Chapter 29
CHAPTER
TWENTY-NINE
MYLO
I never told anyone where I was going when I went to check on Christine—she was easy to find thanks to her scent on the wind—so I don’t have any questions to answer when I slip back among the crew by the craft services table, ready with a lie about how I’d been there snacking the whole time.
I’m a little too good at sneaking back in, and with my stupid omega hearing, I catch my name from a nearby cluster of stunt crew folks.
“Mylo had another near-miss today. First Alanna, then the food poisoning, now this… the production might be cursed.”
“Oh, c’mon. That’s ridiculous.”
“I’m serious. You should’ve seen it. I about had a heart attack when I realized he’d gone up a different way and the mats weren’t far enough back. There was a nasty rock too; it would’ve been bad. Then Christine appeared out of nowhere. Like real life Electra.”
“Just because you have a crush on Christine—”
“That has nothing to do with this!”
Only when I feel the vibrations in my chest do I realize I’m growling. Fuck. Stupid omega instincts. Like I care if she fucks someone else.
At the thought, unbidden memories replay: the clang of metal as she slammed me back against the elevator wall, pinning me with her tongue and breasts; her cunt around me, hot and tight, milking climax after climax as I utterly unraveled; the long, languid curves of her naked form, draped across that armchair…
Heat spikes through me, and my cock tightens again.
Then another memory—
Knock it off.
Her voice echoes in my head. My blood cools. I grit my teeth and go find some ice water to chug, just to be safe.
Soon it’s time to get back to work, and I’m ready to burn off the excess energy buzzing through my limbs.
The schedule wheels on like clockwork, and I lose myself in the rhythm again.
I don’t like the idea that Christine’s command is why I’m able to get through the rest of the day without issue, so I chalk it up to her fucking off and giving me a break from her scent.
Maybe she even did it on purpose, but I’m wary of giving her that much credit.
As the sun dips toward the horizon and its light turns blazing gold and orange, we film one last shot of Melinoe stalking through the trees’ long shadows.
Bella calls a wrap, and just like that, we’re done filming on location.
The stunt crew rejoins the rest of the production as most of them head down to the beach, carrying a cooler.
When Haley invites me, I can’t refuse. Once I’ve changed back into my street clothes, I jog to catch up with them.
Haley buzzes about her scenes today, and I ask questions to keep her talking and deflect the attention from myself. It works like a charm, and I’m more than happy to field Haley’s gushing recap as I crack into a cold beer, find a rock to sit on, and watch the sun set.
When we’re on our second beers, and a sliver of the sun remains above the horizon, Haley asks me, “Are you sad to leave?”
That’s a question I don’t mind answering. “Yeah. It’s gorgeous out here. But nothing lasts forever, I guess.”
“Yeah…” Haley sighs. “It could last a bit longer, though.”
I hold my beer can toward hers. “I’ll drink to that.”
There’s the dull tink of aluminum, and she takes a swig with a smile. “The studio here sounds pretty cool. They’ve built out all the spaceships and stuff. If it’s anything like that rig you and Tee were in, they’re going to be bloody brill.”
Well, she’s calling Christine ‘Tee’ now. Glad they’ve bonded. Good for them.
I keep my expression even. “You don’t want to recite your lines in front of a blue screen?”
“Ugh, no thanks.” Haley makes a face, then catches herself. “Well, I mean, they have their place…”
“In the garbage can?” I say quietly, muffled by my beer as I take another sip.
Haley falls into her characteristic nervous giggle. “You shouldn’t say that,” she whispers.
“People can see the difference, though. Maybe they don’t all care.
But they can tell. And even if they couldn’t…
isn’t half the fun of acting getting to be the character?
Not just someone dressed up as the character in a blue room, acting against nothing…
I don’t know how y’all do it. It’s so much harder to make a fight look good when you’re in some weird box.
But rolling around in the dirt, working with your surroundings, thinking like your character really would… I dunno. It’s different.”
Haley smiles softly. “You sound like Tee.”
A bitter scoff is out of my mouth before I can stop it.
Haley’s eyes widen and she laughs, elbowing me. “What was that about? No wonder she thinks you hate her.”
“She told you that?”
“Mhm.” Haley takes another drink. “She asked if we were getting along. Seems like she thought you and her weren’t.” She raises a brow, lips thinning in a sly smile. “So what’s that about?”
