Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN

Lennox

I don't move.

I should. I should go inside.

But it's like I'm stuck, shoes rooted in place, legs not wanting to move.

A drizzle of rain darkens the sky in a misty haze, only a swell of wan light attempting to cut through the clouds. It deepens the color of his skin, his lips, his lashes and brows, the edges of hair sticking out from under his hat.

The taste of the rain is earthy in my throat, sooty, but fresh, like a cleansing of the city.

And I don't know if we're arguing.

My words have turned defensive, my hackles up, but there's this weight of honesty to it. A kind of ballsy, unrestrained truth.

He wants the traditional script.

Maybe because that's what he knows? How things should be.

But art is all about turning ‘should be' on its head.

It's about taking the play of what we expect, what we rely on, and ripping it away, to show the truth of what's underneath.

"I think…" I start, calmer this time, my voice graveling slightly, "you're probably right, in the strictest sense. In the logical sense. But in the artistic sense, I'm not sure. I think you should express your thoughts to Jamie."

His brows rise, his hand coming up to palm his neck, that five tattooed on his wrist dark. "You think he'd want to hear it?"

I keep my eyes fixed on his face. I don't let them fall along his body, don't want to feel that confusing warmth building low in my abdomen, swelling my t-dick, searing across the back of my neck. Even as his face swirls with my memories of Archer and that made-up scent of chlorine bites my nose, I remind myself that he's Indy's boyfriend. That he's someone I don't know. Someone I will never touch.

"Yeah, I'm sure Jamie would listen," I say. "He always listens. He might choose to continue in his own experimental way, as every artist should do at times, but he likes the feedback. Even if he doesn't take advice, he thinks it pushes him to create something stronger."

"Maybe I will." His hand falls. He's still looking at me. A look at my throat, I think, and I try not to swallow. My Adam's apple. I feel it there. Of all the changes from T, that was one of the last, and maybe oddly, one of the most emotional. I was well over two years on T, and I didn't think I'd ever get one without surgery, and then I started to notice.

"Good." I turn to the door, using both hands to sweep water off my hair just before stepping inside.

Jamie and a few of the others are at a large booth in the far corner, crowded in together, intent on a conversation. A haze of pink and blue neon plays across them from the open sign hanging on the opposite side of the window.

Indy's not here yet. Neither is Jonas.

The verdict last night was three stitches on the heel of his hand, a busted lip, and a slight concussion. He was supposed to rest today, so I only texted him. I don't know if he'll be here tonight.

I head in, weaving through the tables. I can feel Reed behind me as he catches up with that long stride.

Randy's is raucous tonight, which isn't an uncommon occurrence on Fridays. There's a table spread with D&D or some similar game, a group of club kids looking like they're about to head out, and some kind of bridge building competition over in the corner.

I shrug out of my damp hoodie when I reach the table, dropping it on top of the boxes stacked on the cart. My t-shirt clings to me.

"My bet's on Verity," Lucía's saying. She winks across the table at Verity. "I'm rooting for my girl."

Verity smiles back at her, the sweetness of their relationship on full display.

"What are we betting on?" I slide into the empty seat next to Verity. Reed pauses at another table, asking something, then snags a chair. He flips it backward at the end of our booth and then shits. He rests his forearms across the back, his inked arm propped on top, his hat backward as he spreads his thighs, dark gray joggers pulling tight.

I push back against the booth, my jeans damp around my ankles.

Jamie's across from me, and I'm relieved to see a small bag of grapes in front of him, half of the stems now empty. Although he had measured out his meals today to make sure he consumed enough calories, which means he's aware of himself.

"They're making guesses about who survives." He grins, Willis low over his eyebrows, just the glint of his piercing showing under the knit. He nods at Reed. "Hey, man."

Reed clears his throat. "Hey." His thighs widen an inch.

Why am I looking?

Umar speaks up from the far side of Verity. "We all know that Lucía goes first. We've got that much in our scripts."

Lucía shakes her head. "First one out." She tosses a look at Jamie. "And it's not even bloody."

Jamie raises both hands. "I know, I know. I promise you a brutal, on screen death next time."

"You better." She wrinkles her nose, thinking. "My bet, if we keep filming, is on Umar for this one. A final boy. We need more of those."

"Agreed," Jamie says. "Although that's a general assessment. Not a hint about who survives in this case." He carefully places a grape into his mouth and then chews mechanically.

