19. Cyaire #2
“No, I don’t think you do.” I drag a hand across my jaw, trying to keep my composure as the future I’d already pictured begins slipping away.
“I arranged everything around those two days. Jamie starts training camp next week, and I’m walking straight into another production.
This is the only time we have left before everything changes. ”
Jasper’s face softens, but he doesn’t pretend he can give me what I want. “I know this isn’t ideal.”
“It’s more than inconvenient.” The words come out sharper than I intend, but I can’t make myself regret them. I take a moment to pace in a circle, hands braced on my head, then continue, “I’ve spent three months working almost every day. I asked for forty-eight hours, Jasper. That’s all.”
“The meeting isn’t something I can move. The director has commitments after tomorrow, and the studio wants you in the room before they finalize the production schedule.”
“So, I’m supposed to get on a flight first thing in the morning?” I ask hopefully, at least I’ll have the rest of the day and the night.
He draws in a careful breath, and the hesitation tells me the answer is worse.
“I’ve already chartered a plane. Commercial couldn’t get us there in time, so we leave tonight.”
For a moment, the noise around us disappears beneath the rush of blood in my ears.
Tonight means there is no lazy morning with Jamie, no second night in his bed, and no final day spent doing absolutely nothing together.
The forty-eight hours I’ve been clinging to vanish because people hundreds of miles away changed a meeting and expected the rest of my life to rearrange itself around them.
“I can’t leave tonight.” I shake my head stubbornly.
“You can, and you have to.” Jasper keeps his voice gentle, but the certainty behind it makes my chest tighten.
“You chose back-to-back projects, Cyaire. We built this schedule months ago, and there isn’t enough room between productions to absorb a change like this without something else being affected. ”
“I chose that schedule before Jamie,” I hiss out. “I wanted to stay busy, because it was all I had.”
The admission stops both of us. I didn’t mean to say what I’d been thinking back then. That I need to distract myself from past relationships, the gossip, the negative press. I wanted to focus on my craft, but now, now, things are different.
Jasper’s eyes move past me, following the direction of my attention toward the other side of the lot. Jamie is still standing with Kirk and two of the stunt coordinators, smiling as one of them speaks, completely unaware of my world crashing down around me.
Jasper looks back at me, and for once, his professional composure gives way to genuine understanding.
“I know,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry.”
Sorry doesn’t give me the time back. It doesn’t change the plane waiting for me or the meeting already set for tomorrow morning. It doesn’t stop my life from lurching forward before I’m ready to leave this one behind.
Jamie glances across the lot at that exact moment, and the second our eyes meet, his smile fades.
He can’t hear what Jasper has told me, but he reads the disappointment and anger written across my face without needing an explanation.
He excuses himself from the conversation and starts toward us immediately, and watching him close the distance makes the sudden reality of leaving tonight hurt more than Jasper’s announcement ever could.
Jasper studies me for another moment before letting out a quiet sigh.
“I’ll go find Cameron,” he says quietly. “He’ll need to sort out the hotel, collect your bags, and coordinate with the pilot.”
I nod, though the movement feels automatic.
“I’m sorry, Cyaire.”
“Yeah, I know. You’re doing your job and I need to do mine.”
He gives me one last sympathetic look before heading across the lot. I watch him weave through crew members until he reaches Cameron near the wardrobe trailers. They exchange a few quiet words before Cameron looks over in my direction, his brow pinched in concern.
I don’t need to hear the conversation. I already know exactly what Jasper’s telling him. He won’t be happy either, but what can he do.
I barely notice Jamie crossing the lot until his hand rests gently around my forearm.
“Blue.” His voice is soft enough that it cuts through everything else.
I lift my head.
The easy smile he’d been wearing only moments ago disappears the second he gets a good look at me. His brows knit together as his eyes search my face, reading me the way they always seem to.
“What’s wrong?”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I want to rage, cry, stomp up and down. Nothing comes out though, the words refuse to leave my throat, as though saying them aloud will somehow make them permanent.
“I. . .” I swallow hard before forcing myself to try again. “I have to leave tonight.”
He steps back just a fraction, his hand on my arm tightens as if his grip alone can keep me here. “Tonight?”