“Well…” Fuck, what do I even say?
My rescue comes in the form of Gabriel beckoning us over to where the crew sits in a circle. “C’mon! We’re playing Never Have I Ever.”
“Ooh, my favorite!” Haley springs to her feet, pulling me with her. The crew has clustered portable lanterns into something resembling a fire, and we join the circle.
Gabriel elbows Andy. “Your turn.”
Andy swirls his beer as he thinks. “Never have I ever…” His eyes settle on me, and he perks. “…ridden a horse!”
I give a mocking gasp. “Now, that was targeted.”
Andy shrugs. “Deal with it.”
I take a drink of my beer, along with most of the circle.
Next up is Sharon, and mischief twinkles in her eyes as she also homes in on me. “Never have I ever… kissed Christine Evansworth.”
Cheers and whoops sweep through the crew.
My face feels like it’s a million degrees, and my heart twists.
I glance over at Haley, who’s blushing just as brightly. She covers her mouth, and a nervous giggle escapes.
The absurdity of everything catches up to me in a sudden rush, and soon we’re both laughing so hard we can’t breathe.
Our laughter is contagious, and the whole group chuckles as Haley and I cheers and take our drinks.
Then it’s on to a PA, who looks proud of themselves and also like they’re about to jump off a cliff. “Never have I ever… seen the first Electra film.”
This gets an even bigger reaction than the last one, with dramatic gasps followed by teasing elbows, especially when the rest of the crew takes a drink—save for one other trying to be inconspicuous, who soon becomes the target of another round of good-natured ribbing.
Even I take a drink; I might’ve caught the movie on TV and hate-watched it.
Gabriel goes next. “Never have I ever been to New York City.”
The jeers from across the circle hint that Gabriel’s provoking an ongoing rivalry, and I chuckle.
Haley takes a drink, then shoots me a look. “Wait, you’ve never been to New York?!”
I shrug. “Never had a job there.”
“Oh, we are fixing that. Right after wrap.”
“You gonna find me a job there?”
Haley shakes her head and throws her arm around my shoulder. “Nope. We’re going on holiday. Because we’re friends.”
I tap my can against hers again. “I’ll drink to that.”
Haley laughs, open and free, and it’s nice to see her so relaxed.
It’s nice to be so relaxed myself.
From that point on, I don’t worry about tomorrow. There’s just laughter, the warm buzz of beer, the rhythmic hush of the ocean, the sweet sea breeze, and not a whiff of Christine.
A perfect night.
I have vague memories of trudging back to my hotel room, six beers in and beyond exhausted, then collapsing on my bed.
That ocean rises around me again, blazing red like it swallowed the sun. At the edge of awareness, a pulse goes thump.
The water drags heat along my skin, thick and syrupy, though somehow I can breathe.
Thump. The light flickers with the pulse, brighter for a moment. I try to kick, to move, but unseen tendrils wrap around my wrists, my ankles, creeping inward.
Thump. Another flicker. The bindings tighten, reaching my knees, my elbows.
Thump. Faster now. Coils wreathe my biceps, my thighs.
Thump. The pulse quickens, louder. Heat slides up my neck, caresses my jaw, and parts my lips.
Thump. I can’t breathe as the heat pours down my throat, stretching and filling.
Thump. Thump. The urgent pulse throbs at my core.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
I wash up on some strange shore, body heavy against cotton-soft sand, and I need…
I need…
The dream fractures, draining away like water from a cracked tank.
I lie on my stomach, cock hard and throbbing, pinned between my body and the covers. My muscles tense.
I need to cum.
My hips slide along the mattress, sending hot sparks bursting from my core.
Shit, I think I’m even more sensitive than before.
Another long, slow thrust has me moaning into the duvet.
Fuck, I’m still wearing Christine’s clothes.
The thought is like a lightning rod, gathering all this crackling static.
I’m still wearing Christine’s clothes.
With a whimpering gasp, my over-wound body spills over the edge, soaking her shorts and probably the duvet.
I should stop, but I don’t. I can’t. The heat is overwhelming, all-consuming, and my body thrums taut with need.
All I can think of is how she felt around me, the softness of her breasts in my hands, the sharpness of her grip as she threw me around, easily as if I were a doll.
