Operation 19 Targets in Spotlight #3
“Thank you,” he said, voice a little rough. “I’m supposed to present an award, not sob into the microphone, so umm, if you don’t wanna be here all night…”
The audience laughed.
He got through the category. Then the night became unreal.
Devyn won for stunt ensemble recognition tied to the film’s action unit, and Xander yelled so loudly Lena had to cover her ears.
Wes and Law won for Best Visual Effects.
Lena won supporting actress. The film took screenplay.
Direction. Cinematography. One award after another until their table became a stunned, crying, laughing disaster of hugs and disbelief.
Then it was time to announce the nominees for the Best Actor category.
Xander stopped breathing.
The clip reel played with all five nominees. His scene was the one in the barn, where his character confessed the truth without saying the words, where silence did more damage than any speech.
He remembered filming it. Remembered going home afterward unable to talk. Remembered thinking maybe no one would understand it.
The presenter opened the envelope.
“And the Golden Crown goes to…”
Time stretched.
“Xander Vale, What Breaks in Silence.”
The room detonated.
Xander froze.
Lena grabbed his arm, shaking the hell out of him. Devyn hauled him up. Someone kissed his cheek, another slapped him repeatedly on his back. The walk to the stage felt impossible, as if the floor had shifted into a steep incline.
He took the statue with shaking hands as the applause rose ten decibels.
He looked into the crowd, and because he couldn’t help himself, he found Cassidy.
Cassidy stood near the side aisle, expression controlled, but his eyes saying everything as he gave him the smallest nod.
His speech was all gratitude for his cast, crew, the director and writers. The queer kids who had written him letters, the people who felt unseen, and the ones who were still afraid.
His voice broke once, but he recovered. He thanked Devyn with a watery smile and a shaky breath—that got him another standing ovation.
He didn’t thank Cassidy by name. But he locked eyes with him when he said, “And to the people who kept me safe when I didn’t know how to be brave, this is also for you.”
Later, What Breaks in Silence won Best Film. By then, he’d stopped trying to fake composure.
Backstage was a barrage of hugs, interviews, photos, tears, handlers, champagne no one had time to drink, and trophies heavy enough to do bicep curls with.
When he stepped into a quieter hall, his men appeared like magic.
Cassidy glanced at the statue in Xander’s hand, then at his face.
There was pride there. Private and fierce. Cassidy gave him a slight, sensual wink that made him almost drop the Golden Crown.
After the show, all he wanted to do was go home and collect the real reward Cassidy had all but promised on the drive over.
Unfortunately, his new publicist had other ideas.
Maribel Chase had stepped into the permanent publicist role after Carla’s humiliating exit, and while Xander liked her better than Carla, she also scheduled him to do things he didn’t want to.
“It’s just two short appearances,” she said as wardrobe changed him into the second suit. “Not five like most people. Not all night. But two. Let them photograph you smiling, celebrating…and then you can go home.”
Malik fixed his hair with a little more product to get him through the night. “Knock’em dead, party animal.”
Xander tried a growl that fell so short they all laughed at him.
“You’re so cute,” Maribel teased. “Okay so Crescent Review first, then the Astral party. You stay thirty minutes at the first and an hour at the second unless your detail says otherwise.”
“I say otherwise now,” Cassidy grumbled near the door.
Maribel didn’t even blink. “Noted and ignored.”
The Crescent Review after-gala was held at a private club, overdressed in wealth. Silver lights, white orchids, mirrored walls, and all-you-can-eat tiger prawns.
He arrived in the Gucci, velvet jacket, silk shirt open at the throat, and an alternating black-and-white diamond herringbone necklace in 24-karat gold his team had borrowed from Cartier, resting against his pale skin. Golden Crown in hand because Maribel said carrying it made for better photos.
His men fanned out around the room, black amidst a sea of white and glitter.
Cassidy stayed close as he made the rounds.
He smiled. Accepted congratulations. Posed with other winners. Hugged his director. Laughed when appropriate. Answered questions. Let writers talk his ear off about future roles he’d be perfect for.
He declined shots. Enjoyed the buffet and drank a lot of sparkling water.
The first party was manageable. The second one, he wanted to choke himself.
Astral House had rented out a rooftop space in Beverly Hills. By the time he got there it was a bunch of beautiful drunk people who’d spent the evening losing, winning, pretending not to care, or caring so much they drank through it.
The air smelled like expensive perfume, liquor, and weed.
Xander was so tired of fake smiling as if he was having a good time and Cassidy knew it. He could tell by the way he gravitated closer, and closer.
“You’re done in fifteen,” Cassidy murmured near his ear.
Xander turned his head. “Maribel said an hour.”
“I’m not Maribel.”
