Chapter 18

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Reed

First off, we're not trapped.

There are a million different solutions to a problem like this, and it's just a matter of finding the correct one.

And second… What if we could be?

What if it were just me and Lennox for a few hours? For a night? If everything else got pushed aside—no water polo, no film, no work or friends or situationships or whatever we're supposed to be—and we could drop back on the floor and just talk . Our legs stretched out in front of us, our shoulders touching, our phones turned off and voices soft because there's nothing to talk over—no one else pulling our attention or things that need to be done. No questions about what we should or shouldn't be doing.

I think… I would really fucking like that.

A lot .

Maybe enough to pretend that I don't know a way out of this room? It's conceivable that I don't have the strength to break down the door, right? That this one might be more reinforced than the other. Or it's possible that the door handle doesn't have any screws or the safety release can't be jigged to work.

Lennox tugs on the safety release again. "Shit, this isn't good."

"Yeah," I say vaguely. I'm standing just behind him, my chest inches from his back. I'm close. Probably too close.

Definitely too close.

His hand is on the door, fingers splaying. My breath shallows, my eyes attached to the press of each of his fingers, his painted nails, the tilt of his wrist.

"They're not going to leave us down here." His hand falls from the door, down to his side. His fingers curl in slightly, his middle finger brushing against his thumb. "Jamie or someone will come find us."

"Yeah, probably." I clear my throat. "I'm sure someone will come. We've already been gone for a while."

"Too long."

I take a shallow breath, not fully filling my lungs.

I need more time. Time to adjust, time to think. Time to…

I reach my fingers out. Just this tiny movement, but it feels huge, tremendous, like a shot at the goal in the last thirty seconds of a game. My index finger brushes his pinkie.

"Reed," he says quietly.

I wait for him to take his hand away. To say that we can't.

But he stays there, his hand not moving, our fingers softly together, not holding, just a stroke, a half-caress that's making my heart seem to flutter, like it can't get a full beat, just like my lungs can't get a full breath.

Where are the lines of what we can't do? What is too much? The press of a fingertip? Standing this close?

Or maybe it's not physical. Maybe we're already past the line just because of want . Maybe we've already gone too far.

The paintings across the ceiling and walls make this place feel like it exists somewhere else. Like we could just stay here, and whatever is out there can't get to us—whether it be wombats or situationships or expectations.

Unlike me, he's breathing, his shoulders rising and falling. His finger twitches, and I let out some kind of sound—a half-caught moan. I don't know why just that touch is doing so much.

But I take it a step farther and loop my index finger around his pinkie.

He shivers. I can feel it move through his entire body.

Is this what attraction is?

I thought I knew before.

I really thought I knew.

"I know we can't," I whisper. "But, fuck, Lennox. I can't think of anything else besides touching you."

I close my eyes and hunch, tipping my head forward. My lips press against his shoulder, over his hoodie. I don't kiss, I don't even really move, but I stand there, mouth against his shoulder, eyes squeezed shut and world turning.

I'm so aware of him, our fingers tangled together, the way he shifts back onto his heels, just slightly. His head turns to the side, his breath warming my lips, so fucking close. He hesitates.

I know what I want.

Despite everything.

It becomes so fucking clear to me in that moment.

"What's too far?" I ask, my voice muffled from my mouth against his hoodie. "And what's not far enough?"

He swallows, his pinkie finger tightening, bending to capture me back. "It's not just Indy."

"What else is it?"

He stiffens, his shoulder pressing up against my mouth. "I want you to know who I am."

Jesus, I want that too. And the opposite—I want him to know me, too. I don't even know who the fuck that is, but it feels like a piece of that question is answered around him. Like whoever I am, it comes out.

"I want to know you too," I say. "Everything."

His shoulder shifts as he turns more, eyes just barely catching mine, close enough that I can nearly see their dark brown color, their depth, their thoughtfulness.

His lips part, and I wait for the words on the edge of his tongue, for whatever he's going to tell me. Then his gaze flicks down, a glance at my lips, and he leans into me.

We kiss.

Fuck, we kiss. Our lips touch lightly, just a softness between us, nearly delicate, moving gently. Our fingers tangle harder. My heart has switched to throbbing, pumping up into my throat, a contrast to how tenderly our lips move, how gently his mouth moves against mine.

