Chapter 63
When I woke the next morning — after an extremely fitful night’s sleep — Ansel sat on the edge of the bed, fingers drumming an anxious rhythm against his knee. His jaw was tight, eyes restless, and even though the calm in the room begged otherwise, he looked like he was gearing up for a battle.
“Good morning,” I muttered, pushing my hair out of my eyes. He looked like he could snap at any given second. “Sleep okay?”
One single shake of his head — that was the only answer I received.
We danced around each other the entire morning. Neither of us ate breakfast. Ansel downed three cups of coffee in the time it took me to pin my hair up and slip into a soft dress.
“Hey,” I said gently, brushing a loose strand of hair from his face. His eyes flicked up to mine but didn’t quite meet them. “We’re in this together, okay? Whatever happens today — I’m here. You don’t have to do it alone.”
He gave another stiff nod, but still didn’t speak; the tension in his shoulders still didn’t ease.
His breath hitched. “I don’t want to mess this up,” he murmured finally, once he’d put the keys in the ignition.
“They’ve already written me off, Juniper.
I’m the guy no one wants to work with. The has-been, the moody child star, the washed up old man.
” His knuckles were white around the steering wheel.
“You heard Kellogg. He picked me only because Marianne begged him.”
“So what if it goes south?” I asked before I could think about what I was saying.
“What?” he spun around quickly.
“What if this whole movie flops? What if you don’t get a redemption arc?”
“Juniper Paige…” his voice lowered. He was glaring at me.
“I’m serious. What’s next for Ansel Barlowe if ‘The Way We Move’ doesn’t land like Kellogg wants it to?”
“I—” I didn’t think it was possible, but he gripped the steering wheel tighter. “Then I’ve got nothing left.”
“Nothing?”
“Oh, don’t do that, June.”
A laugh punched out of my mouth. “I’m not talking about me, dipshit.” I met his gaze. “You’ll still be Eryk Moonstrider.”
“Everyone hates him.”
“No, no, I don’t think they do.”
“You don’t count.”
“You’ll still be Ansel Barlowe.”
“A name worth shit, Juniper.”
“So what do you want, Ansel?” I was louder than I had meant to be. Not shouting, but it wasn’t quiet.
He swallowed, voice barely more than a rasp. “I don’t know. I wish I did. I thought I had it all figured out before. Thought this movie would be the ‘one thing’ to fix everything.” He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “But I don’t even know who I’m trying to fix anymore.”
The silence stretched between us, thick and heavy, but I didn’t speak.
This wasn’t my choice; this wasn’t my life.
“Maybe I don’t want a reboot or a second chance,” he admitted, eyes on the road but somewhere distant.
“Maybe I just want to figure out who Ansel Barlowe is without all that noise. Fame, movies, people’s expectations… ”
I nodded slowly, heart aching. “That makes sense.”
He glanced at me then, raw and unguarded. “I don’t want to lean on you like a lifeline. I just… want to be better. For me. For you. But I’m scared that might mean losing everything I’ve known.”
I squeezed his hand. “You’re not alone in that, cowboy.”
He exhaled hard, a mix of relief and dread. “I guess all I can do is take it one scene at a time.”
“And know I’ll be here to remind you of your lines.”
“Don’t use Hollywood lingo, you dork.” And he laughed. The sound was wet and a little ragged, but it was real.
Pulling up to the set sort of felt like I can only assume knights must have felt when they rode up on an enemy kingdom. My heart was thrumming loudly in my chest, palms sweaty as I tried to unbuckle my seatbelt.
Ansel opened my car door.
“Will you tell me which scene you’re shooting?” I’d asked him several times over the last three days, but he’d just shaken his head each time.
“Should only be an hour or two after hair and makeup.” Was the only answer he gave me today.
Slipping his hand into mine, lacing our fingers together, he led me to his trailer. The artists and stylists were already there — we were running a bit late, apparently.
They took to their work quickly, sparing no time for conversation or questions. As the man I loved transformed into Theo Rivera before my very eyes, I felt my heart catch in my throat. This was bigger than my favorite book. Bigger than my celebrity crush and childhood affections.
This was real.
Once everyone left, the trailer felt smaller, almost suffocating, even though it was just the two of us. The walls seemed to close in as he sat, eyes fixed on the floor, jaw clenched tight like he was holding back a storm.
I slid in next to him, heart pounding with everything he was carrying. The black tie in his hands looked like a knot of nerves, but his fingers struggled to loosen it, fumbling as if the act itself was more daunting than the words he had to say.
“Here,” I murmured, reaching out before he could protest.
He glanced up, surprised, but didn’t pull away.
