5. The Detour
Chapter five
The Detour
Hayes
The midday sun baked the commercial studio lot, radiating in blistering waves off the black asphalt.
I unclipped the tactical rig from my chest, groaning as the canvas straps finally gave way.
The final action sequence had required six straight hours of green-screen wirework, and the friction burns under my collar stung with a fresh, raw heat.
“Cut,” the director yelled over the megaphone, his voice echoing off the aluminum sides of the soundstages. “That’s a wrap on the exterior unit.”
I dropped the prop weapon into the waiting hands of a production assistant.
“Take this to the armorer,” I told him, wiping a streak of stage dirt and sweat from my forehead with the back of my wrist. “And tell wardrobe I left the vest on the chair in my trailer.”
“You got it, Mr. Gallagher,” the assistant replied, taking a step backward. “Great work out there today.”
I didn’t stick around to chat. I stepped over a cluster of black power cables snaking across the pavement, making a beeline for my private trailer.
The air-conditioning unit on the roof hummed a steady rhythm, blasting me with icy air the second I pushed the metal door open.
I shivered violently as the chill hit my wet skin.
I peeled the filthy stage clothes off my body, tossing the damp fabric into a hamper by the sink.
I stepped into the narrow stall and twisted the shower dial.
Freezing water hit my skin, washing away the layers of artificial grime. I just want to go home. The thought looped in my head as I scrubbed the sweat from my hair.
I had spent the week trapped in this suffocating bubble, bouncing between mandatory stunt rehearsals and aggressive PR drills with Eleanor’s team. I missed Sutton. I missed the quiet, echoing peace of our house, and the grounded sanity she provided when the Hollywood noise became deafening.
Tonight was my last evening in Los Angeles before I boarded a plane for a four-month European press tour. I needed an uninterrupted night in my own bed with my wife.
I turned the water off and reached for a towel.
I pulled a jacket and shirt from the garment bag hanging on the closet door.
My arms ached as I threaded them through the sleeves.
I stood in front of the vanity mirror, my fingers trembling slightly from exhaustion as I fumbled with the buttons.
It took three tries just to get the top button fastened.
I tucked the fabric into my trousers, grabbed my keys off the counter, and walked back out into the heat.
The director stood near a cluster of monitors, reviewing the digital playback.
“That was the exact take we needed, Hayes,” he said, looking up from the screen. “You look a lot better without the tactical gear.”
“Thanks,” I replied, rolling the tension out of my shoulders. “I really appreciate you wrapping this setup on time.”
“You earned a break. We got everything we need for the exterior.”
“I am dead on my feet, so I’m heading straight to my car.”
“Go get some rest,” the director said, pointing a pen toward the gates. “We are officially wrapped on your scenes before you head to London.”
I nodded, my mind already halfway down the freeway toward the mansion.
I stepped past the row of canvas chairs, adjusting my jacket as I walked across the asphalt toward the parking zone where my transport waited.
I reached up, pulling at the collar of my shirt to let some air hit the friction burns on my neck.
The black SUV sat idling in the distance, the tinted windows reflecting the blinding glare of the afternoon sun.
I just needed to slide into the quiet, air-conditioned cabin, tell the driver to take the canyon route, and close my eyes until we reached the house.
Eleanor stepped out from the shadow of the vehicle.
Blocking my path to the rear passenger door, she reached out the second I got close enough.
“Don’t hunch your shoulders, Hayes,” she instructed. “You look like you just survived a street fight instead of a movie set.”
“I did just survive a movie set, Mom,” I replied, exhaling a long breath. “Let me past. I need to get home.”
She ignored the request. She grabbed the lapels of my jacket, giving them a sharp, precise tug to smooth the front. She picked a piece of imaginary lint from my shoulder like she was dressing a child—a quiet reminder of exactly who managed the details of my life.
I reached past her, wrapped my fingers around the door handle, and pulled it open.
A blast of icy air conditioning rushed out of the cabin, carrying the scent of expensive floral perfume.
Blaire sat in the backseat, wearing a sleek evening dress with her hair flawlessly styled.
“You’re running behind schedule, Hayes,” Blaire said, shifting on the leather seat and offering a bright, practiced smile. “We were starting to think you got lost in wardrobe.”