He breathes into the kiss, moaning as he steps back against me, his body fitting back into mine. Every part of me is rigid, nearly unbending, except for our mouths as we keep kissing. With my free hand, I reach up and pull him back against me, clasping first at his waist, then his chest, and then rolling my thumb along the taut tendon in his neck, his groan vibrating my fingertips.

He turns, his shoulder pressing into my chest before he faces me fully, our lips never disentangling.

They should be .

We should be stopping.

But fuck it.

Fuck it.

Fuck it .

I grip the side of his neck, and he tips back. His tongue flirts across my bottom lip, and I about stumble down to my knees. I'm breaking apart, I'm falling into pieces. I'm splitting into all the different parts of myself, and leaving only the ones that make sense, the ones that are really me .

He pushes against my chest, and my feet blunder back until I hit the wall, pulling him harder against me. His body firm against mine, his kiss turning insistent, our tongues moving, my fingers digging into his neck. My legs are jelly, so I let the wall hold me up, but I don't know how much longer I can keep standing as he fists my shirt, just under my armpit, and tugs hard.

He's going to do more than break me down into a million pieces.

He's going to break me into myself.

The world swims, the stars moving, and the light… it changes, shifting across the floor, then bright in my eyes.

A flashlight.

My hand is still clamped on his neck, my palm clammy. My stomach lurches.

The light stays on us, too bright to see beyond it. But it wavers as Lennox steps away from me.

Fuck.

Who ?

"What the fuck ?" A voice comes at me, sparking and hard.

The light falls.

Jamie.

He stands in the doorway, ripped t-shirt and a bright green beanie.

Someone moves behind him.

Jesus, shit, no.

Not Indy .

I am such a fucking dick. And I need to own up to her, but not like this. I need to do it in respectful words. With intention and kindness.

And Lennox —is it worse for him? He's kissing his best friend's guy.

"Jamie," Lennox whispers.

Umar steps in behind Jamie, and air hisses out of my lungs, but the relief is short-lived.

They saw us.

Umar grips his flashlight hard, throwing it into both of our faces before it falls to the side, but he stays in the door. It's Jamie who comes in, his glare moving from me to Lennox and then back again. His eyes widen, nostrils flaring hard, and then he's moving.

He comes at me.

And I just stand there. I don't do a single thing to stop it as he shoves me back, my shoulders hitting the wall.

"Fuck you ." He's in my face, his fists gripped on my shirt, and I'm watching it, seeing it, feeling his breath on my face, the tension reverberating off him. "You'll hurt her. How could you fucking do that? How can you hurt her?"

"Jamie." Lennox's voice is to my side, quiet and focused, but I don't think that Jamie even hears it. Or if he does, he doesn't care.

I knew there was something between Jamie and Indy. I didn't know how to classify it. I didn't ask questions or press her about it—we all come with different relationships, different connections, and I figured she would either explain to me when she was ready or else it would become clear.

Standing here now, his fists in my shirt, his anger in my face… It's clear .

"You fucking —" He pulls me off the wall to slam me back, my shoulders hitting hard, the hit compressing my chest. "You fucking cheating dick ."

I lick my lips. "You're not wrong."

My hands are shaking. My link with Lennox's finger was broken before, and the lack of that touch feels empty.

"Jamie," Lennox says again, his voice still quiet, his hand coming up to clasp his brother's shoulder.

Jamie rolls his shoulder away from Lennox, then unfists my shirt, shoving back from me. He gives me another glare before turning to Lennox. "And how could you ? This fucker"—he scoffs at me—"can just disappear, but you . How could you do this to her? How can you claim to be her friend and?—"

In the reflection of all the flashlight beams, Jamie's face nearly crumples. It was anger with me—anger and disgust and hate. But with Lennox, it's something else.

It's pain.

I don't know if I realized the situation that Lennox is in before now. For him, it's years of friendship. It's the relationship with his brother. It's everyone he's close to.

I can't let him take the fall for this. It was me slipping my finger against his. It was me pressing my lips against the shoulder of his hoodie.

I did this.

"It was me," I say.

Jamie's eyes dart to me. "Did you force him?"

Fuck, no . "I would never."

