Chapter 50
Chapter Fifty
ROMAN
The set springs to life. A medic runs over from the sidelines, and like moths drawn to a flame, a group of onlookers forms. The idea of them all trying to get a glimpse at Clover and see what’s wrong sends a wave of fury roaring through my veins.
They have no right to see her like that, and they need to back off.
Pulling myself up, I realize that going around and down the stairs on the back side of the rooftop set piece will take longer than I care to spend, so I decide to drop the fifteen feet down to the mat to get to Clover quicker.
Taking care to make sure I don’t land too close to her or the small cluster of people gathering around, I drop to the ground quickly with the mat taking the brunt of the impact from my landing.
That only adds to the dropping sensation in my stomach.
There’s no way her landing should’ve been as loud as it was. She must’ve hit something else.
“Move,” I order to anyone getting between me and Clover. When they’re slow to respond, I forgo the niceties and simply push the people in my way to get closer. The medic hunches over her and whispers in her ear.
Tanya is pissed, and Arnold looks like he’s going to be sick.
Not knowing what to do but feeling compelled to get closer to her, I kneel beside her.
She is so vulnerable right now, and I hate it.
The Clover I’ve come to know is normally so strong and infallible, and now here she is on the floor.
I place my hand on her back, and I’m relieved to feel the calming steadiness of her breathing.
The medic mutters something to Arnold and Tanya, but I’m transfixed as I see Clover’s eyelids flutter.
Relief floods my system to see her coming back to consciousness relatively quickly.
She groans, and her limbs begin to slowly move as she tries to push herself into a sitting position.
As soon as she’s up a little more, I wince seeing the blood on the medic’s hand as he pulls it away from her.
I feel sick to my stomach; her head must’ve hit the side of the building when she landed.
The medic is talking to her, and I realize I am not processing any of the surrounding sounds, all I can hear is the whooshing of blood in my ears.
She could have been hurt badly.
This could’ve ended so much worse.
What the fuck happened?
It’s an effort to bite down on my tongue and keep the last thought from spilling out. She should’ve abandoned the stunt as soon as she knew it wasn’t going to work. Not gone ahead anyway.
Arnold offers his arm to help a shaken Clover up off the ground. I look at where her hand wraps around his bicep, and something about it makes the red I’m already seeing go even more vibrant.
“Shooting’s canceled for the rest of the day,” Arnold shouts to the rest of the crew. “Stay tuned to your emails and we’ll provide an update later in the day about whether tomorrow goes ahead and if there are any schedule changes that need to be made.”
The medic hands Clover an icepack and launches into a series of additional questions while shining a flashlight in her eyes.
“I’m going to close up that cut here, and I recommend a few days off. You don’t seem to be concussed, but I think it’s best if you have someone monitor you for symptoms in case they appear.” He pulls some items out of his large red bag and works on the cut hiding in Clover’s scalp.
Arnold nods along like it’s his personal responsibility to ensure her safety. “Clover, do you have someone who can monitor these symptoms for you at h–”
“Yes, she does,” I cut in. Everyone’s gaze whips in my direction. Clover’s eyes look like they’re ready to bug out of her skull at a second’s notice.
“Roman, are you–” Arnold starts.
“She’s staying at my place,” I growl. My tone leaves no room for anyone else to offer assistance. Some part of me feels the need to watch over her and make sure she’s okay.
“I don’t think–” Arnold tries again. He knows we’ve been faking our relationship this whole time, but what he doesn’t know is how things have progressed on the Napa trip.
I give him a look that tells him to shut the fuck up, and just in case he hasn’t clued in, I add, “I’ve got her.
” I look down at the sparky redhead, who looks exhausted, and frankly a little scared.
My stomach drops when I see that expression on her face.
She must be absolutely terrified after taking such a big tumble today.
Once the medic is done closing up the cut, I reach out to her, slowly pulling her up and keeping her body close to mine for support. She seems steady enough, but I don’t want to risk anything after that fall.
“Let’s go home,” I breathe as I check she’s still got the icepack on the right spot.
She doesn’t say anything, but gives a weak nod.
Our PA’s scramble to grab our clothes from our trailers, giving us a chance to quickly get out of costume before leaving Starlight property. Clover’s still got her hair and makeup on, but at least now she’s in comfortable clothes and we can leave.
“Are you ready?” I ask, offering my hand. Hesitantly, she reaches back and grabs it. Relief surges through me as I grip tightly, like how I wish I could’ve during the stunt. I cling to her hand now, like it somehow makes up for letting her fall.
I’m fuming. Because as much as I could be mad at Starlight Studios for the stunt decision, or Clover for not making the jump today, the person I’m most angry with is myself.
I knew. I knew something was off with her today.
Hell, I even thought about calling off the stunt myself, and what did I do?
Nothing. I did jack shit, and Clover ended up getting hurt.
I should’ve caught her, should’ve stopped the stunt, should’ve done anything to stop what happened.
Instead, I let it, and I hate myself for it.
When I get into the car, I don’t even know what to say to break the silence, so it stretches, feeling overpowering and brittle all at once.
The longer it goes, the less I know what to say.
Nothing feels sufficient, so I do something I should probably do more often–shut the fuck up.
For everyone’s benefit, the condo is empty when we get there.
