Chapter 5
Five
Hayden
Sterling is looking at the PA he sent out to get his favorite sweet treat with a hardened expression.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Maxwell. I tried to call ahead but they said that they weren’t taking any new orders for them today, and once they were gone, that was it.
As soon as I got there, I was told by the baker herself that some guy came in before me, clearing them out.
” She starts to apologize again, and he rests a hand on her shoulder, looking sympathetic.
“It’s okay. Thank you for trying. I’ll be better off grabbing a yogurt and banana anyway. This way when what I’ve eaten today gets back to Lisa, she won’t have another reason to complain to my manager.”
“Okay.” Her expression is remorseful, shoulders slumping. “I can always try again tomorrow, if you’d like.”
“Nah,” he says casually, trying to hide his disappointment, but I can see it as clear as day. Nothing about him gets past me. “I’m going to take it as a sign I need to cut back.” He forces a smile and she buys it, the tension lessening in her face.
“Okay. See you during lunchtime.”
“Sandwiches again?” he asks as she’s turning away.
She cranes her neck before carrying on in the direction she was heading in. “Nope. Salads.”
He groans unhappily. “And here I thought I’d prefer anything over those damn sandwiches.”
She laughs, rushing away as the director, Lisa, calls her name. Sterling shuffles toward the long table spread with food and I step up beside him, unloading apple fritters from a bag, and his hand stops reaching for the fruit bowl when he sees what I take out next.
His lips smack together as I peel back the top of a purple-and-white-striped rectangular box, revealing twelve lemon-glazed pop tarts from Lotus bakery.
“It was you,” he says accusingly, dropping the banana faster than he picked it up.
“What was me?” I play dumb, because of course it was. I wasn’t letting anyone else take credit for that gigantic smile his lips are threatening to break into. It was going to be for me and me alone. They all will be from here on.
“You bought all the lemon-glazed pop tarts.”
“Wait, do you like these too? I didn’t know.” I smile on the inside, hoping I’m more convincing than I feel I’m being.
“Yeah . . . I . . . I sent one of the assistants to get me one and she said they were all gone.”
“Oh, man.” My lips downturn. “I’m sorry. I was hoping to bring some for everyone, but all they had was twelve.” I scoot the box closer to him. “Here. Go ahead and have first dibs.”
His eyes go round in surprise. “Really?”
“Yeah. Go ahead.”
He looks around, reaching out his hand only to retract it. “I shouldn’t. Too many people are around, and there was barely anyone here yesterday, but somehow my late-night pizza dinner got back to Lisa anyway.”
I look around and nod in understanding. “How about this . . . I’ll sneak some to your trailer in a few minutes. I’ll say I’m going out for some quick air or something.”
“I . . .” He scratches at his arm and tugs on the sleeves of his T-shirt. “You’d really do that?”
“Of course. I know what it’s like living in a house with strict rules, but luckily I had a next-door neighbor who’d occasionally leave cookies on my bedroom windowsill.”
“Dang, it sucks you had to grow up that way, but I’m glad you were still able to enjoy sweet treats every now and again. Everyone should get to.”
“Me too, and I agree. So, what do you say? Want me to be that neighbor who helps you enjoy them every now and then?”
He nibbles on his bottom lip, his gaze circling the room again, and he nods with a gentle smile. “Yeah, okay. I . . . how about you come around in ten minutes. I have to be in the makeup chair in thirty.”
“Ten it is.”
His eyes are warm, causing a wonderful sensation to bloom in my chest, and he dips his head, his face flushing. “Yeah. See you then. Thanks, Hayden.”
“That’s ‘camera guy Hayden’ to you.”
He barks out a laugh. “Right. See you in ten, camera guy Hayden.” He sets his empty plate back down and returns to his trailer.
I snatch up the same plate and stack four pop tarts on top.
Someone reaches around me to grab one too, and I keep myself from telling them they aren’t for them.
Instead, I plaster on a smile and say, “Morning.”
He lifts his head, shoving a biscuit into his mouth, and strides away.
He must be an actor. Most of them think they’re better than everyone else, acting like the sun shines out of their ass.
Not my movie star, though. He’s kind to everyone and has never once looked down on any of the camera or makeup crew the way so many of his friends have.
I’ve seen him complain about the bad behavior of others many times, like he wishes he can fix it, and I’m going to be the one to show him exactly how he can.
I fix myself a plate, balancing it on top of the other one, and head to the back room to drop my bag off before hurrying over to Sterling’s trailer.
The door is cracked open when I reach it, and I stick my head in, knocking softly.
Sterling pulls the headphones out of his ears and stands from the small bench. “Hey. Come on in.”
I make sure no one’s paying attention as I enter the trailer and close the door behind me. “Hey. It’s been more like eight minutes, but it was either that or fifteen. Once I start doing something else, it sometimes takes a while to walk away from it.”
“I feel ya, and yeah, two minutes is no big deal. You could have come five minutes early for all I care. I was just trying not to come off sounding too desperate.”
Desperate for what exactly? Me? The company? Or is this really about some lemon-flavored pop tarts he could have whenever he’s done filming this movie? I don’t ask him to specify, and instead I say, “Hey, baked goods are hard to wait for. Especially ones from Lotus bakery.”
“Yeah.” He chuckles, taking one of the plates from me. “Want to join me? I see you have your food too, and you did let me sit with you yesterday.”
