Chapter Thirteen
THE GUY AT the top of the call sheet may have skipped town to meet his ex in Anchorage, but there’s still work to do for the rest of the day. Thank God. I do whatever the AD asks; the shoot is wrapping up—maybe one or two days left—and I run errands, help the grips with their equipment, and keep myself occupied so that thoughts of Zachary can’t infiltrate my every waking moment.
It doesn’t work.
His kiss felt like more than a kiss. It felt as if every particle of my being was touched by him in some way, inside and out. Zach’s mouth on mine had been more than an unleashing of desire (though there’d been plenty of that). Something fundamental in me had been dying, and his kiss was the resuscitation. The sustenance I needed to live instead of merely exist, showing me what kind of life was possible if only… And then the guilt swooped in like a wrecking ball, smashing that perfect moment all to pieces even before Eva took a swing at ruining it.
Hours later, we’re done for the day. I hitch a ride with a key grip from Gakona to Glennallen. In my hotel room, I sit on the edge of the bed, sucking in deep breaths. It feels as if a hand has reached into my chest and is squeezing my lungs. Squeezing out the exhilaration, desire, and… joy? of kissing Zach and replacing it with an old, unrelenting thought: I don’t deserve any joy.
I go to my room’s bathroom and splash cold water on my face. My reflection shows a woman with a haunted look in her eyes. My cheeks are pink with the memory of Zach’s arms around me, shoving me against the wall, needing and wanting me so badly…
I wanted him too. And I should just be able to have him, to have that perfect moment, but I can’t.
Ten years. Why is it this bad after ten years?
The answer comes dressed in J.J.’s voice. Because you haven’t dealt with any of it.
I suck in deep, steadying breaths, and what felt like a panic attack slinks away like a wild animal, loitering close, ready to pounce at the slightest provocation. On my bed, my phone shows a notification for a missed call. J.J. A second later, she texts.
I’m sure you’ve seen the article by now. It’s so stupid but I thought you should be prepared. Fucking Dana. I know it was her. Please call and let me know you’re okay and that none of this b.s. is ruining your time in Alaska.
I stare at the text. What’s ruining my time is me.
“Maybe it doesn’t matter anyway,” I mutter to myself. Zach keeps running to Eva every time she calls. He’s trapped in his past, too.
Against all better judgement—or let’s be real, to punish myself—I open the app formerly known as Twitter. I don’t have to look far: Whoever’s behind The Scandal Sheet has posted their article and it’s a trending topic. Front and center is the photo of me staring up at Zach with puppy eyes. I don’t click on the article but instead go straight to the pits of hell: the comments. They don’t disappoint.
ZBGirl23
If I’d known Zachary Butler was into us Normals, I would’ve shaved my legs and put on a dress.
MrsDaiseeeButler
He gave up Eva Dean for her???
overthemoon
Find someone who looks at you the way this rando looks at Zach Butler.
Gina
But…but…she’s so mid.
Zachbutler4eva2001
Whore.
I exit out of the app and close my eyes. The panic is creeping back in, and it’ll suffocate me if I stay in this room. I grab my jacket and leave the hotel. The only restaurant in town is the one where Zach and I had our first date, but I bypass the tables and go straight to the bar.
“Whiskey neat, please,” I tell the bartender.
Night has already fallen, cold and black, but it’s not even six. The place is nearly empty. Only one other person is at the bar, three seats down. Mountain Man. The guy who seems to live in the hotel room between Zach’s room and mine. He’s dressed in jeans, boots, and a plaid shirt that strains to contain both his arm muscles and his belly. His dark beard is long and unkept, and his hair, longish from under a grubby green and white baseball cap.
He gives me an appraising glance as he lifts a beer bottle to his lips. I quickly look away, but it’s too late.
“I’ve seen you around,” he says. “You’re with the movie?”
I take a small sip of my whiskey. It tastes like gasoline and burns out any residual feeling of Zach’s sweet, clean taste.
“Yeah,” I say. “Crew.”