The waves of heat carry me through two more climaxes—I think. It’s hard to tell where one ends and the next begins, what’s release and what’s that endless dripping…
It’s thirst more than satiety that finally drags me out of bed. I down a water bottle from the mini fridge as I survey the damage.
Christine’s shorts took the worst of it—a thought that sends another pang through my partly softened cock. The wet spot on the duvet is horrifically embarrassing, but… probably salvageable.
These shorts, on the other hand…
I wear them into the shower, setting the water as cold as it will go.
As I peel the shorts off, I try to not think about just how much cum slicks my cock, only half looking as I run the fabric under the water.
I wring them out, then wash them again. I slide her tank top off over my head, then repeat the same process.
After I hang them over the curtain bar, I step under the cold flow, letting it wash over my head as I brace my hands against the tile wall.
My skin still feels overhot.
Fuck. Fuck.
I stand there until violent shivers send painful cramps through my muscles, and I finally turn the water off. Wrapped in a towel for my hair and another around my waist, I pad back out into my room.
Three AM.
Couple hours to kill.
Fatigue pulls me toward the bed, but I sink into the chair by the window instead. It looks over the parking lot, where weeds grow out through cracked asphalt under a flickering street lamp.
I don’t trust my dreams tonight.
I pull out my phone, and my fingers drift to social media—to the account where Mom still posts about her holiday baking projects, her scrapbooking parties, her book club.
It’s where I go whenever I feel like torturing myself.
I scroll back through the seasons; it’s been a while since I checked in.
Dad smiles at a baseball game. Mom and my sister sit next to the Christmas tree. Fresh hydrangeas from the garden rest cheerily in a vase. Rusty, our terrier, is going grey, but is no less fierce in chasing squirrels out of the yard.
I stop scrolling, but the memories don’t stop playing.
Mom sings to me as I sit on her lap, crying after scraping my knee.
Dad lets me flip through his record collection, and I reverently slide out one of the oldest ones, not knowing I’m about to hear my favorite band for the first time.
My sister and I throw a stuffed bunny back and forth in the yard, playing keep-away with Rusty.
I don’t know if things would’ve been different if I’d been born a beta like my sister.
I’ll never know.
I just wish I had someone to ask for advice. Someone who would actually listen to what I want, someone not already poised to tell me, that’s why omegas can’t have jobs like yours.
That’s why omegas can’t have dreams like yours.
Dream smaller, Mylo.
I remember the first time Mom told me that. I was buzzing after gymnastics practice, proud of my instructor telling me I was ready for competition, rambling about going to the Olympics someday.
Dream smaller, Mylo. There’s so much happiness already here.
I know how she meant it. To take pleasure in life’s little joys, to not push yourself to meet someone else’s standards.
But it also meant be smaller.
Want less.
Suck it up.
Mom only wanted everyone to be happy and together. She just… never understood that ‘together’ doesn’t have to mean next door. Or that I could be next door, but if I had to become someone I’m not to make her happy, then we’d never really be together anyway.
I open the folder of emails I’ve never sent and start a new one.
Hey, Mom.
This movie’s been pretty cool. New Zealand is so beautiful, you’d love it here. I think it might even make you want to take up painting again, if you haven’t already.
I’m glad Dad’s still going to his baseball games. Bet you still have to remind him to take his hat. Has he ever washed his lucky socks? God, they must stink even more now.
Give Rusty some extra treats for me. He’s only got so much longer, y’know?
Just don’t tell Dad, or he’ll tell the vet.
I still remember you handing me that box, telling me to open it carefully.
He jumped right at my face, licking away.
Scared the crap out of me. Even though I think puppies as presents are insane, that was the best tenth birthday ever.
I bet he still has to pee at that fire hydrant every time.
You should see the new Electra movie when it comes out. I think you’d like it. Well, as long as you close your eyes during the action parts. But the rest is pretty good too.
I think maybe you’d see… at least a little bit of why I love this. Why asking me to stop would be like… well, asking you to move.
Anyway… I just wanted to say that I miss you. And Dad. And Annie. And Rusty.
Take care of each other.
Love, Mylo.
Tears blur my vision, and I close the draft before tossing my phone onto the faded shag carpet, where it lands with a quiet thump.
I pull my knees up to my chest and cry.