Chapter Ten Head Butts

CHapter ten

Head Butts

Eddie strode through the sprawling ranch on autopilot.

He was a mess. Mind consumed with a jumble of emotions manifesting in heart palpitations, spikes of adrenaline pumping blood through his veins like a raging river, he couldn't concentrate. On the outside, he had to maintain a fa?ade of calm to smile, nod, and greet the production crew he passed along the way to his next scheduled appointment. Despite what Lee had said, making movies wasn't all sitting around waiting for the next scene to film. It was a series of scheduled assignments, many of which were performed off-camera.

Jenny was at the door of the make-up trailer and she smiled at him, rolling her eyes in a show of solidarity. She'd spent way too much time trying to tame Tiffany's hair, meaning he'd missed his slot with her. He smiled back despite his chaotic thoughts that a Ritalin wouldn't sort out and marched on past the trailers, the makeshift office area, the cordoned off shoot where Tiffany was supposed to be filming her solo scene of trudging through the desert. Mitch yelled " Cut !" at least four times before Eddie reached the courtyard set up for his training.

This was supposed to be his moment. Where his career took off.

But all he could think about was Lee .

About how close he'd come to kissing him. How Lee hadn't pushed him off. How he'd drifted toward him. And how magnificent it had felt to have his arms around him, holding him. Okay, it was more Eddie comforting him, with Lee in a state of post-traumatic stress because of his flippant words triggering flashbacks to what had happened to Lee on the job. But still…it felt like it was a moment. A shared moment.

Eddie wasn't sure how to deal.

It had been hard enough getting Lee out of his mind when there'd been no reciprocation at all. Now his mind would play tricks on him, thinking that maybe, just maybe, Lee might not be completely straight.

He laughed at his own absurdity on arriving at the edge of the ranch.

He had more pressing things to do than thinking dumb thoughts. Like keeping his job on this film, keeping his level head and doing what Mitch asked of him by learning how to shoot a gun.

Hank, an old park ranger, now advisor to the film and TV world on all things rangerish, waited for him beside an all-black truck parked up on a clear stretch of desert landscape. The production had scheduled Eddie in for an hour to learn how to hold and shoot a rifle. He only had the one scene where he was to save Tiffany from a potential coyote attack, and as his character owned a ranch, he'd be a dab hand shooting wild animals and handing weapons. Thus, Eddie had to appear as if he knew what he was doing.

He didn't.

Which meant he should keep his mind on this, and not on how Lee's arms had snaked around his waist and pulled him against his body like he was the only thing preventing his fallout.

"How's it goin'?" Hank said, northern Californian accent Eddie recalled from his mother's side of the family.

Not that he saw any of them. Her departure from the US had caused a rift.

Hank slapped his palm into Eddie's, rifle clutched in his other hand. "You must be Eddie."

"I am."

Hank held up the rifle. "Ever shoot before?"

"Shot a bit of pool. A film once or twice."

"A gun?"

"Oh. No." Eddie chuckled. "No. Scarce in London unless you're in the right circles." He tried to laugh, but images of Lee kept flashing in his vision. Of how he was in the right circles. He'd held a gun. Shot a gun. Protected the public with a gun.

And that big, tough man had mere moments ago been in his arms, nearly crying and had almost kissed him.

"First things first, you gotta focus," Hank said, slapping him on the back.

Eddie blinked himself back to his lesson. Focus . Yeah. He'd always had a problem with that.

"All righty." Hank laid the rifle on a portable table. "I know I don't have to make you a top shooter, but to know how to hold a gun right, you gotta respect it. This is a weapon. A dangerous weapon. Treat it as such."

Eddie nodded, desperate to stop thinking about Lee.

Respect it. Weapon. Danger .

Okay, he got this.

Lee was a weapon. A danger. To him. His heart. His resolve. This fucking job!

"Let's start with the basics. Picking it up."

Seemed rather too basic, but Eddie went with it and stepped forward to pick up the rifle from the fold-out table. Hank grabbed his arm. "Whoa, there! What ya doing?"

"Picking it up?"

"Not told you how yet."

Eddie retracted his arm.

"You gotta treat every gun as if it's loaded, even if you know it isn't."

"Is it loaded?"