“What are you doing in my transport?” I asked, staring into the shaded cabin.
Eleanor stepped up beside me, placing a hand firmly on my back.
“Change of plans, sweetheart,” Eleanor said. “You get on a plane to London late tonight, and the studio needs a massive domestic headline with Blaire right now to hold the American audience over while you are overseas.”
I locked my fingers around the edge of the open door frame. The steel was hot from the sun, and focusing on the sharp edge pressing into my palm kept me from snapping.
“Mom, I just want to go home,” I said, my grip tightening on the metal. “I haven’t spent a single evening with Sutton all week, and it is my last night in town before I leave for four months.”
“Sutton knows how the European tours work, darling, and she knows how critical this is for your legacy,” Eleanor replied, her tone gentle but unyielding.
I stared at the leather interior of the SUV. I was exhausted, but years of ingrained obligation kept me from arguing. She had built my career from the ground up, handling the worst of the studio politics so I could secure my family’s financial future.
If I gave them this one dinner, the studio executives would back off, and I could finally focus on the international premieres. Sutton was patient. She always understood the sacrifices required before a major deployment.
“Give me one hour at this restaurant to lock in the domestic press,” Eleanor added, patting my shoulder, “and then you can go home to her.”
I looked from my mother to Blaire waiting in the backseat. The PR machine was already in motion, and fighting it now would only cause a massive, unnecessary headache. I dropped my hand from the door frame, yielding to the schedule she had laid out.
I ducked my head and stepped up into the cabin of the SUV.
The chilled air conditioning blasted against my damp skin, cutting through the heat of the asphalt outside.
The scent of floral perfume filled the chilled cabin.
I sank onto the seat, leaning back against the cushions.
My boots scraped against the floor mat as I shifted near the open door.
“Watch the hem of my dress,” Blaire said, pulling a layer of fabric closer to her knee. “Wardrobe spent an hour pinning this for the cameras.”
I shifted my legs toward the door, giving her plenty of room on the bench. The sun continued to bake the side of my face through the open frame. I sat back against the cushion and reached into the pocket of my trousers. My fingers brushed the edge of my phone.
“Come on, Hayes, the reservation is in twenty minutes.” Blaire sighed, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder. “It’s just one dinner, and then you can go back to being a total hermit in your mansion.”
A hermit. The word grated on my nerves. I wasn’t being a hermit; I just wanted to keep my marriage out of this mess.
This city thrived on ruining relationships, and keeping Sutton out of the crosshairs was the only way to keep us sane.
I pulled the phone from my pocket and unlocked the screen.
The backlight illuminated the dim interior of the car.
“Are we leaving or not?” Blaire asked, leaning closer to inspect my screen. “Your mother wants us ahead of the evening traffic.”
“I’m coming, just give me a second,” I replied, tilting the screen away so she couldn’t read it. “I need to let my wife know that I’m trapped on set so she doesn’t keep waiting up for me.”
Blaire rolled her eyes and settled back against the headrest. She drummed her nails against the armrest. I opened the messaging app, bringing up my thread with Sutton. I rubbed my thumb along the edge of the phone, watching the cursor blink on the empty text line.
Explaining the tedious politics of a mandatory PR dinner would only cause her unnecessary stress before my flight.
Eleanor handled the ruthless side of the industry, and I was simply playing my part.
She always understood the chaotic demands of a studio schedule.
A single missed evening wasn’t going to ruin our marriage.
I would sit through the meal, keep the executives happy, and make it up to her in the morning. I pressed my thumb against the screen. “Babe, I’m so sorry, but Mom just cornered me on set. I’m trapped on PR duties right now, but I’ll be home as soon as I can before my flight.”
I hit send. The small blue message bubble popped onto the screen, finalizing the lie. I locked the phone and shoved it back into my pocket, eager to move on. The faster I humored Blaire and the studio executives, the faster I could get back home.
I reached out and wrapped my hand around the door handle. I yanked the door shut with an echoing thud, sealing out the noise of the studio lot. I pulled the seatbelt across my chest and clicked it into place as the SUV pulled away from the curb.