“So you’re only doing it because you feel like you owe me and not because you want me to?” I tease, joining him at the small table he pulls over to the small couch.
“I mean . . . you were pretty nice company yesterday. I figured you might be today too.”
“Yeah, I might.” I scoot closer to him and our legs touch.
He looks down between us, his throat bobbing as he swallows hard. Is he nervous? He doesn’t have to be with me. A strand of hair falls in his face, and without a second thought, I stroke it from his eyes, and his body tenses.
“Sorry. I don’t know why I did that,” I say, trying to steady my voice. “Guess I was too wrapped up in thinking how hard it would be for you to enjoy that pop tart with hair in your eyes.”
“I see,” he says, breath hitching. He lowers his arm beside mine, skin rubbing skin, and his eyes shine with recognition. He feels it too, doesn’t he? The electricity sparking between us?
“So.” He clears his throat, averting his gaze from me and securing his hair behind his ear. “Do you go to Lotus bakery a lot?”
I shrug. “Yeah, whenever I’m in the area, and I try to be as much as possible.”
“Family nearby?”
“My grandma. Her health hasn’t been so great lately, so I’ve been trying to spend as much time with her as I can.” There is no grandma. I grew up in foster homes and never met my biological family. He doesn’t need to know that, though.
“That’s sweet,” he says, shuffling beside me, his hip bumping mine. “I’m sure she appreciates those visits.”
“You have any family in the area? I know this is one of your favorite places to film in, and I’ve seen you around a lot lately.”
“You have?”
“Yeah. Just at coffee shops here and there, and I think maybe an arcade.” And from outside the window of your first-floor apartment.
He laughs. “Oh, yeah. I like to take my nephew there. It’s his favorite place to go and not too many fans know about it.”
“So, the answer to my question is yes, then.”
He fumbles with his plate and nods. “My sister and her husband moved out here a couple of years ago. I got an apartment nearby last year to be closer to them. They’re the only family I’ve got.” Oh, I’m well aware. It’s when I moved here too.
“That’s cool. I’ve got a place out here too. A lake house. It was actually my dad’s, and he left it to me in his will after he died of cancer.” Another lie. I hate telling him so many, but he wouldn’t understand the truth yet.
“I’m sorry.” His eyes are sincere.
“Eh, don’t be. He was abusive. We hadn’t spoken in years.
I was actually surprised he thought of me when he made his will.
” The closest thing I had to a dad was my last foster father, Pat, and he drank himself to death, leaving me and the other two teens he cared for with his money-hungry wife who only kept us for the monthly check.
Then she started coming into my room, unwanted, and my foster brother Vincent did what I couldn’t.
He set her on fire with her own lighter.
That’s the day I knew I was much better being the one who watched.
My hands shook too much every time I tried to raise a knife to her, but my eyes glittered when someone else put an end to her life. She screamed, skin burning and melting away as I stood there wishing I could save that moment forever somehow.
“I think . . .” He takes a breath. “This is probably the first real conversation I’ve had with someone in weeks.”
“Me too.”
“It’s nice,” he adds, picking up one of his pop tarts. “I mean, not about what your dad did, but I mean—”
“I know what you mean,” I assure him, rubbing a hand over his. “And you’re right. It is nice. My grandma isn’t much of a conversationalist, and I work too much to have time for any friends. They all got busy after college and we lost touch.”
“Yeah. That happens to me with a lot of people too.”
His eyes go to our joined hands, and his lips rub together as he brings his food closer to them. “You know you didn’t have to bring me so many.” His tone lightens and I laugh.
“I figured you could save one for a light nighttime snack or breakfast tomorrow.”
“Thanks.” He still doesn’t move his hand as he goes back to taking a bite of the yellow pastry. His fingers wiggle under mine, and my heart beats faster.
We eat in silence, and I’m the first to pull my hand away when I lift my wrist to look at the time on my watch. “Man, time goes by fast when you eat with other people, huh?
“What time is it?” He dabs at his face with a napkin, clutching the edge of his plate with his other hand.
“Ten minutes until you need to be out there. I should get going now so that I have some time to set everything up.”
“Oh, right, and I uh . . . I should finish getting dressed. Thanks again for breakfast.”
“Sure thing. I’ll see you out there.”
“Your camera will too.” He winks, standing up when I do.
“That it will.” And later tonight and every day after. You’ll see soon enough, and you’ll never care to be in front of another cameraman again.
He walks me to the door, and I look back at him one more time with a huge smile before returning to the main building.
Everyone’s busy at their own stations, and one of the other camera guys is relieved when he sees me, ushering me to the back so I can help him with something in the monitor room.
When it’s finally time for filming, I’m all set up and ready to go, ready to see Sterling mistake the real butcher’s knife for a prop and get closer to the kind of actor he was meant to be.
The kind that serves a real purpose. The kind that’s the sole motivation for these types of films to begin with.
He looks so much happier when he convinces himself he’s actually ending a life.
He was made to evoke fear in people’s eyes and to have someone else’s blood covering his skin.
He was made to do it all for the camera too. For my camera.
He won’t always have to pretend, and the day he no longer has to will be the real day he finds his true calling. It’ll be the day the person he’s been held back from being will finally get to be free, and I’ll be there to catch it all. I’ll be there to save the moment forever.
I’ve always been infatuated with killing and watching the life leave another’s eyes, I was just never good at being the one to do it. But that’s because I wasn’t meant to ever be the star in any of my movies, he was, while I was meant to be cameraman Hayden.