Chapter 9

9

JEM

The day flew by. When I arrived at the hospital to visit my sister, she was already dressed and preparing to leave. “What’s going on?” I asked.

Garret was beaming. “They gave her the all clear to go home. The tests are all good, and the IV fluids helped her dehydration. They’re sending us home with some anti-nausea medicine.”

“And we called Garret’s parents to tell them the news. They’re giving us his great-aunt’s house in Edison.” Lina beamed. “It’s only three miles from work and five from his parents’ house. Things between us are perfect again.”

I couldn’t fathom the pressure that the two of them were under, especially with Lina feeling so weak and terrible, and I wanted to be sympathetic. But I also knew that once the baby arrived, the pressure on them was only going to increase, and they needed to learn better communication strategies than their current break-up-then-make-up routine.

“You two need some counseling,” I said. “Or you’re never going to survive having a kid together.”

Garett met my eyes. “I said the same thing. She agreed to go with me. We’re going to make it work, Jem. I’m not leaving.”

I knew he meant it. He was a good guy. I stepped forward and hugged the shit out of him. “I know you’re not. Thanks for taking care of her.”

He squeezed me back and cleared his throat. “There’s a room for you in the house too, you know. If you change your mind about living in the city. It’s a three-bedroom. One for us, one for the baby, and one for Uncle Jem.”

I pulled back and grinned at him. “Not only no, but hell no. I’ll be happy to come visit, but I’m happy here.” I looked at my sister. “You going to survive the white picket fence? That’s awfully domestic for the likes of you,” I teased.

She smiled and shrugged. “True, but Garett said I could turn the third bedroom into a design studio and work from home when the baby comes.”

I shot Garett a look of mocking accusation. “Dude, that’s my room you’re giving away. What the fuck?”

He held up his hands and tried to keep from laughing. “We both know you weren’t going to move back in with us with a baby on the way.”

He was right. We joked around until making our way out of the hospital and meeting Garett’s dad out front. He’d driven into the city so Lina and Garett wouldn’t have to take the train back to New Jersey.

Once they were gone, I walked through the city thinking about the future. Lina and Garett would be okay. They’d be close enough to his parents to have plenty of help when the baby came. His parents adored Lina, and they even treated me like family too. Maybe I could stop worrying so much about Lina and trust she was in good hands.

I blew out a breath as I waited in line for a bagel and coffee. When my phone buzzed, my heart leapt in hopes it was Dawson.

It wasn’t.

Chris:Rumor has it a big name actor is coming to show 2nite.

Me:Who? Timothee Chalamet? Lin-Manuel Miranda? Finn Heller?

Chris:dunno. Probs not as big as any of those tho.

I laughed out loud before ordering my food and heading back out into the weak winter sunlight and making my way to a nearby park to eat my bagel. We’d had plenty of big names in the audience in the past. It used to intimidate me until Sarah Jessica Parker and Matthew Broderick had come to the show several weekends in a row with various famous friends. After that, I’d gotten used to it. I’d still rather not know ahead of time, though.

I found a bench and enjoyed my hot coffee and late breakfast sandwich while enjoying watching people strolling through the park. Despite the winter day, the combination of clear sunshine with no breeze made it nice enough to sit outside for a little while as long as I stayed bundled up.

I loved this city. Even after traveling all over the world with my mom, I knew I wanted to end up in New York. There was an energy here that made me feel more alive. People seemed more confident to be themselves here than in any other place I’d been. If I walked from East Harlem up to the theater district, I’d see people from dozens of different countries and cultures. I’d see dancers and actors, baristas and construction workers, investment bankers and sex workers. There’d be people dressed in bright, garish colors and others dressed in conservative attire. And I’d pass hundreds of stories of joy and heartbreak, boredom and enlightenment, stress and meditation.

I finished my bagel and took another sip of coffee. New York was my home now. I was a Broadway actor with friends, family, a promising career, and a potential… something… with Dawson. Maybe. Hopefully.

If only my mom was still around to see Lina and me doing so well. She would have been thrilled to see us both succeeding in the theater industry, and she would have been over the moon to meet Lina and Garett’s baby. Even though she would have balked at becoming a grandmother.

I smiled to myself remembering the time she’d said her grandchildren could call her “Gigi” or “Mimi.” We’d have to make sure to tell her grandchildren what a grande dame she’d been.

