Chapter 16
Gritty, stale air clogged Wade’s lungs in the abandoned warehouse, and he sneezed into the crook of his elbow.
“You okay, boss?” Devon, his assistant producer, asked.
Wade sniffled. “Yeah, but if my brother Rohan knew this filming location’s condition, he’d bombard us with a litany of health articles about airborne illnesses and questionable environments.”
“Maybe, but this place is a true find. The decrepit space with faded graffiti, layers of dust, and shattered windows captures the raw, desperate energy the scene needs.”
“Indeed.” Fractured beams of sunlight pushed through the shattered windows, and Wade stepped around the videographer, positioning himself to watch the actors.
The protagonist would be pleading with his love interest to let him return to the sport that nearly destroyed him.
Every movement, every line, had to feel visceral.
If they nailed it now, they could avoid major reedits and costly reshoots.
Claire’s words floated in his mind, her calm reassurance that his stress over perfection wasn’t worth it.
Adjustments could be made, and sometimes imperfections worked better.
Even now, she lingered on the set in a way, her input woven into the production.
He’d call her soon to thank her. Or better yet, he’d see her in person when he returned for court on Friday.
“I’m surprised you kept Max after he gained so much weight.”
Yes, Max, the lead actor, was a prime example of imperfections. “He’d had a tumultuous year. I can’t deny I wanted to recast, but I changed my mind after hearing Max’s story.” The guy’s fiancée leaving him and his father’s illness had driven him to stress eat. “Everyone deserves a second chance.”
“It’s working.” Devon shrugged. “Using camera angles and lighting tricks, we’ll be able to slim his appearance during the climactic moment, though I can’t say it’s ideal.”
In addition to Claire’s reminder, a Bible verse Wade read during one of his chaotic weeks had reminded him adaptability was part of life. And part of faith. He’d also read something about making plans but God directed the course—He made the final shot.
“Okay, positions, everyone.” Wade clapped. “This will be a take.”
The scene began playing out.
Still, he struggled to focus. In the two days since he’d left Hawaii, he idled in honeymoon mode.
Or so it seemed. Every kiss he and Claire shared, every glance, every accidental touch felt painfully real.
Where did the performance end and the truth begin?
That final kiss? It still had his lips twitching and his mind replaying the sensation.
When he looked into her eyes, the intensity of the love in them left him with a dizzying longing.
Exactly as he’d felt when he pictured forever with her.
Forever.
Wade didn’t do forever.
Directing Punchline to Glory kept him from unraveling.
Guiding the cast distracted him during the day.
But come night, when the set lights dimmed and the cameras stopped rolling, he couldn’t escape her.
He’d close his eyes and see her on that beach, feel her lips against his, and remember the strength of her hand in his.
The tabloids had splashed their wedding and honeymoon photos across every front page. The media frenzy was doing its job—strengthening his custody case while generating free buzz for Vaulting Hearts.
Instead of satisfied, he felt hollow. He no longer needed fake kisses, hugs, or playful glances. And he’d never needed real ones. They could go back to separate lives and keep their paper marriage expectation-free.
And yet, as he walked the set, instructing the crew and tightening the production schedule, his thoughts drifted to Bella.
If only he could see her, could video call Claire, just for a glimpse of the little girl he’d sworn to protect.
But calling Claire meant seeing her too, hearing her voice, and opening himself to feelings he dared not admit.
The line between staged and real had blurred, and he wasn’t sure how to untangle it.
He breathed in the stale air, shook his head, and refocused. Just as his thoughts threatened to drift again, his assistant producer, Devon, snapped him back.
“Stone.” Devon yanked off his headset, his hair smashed flat where it had pressed down. “What do you think of the dialogue?”
“Great. Yeah,” Wade muttered. His gaze shifted to the couple, their expectant expressions demanding his feedback. It wasn’t perfect—first takes never were—but he’d been paying just enough attention to steer them.
