I wish I could peek inside Hailey’s mind. She’s usually a closed book, giving away little with her expressions, but she opened up about her memories in a way I didn’t expect, all the while hiding a lot, even from herself.
There’s nothing in her diary about her mother. No flashbacks, no questions, not a single sentence, yet she admitted that those memories are returning.
Why hasn’t she written about them? I checked her diary last night, taking pictures of the newly filled pages. I haven’t had time to read through them yet, but now I’m itching with impatience and it pisses me off.
There’s no running away from my own mind. Ignoring these contradictory feelings gets harder every day.
I shouldn’t give a damn about this girl.
I shouldn’t, but I do, and it gnaws at me like a woodworm. There are many words that could perfectly describe Hailey Scarlett Vaughn as we walk toward the theater, but weak isn’t one of them.
She said it, though. She said she was weak and that puts everything I’ve already read in a different light.
Now that I think about it, Hailey’s reaction to Alex when he threatened her, when he put his hands around her throat, defied my expectations. When I watched her claw her neck on the boat platform, I thought she was fighting him, but that’s not what she wrote.
She wasn’t feisty, she was resigned.
I didn’t really pore over that memory in detail given it wasn’t useful and there was nothing there on the Aalyiah front that’d piss me off. If anything, I was quite pleased that Alex seemed truly dedicated to my sister.
Maybe he loved her…
Now, Hailey’s notes in the margins bounce around my head.
What did I do?
Why did he want her more?
What did she give him that I couldn’t?
Each question screams deep-rooted insecurity and vulnerability. Resignation and acceptance. Rather than fuming that he hurt her, she wondered how she made him lash out.
I glossed over it on my first reading, but things have changed. Days spent watching her grapple with her past, days of learning her routine, smiles, frowns…
Suddenly that memory ignites violence.
My violence.
Alex hurt Hailey. Physically when he put his hands around her neck and, by the look of it, mentally, too.
Fuck, there’s more to this story than I anticipated.
“When did the memories about your mom start coming back?” I ask, careful how I pose the question as we enter the almost empty theater.
Even this feels loaded, but I need the answer. Hailey could wonder why I care about the when rather than the what. She probably wonders why I care at all.
I know I do.
She meets my gaze, stopping left of the door, helplessness clouding her eyes. I don’t like that look on her. Not one fucking bit. It sparks the urge to hold her and tell her she’s okay.
Fuck, I bet this is what it’s like on the Vomit Comet. I lose my sense of right and wrong when Hailey’s close, then I crash with reality remembering Aalyiah’s dead because of her. Then I lose it again, over and over and over until I’m not far off puking out my guts.
“A few days ago,” she admits.
Why aren’t you writing about your mom, Hailey?
I can’t ask that.
I know she’s writing about her memories, so there’s no reason why I’d think she’s omitting her mother.
I alter the question, hoping for the right answer. “Does writing about your mom help?”
“That’s the therapeutic part,” she says softly, brushing her hair over her neck again so I can’t see the fading scratches. “With Alex I’m deciphering a code, piecing a puzzle. Writing about Mom is different. She’s dead. It’s final.”
The door behind us bursts open and Jensen arrives, his confident step faltering when he spots us. With a crooked smile at Hailey, he gives me a wide berth, jogging down the stairs. Instead of his usual spot in the third row, he slips into a seat beside Hailey’s usual one.
My eyes narrow as I wonder what the fuck he’s playing at. For the past week Rhys has been teaching the class about what he calls the four Cs: consent, comfort, choreography, and communication when acting out intimate scenes…
I grind my teeth, glaring daggers at the back of Jensen’s head. That sly motherfucker.
“Sit with me,” I tell Hailey, putting two and two together.
Her lips part, but words fail her as she scans the theater until her eyes spot Jensen.
“What is he…” She trails off, shaking her head like she doesn’t want to go there. “Okay. The view from up here is better.”
If she’s down there, it sure is.
She moves along until she’s halfway down the row. Dropping her bag, she sits, wrapping her long fingers around the cup of coffee like she’s anchoring herself.
Or maybe keeping warm.
The theater is a few degrees colder than outside; it’s impossible to keep a room this size warm, given that the students leave the door ajar for a good ten minutes as they pour inside.
On instinct, I tug the back collar of my hoodie, pull it over my head, then help Hailey into it. It’s not until she sends me a grateful smile, burrowing her face in the warm, soft fabric, that I register what I’ve done.
Fuck, this is wrong.
Then why does it feel so fucking good?
The hoodie looks better on her than me, but now she’s wearing it, clearly warm and cozy, I consider filling my closet with nothing but hoodies, so I’ll always have one to give her whenever she’s cold. I wouldn’t rip a waistcoat or a white shirt off my back this easily… and neither would warm her up.
Shaking the moment off, I dissect Hailey’s words. She is writing about her mother. But where?
Looks like I’m breaking into her room again tonight.
I limit my visits to every other day, and technically the memories of her mother aren’t important. She died long before Alex came into the picture. Long before Vaughn started looking into my father.
I won’t find anything useful there but… I want to know everything about her and I don’t understand why.
Before I can mentally school myself about veering off course again, Rhys saunters onto the stage from behind the red curtains, his smile as bright as always, a stack of scripts in hand.