Eddie wished he hadn't alluded to having had combat training on his resume. He couldn't ride a horse, either. Few roles required either of those things, but to say he'd completed stage combat and theatrical firearms training, or any other little white lie, gave him a wider auditioning net. Making out he'd used a gun or two in stage plays when he hadn't might bite him in the arse. Cause he hadn't. This was him learning as a complete novice.

A gun virgin.

"You gotta think like it is. Respect that it could be. Guns are made to be fired. That's what they do. Don't lose sight of that. The moment you do, it'll trip ya."

"So…it isn't loaded?"

"When you pick up the rifle, keep your finger off the trigger," Hank said, whipping up the rifle as if it was his lost limb. "Grip it firmly, but not too tight. Like this." He showed him, then put the gun back on the table. "Now you. "

Eddie stepped forward to pick up the weapon. He'd expected a weighty hunk of metal, and nearly chucked it behind him with how unexpectedly light it was.

"See." Hang waggled a finger. "You gotta know your weapon."

His weapon of choice was a phone to dial 999. Or 911. Or, well, Lee now.

"Put it back."

Eddie did.

"Now you know how heavy your gun is, pick it up again like you do."

Eddie rolled his shoulders, getting into character. Joel knew how heavy his gun was. How to pick it up. Knew how to tell if it was loaded or not. Joel was confident. Assured. Trained and efficient.

Eddie grabbed the gun.

"Better." Hank slapped him on the back with his meaty palm and Eddie nearly dropped the thing. "Now let's talk about aiming." He held out his hand, gesturing for the gun. Eddie handed it over. "Use your dominant hand to grip the pistol grip of the rifle. Put the butt firmly in the pocket of your shoulder, like this." Hank manoeuvred to stand facing outfield, lifting the rifle to show exactly as he'd said and aimed the barrel at the makeshift target about twenty yards up ahead. "Step to the side of me."

Eddie took one step to the side.

"Bit closer."

Eddie shuffled a little closer.

"Wrap your fingers around the grip naturally, resting your trigger finger along the receiver. You see?"

Eddie nodded.

"Can't hear ya, son. "

"Yep!" Eddie called, tucking his hands in his pockets to help him focus.

"Stand with your feet shoulder width apart." Hank adjusted his stance, eyes glued ahead. "Distribute your weight evenly. You should be relaxed, with a slight lean forward, allowing you to absorb the recoil of the rifle."

What did ‘recoil of the rifle' mean?

He didn't ask.

"Focus your dominant eye on the sights. Ensure the target is in clear view and centred." Hank closed one eye.

"What if you don't know where the target is?"

"Always know where your target is." Hank's voice was low and steady as he focused ahead. Hank had stopped narrating what he was doing too, and instead intensified his stare on his target—an innocent tin can. Poor can. It stood no chance against a skilled marksman. No one would. It was almost a shame the gun wasn't loaded. Eddie would quite like to see that tin explode. But Occupational Health and Safety on set meant no loaded guns, and when Eddie would reenact this later for his scene, all the noise and smoke would come from the special effects of pyrotechnicians with more added in post for authenticity.

Eddie took in how Hank looked holding the gun. How the gun was an extension of him rather than looking out of place as it would on him. Then Hank's feet shifted, arms lifting. No words of explanation. Eddie flinched. But he had no time to ask, nor process how the barrel of the gun wasn't pointing at the tin can any longer and was swirling to take aim somewhere else, somewhere more akin to where he was because a figure bolted from behind him, charging forward like a raging bull.

Lee .

Lee rammed Hank to the ground with one powerful shoulder shove, clouds of dust spitting up around them both.

"Jesus, fuck !" Eddie scrabbled back, then went to launch forward as Lee ripped the rifle from Hank's grip and pinned him to the ground by straddling him, thick thighs clamped around his neck.

"Lee, what the fuck?" Eddie cried.

"He was about to shoot you!"

"What? No! He's teaching me."

Hank tried to speak, but Lee's legs obstructed his throat and for an inappropriate moment, Eddie was jealous of him being that close to Lee's groin.

"The gun isn't loaded!" Eddie called to him in desperation.

Lee looked at Hank. Stared him in the eye. Challenging. "Is it loaded?"

Hank, red faced, tried to shake his head.

Lee prodded the barrel on Hank's nose. "Is it loaded?"

Hank didn't move, eyes wide in horror.

"Lee—" Eddie's plea was drowned out when Lee lifted the rifle with all the ease and control of an expert firearms handler and, keeping Hank disabled on the ground, aimed the barrel at the tin can and pulled the trigger.