After throwing away my trash, I pulled out my phone to arrange a ride to the theater. While I waited for the car to arrive, another text came in. Finally, this one was from Dawson.

Dawson:Everything okay with Lina?

I smiled.

Jem:Yes. They’re headed back to NJ. I’m getting in car for theater now.

Dawson:I’m finishing a quick bite then I’ll be there. Think we can find some time alone before the show?

My heartbeat sped up.

Jem:Definitely.

I was giddy when I arrived at the theater, and when Dawson yanked me into an alcove and kissed the hell out of me for the span of three long breaths, I was dizzy too.

“Hi,” he said against my lips. “Will I freak you out if I say I missed you?”

I shook my head and ducked my face to hide it in his neck. “Missed you too.”

“Good,” he murmured before pressing a kiss to the top of my head and holding me in his arms for another moment. He stepped back, gently setting me away from him. “How do you want to handle this?” he asked softly.

I knew Dawson was asking whether I wanted people at work to know about us, and I didn’t really have an answer. I didn’t know what “us” meant, exactly. Not yet anyway.

“Can we, uh, take it slow?” I asked. “Until we can talk it through, at least?”

He smiled in understanding. “Of course. That’s probably a good idea.”

I let out a breath. “Okay, yeah. Good.” But part of me wanted to claim him in front of everyone. It was hard to step away from him and continue through the theater as if we were back to being nothing more than castmates.

We went through our normal routine with makeup and wardrobe before meeting up again in the wings before it was time to take the stage. Dawson’s eyes roamed over me like he wanted to lick the clothes from my body. I was breathless when the audience welcome began and had to think of horrible things to keep my dick from humiliating me onstage.

The play proceeded as usual, fast and fun. And when it came time for Dawson to kiss me, time slowed to a delicious crawl. His eyes flared with the kind of intensity that used to intimidate me. This time, it lit me up inside.

He clasped my jaw with his hands and came in slowly with the slightest upturn to his lips like we shared a secret. When his lips landed on mine, they were soft but possessive. His tongue teased my mouth the tiniest bit, and one of his legs moved between mine to almost brush my dick.

I sucked in a breath and felt Dawson’s fingers tighten on the sides of my face. “You and me later,” he said in a promisingly low voice, but it was enough for the microphones to pick up. The audience roared, and my face flared with heat. When he let me go, I almost stumbled back, but he grabbed my wrist and pulled me to my spot at the table.

The rest of the show passed in a blink. When it came time to take our bows, I barely remembered to step forward hand in hand with him the way our director had indicated to take advantage of our newfound fame as the kissing couple. The crowd stood and whistled when we bowed together, and I was grateful for Dawson’s strong grip in mine.

It was surreal. Being celebrated onstage was always exciting, but doing it while holding Dawson’s hand was ten times better. When we walked offstage, he turned and gave me a big hug before joining in the usual celebration backstage after a particularly good show.

After everyone cleaned off makeup and changed into comfortable clothes for the interval between shows, we gathered in the green room, where someone had laid out platters of sub sandwiches, chips, and fruit. Early on in my theater career, I’d thought it was a sweet gesture from show management, but I’d quickly learned it was their way of keeping you inside the theater and ready for the evening call time.

Either way, we tended to enjoy it with plenty of gossip and games depending on what kind of mood the cast and crew were in on double-show nights.

Tonight, John had already pulled out one of our favorite games we’d dubbed, “How good of an actor are you?” It was a giant velvet bag full of cards with silly prompts on them. People took turns answering a prompt by telling the truth or acting. The rest of us had to guess if it was real or not. It was like a chaotic version of two truths and a lie.

“I say our lovebirds have to go first,” John said, shoving the bag at Dawson’s chest. “Here ya go, Lucky. How good of an actor are you?”

Dawson smiled good-naturedly and pulled out a card. “Craziest place you ever did it,” he read with a sigh. The room filled with hoots and laughter. Thankfully, Dawson didn’t make eye contact with me because I might have turned even redder than I already was.

“Craziest place I ever did it,” he murmured while thinking. Someone in the room joked that there must have been so many of them, it was hard to choose. “Nah,” Dawson said after a moment. “Just the one. The broadcasting booth at my high school stadium during the championship game.”

Letty laughed. “Acting. He’s acting. No way that kid did it somewhere he might accidentally moon everyone.”

Dawson laughed and shook his head. “Not acting. It’s true.”