I took the tie gently, fingers working slowly to straighten it, threading the knot with deliberate care, my touch soft but sure. His eyes flickered to mine — so raw, so vulnerable — and I squeezed his hand, letting him know he wasn’t alone.
“You’re going to be incredible,” I whispered against the quiet hum of the trailer.
Ansel exhaled slowly, with a hint of a tremble in his voice. “Feels like I’m being sent to the firing squad. Full-blown execution style.”
“Then I’ll be right there next to you,” I said, brushing a stray lock of hair behind his ear.
He offered a small, shaky smile, the kind that said “thank you” without words. Then the assistant called out, loud enough for us to hear from the trailer, “Five minutes!”
I squeezed his hand one last time before stepping back, watching him rise — his shoulders straighter now, the weight eased just a little, tied up as neatly as his knot.
His jaw clenched tight, that muscle twitching like he was trying to hold back a storm. I wanted to reach out and steady him, but this was his moment to fight, to own whatever it was that haunted him.
I tried not to speculate on our walk to the set. Tried not to comb through every scene of the book to place just what we were about to witness. Truth be told — I wasn’t immune to the fact that this could be a brand new scene that wasn’t even in the book.
But it could be the beginning, inside Theo’s corporate job.
Any number of interviews Theo attended in the middle, looking for a way to support his ailing mother.
Or —
My stomach dropped when we walked onto the set.
Fuck.
The room was set up like a funeral home. A closed casket at the front with a small pulpit standing next to it. Ansel moved slowly, his hands coming to rest on the pulpit’s edges as if bracing himself against the memories — the pain, the love, the grief all tangled up together.
His breath hitched.
“Action,” someone called, a hundred miles away.
His hands trembled. Clutched the edge of the worn pulpit. Then, his voice broke through — low, raw, trembling with a fragile strength.
“Mom,” he began, and the single word landed like a whispered prayer, jagged and sacred. Cracking just on the edge.
I felt my throat tighten, breath catching in a way that wasn’t just sympathy. This was his soul bleeding out, and somehow it felt like he was letting me in — deeper than I’d ever been before.
“I’m afraid that I never told you enough how much you meant to me. How your strength was the backbone of my every step, even when I thought I could stand alone. You were my shelter, my fiercest champion in a world that often felt too cold.”
His voice cracked, and I wanted to reach out — but my hands were useless at my sides. I was trapped in a weird area of limbo. His words weren’t real, but they hit every one of my emotions on the way down.
“You taught me how to be kind when the world demanded hardness. How to love fiercely, even when it scared me.” His eyes flicked down to the lectern, then up — burning with something fierce and broken, something raw and unguarded.
“I’m grateful for every moment. For every lesson, every laugh, every tear. And though I’m standing here now, trying to say goodbye, part of me will always carry you with me.”
His breath wavered again, and I watched as Ansel — Theo — closed his eyes, just for a moment.
“Part of me resented that you got sick. That I had to leave everything I’d built for myself behind to come home.
But that’s not fair — being here, being with you…
It opened something inside of me. I’m a better man for having spent these last four months with you. ”
He softened then, voice dropping to a whisper that only I seemed to hear. “To you, Mom — and to the love that taught me how to be whole — I’m grateful to have been yours.”
My heart clenched so tight I thought it might shatter. The words echoed inside me, layered with meaning I could only grasp halfway — because he was the one who’d taught me love, who’d helped me find the pieces of myself he thought were lost.
And that line wasn’t from the novel.
The silence that followed wasn’t just the pause between takes. It was a breath held by a man who had finally laid down his armor. I swallowed hard, tears blurring my vision, wishing I could hold him in that moment, keep him safe from the weight he carried.
When the director called, “Cut,” it jolted me back to my body, to my life — but I knew nothing would ever be the same.
Because I’d just witnessed the man I loved bare his soul — and somehow, in the quiet spaces between his words, he’d spoken to me too.
The crew erupted into applause — clapping, laughing, voices buzzing with relief and excitement.
But I couldn’t move.
My legs felt like they’d turned to water.
The weight of what I’d just heard — what he had just bared — crashed down on me like a tidal wave. Everyone else was celebrating. Smiling. Toasting. Slapping Ansel on the back like this was just another victory.
But inside me, something had shattered.
I blinked hard, fighting back the storm behind my eyes as a sob threatened to escape. This was his truth — raw, unfiltered, heartbreakingly beautiful — and it tore me apart to know how much pain he carried beneath that calm exterior.
I wanted to reach out. To hold him. To tell him it was okay to fall apart. But instead, I let the tears slip quietly down my cheeks, hidden in the shadows just beyond the buzzing lights.
I was surrounded by noise, but inside, the ache was deafening. I loved him so fiercely it hurt.
This broken, beautiful, wonderful man.