An ear-splitting bang filled the air and twenty yards away a tin can exploded off a crate.

Eddie jumped back, heart in his throat. "Fucking shit !"

Lee checked the rifle, bullets tumbling out. Hank wasn't even trying to move and Eddie wondered if Lee had suffocated him, then Lee scrambled off him, forcing him up by the scruff of his shirt. Hank coughed and spluttered as Lee slammed him up against his van.

"Think you better get the big man," Lee said .

Eddie froze, wide eyed, trembling in the aftermath, and unable to comprehend what had happened. Was he…the intended target? How? Why? Jesus Christ , what if Lee had been sleeping like Eddie had told him to? Eddie held a hand to his mouth, nausea growing.

"Eddie?" Lee shot a look over his shoulder.

"Mm?" Eddie daren't open his mouth.

"You okay?"

"No, Lee! I'm not fucking okay!"

"Yeah. Okay. But can you go get whoever's in charge around here?"

"You've made a mistake, son," Hank croaked out.

"Shut up," Lee barked back. " Eddie !"

"Yeah. Okay! Going!"

How he ran, he'd never know.

* * * *

Several hours later, Lee perched on the edge of the wooden picnic bench outside the saloon bar, head buried in his hands.

That was close.

Too fucking close.

"Hey, there, handsome." Savannah's familiar drawl forced him up from his slumber and she plonked a bottle of cool, crisp beer on the table beside him. "How you holding up, sweetie?" She dropped a hand on his shoulder as gently as if he were a startled horse about to bolt.

Trained in the art, Savannah had told him about her ex during his evenings eating dinner here. Her man had been in the special forces and his clamming up about his time seeing the worst had caused them to drift apart. Almost a parallel of his life with Cora. Whilst Lee hadn't told her much about the horrors of his past, he guessed she'd been a military wife long enough to know the signs of a man under stress. It would be in his eyes, in the subtle way he assessed rooms the moment he walked in. Easily missed by civilians, but not those trained in protection.

But this time, it wasn't the ghosts that haunted him.

It was having nearly not been there. For Eddie.

That suffocated him more than all the people he hadn't saved on the bridge. And he wasn't sure if any of it was real .

"Better now I have this." Lee straightened, grabbing the beer and gulped some back.

Savannah peered back into the bar through the open door. "It's been going on a while now, huh?"

Lee responded by drinking more beer.

Everyone but him was in the bar for an emergency production meeting. Since his reprimanding of the ranger, all hell had broken loose. Understandably. Questions had been asked. Lee had explained his side. He'd been looking for Eddie when he'd seen ranger guy with his stance all wrong, ready to spin the gun on Eddie. Or that's at least what he'd thought . Ranger guy swore his innocence. Hired by the production staff, he was a professional and had worked on tons of sets as a firearms expert. But that, to Lee, didn't mean shit. Anyone could be tempted to do anything when offered the right price tag. He knew that firsthand. Hank, though, claimed he'd been going through the motions of showing Eddie rifle techniques and had only moved when he'd heard footsteps from behind— Lee's footstep.

How a real bullet got in the gun remained a mystery.

The rest were blanks. But that didn't matter to Lee either. They'd have still packed a punch, maybe even caused death if fired on Eddie at close range. The one he shot the can with, though, was real and maybe Hank only needed the one shot. Eddie had been a sitting duck. And Lee might not have been there in time.

Every fibre of his instinct told him Hank had been about to twist, aim and fire. At Eddie. If he hadn't been there, if he'd tried to sleep off the panic attack like he should have done instead of traipsing across the ranch to find Eddie, then Eddie could be dead. But it was a classic case of his word against theirs. And by theirs, that meant the entire crew of the Hollywood production Eddie was part of, and he an onlooker. Lee wasn't even a serving Detective Constable anymore to use that trump card.

Lee very much doubted Mitch and the production would admit negligence for omitting their due diligence with something as serious and potentially fatal as having a loaded gun on set, recent incidences notwithstanding.

Eddie was in there right now, fighting for his job and Lee's existence on set.

Voices drifted in and out, mostly Mitch's, and Lee and Savannah waited it out, listening in. Eventually, the doors swung open and the crew all tumbled out. Savannah dropped back, giving Lee a wink before heading back inside the bar. Lee remained where he was, peering up at each of those coming out. Tiffany gave him a smile before trotting off toward her room, hollering to Jenny to "get the conditioner!"