John’s mouth opened, and his eyes widened. “You had sex in the booth during the game?”

I knew what was coming before he did it. Dawson blinked innocently at John and said, “Sex? Who said anything about sex? I thought it meant asking someone on a date.”

The room erupted in more laughter mixed with booing while Dawson handed me the bag with a wink. “Your turn, Trigger.”

Everyone settled in with a plate of food and bottles of water. The green room was full of ancient, overstuffed sofas and random hand-me-down chairs that seemed like they’d been here for generations. Everyone had their “usual” place in the room after all this time, and I realized how many hours we’d spent together as a team.

As a family.

I knew these people better than I realized, including Dawson. My heart felt full.

I reached into the sack and pulled out a card.

“What’s your dream role?” I read aloud.

Various people shouted their suggestions while I thought it through. “When I was ten,” I said with a sheepish grin, “I wanted to play the king in The King and I, but only because I had a crush on James Volt, who played the role at the time.”

Dawson snorted beside me. “Truth. Man’s hot as fuck.”

Letty from makeup made a sultry “Mmhm” sound.

I sighed. “At the risk of sounding cheesy, my dream role is Trigger DeCaro. I can’t imagine wanting to be anywhere else right now with a different show and a different family.”

Everyone groaned and sniffed. Several people leaned over to hug me or ruffle my hair with a murmured “We love you, too,” and John held up his water bottle in a toast.

“To a full year of Not My Alfred! Hear, hear!”

We shared our cheers before I made John take a turn with the prompt bag. His question was about food, and it started a whole discussion about who hated and loved what foods.

Dawson glanced down at my sandwich before meeting my eyes. “I hate pickles.”

“I know,” I said, enjoying the hell out of my pickle-full sandwich.

“I also don’t like cucumbers.”

“I know that too,” I said. “I thought you were going to faint when you accidentally bit into one in the salad Cindy brought last month. It concerns me you abhor phallic-shaped delicacies.”

After barking out a laugh, he studied me while he ate his plain cheese sandwich. “You don’t like purple foods.”

I stared at him in surprise. “That’s not true.”

The edge of his lip turned up in that sexy way of his. “Name one. Go on, I’ll wait.”

I racked my brain. “Life Savers. Gummy worms. Grape lollipops.”

“Try again with real food,” he said before taking a swig out of his water bottle.

“There aren’t real foods that are purple,” I argued.

“Eggplant.”

“Ew,” I said, shuddering.

“Purple cabbage,” he suggested.

“When would I ever have an opportunity to eat purple cabbage?”

“It’s in the ginger salad mix from the Japanese place.”

I flared my nostrils at the reminder of those skeevy purple shreds. “Those are too hard relative to the lettuce texture. I don’t like a surprise crunch.”

“Purple grapes,” he said, nodding down at a small bunch of them on his plate.

“Green ones are better, so there’s no point in eating the purple ones.”

He smiled down at his grapes before plucking one and popping it in his mouth. “You’re fucking adorable, and I want to kiss your face off,” he said under his breath.

His words made my breathing speed up.

“I thought we didn’t know each other that well,” I said a little breathlessly.

He looked at me while he finished chewing. “I know you,” he said in a low voice. “I made it a point to know you. I’ve listened to every answer you’ve ever given in this game. It’s you who doesn’t know me.”

“Not true,” I said before I could chicken out. “Your first car was a skateboard.”

His soft snort of laughter was sweetly familiar. “My dad was a stingy ass.”

“Your brother outed you to your parents in church.”

“Matthew is a mega ass,” he said with a laugh. “Thankfully, he didn’t realize he’d been the last to find out. Everyone already knew.”

I ran a finger along a thin scar on his forearm. “But he also came to your defense when your first boyfriend pushed you into a fence,” I said softly. “Beat the shit out of the guy.”

Our eyes met. His eyes were soft and sweet. He was happy. “And then he poured grain alcohol over the cuts from his flask. Like I said, mega ass.”

We shared a laugh before turning our attention back to the game. After a few minutes, he shifted a little closer to me, and I realized he wasn’t sitting in his regular place in the green room. He usually sat in a metal folding chair across the room from where I sat on the floor in front of the blue sofa. Tonight, he was sitting next to me on the floor where Kota normally sat.

I glanced up and saw Kota sitting in Dawson’s chair. When he saw me notice him, he winked at me with a knowing look on his face. I ducked my head and heard him snicker.