“You’re too pretty for crew. I’d a thought you were a starlet.”
“You thought wrong,” I say. I’m a mid rando from the land of the Normals. I glance at the guy. And a whore.
Mountain Man picks up his beer and moves down two stools to sit next to me.
“I’m Riggs,” he says, and offers his hand.
As if on automatic, a program that was laid down years ago that I can’t override, I put my small hand in his large one. “Rowan.”
He grins and takes a pull from his beer, his eyes never leaving mine. “Nice to meet you, Rowan.”
Riggs and I spend the requisite hour talking about absolutely nothing of consequence before I agree to go back to the hotel. To his room. Because that old trauma program is running, and I can’t override it. I can only feed it.
He flips on a light, and I see the configuration is the same as my room, but Mountain Man most certainly lives here. Aside from his detritus—dirty clothes, beer bottles, food containers—there is a pile of rusted pipes in the corner. Once upon a time, Zachary and I speculated about the source of the loud noises coming out of Riggs’ room. Mystery solved.
“I do maintenance for this place,” he says as I step inside and close the door behind us. He nods to the pile, weaving unsteadily on his feet. “Had a colder winter than usual. Lots of frozen pipes.”
This is how I die. Mountain Man, in the hotel, with the lead pipe.
“I need the bathroom…” I manage.
“Sure, sure,” he says, and I feel his hand on the center of my back, heavy and strong. His fingers could easily wrap around my neck. His weight could crush me if I were under him. Inescapable. He might not have “nefarious intentions,” but I wouldn’t know until it’s too late.
Riggs’ breath wafts over my shoulder, sour and beer stained. “I’ll be waiting.”
I hurry to the bathroom, shut and lock the door, then grip the sides of the sink that is yellowed and littered with beard hair. I suck in deep breaths. The woman in the mirror looks ill, eyes glassy and terrified.
“What are you doing?” I whisper.
She has no answer, not in words. But deep down, a small, lonely voice tells me that it isn’t too late with Zach. It isn’t too late for me to have more than whatever this is.
“How?” I murmur and tears threaten to break.
Riggs calls from the other room, “Did you fall in? Hurry up, now.”
I don’t know how to fix my life, but I know spending one more fucking second in this hotel room isn’t it.
I open the door slowly. Riggs is on the bed, naked. His flaccid dick lays against his thigh and his smile for me is dirty. Expectant.
“Why don’t you come over here and put your sweet mouth on this?”
“I’ll pass,” I say, and head straight for the door.
“Hey, what…?”
I’m outside the room and closing the door behind me before Riggs can even sit up. There’s a curse and a thump. He’s drunk and fallen but maybe coming after me.
My room is steps away, but I run. My heart is pounding and then it practically jumps out of my chest. Zachary Butler is standing in the hallway in front of my door. We both freeze, and then his gaze moves between me and the room I just came out of. As he puts the two together, a look comes over his face…his beautiful, handsome face that can’t keep anything inside, that reveals his every thought and emotion so perfectly, that wins him roles and awards but is also just part of his own goodness… It’s a look that is an excruciating mix of betrayal, regret, and revulsion. Something inside me dies.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice low.
I nod with jerking movements. My jaw works, but no sound comes out. Silence fills the hallway; Riggs has likely—hopefully—passed out.
Zachary nods once, then strides past me. He goes to his room, unlocks the door, and steps inside.
I’m left with the sound of the door between us closing and locking; a sound that follows me into my sleep, into my dreams of what might’ve been.
A week later, I’m in my cabin in the woods. Aside from a text to let J.J. know I’m alive, I haven’t talked to anyone or left the house for any reason. Haven’t left the couch much, either. This evening, I’m curled up, clutching a pillow, and watching TV. The Academy Awards pre-show is on, and the stars are walking the red carpet.
Zachary is there, devastating in a black tux, but unsmiling. He looks like he hasn’t smiled in a year or has forgotten how. Eva Dean is on his arm, waving to the crowd while looking beautiful in a pale bejeweled dress.
She smiles enough for both of them.