"I'd be a pretty feisty final boy," Umar says. "You wouldn't regret it." He glances down at the end of the table. "Reed, what's your guess?"

Reed straights in his chair, his fingers pausing where they were smoothing back and forth over his wrist. "I've only read some of it."

Umar shrugs. "That doesn't mean you don't have an opinion. Give it to us."

Reed scans the table. "Everyone is in the film except for Jamie and Lennox?"

"Yep." Umar nods.

Reed drags his teeth over his bottom lip, the shadow of his hat creating a line across his jaw. I press my back harder against the seat, trying to keep my eyes off his throat as he swallows.

"Jonas," he says.

My brother tilts his head, studying Reed, his interest picking up. "Why?"

I have the same question.

Reed's heel lifts off the floor, his thigh moving with a bounce. "His character has the most to lose. I get that it's life and death for all of them. But he's the only one who mentions people he cares about." Reed's eyes flash to me. "His character has a brother."

That's true. I guess I hadn't fully thought about that.

"And he talks about being away from his brother," Reed continues. "He talks about being alone."

My heart stills, like a rock in my chest. Does it mean something? It's art, yes, a fictional story that Jamie made up. But did it mean something to him when he wrote about brothers?

I try to remember that scene. When I'm reading, I'm usually so focused on the other details—setting and makeup and lighting and how we're gonna manage to pull everything off. I read the story, absolutely, but it's not at the forefront of my mind.

"Interesting," Jamie says, his voice lowering, his attention still on Reed. "I won't answer if you're right or not."

Reed nods. "I didn't expect you to." He glances around the table again. "Why aren't you asking Lennox?"

"Because he already knows," Umar says.

Reed turns to me, brows rising. "You do?"

I shake my head. "Nope. I don't, actually."

Lucía laughs. "Come on, I'm sure Jamie told you."

"Nope."

Umar squints at me. "Jamie tells you everything."

I sweep my hair back, still damp from the rain, and hopefully not fizzing out everywhere. "No, he really doesn't. And he didn't tell me this."

"What's your guess, then?" Verity asks, her brows pinching.

I glance at my brother as he tucks away the last of his grapes.

"Indy," I say quietly.

Jamie pauses with the grapes halfway in his bag, then he shoves them in and straightens, and somehow that only convinces me more.

I've been watching him around Indy ever since that moment in the stairwell, noticing the way that he looks at her.

I mean, maybe it's just a close friendship. But a voice in the back of my head keeps yammering. For some reason, even though it's fiction, I wonder if he'd be able to write her death. It occurs to me that he never has before. Last film, she was our final girl. The one before that it was ambiguous who survived, so there was no clear death for her character.

Does he like her?

And for how long?

"What about me?" Indy's suddenly there, grinning at us, her eyes lit with vibrant blue liner.

Jonas is next to her, and we all turn our attention to him.

"Shit, Jonas, how are you?" Jamie is asking him, everyone across from me scooting deeper into the bench on their side. "Sit."

"Tired. But okay." He slides in, then thumbs just below his busted lip. "Hurts to talk. And drink."

I slide out of my seat for Indy, but Reed's already stood. He flips the chair around the right way and gestures for her to sit.

She smiles up at him.

A lump grows in my throat, right behind that Adam's apple he was looking at earlier.

Fuck, I don't know how to negotiate this. Whatever these feelings are that always come with his presence, sticking in my throat and filling up my chest.

Is it jealousy?

That doesn't even make sense.

Whatever is happening, it needs to stop.

But he's right there , stepping closer to the edge of my booth as she sits. And then Verity and Umar move over. And shit, I know that's what I'm supposed to do.

I'm supposed to give Reed the edge to sit on. Every bit of my social acuity tells me that.

I slide, pressing against Verity, those few inches appearing at the far edge of the booth.

Reed looks down at the space, the bare inches of vinyl next to me. His expression is cool, and for a second, I think he's going to make an excuse. Then he bends, sitting on the edge, his ass half off, his thigh against mine, his hand resting on the table.

There's no space between us, the hairs on my forearm rising as it brushes against his, my pulse echoing, my blood moving, pooling, heating, my packer scrunched up against my t-dick. Fuck, my focus is fractured.

Umar is explaining to Indy that I'd voted she'd be the one to survive. Jamie is asking Jonas more about his stitches. Verity whispers something across the table to Lucía.