“This okay?” Dawson whispered. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to—”

“No, no. It’s fine. I… I like… it’s, um. Good.”

Dawson slid one of his two sugar cookies onto my plate before taking a bite of a baby carrot from a small stack next to his sandwich. I looked down at the cookie.

It was my favorite kind, the puffy ones from the grocery store bakery.

Except it was covered in purple frosting.

I stared at it before clearing my throat. “No, thanks. You can have it.”

He bit his top and reached for it before swapping the purple one out for the yellow cookie on his plate. He leaned over to whisper in my ear. “Bluff called. Admit that purple is the devil.”

I elbowed him in the ribs before enjoying my yellow cookie. Before long, it was time to get into costume again and get ready for the curtain to go up for the evening show.

Just like the matinee, the evening show went by in a blink. Dawson’s kiss this time was accompanied by a possessive hold with one of his hands on the back of my head and another obscenely low on my back. Thankfully, I was sitting back at the table before my dick realized how hot it had been.

Once again, I took a separate bow holding Dawson’s hand and relished the extra attention from the audience.

Afterward, the stage manager told us to stick around. We cleaned up and changed before meeting in the green room again. The director introduced us to the celebrity who’d been in the audience.

To say that I was shocked to find out that it actually was Finn Heller in the audience was an understatement. Chris and I exchanged a wide-eyed look.

Finn Heller was a well-known Hollywood actor who was recently famous for leaving his film career to start a community theater program in a small town out west somewhere. When he was introduced holding the hand of his handsome, slightly older husband, I expected the two of them to compliment the show and shake a few hands.

None of us expected him to make an announcement.

“I’d like to invite you all to bring the show to the Aster Valley Theater program this summer.”

A ripple of surprise went through the assembled actors, and even Dawson looked impressed, which suggested they all knew something I didn’t. Maybe Dawson had been right when he’d said I didn’t pay attention to the press as much as I should.

“You may have heard that we’re debuting a Shakespeare company as well as a one-act summer stock program,” Finn went on. “We’ve got some great actors attached to the project already—”

“I heard a rumor Renee Elise Goldsberry was involved,” someone whispered.

“I heard that guy from Grey’s Anatomy,” someone else said.

Finn neither confirmed nor denied, but his smile widened as he continued. “—and we’d love Not My Alfred to be the headliner as we kick off our season. The new theater school facilities are currently under construction with completion scheduled for early May. We would want you to perform twice in early June to help bring in some big crowds for opening weekend. Since your show is one of the hottest onstage right now, I thought it would be an excellent choice to help generate buzz. I’ve already discussed the details with management, but I wanted to extend the invitation personally and let you know how honored we’d be by your participation.” He and his husband worked their way around the room shaking hands and congratulating us.

By the time we’d left the theater to head to our celebration at the Retro, we’d learned the details of the deal. Finn had called in favors with a bunch of his Hollywood friends to begin his summer stock program, and the invitations were some of the most coveted in the business. He and the other investors of his theater program were paying out the nose to bring us to Colorado for this event. Each of us willing to travel for the event would get supplemental pay and equivalent time off later in the summer.

It was a no-brainer for me. “June in Colorado? Don’t mind if I do,” I said to my roommate Chris after we took seats around a few tables someone had managed to snag for our group.

“No shit. I’ve heard they have a ski lift there and tons of hikes and shit on the mountain. But count me out for the rock climbing, dude. I saw Finn’s last movie, and it freaked me out.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Isaac said slyly. “I heard Finn met his husband while he was out in Colorado filming that movie. The guy saved his life or something. I wouldn’t mind dangling off a cliff if it meant I got to hook up with a hot-as-fuck silver fox after the director yelled ‘Cut!’”

“Truth,” Chris allowed. “I read that Finn’s hubby is a sheriff or something too. I wouldn’t mind letting him stick his gun in my holster.”

They collapsed into raucous laughter, and I rolled my eyes.

“What about you?” I asked Dawson.

“Me? Oh, nah.” His lips twitched. “I mean, Declan’s hot and all, but Finn doesn’t seem like the kind to share—”

I elbowed him lightly. “Asshole. I meant what do you think of the Aster Valley idea?”

My brain was already picturing the two of us enjoying a semi-vacation together. I wondered if we could tack on extra days to stick around and see the area.