“Max, let’s go again. Slouch your shoulders more. I need to feel the desperation in your eyes.”
As the actors reset, Wade honed in, his attention locked. Max delivered the lines, and the scene edged closer to Wade’s vision. But it still lacked the gut punch he needed. He raised his hand.
“Cut!” He strode forward. “Max, dig deeper. This isn’t just another fight. This is your last chance to reclaim your purpose. Think about what you’re about to lose and make me feel it.”
Max nodded, his brow creased as he reset for another take. The makeup artist swooped in, brushing away stray powder and tweaking the costar’s look with practiced movements.
Wade stepped back to the monitor beside the videographer, his focus shifting to the screen. The lighting captured the dust swirling in the air. The raw, gritty texture gave the scene its visceral authenticity.
Devon bent closer, lowering his voice. “Novi told me to give you a heads-up. Reporters are waiting outside. They’re digging for more details about your wedding and honeymoon.”
Wade rubbed the back of his neck, the mention bringing Claire to mind. “Doesn’t seem like we’ll be leaving here anytime soon.”
The cameras rolled again. Max delivered the scene with trembling hands and a thickened voice.
His costar matched his intensity, her outstretched hand hovering inches from his face, body language conveying hope and heartbreak.
They leaned in, their emotions raw, almost close enough to kiss—exactly as Wade envisioned.
But it jolted something loose in him. Then he was back on the yacht, reliving his kiss with Claire—the warmth of her lips, the eagerness of her response, the ache of his hopes.
Shaking it off, he refocused on the set, guided the actors through their next lines and movements, and left them to rehearse while he and Devon reviewed dialogue. Throughout the blur the day became, Novi ensured Wade ate, delivering food to the set when he didn’t have time to stop.
The next day was even more demanding. He oversaw fight choreography, perfecting every strike and block to ensure the stakes felt real. He tweaked dialogue, reviewed callback lists for a future film, and discussed photo ops.
In quieter moments, he jotted down notes for Vaulting Hearts, set to hit theaters next month. Claire’s advice lingered—authentic, dig deeper.
It pushed him to infuse his struggles into the script: his isolation before his adoption, his slow journey of learning to trust after, and the unconditional love his adoptive parents gave him.
Reediting the film might as well have been journaling his story, and such vulnerability terrified and exhilarated him.
By the end of the day, he was spent. Lying in bed, staring into the darkness, he pictured Claire’s smile as she spoke about jewelry, heard her laugh when he teased her love of cupcakes, and smelled her lavender and vanilla scent.
A grin tugged at his lips as he flipped onto his stomach and reached for his phone.
It was eleven p.m. in Colorado, so she might still be awake. Should he call?
Probably not a good idea. Was she thinking of him too? Did she wonder, as he did, what came next for them? Did she believe he’d come back, or had he left her in uncertainty?
He set the phone down, his thoughts dragging him into restless dreams of the woman he couldn’t fully commit to—and couldn’t entirely let go of.
Thursday on set, Wade juggled reviewing dailies on one monitor while orchestrating fight choreography on another.
Adrenaline buzzed in his veins as the abandoned warehouse echoed with the stunt crew’s grunts, footfalls, and fists meeting pads.
With the energy palpable, his mind raced ahead.
He had so much to wrap up before leaving for court, yet the thought of seeing Bella—and Claire—ignited a delicious anticipation.
“Wade!” Novi strode between crew members, the phone clutched in her hand. “Your wife is on the line.”
Wade blinked, his stomach flipping. The one day he’d forgotten his phone at the office Claire called? Distracted by a financial meeting earlier, he’d rushed back to the set right after. His PA was probably on her way with it, but Claire couldn’t wait, it seemed. “Thanks.”
He took the phone and stepped away from the chaos to a quieter corner. Pressing the phone to his ear, he drew a steadying breath.
“Hey.” Why was his voice tinged with nerves? “Sorry I haven’t called.”