Clover turns, no doubt to make a beeline for the guest room she’s staying in, when my arm shoots out and I grab her.
“Oh, no you don’t. Kitchen, now,” I grit out, heading to the fridge to grab an ice pack for her head.
Clover drags her feet and follows slowly, eventually plucking the ice pack from my hands and pressing it to her head as she sits at the island counter. Her wince makes my heart drop.
She must see it on my face, because she adds, “It’s really cold.”
“Cut the bullshit, Clover.” I mutter before grabbing a glass of water and nudging it in her direction.
“I don’t–”
“You got hurt today.” I run my hands through my hair as I pace a few steps behind the kitchen island.
“Roman, it’s not that bad, it looked worse than it was.” Her voice is way calmer than it has any right to be.
She sets the ice pack on the table, as if she’s trying to prove that she doesn’t need it.
“That could’ve been so bad, you have no idea what it was like to watch you fall.” My voice is getting louder and I feel the inexplicable urge to kiss her and shake her for how foolish she was today. I’m still so fucking pissed at myself for letting it happen.
Rounding the island, I gently raise the ice pack to the side of her head once more. It makes contact with her for all of about a second before she jerks her head away and hops off the barstool.
“If you’re done playing nurse, I’d like to take a shower.”
“Wait,” I shout after her.
She does no such thing, taking off for the guest room she’s staying in, shutting the door and locking it.
Is she crazy? What if she passes out in the shower or something?
For the entirety of her seventeen-minute shower, I proceed to lose my mind and pace outside her door like the fool that I am. When the sound of the water stops, I give her a minute before I knock.
She doesn’t answer.
My knocks turn into bangs with my fist. “Clover. Open the door.”
I wouldn’t say I’m yelling, but my voice definitely fills the hallway, and it comes out as a pure command.
I’m still annoyed that she closed the door, just another example of her being reckless.
What if she slipped and fell? Another example of my letting it happen and not stepping in where I should have.
I bang once more, ready to call out again.
“Calm down you Neanderthal,” comes her wobbly-sounding reply from inside. “I need another minute.”
When she finally opens the door, my heart drops.
She’s been crying. Mascara is streaked down her cheeks, and her eyes are red and watery. Fuck.
“Hey,” I say, instinctively grabbing her and pulling her into my arms. “Hey, hey.” Okay, perhaps not the most eloquent today, but it’s all I can think to do in this moment. Rubbing soothing circles on her back, she shakes with the effort to hold in sobs. “What is it?”
She sniffles and takes a shallow breath. “Please...” sniffle. “Please, don’t be mad at me, okay?”
“Mad at you for what?”
“For missing the stunt,” she whispers, and my heart drops.
Pulling her back from my chest, I search her eyes. “Is that what you think?” The assumption stings. “That I’d be mad at you when you got hurt?”
She scans my face, eyes welling up. “Yeah, Roman. You were so mad in the car, I just... I’m sorry.” She tries to cover her face with her hands, but I cradle her wrists, keeping her face exposed.
“Baby, I could never be mad at you for that,” I whisper. The term of endearment is out before I get the chance to think better of it, but I don’t care. I’m tired of pretending.
Her eyes widen, and she opens her mouth, but I’m not ready to hear whatever she has in response to that. Not yet. So I pull her to my chest and continue to rub her back for a few minutes until her tears subside.
Stepping away from me, she goes to wipe her face with her sleeve, but I stop her.
“Here, let me.” I lead her into the kitchen and guide her toward one of the barstools.
“I’ll be right back,” I promise, before heading into my bathroom and grabbing some of the extra makeup removing wipes I have stashed in there.
That’s one thing about being an actor, you always end up with makeup on when you’re filming, so I’ve got something to get it off with at home in case I don’t want to stay later on set scrubbing it off there.
With a wave, I show her the wipes before I take the seat beside hers. “May I?”
Her eyebrows pinch together in confusion.
“Let me help you. Please.”
She nods slowly, still eyeing me like she’s unsure of all this.
With hands gentler than they’ve ever been with anyone else, I slowly wipe away the mascara streaks.
My fingers trace the beautiful planes of her face, wiping the makeup away from her cheeks and forehead.
I could get lost in those sea-green eyes, the ones that are scanning my face for answers right now.
Being this close to her, staring into them like this.
.. it feels... intimate. I’m not used to this.
“Close your eyes,” I instruct. She obeys, but it doesn’t break the intensity. It’s like she has me under her spell. Willingly and hopelessly under her spell.
Clearing my throat, I push to stand. As I do, Clover’s hand shoots out to grab my wrist.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
I nod. “Let’s get you comfortable. We can get you back in your room,” I offer.
Clover pauses for a minute, looking unsure.
“Or you can come to mine and we can hang out there.”
Relief pours over her features. “No funny business, Everett?”
I draw an “x” over my chest with a finger. “Cross my heart.”
Clover’s eyes are wide as we enter my room, drinking in all the details of the luxurious modern space.
“Holy shit...” she mutters. “It’s a wonder you ever leave your house.” Her eyes land on the grand piano, and she whips her head toward me. She groans slightly when the movement catches up with her.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” she answers without taking a beat.
I watch her, studying her expression closely. Tears well up in her eyes once more, ready to spill if she so much as blinks.
“Maybe not,” she whispers.