Voices are all around, but it's fuzz in my ears. Reed's thigh presses against mine, his joggers against my jeans, his arm against my shoulder, his height, and the length of his arms, so damn apparent.

I nearly groan.

I don't want this feeling. Rising back up like it's coming from the dead, like hands around my throat, sending chills over the back of my shoulders.

"Do you have enough room?" Reed tips close to my ear, his breath tickling my jaw and neck, his arm pushing harder against my shoulder.

"I'm fine," I cut out, just as Jamie calls us all together.

"We've got something to talk about," my brother says. We all quiet, a seriousness passing over the table. Voices and laughter echo around us, but suddenly, none of us are smiling.

I take a breath, doing everything I can to ignore Reed.

"We need to talk about if we keep filming," Jamie says. "Lenn and I…" He nods at me. "We decided it was best to take a vote. And also, if anyone wants to step out, it's understood completely. I'm not gonna lie and say that we're not in over our heads. I think all of us realize that."

There are nods from all around the table. Verity reaches across to take Lucía's hand.

"I think we all go around," Jamie continues, "and say what we think. And then we come together as a group and make a final decision." He tugs on Willis, glancing across at me. "Lenn?"

"I'd like to keep filming," I say. "Taking precautions. Staying in pairs. Double checking filming locations before we start."

Jamie nods, moving to Verity on my left. "Verity?"

"Film," she says.

"Me too." Lucía squeezes Verity's hand.

"Yep," Umar says next. "I'm in."

I glance at my brother's face during this. It's passive, but I've known him for so long that I can feel what's underneath. The realization of how deeply we're all in. All together.

Jonas drags in a breath. "Film." He pauses. "But I don't know if it can be with me." He glances around, his face pinching. "They warned me a lot about a second concussion. If I'm doing anything to put myself at risk, and I know it might be difficult to continue without?—"

"We don't want you at risk." Jamie sets a hand on the table between them. "It isn't a problem, man. At all."

Jonas licks his lips. "You put a lot into this. We all have."

"It's fine," my brother says, his words steady. "We're supporting each other no matter what we decide."

"I've had a few concussions," Reed interjects, "and you need to take it seriously. SIS can be deadly. It's not something to fuck around with."

"I don't know what SIS is," I say, "but there's no way we want you to take a serious risk, Jonas."

Verity and Lucía nod.

"Totally agreed," Indy says.

Jamie pulls in a slow breath, looking at her. "And you?"

"Film," she says, her lips lifting. "I'm in with you, Jam, always."

His eyes linger on her, warming, before he moves to Reed. "What do you say?"

Reed stiffens. "I'm not really part of the group."

"You're here at the table," Jamie points out. "Everyone at the table has a voice."

"Uh…" Reed's forearm moves against mine. "I guess I would say everything carries an inherent risk. And I'm good to go."

"That makes it unanimous," Jonas says. "For filming."

"Without you." Indy presses her lips. "We're gonna miss you, Jonas."

"Yeah." He leans back in his seat. "I'll be back for the next one. You'll need to sort out what to do with my character."

Jamie frowns thoughtfully. "I'll either need to rewrite portions of the script or shuffle actors around or else find someone to take Jonas's spot."

"Ohhh, what about that partner you had in the last seminar?" Lucía asks Verity. "You worked really well with them, right?"

"There was that other guy, too." Verity leans forward. "Although it might be hard to pull anyone at the last minute."

"I'm sure we can find someone," Jamie says. "It's a solvable problem. We just need to get the right person to?—"

"I can do it." Reed's soft voice halts all conversation. He stiffens when all eyes move to him, his thigh pressing against my knee. "I don't know if I'm the right person, but I can do it."

I lick my lips. "Do you have enough time? With water polo?"

Fuck, what am I thinking? If he does this, then he's not just visiting. He's there, every day, until the brutal end. Reading lines. Here at Randy's. Sitting in my makeup chair.

A flicker of annoyance crosses his face, but then he blows out a breath. "I do have an away game this weekend. But if you can work around that, then I can do it."

Jamie's squinting at Reed, and I can see his mind churning. I can damn near see his synapses connecting. "I like it. We can work around your schedule."

Reed blinks at him, like he didn't expect that answer.

"I really like it," Jamie says. "I'll just need to make a few adjustments. So you're with us?"

I rub my hand across the back of my neck. For some reason, I think I already know his answer. It doesn't even surprise me when it comes.

"I'm in," he says quietly.