“No,” Xander said softly, letting his gaze travel over him. “You are not.”
Cassidy’s eyes heated for a breath, then shifted over Xander’s shoulder and the warmth turned ice cold.
Xander followed his gaze and immediately saw why.
Wyatt Stanis was coming toward him with a drink in one hand and trouble in his unsteady steps.
He was handsome in a careless, glossy way, with dark curls, and a cunning smile. At the Crescent Gala he’d been charming. Now he was loud, drunk and no longer respecting boundaries.
“Xan,” Wyatt called, dragging the name out as he approached. “There he is. Man of the hour.”
Xander smiled stiffly. “Hey, Wyatt.”
Wyatt threw one arm around him before Xander could step back.
Cassidy moved in to intercept but Xander shook his head to stop him.
Wyatt squeezed him, his hand landing low on his waist. “You fucking did it, man. Best Actor. Best Film. They’re gonna have to rename the whole damn night after you.”
Xander tried to shift out from under his arm, but Wyatt didn’t let go. “Thank you.”
“You looked gorgeous on that stage.” Wyatt’s breath smelled like pineapples and tequila…or was it rum. “Seriously. Beautiful. Whole room was going crazy for you.”
Wyatt eased his hand further down, fingers digging into his velvet jacket as he leaned into his side. “I was too.”
Xander’s heart pounded faster at the way Cassidy’s expression had turned to stone as he glared at Wyatt’s hands.
He caught Wyatt’s wrist. “Okay, you’re drunk.”
Wyatt laughed as though Xander wasn’t being serious.
“Come on now, no need to play hard to get,” Wyatt smiled. “I’ve seen the way you look at me on set. How hard you were when we did our scene.”
Oh hell.
That was not because of you.
Behind him, somewhere across the room, Ruxs turned.
Green did too.
Day lifted his head as God pushed off the far wall.
Xander moved Wyatt’s hands again. “All right. Enough.”
Cassidy
Cassidy hated the Astral House party before they’d even made it through the door.
The place was enormous, it wasn’t a lounge so much as a gilded maze. The music thudded through the floors, the bar was open, and industry people crowded every open space, all laughing too loudly, and touching too freely.
And everyone wanted Xander.
That was a big problem for Cassidy but Xander handled it all with impossible grace.
It was close to midnight and Xander was one of the few sober people left in the room, and he looked beyond ready to leave.
Now this Wyatt asshole was testing his limits.
Cassidy gritted his teeth when Wyatt pulled Xander close for another selfie.
Wyatt’s arm was much lower than it needed to be. Xander gave the camera a tight smile, then shifted away after the flash. Wyatt shifted with him, laughing into his ear.
“This fucker is really pissing me off,” he murmured into comms.
“Yeah,” Tech answered from his overwatch position on the second-level balcony. “Me too. But you know what real duress looks like on him.”
Wyatt grabbed Xander’s hand and pulled him toward the dance floor.
Not invited, dragged him.
Cassidy moved.
God’s command hit his ear like a door slamming shut. “Hold positions.”
Cassidy stopped, every muscle in his body objecting.
“God.”
“If Xander doesn’t wanna dance, he can say so,” God replied. “Wyatt Stanis is a buck-fifty soaking wet. Xander can handle him.”
Damn it.
“He’s probably trying not to embarrass him,” Ruxs said.
Cassidy watched as Xander was dragged into the pulsing center of the floor. Wyatt wrapped his lanky arms around Xander’s waist, thrusting his hips forward as if he was auditioning for a Dirty Dancing remake.
Cassidy read Xander’s lips as he leaned back slightly.
“Okay, Wyatt. Chill out.”
Wyatt laughed and kept grinding.
Cassidy bristled.
“Stay calm,” God ordered.
“Oh, I’m fuckin’ calm,” he snarled under his breath, eyes locked on Wyatt’s hands. “I’m two seconds from snatching him by the back of his neck, but I’m calm.”
“I don’t think you know the definition of that word,” Day said.
“Slade, stage the convoy. Moving Starlight in five,” Cassidy said.
“Copy. Rotating to front pickup,” Slade answered.
“Tech, check exit conditions.”
“Front entrance is crowded, paparazzi-heavy. Valet is backed up,” Tech answered. “Service exit has catering traffic.”
God cut in. “We move out the front.”
Cassidy stared at Wyatt pressing his mouth toward Xander’s throat.
Xander angled his body away, ass pushed back like a girl at a middle school dance trying to keep a boy’s overzealous-virgin-cock from digging into her hip.
Wyatt had his face buried in Xander’s neck and Cassidy knew he was inhaling his fragrance.
He moved, and this time, no one stopped him as Xander argued with his co-star through clenched teeth.