His upper lip curls. "Then it was both of you."

"No." I shake my head. "Put this on me. Please . I'm going to tell her, Jamie. I'm going to talk to her tonight when she gets back. I didn't want to do it over text. I owe her a conversation."

"You owed her respect," he spits at me. His eyes are coldly dark. The same color as Lennox, but I've never seen Lennox's eyes like that.

"I do owe her respect." I straighten but stay against the wall where he pushed me. I don't want to get into this physically with him. "I will give her that."

"You better." His lips tighten. "And if you don't tell her, I will." His eyes cut to Lennox. "I can't even think about you." His voice catches. "She trusts you, Lenn. She loves you. How could you…"

"I know." Lennox's voice stays quiet, his jaw tightening. "I know it was wrong. It just happened. And I've been?—"

"Just happened now ?"

"No," Lennox says.

"When?" Jamie keeps glancing between us, like he's trying to sort it out.

Lennox looks over at me, too. "We kissed in the library. The night Indy left."

" Before she left?"

"I couldn't tell her then." I hold my ground. "It wouldn't have been right to tell her just before she left."

Jamie stares at me for a long moment. "Kisses don't come out of nowhere. There had to be some kind of feeling."

I nod. "You're right."

"And when you had that feeling," he continues, "about her best fucking friend, you should have either backed away from it or backed away from her. And instead, you agreed to do this film with us. You put yourself into the situation. You put yourself in a position where you could kiss. And then you did it again, down here."

Fuck, he's right.

He's entirely right.

"And now what are we supposed to do?" He shakes his head, stepping back toward the door. "Just ignore that this happened and make a movie? She's more important than that. And you did this." He glares at Lennox. " Both of you. I can't…" He keeps shaking his head. "You make this right," he says to me. "You fucking talk to her tonight, or else I will."

"You don't need to give me a countdown," I say. "I'd already planned to talk to her after filming tonight."

"After." He snorts.

"Yes, when we have some time alone." I'm not going to waiver on this point.

His lips press, then he nods and swipes his beanie off before walking past Umar and out the door.

Umar stands there for a moment, his light moving to Lennox. "You fucked up, man."

His light falls, and he follows after Jamie.

As soon as they go, my shoulders hit the wall, my head rolling back. "Fuck, I'm sorry."

Lennox stands stiffly in the middle of the room. "It was both of us."

My throat is tight, my finger still vibrating from the ghost of his next to it. My muscles are rigid, my thoughts spinning. " Was ?"

His dark brown eyes are beautiful. Weighted as they look at me. So many thoughts filter through them that I can't even start to settle on just one. He pushes back onto his heels. "I'm not sure."

"Can we talk later?" I ask him, my heart up in my throat.

And I only start breathing again when he nods.

"We can always talk, Reed."

We can always talk .

I hang onto that possibility.

I have no idea what he's thinking, and that's fucking with my head. Questions are piling up, and half of me wants to drag him aside and talk now, the way that we do when we're all out honest with each other. Not hedging words, not holding back. But I need to respect his space too. If he needs time to think. Or time to get shit done. Or time away from me.

I don't want time away from him. And if I'm being really, really honest, I don't want to give him time and space either. I want to fucking smother him with questions, but I'm not going to.

And somehow, during all of this, we shoot a movie.

Honestly, I barely know what happens because I'm only halfway in it.

I shut down. I shutter my face. I do whatever I'm told.

I put on a performance.

It's easier than I thought it would be. I guess I have a lot of practice.

We're filming some small scenes, ones that mostly link up the storyline—ones that don't have Indy, which are few and far between. We're mostly in the rooms, and we turn through the rehearsals and blocking quickly. Jamie calls the cues, and I do what I'm supposed to do, and then stand there, waiting for my next part, feeling a million miles away from it all.

I've fucked everything .

This film.

Lennox's relationships.

My own integrity.

Lennox is right—integrity matters. I didn't realize how much it mattered until I lost it.

Basically, everything that I could possibly fuck, I have fucked.

Jamie gets straight to filming, pausing only long enough for Lennox to brush some foundation over my face. He does it quietly, his eyes zeroing on my nose and cheeks while I watch him. I can't look away. Don't want to.