“I taught you the theory, now we’ll put it into practice.” He waves the scripts in the air, eyeing everyone here, including me and Hailey, the only ones further up than the fifth row. “Your first intimate scenes. We’re starting with an epic kiss. You may choose a partner, if you’re comfortable with that, or I’ll pick for you.”
Hailey audibly swallows beside me, still as a statue as she stares at Rhys, her cheeks glowing pink.
That’s… distracting.
She slowly angles her head toward me. A sense of dread seizes my mind at the thought of partnering with Hailey, but the thought of her on stage with Jensen hits harder.
“You either do this with me or risk getting paired with someone worse,” I reason, my heart beating an irregular rhythm.
“Is… is that okay? I mean, it’s just a scene, but—”
“Exactly.” I cling to the idea.
It’s just a scene. Part of the job. Nothing more.
She lets out a long breath, looking back at Rhys who’s handing out scripts to those already huddled with partners, and helping people who haven’t found anyone.
“Okay,” Hailey mutters. “I guess we’re doing it.”
Her choice of words leaves a lot to be desired. My mind fills with enticing images of us doing exactly that: it, and my cock juts against the uncomfortable jeans.
At the bottom of the theater, Jensen looks over his shoulder straight at Hailey, disappointment pinching his features. He knew what was coming today. He knew if he sat next to her, they’d end up on stage together. He knew I wouldn’t be able to stop him. Not here, when it’s all pretend.
He’s the first civilian whose painful death at my hands I’m seriously considering.
Fifteen minutes later, Hailey and I have read our three-minute-long scene.
“That’s intense,” she whispers, flicking back to the front. “So much anger.”
“Any volunteers?” Rhys booms, standing center stage. “Who’s brave enough to get us started?”
A hand shoots up in the third row—Chloe’s. Of course it’s her. The most eager student in the room.
She drags her partner onto the stage while Rhys makes himself scarce, leaning against the far wall, eyes on them. They start, and I’m glad Hailey and I landed a hate scene rather than this straight-from-a-romcom mush.
“Can we go next?” Hailey whispers, leaning into me. “The longer we wait the more nervous I get.”
“Yeah, okay.”
Five minutes later, we take our spots on the dimly lit stage, every muscle in my body tensing painfully.
I’ve been acting for weeks, playing the role of Nash, but I’m no actor. I’m simply cunning enough to make this work.
Hailey on the other hand is fucking magnificent, deep in her character the moment her feet touch the stage. Her gaze cuts to me, sharp like a blade, and just like that, we’re in the scene.
The air between us crackles, heavy with pent-up emotions. My character left her to serve in the army and now he’s back as if no time has passed.
“You need to leave.” Hailey delivers her line, her voice piercing the air.
“Not until we talk.”
She scoffs, crossing her arms, disdain tainting her pretty face. I know it’s an act but seeing her this upset fucking kills me.
“There’s nothing to talk about. Did you think I’d wait forever? I moved on, James. You left me. It was your choice.”
“I thought I was doing the right thing.”
“Right for you, maybe,” she retorts, easily summoning anger. “You didn’t think about what it would do to me.”
“You’re right,” I admit, reciting the script as I step closer. “I never should’ve left. Not without a word but… I had to.”
“Selfish!” She spits out the word. “You were always so fucking selfish. Never mind who you crushed along the way as long as you came out unscathed.”
Another two steps and we’re close, so close I see small torches swimming in her eyes. I feel the heat blazing off her body. My heart races, pounding against my chest, reality blurring because she’s that fucking good. She makes it real and it’s crushing. Her anger, the magnetic pull between us, the desire eating me alive.
Real.
Potent.
Almost irresistible.
“You think I didn’t suffer?” I grit out, not entirely sure if I’m following the script word for word. “It’s been four years but every day, every night, it was your face that haunted me, your voice I couldn’t fucking escape.”
“Oh, spare me the dramatics!” she snaps, rolling her eyes.
She fucking rolls her gorgeous blues at me, simultaneously slamming her tiny fist against my chest.
She keeps screaming but I can’t hear a word.
My cock hardens faster than I can blink. I have no idea why that move gets me so hard, but it does. Every single time. The scene floats into the background as I go off script.
I think I had one more line to deliver but I’m fucking done. Driven by a force beyond my control, I grasp the back of her neck, drag her into me and my lips come down on hers.
Adrenaline surges through my veins when she opens for me and my tongue slips inside the silk of her mouth.
It’s not a sweet kiss.
Not a gentle one.
It’s a fight without fists.
A clash of artificial anger, guilt, and very real, long-suppressed desire. I run on instinct, sweeping my tongue inside Hailey’s mouth, taking all I can as fast as humanly possible. It’s rough, intense but Hailey doesn’t falter.
Her nails dig into my back, not to pull me closer but to punish my character for the pain he caused hers. Or maybe she’s punishing me for the loss of inhibitions this kiss has triggered within her. A small, sweet gasp falls from her lips, driving me fucking feral. I swallow that sound, desperate for more. My hands twitch to move lower, grab her thighs, haul her up then drag her the hell out of here and straight into my bed, but Hailey braces both palms against my chest, slowing the kiss.
I’m suddenly aware we’re supposed to be acting. The bubble bursts the second she stumbles back, raising her trembling hand to her forehead.
She’s deliciously flushed, eyes bright and staring at me in utter disbelief, lips swollen.
“You can lie to yourself and the whole goddamn world that you don’t love me, but this…” I point between us, lines from the script materializing before my eyes. “This gave you away.”
