Chapter 45
CHAPTER
FORTY-FIVE
CHRISTINE
An hour later, we sit at the table out back, savory meat and vegetable aromas blending with the fresh sea air.
“Christine! How has nobody mentioned what an amazing cook you are? This is, like… seriously incredible.”
“Eh, it’s mostly the cut of meat. This place raises happy cows.”
“Yeah, but I’m sure I would have burnt it to a crisp. And these potatoes are divine.”
Mylo has been uncharacteristically quiet, too busy eating to comment—which is itself a high compliment.
“It’s good to see you eating again,” I say quietly, as Haley’s distracted trying to get a picture with both her steak and the ocean in-frame.
Mylo pauses, as if only just noticing that himself, then blushes. “You’re an alright cook, I guess…”
“Adequate?” I try to hold my mind still and not wonder how much Mylo remembers—or wants to remember, for that matter—from the wrap party.
A complex emotion crosses his face, too fast for me to decipher, then his expression softens. “Yeah. Adequate.”
Once our plates are clear and the sun dips toward dusk, Haley leans back and sighs. “Well, we should probably get going…”
Mylo keeps a casual tone, but his shoulders stiffen. “Yeah.”
“You don’t want to spend the night?”
Haley’s eyes widen. “We’re spend-the-night level friends?” Then she snaps her hand over her mouth and continues, muffled, “I didn’t mean to say that with my outside voice…”
I laugh. “Yeah, why not? I’d say it’s less pressure than working twelve-hour days together, and we had fun doing that.”
Haley beams. “An extreme amount of fun. I worried with the solo movie—no, nevermind, forget I said that—”
I resist the strong urge to look over at Mylo as a blush creeps around my jaw. “You thought I didn’t want to work with you? Oh, no, Haley, the opposite; I just wanted you to have a chance to shine. I want you under my wing, not in my shadow.”
I finally risk a glance at Mylo, and he’s looking straight at me. He blushes too and glances down.
Well… at least he’s not mad, I guess.
Haley, for her part, is beaming.
“So you’re spending the night?” I prod.
Haley winces. “I really want to, but I’m cat-sitting for my friend…”
“Next time, then.”
“Yeah, next time.”
“Thanks again for dinner,” Mylo says, standing and stacking our plates.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
He blinks at me. “With Haley.”
“No, no, you’re staying here.”
He puts a hand on his hip in that most delicious way. “And why is that?”
“Fever,” I say coolly. “Not good for you to travel.”
“I don’t have a fev—”
Haley presses the back of her hand against his forehead. “Mylo, you’re burning up! You should definitely be in bed with a fever like that.”
“I think you’re right, Haley. He caught some weird flu on the plane. Maybe you’d better get back to the cat on the sooner side in case it’s contagious.”
Mylo glares at me while Haley nods with concern.
“Oh, that’s a good idea,” she says. “I’m so sorry you’re sick again; that’s dreadful luck. I wish I could stay and help.”
“I don’t need to stay, and I don’t have a fever,” Mylo grumbles.
I stand and grab the plates from him, heading into the kitchen. “A thermometer will solve this little argument, won’t it? I’m sure there’s one around.”
A minute later, the thermometer from the first-aid kit in the hall closet is under Mylo’s tongue. When it beeps, I show it to both him and Haley. “One-oh-two.”
“Mylo!” Haley gasps with distress. “No wonder you fainted earlier!”
I keep my face neutral. “The fresh ocean air will do you good, I think.”
Mylo glowers at me. “I’m not some Victorian invalid.”
“Could’ve had me fooled.”
“Take care of yourself, Mylo,” Haley pleads. “And tell me as soon as you’re better.”
Mylo begrudgingly accepts his fate and checks his phone. “Signal out here is kinda crappy…”
I go check the cupboard by the hallway, where the inner door is lined with sticky notes.
“The house has a sat phone; I’ll give you the number.
And I’ll call Lana tonight. Also…” I snatch Mylo’s unlocked phone out of his hand, ignoring his protests as I tab over to settings and punch in the WiFi password.
“Now your calls and messages will go through just fine.”
Mylo’s out of excuses, so he joins me in saying goodbye to Haley and waving at her as she pulls back out onto the narrow road.
When I turn around, Mylo’s already gone, and a trail of his warm citrus scent leads out back. I follow him to a swinging loveseat where he’s pulled his knees up to his chest and sits in a little ball.
I sink down next to him, sprawling my arms across the back and side, and letting my legs hang wide as I push into a gentle swing.
“So I’m stuck with you again, huh?” Mylo says, eyes still out over the western horizon where the sinking sun turns the ocean into a blazing mirror.“Funny. Didn’t seem like anybody dragged you here against your will.”