His knee presses against my thigh as he works, his hands moving quickly. He looks at me once. It's a long, steady look before he moves onto putting that darkening stuff on my brows.

"I really like you," I say. It comes out before I fully register that I'm going to say it, but there's no way I'd take it back. "That hasn't changed."

His lips part, his hand hesitating with the eyebrow brush for a half second before he gets back to work. "Talk to Indy."

"I will."

He nods, eyes moving down to my lips before he puts some gloss on them. But I swear his knee presses just a little against my thigh, his fingers move a little less smooth.

Does he think I won't talk to her?

He's done too fast, and then we're setting up in one of the rooms, and I keep trying not to watch him as moves around, adjusting lights, holding microphones, taking notes, doing whatever needs to be done. He leaves with Verity at some point to apply some cuts and bruising to her face.

And I just want to follow after him.

I ache to talk to him.

I don't know how to get through this situation. With everything else in life, I've locked down, I've shut it out, and I've played some fucking polo, slamming the ball so hard into the net that I can forget everything else. But I'm a long way from a pool, and I'm an even longer way from knowing how to deal with this.

Jesus, I am so fucking lost in my own head.

I don't want to lose this.

It all suddenly feels bleak without him.

It's wet, musty towels on the locker room floor and hours on a bus traveling to watch someone else play. The thought of never stepping into his room again physically stings. Never getting to know why and how he creates all that it does, how he makes it come to life. To watch him. Fuck, I want to watch him draw, his hand moving, his attention fixed.

I'm struggling not to stare at him when I hear excited chatter from the hallway.

Indy's voice.

I close my eyes and steady myself. Then I walk out to see Jamie giving her a hug. He kisses her on the cheek before she steps back. She's grinning up at him, nodding to whatever he just asked her, and he's smiling down at her.

Their connection is becoming so fucking obvious.

His eyes move over her shoulder to me, and his smile fades. He gives me a look that pins me to where I'm standing in the doorway.

Indy turns, and she gives me a small wave, then heads over. Jamie's focus stays on us, watching. He could fucking kill me with that look.

"Hi." She stops in front of me, smelling like she usually does—fruity and clean. Her makeup is always intricate, patterns around her eyes, and it occurs to me that's what intrigued me about her when we first met. Maybe a fraction of the way I like Lennox's eyeliner.

Although I don't have the same response looking at hers. I'm simply intrigued by it. Nothing more.

And, fuck, I'm a dick.

I'm the worst kind of dick.

I can't believe I've done this to her. It's guilt. It's shame.

My throat is tight, my words rough when I talk. "Hey," I say. "How was your audition?"

" Really good." Her smile tips up. "I don't have an answer yet, but they asked me to read for a second part, too. I don't want to get my hopes too high, but…" Her brows rise. "Okay, my hopes are officially too high."

"They would be stupid not to offer it to you. You're really good at what you do."

"Yeah, I think so too." She winks and then laughs. I like that ballsy confidence, too. There's so much about her that I like.

"Where's Lenn?" she asks. "I want to tell him."

"He's, uh…" My throat tightens more. I feel like I'm walking onto the edge of a cliff.

"I'm here." Lennox is walking down the hallway toward us, and I'm frozen, watching him. I tear away to stare at the wall behind Indy, my hand sliding into my pockets, my head tipping down so that the brim of my hat cuts off the top of my view.

I make myself wooden. Cut off everything before I look back at him.

Verity's walking next to Lennox, fake bruising across her cheek. It looks so real. How does Lennox manage that? He's supposed to give me some scrapes later, down my cheek.

Lennox heads to Indy, punches her lightly on the shoulder, and asks about her trip. I stand stiffly while they talk.

I'm so fucking far from myself that I don't even feel like a person anymore.

Indy's laughing at something Lennox says. Although his smile fades, his eyes shift to me for the barest moment before going back.

Jesus, this is awful.

All standing around her. Lying to her.

I can't…

"Indy, can we talk later?" I blurt it out, and Indy glances over at me, her eyes widening.

"Yeah." She blinks, her nose wrinkling. "Of course." Her smile fades, something crossing through her eyes as she really looks at me. "Are you ready to get to work on some scenes together first?"

Oh god, oh fuck. Scenes with her.

I nod, my throat so tight that it's hard to breathe. "Yes."