Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

RYAN

The last day of filming was done.

Jordan, Micah, Angie, and the rest were returning to LA, working on that long list of things that Jordan had explained about. The postproduction and sound and footsteps.

There was one last thing to do, stills for marketing. The characters were in costume, standing in various poses, several with the tiny kittens who had made themselves at home with the crew.

Tomorrow was Jordan’s last day, and the wrap party would be in his cabin tonight. Of course Ryan was invited. Jordan had texted him and told him to be there if he could, and that they needed to make the most of the night.

Today had been a weird day. An article from Thomas Ivory had appeared on a blog he ran, using the picture of Ryan and Jordan together. But it was a soft article. Nothing about Jordan and Micah’s dad, just a pointed exposé on double standards in the B-lists of Hollywood.

Jordan linked Ryan to it in the simple text that read, I can handle this kind of post .

There were kisses as well, which made Ryan smile.

And now he was getting ready for his first studio party, and while it wasn’t exactly walking down a red carpet with Jordan on his arm for a premiere, it felt pretty damn big.

Ryan stood in front of the mirror, staring at his reflection as though if he looked at it enough, it might change. How would they make long-distance work? How the hell could one of them being in Montana and the other in LA ever be more than a disaster?

He fussed with his hair. The shaggy mess was getting to be more unruly than cute, and he was well overdue a cut. He was in jeans, the ones Jordan said made his ass look a hundred times wonderful. He half turned to see said ass, but it looked quite normal to him. Then he pulled on the dark red sweater that went with his dark brown eyes. That advice came from Ashley this morning, after he’d eaten two pieces of cake in Branches and she’d asked him what was wrong.

He’d said, “Justin’s gone, Adam’s a mess and keeps calling me, and I don’t know what to wear for the wrap party.”

Pathetic, really. He was thirty-three, not thirteen.

“Justin will still be gone whether you worry or not,” she’d said, topping off his coffee. “Adam is just freaking out because Justin has vanished. And as to what to wear, I love your dark red sweater, the V-neck. It looks lovely with your brown eyes. Now eat the last of your cake and stop fretting.”

So here he was: red sweater, check; ass-enhancing jeans, check; hair tidy… sort of. He’d shaved, used aftershave, and was ready. Tonight he wanted to talk to Jordan, find out how they could make this work.

Because he wanted it. Desperately.

He went down to the bar, collected Saul and beer, and together they drove to Crooked Tree.

The wrap party was in full swing. Thirty crew, friends, and staff from Crooked Tree were all in and around the cabin and the tents, which had been attached to the cabin with various ties. There were heaters, tables of food, and drinks, but no sign of Jordan.

“He’s in his room,” Micah said, after finding him. “He said to go in.”

Ryan’s stomach twisted. So this was it; this was Jordan saying that he wasn’t coming back for the wedding in June, and that actually, while this had been fun, it wasn’t going to work long-term. By the time he reached Jordan’s door, he’d wavered between sadness and acceptance, and he didn’t bother to knock.

“Hey,” he said as he closed the door behind him.

God, Jordan looked good. His short hair was styled, and designer stubble was the look he was going for, in an off-white form-fitting shirt over a T-shirt and jeans, and he looked fucking edible.

Jordan said, “I wanted to talk, before….”

“Before what?”

Jordan moved from the window and came to a stop right in front of Ryan. “Before I had beer and you thought I was just making shit up.”

“Okay.”

Ryan pressed himself against the door which gave him a couple more inches of distance between them. Jordan didn’t seem to notice; he turned away from Ryan and began to pace the length of the room. Step, step, step, turn… rinse and repeat, all while Ryan’s stomach was doing its best to jump into his throat and strangle him. Finally, Jordan stopped.

“On paper it won’t work, right? The sheriff in Montana, with all his responsibilities, and the flaky LA B-list actor. You see that, don’t you?”

“On paper, yes,” Ryan said cautiously. He wasn’t going to be the one who said anything out of place and caused the whole house of cards to collapse in on them.

“I’ve been offered a part in a soap opera—the gay son.” He grimaced. “Of course I’m the gay one. Already I’m being stereotyped.”

“You’ve had a lot of offers for gay characters?”

“No, just that one.”

“That’s not exactly stereotyping, then,” Ryan said, and he wished he hadn’t when Jordan grimaced again.

“It’s the tip of the iceberg. All it takes is one role and then I’m the gay guy in all the shows, and no one will have me in their movies as the straight lead.”

“Neil Patrick Harris manages it?—”

“Did you miss the bit where I am just a B-list actor?” Jordan said, with heat.

Ryan could see where this was going and his temper spiked. Jordan was sabotaging this from the very beginning.

“Jesus, I should have known, You don’t want to even try.”

Then he left, because if he stayed, it would be a circle in which they argued and it would end everything anyway. He slammed the door shut behind him and selected the quickest way to the front door, not stopping to talk to anyone.

The cold hit him like a sledgehammer, and it was only then he realized he’d left his coat inside. “Fucking hell,” he muttered and headed for the car.

“Ryan! Wait!”

He stopped and turned to see Jordan jogging after him, sliding to a stop three feet away.

“What?” he snapped.

“Don’t leave.”

“I’m not staying to be pushed into arguing with the man I love over something he has created in his goddamn head. So, no thank you, but I’m leaving until you get your head straight.”

He turned away, but Jordan sprinted around him, sliding on the ice and grabbing at Ryan’s arm to stop his fall. “Wait, I’m sorry. I love you too.”

Ryan wanted to say he’d never told Jordan he loved him, then he realized that was exactly what he’d done. “But it won’t work,” Ryan finished for him. “Yeah, you said.”

“No, I wasn’t going to say that.” Jordan wrapped his arms around himself. “Please. I want you to say we can work this out.”

Ryan ignored the instinct to make him go back inside with his pansy-ass LA cold aversion. “Wait, it’s up to me to convince you ? Is that what you’re saying?”

“No, fuck…. No… I fucked this up.” He relaxed his arms at his side and shook his hands as if attempting to rid himself of the tension inside him. “We can make it work, right. This is your home, and my home is wherever Micah is. I want to be with you, and I think, with enough patience, we could work around me being in LA for some parts of the year. And if we played things right, I could make a home here with you.”

He stepped forward and curled his hands into Ryan’s sweater. “I know it’s a lot, and you might not even feel like I do?—”

Ryan covered Jordan’s mouth with a hand to stop him talking. “Yes.”

“Yes what?” Jordan asked, his words muffled behind Ryan’s hand.

“Whatever we need to do to make this work. That’s what.”

And then they were kissing, and the cold was the only thing that eventually made them separate.

Hand in hand they went back into the cabin and through the tent, getting a couple of wolf whistles, and Ryan underscored what had happened by bending Jordan back and kissing him with the best kiss of his entire life.

They didn’t let go of each other’s hands all night.

That was what love was like.