I nod, wanting to sob I’m so angry. “They moved the meeting for my next film.” I let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh that doesn’t sound anything like amusement. “Jasper already chartered a plane. I have to be in Los Angeles tomorrow morning.”
Disappointment flickers across Jamie’s face, his lips turn down, his brow creases. It only lasts a heartbeat.
Then it’s gone, replaced by the quiet steadiness I’ve come to depend on.
He slides both hands to my arms, rubbing them gently through my suit jacket.
“Okay,” he says, blowing out a shaky breath.
I blink at him in confusion, “Okay?”
“We’ll figure it out,” he says. His voice never wavers.
I wish mine had that kind of certainty.
“I thought. . .” My words trail off as I shake my head, frustration tightening my chest. “I already had these next two days planned. I knew training camp was coming. I knew I had another film waiting for me. I just. . .” I drag a hand across my face before looking back at him.
“I wanted those forty-eight hours with you.”
“I know,” he replies, continuing to rub his hands up and down my arms.
“I don’t know how I’m supposed to leave you again.” I confess.
“You don’t have to figure that out right now,” he reaches for my hand, threading our fingers together with the same quiet certainty that’s become as natural as breathing between us.
“Let’s go home, let’s not waste the day.” He smiles reassuringly.
Home. That single word calms some of my worry enough to focus.
Somewhere between stolen mornings, late-night dinners, and falling asleep beside him without ever questioning whether I’d still be there when I woke up, Jamie’s house stopped feeling like the place I’d been staying for the summer.
Without either of us ever talking about it, it simply became home.
I squeeze his hand.
“Yeah.”
He smiles, small and reassuring.
“Come on.”
Still holding my hand, he leads me toward the wardrobe trailer so I can change out of Daniel Mercer’s suit for the last time. Neither of us says another word as we walk. There’ll be time enough to think about flights, packing, and the goodbye waiting for us later.
For now, all either of us wants is to go home.
The ride home passes in a silence neither of us tries to fill.
Jamie keeps one hand on the wheel and the other wrapped around mine across the center console, his thumb moving slowly over my knuckles while Seattle slides past the windows.
I watch the city blur into familiar streets and try not to think about how many times I have made this drive believing I would wake up beside him the next morning.
The second we step inside, I head upstairs to pack. There is no point putting it off when the suitcase waiting beside the dresser has already become a countdown.
Jamie follows me into the bedroom and begins pulling clothes from the closet while I open drawers and gather the things that have quietly found a place among his over the last few weeks.
My shirts hang beside his. My toiletries occupy half the bathroom counter.
A pair of my shoes sits beneath the bench at the foot of his bed as though they have always belonged there.
I fold one of my shirts and place it in the suitcase before reaching into his drawer for a Vipers T-shirt.
Jamie looks over. “That’s mine,” he smirks knowingly.
“It’s mine now,” I smirk back.
He huffs out a laugh, watching as I add his oversized number seventeen hoodie to the pile.
“Blue,” he reproaches half-heartedly and I stuff his favorite hoodie in my bag.
“You’ll survive,” I reply, rolling my eyes.
His expression softens as he looks at the hoodie resting inside my suitcase, and neither of us says what we both understand. I am taking a piece of him with me because I can’t take the man himself.
Jamie reaches for another shirt and continues packing.
Once the suitcase is nearly full, we shower together.
The intimacy between us is slower than it has been in weeks, stripped of the urgency and teasing that usually follow us into the bathroom.
Jamie washes the remnants of Daniel Mercer from my skin with careful hands, and I return the attention, tracing every familiar line of his body as though I can commit him to memory before the day takes him away from me.
The first kiss is hesitant, almost questioning, warm and slow, but then something shifts.
His hands tighten around my waist, fingers pressing into my skin as if he’s trying to anchor me to him, and suddenly, there’s no more restraint.
His mouth slants over mine, hungry and desperate, and I melt into it as his tongue sweeps against mine.
There’s no need for words. We’ve spent weeks learning each other’s bodies, the way we fit together, the way we break apart.
His touch is already familiar, his fingers trace the curve of my hip before sliding lower, teasing, testing, until I arch into him with a shuddering gasp.