latter category, at least in the network’s eyes. Hopefully he didn’t realize.

“You’re worried about him.” Jade caught her staring, one hand pressed to the glass as Devin did some drills, passing the ball back and forth with a former Grey’s Anatomy lead.

“I just know he’s nervous,” Alex said, as discreetly as she could, since the other guests in the suite had begun to make their way down to the seats.

“All right, folks,” the announcer’s voice boomed. “Up next”—he paused for dramatic effect—“we’ve got a man who thinks he’s a werewolf.”

Titters from the suite echoed across the rest of the crowd, along with a few hollers and howls.

Devin faltered a little as he ran out, his sneakers skidding on the shiny wooden floor. Obviously, this jab hadn’t been cleared with him ahead of time. To his credit, his smile didn’t falter.

“Ah, I’m sorry.” The announcer pretended to peer down at invisible note cards. “This says he used to play a werewolf . My mistake.” He flashed a smarmy grin. “Sports fans, please give it up for Devinnnnn Ashwooooood.”

“What a shithead.” Jade sighed, then downed the rest of her cappuccino in one long swallow. “Hopefully that’s the worst of it.”

It wasn’t.

Devin played well through the first period—making interceptions and impossible-looking three-pointers. Alex didn’t watch sports, but her dad did. She recognized this performance toed the line between exceptional and outrageous.

“Did you know Devin was this good at basketball?” Jade had the look of someone who rarely found herself surprised and did not enjoy the sensation.

“I think he’s been practicing.” Alex sucked at lying, but Devin wasn’t giving her much choice right now.

Her stomach swooped. Did he really think this showboating behavior—during a charity game—made him look cool? While he hadn’t shown any signs of transformation, he did seem agitated, his gaze constantly sliding to the sidelines.

Alex followed his line of sight and caught a glimpse of Brian Dempsey’s red hair at the same time Devin did.

“Oh, that’s not good.”

Devin’s play got more aggressive immediately. He stole the ball and didn’t pass, even when the volunteer coach, a beloved veteran of the WNBA, threw up her hands in exasperation.

“Did he just—” Jade bit her lip.

“Foul a geriatric game show host?” Alex wiped at the nervous sweat that had gathered at her hairline. “Yep.”

Devin had many good qualities. Self-awareness was not among them.

He’ll do anything. He thinks this is his last chance.

Jade took off her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose. “People are starting to boo.”

A few seats down, two gray-haired execs feigned hand-wringing. Lines of their commentary cut through the high-pitched alarm of the buzzer.

“Desperate.”

“Sad, really.”

“Never did know when to quit.”

Alex gave them a dirty look. She had said all those things and more about Devin Ashwood. But that was different. He might be a pathetic try-hard, but he was her pathetic try-hard.

“Can you get me down there?” Alex thumbed at the court. “I might be able to calm him down.”

Jade nodded. “Worth a shot.”

It took some sweet-talking, but they got onto the court just as the second period ended.

Devin missed his mouth with his water bottle when they came up behind him on the bench. “What the hell are you two doing down here?”

Had he seriously not clocked the hostile environment brewing around him? His teammates were squeezed together on the other side of the bench, obviously trying to put as much physical distance between themselves and Devin as possible.

Alex grew up unpopular and was hyperaware of the signs of unsympathetic strangers. Devin, who had signed his first autograph before she was born, didn’t sense the danger. Not in a place with so many stimuli. When he’d likely focused his hyperactive senses on monitoring the approval rating of one man.

“Come with me.” Alex tugged him urgently to the side, as far away from prying ears as she could.

“What’s going on?” Devin frowned up at the VIP box and then stepped closer to her, his face drawing with concern. “Are people being mean to you?”

“What?” She blinked. Oh, right. For most of their brief acquaintance, that had been the case.

“Um, no. I’m okay.” In a twist of fate, you’re the one people don’t like right now. How could she bring this up tactfully? “I was just thinking you might wanna back off a little out there on the court. Give the other players a chance.”

“You’re not serious.” Devin ran a hand through his hair, which had fallen, sweat damp, into his eyes. “I’m playing amazing. People can’t take their eyes off me.”

Alex had assumed that if things blew up in Devin’s face today, it would be the wolf that ruined him. She hadn’t stopped to consider that his greatest liabilities were human. All his finely honed skills—the charisma, the showmanship, the shamelessness—had been rendered dangerously potent by his years of relentless reliance on them to survive. Now, fueled by anxiety and supercharged by the full moon, they were poisoning him. And Devin couldn’t even tell.

On the court, the Lakers’ cheerleaders had the crowd clapping along to what looked like the grand finale of their halftime routine.

“Hey, listen.” Devin caught Alex’s elbow and leaned forward to whisper in her ear. “I might be showing off a little, but I have to make up for the fact that everyone here thinks I’m a dried-up joke.”

Her chest ached with an almost unbearable tenderness for him in that moment. She knew how bad it felt not to be taken seriously, to have people dismiss the things you cared about and try, intentionally, to make you feel small. It was why she thought she could get through to him.

“Remember when you first told me you wanted to play in this game on the full moon?”

“You thought it was a terrible idea,” Devin said, his brow creasing.

“I did.” Alex took a deep breath. “But you asked me to trust you.” She was going to have to be direct, to say the hard truth, knowing Devin wouldn’t want to hear it, that he might hold it against her. “I know you can’t see it, but all the spotlight chasing you’re doing out there is not making you come across like some hot young hero. It’s making you come across like a selfish jerk.”

Devin reeled back like she’d struck him.

“What? No.”

“Trust me.” Alex took his hand. Please.

“You’re wrong.” Devin pulled away. His voice brooked no argument. “Brian Dempsey is eating this shit up. He came down here to give me a fist bump. He said I’m killin’ it.”

She shot her gaze sideways to where The Arcane Files ’ showrunner was chatting away to yet another reporter.

“Devin.” Alex flexed her empty fingers. She’d come with him to LA, but she was still losing him before she was ready. There was nothing she could do to stop it. “Brian Dempsey is an asshole. He’s not looking out for your best interests. He’s never given a shit about you. I’ll bet you twenty bucks he came down here to be closer to the press circle.”

A whole flock of them stood together over there, unleashing a series of rapid clicks and pops of flashbulbs that made Alex see spots.

“You don’t know him.” Devin shook his head, stepping farther away, out of her reach.

“Back on the court in two minutes,” his coach called out, no doubt worried about how far some of her players had wandered.

“I gotta go,” Devin said. “Stick with Jade, okay? I’ll be done soon.”

He was right; he got thrown out of the game six minutes later.

“How was I supposed to know Justin Hartley had a bad knee?” Devin grumbled later, when they walked toward the exit after a tense series of team photographs.

“I think as a general rule you’re expected to avoid trick shots in this kind of environment,” Alex commented blandly. Her phone was burning a hole in her pocket, but she didn’t take it out.

There was a zero percent chance Devin’s antics weren’t all over fan circles on the Internet right now. She didn’t dare check what the group chat thought about all of this.

All Alex could do was hope that today taught Devin caution. That this disaster wasn’t a premonition for later tonight.