Last of all came Eddie, Mitch beside him. They glanced down at Lee.

"Movies cost a lotta money," Mitch said, then tapped Eddie on the back and off he went.

Eddie inhaled a breath and Lee waited for him to exhale the confirmation that he'd been fired. Or at least that Lee couldn't remain on set anymore. But he did neither and stepped over Lee's legs to fall down on the other side of the bench. Lee handed over his beer and Eddie took it, gulping down what Lee would call a rejuvenating amount. Shame they didn't have a pitcher.

"So?" Lee asked.

Eddie swallowed. Breathed out a laugh. Handed back the beer. "The show must go on."

Lee furrowed his brow. "You're not fired?"

"No."

"And ranger guy?"

" Is fired."

"Cops called?"

"No. That would slow down this production and, as Mitch said," Eddie put on a fake American accent, "'Movies cost a lotta money'."

"So he gets away with it?"

"Technically, he didn't do anything."

"Eddie," Lee spun to face him, "he was about to train that gun on you."

"Maybe."

Lee shook his head, infuriated that no one was getting the severity of this. The authorities should look into whether Hank had any involvement with the criminal organisation Rupert was currently prosecuting over the pond. At the very least, he should go down for negligence. That gun had been loaded. With a real bullet! And that bullet could have found its way into Eddie's skull rather than blasting apart a tin can.

"I had to tell them about the threat," Eddie said. He took another swig of beer before handing the bottle back to Lee.

"Thought your agent advised against that." Lee chugged the last dregs .

"She did. But she's not here, and I had to explain why you assumed the worst and came to my aid. And why it's a real possibility that Hank had been about to commit my murder." Eddie shivered.

Lee reached across the table, grabbing Eddie's hand. He squeezed. Eddie stared at their hands for a moment before lifting his gaze. Lee's breath hitched. Those doe eyes delved into his and asked all the questions Lee couldn't answer. Didn't want to answer. Was his behaviour, both in the room and what happened on the ranch, because he wasn't ready? Because he was still living with the ghosts of his past? Because he was desperate to prove he was a better man than he'd been before? That he was enough.

Or was it because of Eddie ?

That was something he couldn't unpick. So he stroked his fingers along Eddie's knuckles, hoping that was enough.

Enough for what? Again, he didn't know.

Savannah burst out of the bar, clutching a round tray which held more beers and two chasers. Lee retracted his hand from Eddie's, clearing his throat and shoving his hands between his legs.

"Thought you boys could use a drink." She slipped the tray onto the table between them, handing over the bottles and a shot each. "Slow Hand Six Woods Whiskey from right here in California." She clutched the tray to her chest, glancing from one to the other.

"Thanks, Savannah." Lee rooted in his jeans for his cash.

"On the house, Lee." Savannah tapped a hand on his shoulder. "You want more? You holler, you hear?"

Eddie sucked on his beer, glancing away to where the sun now dipped on the horizon, the moon taking its place with a scattering of stars. It was eerily quiet, the rest of the production cast and crew having scattered to who knew where. They'd lost half a day filming to this.

"Thanks, Savannah."

She winked and off she trotted back into the bar.

"What now?" Lee asked.

Eddie hefted out a sigh. "Mitch chewed my arse for not telling him beforehand. But I'm now contracted and there's no one else to step in, so we're keeping going. Mitch has given everyone the night off. Regroup tomorrow. We've only got one more day here. It'll be dawn ‘til dusk filming, then we head on to the next location."

"And they're okay with me coming along?"

"They have to be." Eddie smiled, pointing the top of his bottle at Lee. "You saved the star's life. You're not going anywhere."

"Wouldn't be anyway. But, right now? What are we doing right now?"

"Right now?" Eddie picked up his whiskey chaser, held it up. "We drink, we go to bed, then in the morning, you teach me how to hold a gun. You've been promoted to on-set firearms advisor."

"Is that a real job?"

"It's as real as the one you were doing before, and you proved your worth at that."

"Fair enough." Lee held up his chaser, clinked it with Eddie's, and they both downed them, following up with the cool beer.

That did the trick.