“Mm. Not sure yet,” he said, sounding distracted. His phone was buzzing in his pocket. “Sorry, this is my mom. Gonna find a quieter place to take it.”

He got up from his seat and made his way toward the back, where the hallway to the restrooms would give him a more private place to talk.

“He probably won’t be here,” Kota said from the seat on the other side of me. He nodded toward Dawson’s back.

“What do you mean?”

“Dawson won’t be coming to Colorado,” he clarified with a shrug. “He got the lead in Pillow Talk. I heard it from Lad, whose boyfriend is the director’s assistant.”

My stomach dropped. “Dawson got another role?” My lips felt numb, and my fingers tingled. That couldn’t be right. He would have said something to me.

Wouldn’t he?

“Yeah. That’s what I heard, anyway. Supposedly he auditioned a couple of weeks ago, got called back last week, and went in today for the offer. Lad said he saw him there this morning when he brought his boyfriend a coffee.”

My head spun with dueling arguments. On the one hand, why should he have told me? We hadn’t been more than coworkers until yesterday, for god’s sake. But on the other, we’d talked for hours last night about all kinds of things. We’d left each other this morning with a giant unspoken future between us.

Hadn’t we?

My chest hurt, and there was an uncomfortable lump in my throat. If I truly cared about him, I’d be supportive. I’d want him to succeed.

And I did. I wanted him to be happy, and if moving onward and upward made him happy, I’d be the first one to encourage it. Even if it meant feeling a little bit… or a lot bit… sorry for myself.

I ordered a much stronger drink and threw it back quickly. By the time Dawson returned to the table, I was on my third cocktail, and everyone’s faces had gotten a little fuzzy around the edges.

“What’d I miss?” Dawson asked as he slid back into the seat next to mine.

“Big news,” I said with my best effort at a smile.

Dawson looked at me expectantly. “What?”

Why was he looking at me like that? “What, what?”

“You said big news.”

Had I said that? “Oh, huh. Forgot.” My memory wasn’t as good when I filled it with gin.

“We’re going to Colorado this summer,” someone shouted. “To put on a show for Finn Heller. That’s the news.”

Someone murmured about wishing they could put on a private show for Finn Heller. For some reason, this struck me as very funny, and I began to giggle. Dawson grinned at me.

“You’re drunk.”

“Only like… fifty-five percent,” I said, calculating it as best I could.

“I like it.” His eyes got that intense look they sometimes got when he looked at me. I liked it.

I liked him.

“I need you to know I’m happy you’re leaving,” I said proudly. I could be supportive. I’d supportive the shit out of him.

Dawson’s smile dimmed. “What?”

“The show. It’s a good thing. You leaving, I mean. That’s good. I support that. It’s for the best.”

His eyes flicked to a few of the others sitting close to us before looking back at me. “You want me to leave the show?”

I nodded emphatically. “Absolutely. Of course I do.” I beamed at him. Look at me being supportive. “And I’m sure they’ll find someone awesome to play Lucky, so you don’t have to worry about that. I’ll kiss someone else. And that’ll be… that’ll be… great.”

Dawson’s eyes narrowed, and his nostrils flared. “Is that right?”

I nodded again, but it made my head spin a little. “Yeah. Right. Great.”

“You want someone else to play Lucky?”

I slapped a hand to my chest. “Are you kidding? No fucking way. But someone else has to, right? So hopefully they’ll be a good kisser.” That only made sense, really. “I wouldn’t want a fish mouth.”

Dawson’s jaw tightened. “What’s happening right now? I don’t understand what you’re saying. You wish I wasn’t in the cast of our show?”

“No! God no. Of course I don’t want you in the cast… I mean, of course I do want you in the cast. Of our show. Well, not your show anymore. Mostly mine.” I remembered everyone else sitting around us in the loud bar and waved my hand in their general direction. “And theirs, obvi.”

Dawson looked past me at Kota. “What’s he talking about?”

“Your show, man. The new role at Pillow Talk. Congrats.”

Dawson dropped his face into his hands before pressing his fingers into his eyebrows and looking up at me. “Babe. Jem. I didn’t take the role.”

I blinked at him. “You didn’t get it? I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “No, I got it. I got the role.”

For some reason, hearing him say it out loud hit me the wrong way. Or maybe it was the gin and tonic.

I burst into tears right there in front of everyone, proving that my sister wasn’t the only one who had trouble communicating with the man she loved. But at least she didn’t melt down in front of an audience.