“It’s okay.” Her hurt voice reminded him of her expression when they’d parted. “We’re fine. Just wanted to confirm you’re still coming to court tomorrow.”
He leaned against the dusty wall. “They wouldn’t dare start without me.” Perhaps the touch of humor would ease her doubt. “And, of course, I wouldn’t miss seeing you.”
Her laugh sent a thrill through him. “Don’t make it sound like a date.”
“You, me, the courthouse—nothing says romance like bureaucracy.”
“Is that so?” She snorted. “I just wanted to make sure you’ll… come.”
“Don’t worry.” Eric and Joy had agreed to watch Bella, sparing Claire the hassle of finding a babysitter. Sure, hiring a nanny would’ve been easy, but Wade—and probably Claire too—wasn’t ready to trust a stranger with Bella. “I’ll be there early enough to grab the best seats.”
The line lingered in an easy silence, neither of them in a rush to hang up apparently.
He rested his head back against the wall, his thoughts swirling.
He wanted to tell her everything—how her smile was on an endless loop in his mind, how he couldn’t forget her laugh or the way her lips felt against his, how he missed her. But the words lodged in his throat.
“Go save the world or whatever it is you do out there,” she finally teased.
“Can’t wait to see you.” Tomorrow, he’d tell her how much she influenced the movie.
When the call ended, he drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, steadying himself before stepping back into the controlled chaos.
The next morning arrived too quickly, and he regretted not leaving himself more time to get to the airport. He shouldn’t have gone to set—pushing his schedule to the limit and banking on a flawless flight. Now, air traffic control delays had him sitting on the tarmac, tapping out his frustration.
“Ugh.” He twisted his watch into view. What good was a private flight if it couldn’t get him places faster? Even staring at the time couldn’t magically transport him to Pleasant View. The meeting was at two.
Grabbing his phone, he tried calling Claire. Straight to voicemail. He redialed. Same result. His stomach churned at the robotic greeting. Claire never checked her voicemail. She hadn’t even updated it to her voice.
He twisted off a water bottle cap and gulped a sip, his short-sleeved shirt clinging to his skin. He was hot, anxious, and losing precious time.
Eric.
Claire had to drop off Bella. Eric or Joy could pass along the message. He dialed Eric, his leg jiggling as the call connected.
“Wade, how are you?” Eric’s calm voice came through in stark contrast to Wade’s racing thoughts. Could Eric hear the ragged edge in his breath? “What—”
“I’m delayed,” Wade blurted out. “I can’t reach Claire. Her phone’s off, and I might be late.”
“She dropped off Bella earlier. She was anxious already.”
“Great.” He groaned and rested his head back. His grip tightened on the phone. “Can you have Joy call her? Maybe she can—” His words rushed out. “I just—What happens if I don’t make it on time?”
“Whoa, slow down.” Wade imagined Eric with his eyes closed, steadying the situation as he always did. “It’s going to be all right. Joy will try to reach her, and if we can’t, things will still work out. The court is run by humans, Wade. They’ll understand you don’t control air traffic.”
Still, Wade’s knotted stomach refused to loosen. “Thanks, man. I just—I can’t stand the idea of her going in there without me.” Bad enough that she was already nervous.
“Relax. The marriage certificate is valid, and you’ve got all the evidence on your side.” Eric’s voice carried the certainty Wade needed. “Claire knows you’re fighting for Bella.”
“I know. But this… is all new for me.”
“It’s your life now. You’ll adapt.”
As the call ended, the pilot announced they’d be taking off shortly.
Wade sank back in his seat to steady himself.
Eric was right. Even if Wade missed the start of the hearing, he’d make it in time to stand beside Claire.
They would leave that courthouse with Bella, free of the threats looming over their family.
Their family.
The thought struck like a bolt. Claire, Bella, and him. The three of them were a family now. A voice inside him whispered it as truth, and he let it settle in his heart. But could he handle what that meant?