He’s quiet, glaring at the sea.
“You were that worried about me?” I manage a teasing lilt.
His eyes fall to the low, twisting branches of a nearby oak.
“You’re shivering,” I add. “Do you want to go inside?”
“No.”
“Okay.” I keep the swing in a steady, slow rhythm as the breeze ruffles over us, still holding some of the day’s warmth. I can be alright while that breeze stirs his scent in the air. I’m not thinking about what comes after.
“Why doesn’t it bother you?” he asks, still looking ahead.
I glance over at his somber expression. “Why doesn’t what bother me?”
“That I hate you.”
“Lots of people hate me.”
He scoffs, turning an incredulous glare at me. “No, they don’t.”
I shrug. “It’s true. And it’s by design.
Not my design, to be clear. But it always goes the same way, usually with female stars.
It starts with the over-hyping and overexposure.
Christine Evansworth saved a kitten; Christine Evansworth went to Starbucks; Christine Evansworth is so relatable.
Anyone gets sick of seeing the same person too much.
Turns out hate sells even better than love.
Christine Evansworth is already a has-been; Christine Evansworth is a poser; Christine Evansworth is so last year. Blah blah blah.”
“Yeah, but… they don’t say that to your face.”
I give a bitter half-laugh. “Sure they do.”
“So, I’m just another hater.”
“No. You’re special.”
“Oh, yeah? How?”
My gaze drifts out over the waves. “You’re honest. You don’t get your opinions from a tabloid or a viral video. And you’re right about a lot of things.”
“Oh? Such as?”
“I’m a good liar. And it’s lonely, in a way, knowing some people will never see past what they want to see. Especially now, when I never really know who’s just humoring me. So, I dunno. Maybe you hate what you see, but… you see me.”
Mylo is quiet for a long moment. “I never thought of it like that…”
“Add wise sage to my list of talents.”
“That’s redundant. A sage is wise by definition.”
“Great, I’ll add vocabulary pedant to your list.”
Mylo cracks a smile.
And damn me to hell, it’s the prettiest thing.
I flick a stray leaf off the back of the loveseat. “I lied about your test results, by the way. I did talk to Gia about them.”
He bristles and whirls a glare at me. “What?!”
My eyes stay out over the steady sea, where the sun alights on its fiery bed.
Mylo huffs, then his tone is more controlled. “Why are you telling me that now?”
“Because you hating me feels a whole lot safer than the alternative.”
Mylo’s anger drains out in a sigh. “Yeah.”
I can tell how miserable he is, shivering with his arms wrapped around his legs. But this is what he wants right now. And it’s probably for the best.
“Do you think I’m going into heat for real this time?”
I take a deep breath, letting his scent flow through my lungs. The honey tilts toward caramel, as if roasted over a flame.
“Yeah. I think so.”
He rubs his temples. “So I really can’t go back to the city.”
“Not unless you want to check yourself into a heat center.”
Mylo shudders with disgust.
My brow furrows. “Are they that bad?”
“Yes,” he snaps. “No. I don’t know.” He sighs. “I’ve never been to one. It’s not… I guess… going to one just feels so… omega. Admitting to myself that… that I’ve lost. I give up. I can’t overcome, rise above, whatever.”
“Isn’t the point of heat centers to make it easier to live the life you want?”
“I don’t want easier. I want… to not need it in the first place. I don’t understand why I have to be so—so vulnerable. It’s not fair.”
Placating, comforting words would only be an insult right now, so the best I can offer is uncharacteristic honestly. “It’s not. It’s really fucking unfair.” My voice cracks, catching me off guard.
Mylo glares. “Don’t give me some bullshit about how it’s so hard to be an alpha too.”
I give a scoffing laugh, shaking my head.
“No. Fuck no, being an alpha is great. I was just… If you were a beta, we could… date. See what happens. Have fun. Break up. Whatever. But instead it’s this…
one decision—or not even a decision, one impulse—that lasts for an…
impossibly long amount of time. How can anybody ask that of anyone? ”
“People get married,” Mylo says, more contemplative than combative.
“People get divorced.”
Mylo huffs a bitter laugh. “And here I thought you’d be a romantic.”
“I might be more of a pragmatist than you give me credit for.”
“So, what’s the pragmatic thing to do?”
Gulls sweep overhead, cawing on the wind. “I help you through your heat. Then take you to a heat center where Gia can help you figure out how to get your suppressants working again. Eventually.”
“Why is the pragmatic thing always so… miserable?”
“Can I give you some unsolicited advice?”
“It’s not like I can stop you.”