"Are you…?" Eddie paused, probably gathering his thoughts, and how to ask what he needed. Lee didn't want him to ask anything. He wanted it all buried. But it never would be. "Okay? "

Lee bowed his head. But he couldn't be as flippant about it all when Eddie was asking. When Cora did, or his Met employed counsellor, or even Rupert had asked, he'd been able to dismiss their concerns. He'd fobbed them off with the words they wanted to hear and likely didn't believe. But Eddie…there was something about him that wormed it way into his conscience and made him say the truth.

"No."

Eddie nodded, inhaling a lungful of hot desert dust. "Me either."

Lee met his gaze. Eddie smiled. There wasn't pity there. Nor fear. Nor prying into getting Lee to say more. Lee's chest eased.

"I see Mum's face a lot." Eddie didn't look at him as he spoke, favouring the stars or running his hand along the chipped wood of the bench. "Hear her voice." He peered up. "You know she died in my arms?"

"Yeah. I know." Lee's chest squeezed. Eddie had been seventeen when that happened. Far too young.

"Sometimes it's like she's still around me. Not comforting. Haunting. Like she's asking me why I let her go." Eddie chewed the inside of his cheek. "Is that what it's like for you?"

Lee pondered that. His first reaction was how unfair that was for Eddie. How much burden for a young man to carry on his shoulders. It hadn't been his job . That had been his life . Lee, however, chose the career that could see death and despair. He deserved the ghosts. He was hard. Rough edges. Battered and bruised by life choices. And what he was going through was his fault . Because he hadn't been quick enough. Good enough. Smart enough.

Man enough .

"Yes," Lee said. "I see all their faces. Hear all their voices."

"Must be crowded in there."

"Can be."

"Found anything that shuts them up?"

"Not yet. You?"

Eddie drank from his bottle, lips curving around the spout. He shrugged. "One or two things." He glanced over at the flickering lights of the motel.

"Care to share?"

Eddie focused his brown eyes back on Lee, and Lee's spine tingled with that look. "Maybe one day. When you're ready."

Lee didn't have time to ask what he wasn't yet ready for as Tiffany appeared from out of the shadows, hair wrapped in a towel.

"Finally got time for the conditioning treatment." She adjusted the towel. "You coming in for dinner?"

At least someone could take pleasure in the unprecedented gap in their schedule.

Lee let Eddie answer.

"Nah, pretty beat. Getting my head down for an early start." Eddie clambered out from the table.

"Shame," Tiffany said, although it didn't come across like it was much of an issue for her, and she placed her hand on Lee's shoulder. "Surely the hero wants a steak?"

"Uh, no," Lee stood too. "Enjoy your evening."

Tiffany tsked, then skipped inside, leaving Eddie and Lee alone. Eddie smiled, and it was the single, most sweetest thing Lee had ever seen. He then turned to walk back to the accommodation and Lee followed when Savannah leaned out of the bar.

"Not going so soon, are you, Lee?"

"Yeah. Early start. Cheers for the drinks. "

"Anything for you, handsome." She then ducked back inside.

Eddie waited for him to catch up. "I rarely say this, but I'm glad you didn't listen to me."

"Which time?"

Eddie shoved his shoulder. "When I told you to sleep. Whether Hank was hired to off me or not, I'm glad you ignored my instructions for you to go to bed."

"Yeah. Me too. Perhaps the lesson learned in all this is for me to listen to you even less, or do the exact opposite of what you tell me from now on."

Eddie tsked . "Like all the men in my life."

Lee didn't know how to answer that, but it sat strangely on his chest for him to query another time.

When they got back to the room, Eddie went to the bathroom first and Lee sat on the bed, waiting, his body like lead. As if everything shoved inside him, weighing him down, had grown. Having admitted he wasn't okay to Eddie now allowed him not to have to pretend he was.

When Eddie emerged, Lee took his time in the bathroom, showering and brushing his teeth, hoping the habitual acts would regain him some modicum of normalcy. He then shoved on a pair of boxers to sleep in and tramped back into the main room, ready to take his spot on the floor.

"Hey, Lee?" Eddie was under the bedcovers, hands behind his head.

"Yeah?"

"You should totally sleep on the floor tonight." Eddie kept his eyes trained on the ceiling.

After a moment of contemplation, where Lee ran through all the reasoning in his head why this was a terrible idea, he grabbed the pillow from the floor and clambered over to the other side of the bed .

As he slipped inside the sheets, his heart pounded.

The last thing he saw was Eddie's triumphant smile before he switched off the light.