Cross your Heart Page 7

  “Okay. So it is something?”

  Averting her eyes, she looks at our entwined hands.

  “Hey.” I shift closer, ducking my head to catch her eyes.

  Her head lifts an inch, her gaze brushing along my features like a camera lens, cataloging me as if it’s the first time she’s seeing me. I don’t see her move before her lips brush mine, the soft pout of her mouth pushing against mine in a gentle caress.

  Pulling back slightly, I look at her, unsure of what the fuck is happening. “I...”

  She kisses me again, this time her tongue sweeping against my closed lips.

  “Woah.” I shift back more forcefully. “What the hell, Rox?”

  Hand lifting, her fingers press against her lips, feeling what my own lips just did. She sighs, dropping her head to avoid looking directly at me.

  “Roxy,” I push.

  Lifting her head, a stream of tears track along her cheeks. She looks utterly heartbroken, her face cracked wide open in pain. “I love you.”

  “I love you too, Firefly.”

  “No,” she affirms, “I love you.”

  “I know.” I squeeze her hand. “You know I love you back.”

  A shaky smile wobbles her chin. “You’re not getting what I’m saying, Reid. I’m in love with you.”

  Certain I’ve heard her incorrectly, I stare at her in silence.

  “I’ve been in love with you for years,” she confesses. “I’ve been living this almighty lie.” Her head shakes. “It’s so fucking hard to keep it up though. I look at you and I want more.”

  “More?” I sound like a complete fool, the word but a broken syllable.

  “This.” She places a hand over my heart. “I want this, and not just the way a best friend wants to be loved.”

  My head shakes. “No.”

  She shifts forward, hand cupping my jaw, her thumb brushing along my bottom lip. “I’m sorry,” she argues my rejection softly.

  “No,” I repeat more forcefully, pushing her hand away. “You’re drunk...”

  Stuffing her hands into her lap, she shakes her head at me. “Maybe. But that’s not what this is about. I’m tired, Reid. I’m tired of hiding how I feel. It hurts, like a gunshot wound that keeps expanding, the festering wound replacing my heart.”

  “You’re just confused…” I argue, completely at a loss at how to handle this version of my best friend. “You don’t love me like that.”

  She sniffs, arm lifting to rub along her nose. “It’s the one thing I’m certain of in my life.”

  “We agreed…” I mumble stupidly.

  “Mmm,” she concurs through a stuttered breath. “We did. We spit shook. We crossed our hearts.”

  Unsure of what to do, I shift backward, away from her. She clocks the move, a defeated smile flushing more tears from her eyes. “I didn’t mean for it to happen, if it’s any consolation.”

  “It doesn’t change it.” I can’t look at her. I can’t stare down the barrel of her expectation, the flicker of hope in her eyes that maybe I feel the same way. Because I don’t.

  After a moment of silence, she shifts up her bed, lying down to stare at the ceiling. “You can go now.”

  “Roxy,” I start, unsure of what I want to say.

  “I’m about to break,” she admits shamefully. “And I’d really like to do it without you here.” Her voice breaks too many times in that one sentence. “Please,” she begs when I don’t move.

  Tongue caught between my teeth, my heart screams at me to stay, to reassure her. It’s convinced we can move past this. But its pleas are drowned out by my mind. My thoughts like a whirlwind, spinning with every possible outcome of the path Roxy has now shifted us onto. Each more horrible than the last. It’s convinced the damage has been etched into stone, ready to crack wide open and leave us both broken.

  I’ve spent years training my mind to dominate my heart, I needed to be smart. I’ve succeeded, my mind so much louder than the feelings dwelling inside my lifeline. Its screams are gaudy, incessant; enough to force my feet away from the girl with tears streaming down her cheeks.

  Closing her door softly, I don’t wait, moving down the stairs as quickly as I can, saving myself from the soft sound of her cries echoing through the otherwise silent house.

  I never found sleep that night. I lay in my backyard staring up at the stars, searching for guidance. I never found it. Instead, I spent hours trying to convince myself that I could love her in the way she wanted. I just had to open myself up to it. How hard could it be? What I found instead was my heart shrinking against the thought, recoiling at the idea that Roxy and I could be anything other than what we were. Friends.

  Eight

  Take Two

  Reid

  “Thanks, we’ll be in touch,” I tell the young blonde, watching her face fall. She saves the frown, turning it into an awkward smile that makes her look constipated.

  Door closing softly behind her, the casting director spins in his chair, eyes trained on my profile. I ignore his stare, chewing the end of my pen.

  “Who’s next?”

  “You tell me,” he grits out. “Maybe reject her as soon as she opens the door, save us some time.”

  I roll my eyes to myself.

  “I’ve gathered every bit of talent I could that matches your casting breakdown.” Rob clenches his teeth.

  “I appreciate that they look the part,” I acknowledge. “But they lack conviction in the character.”

  “You’re scraping the bottom of the barrel, Rivere. We’ve been at this for too long now. Articulate what these women are missing, so I can fucking find your Abbigail.”

  “No need to be testy,” I smirk.

  “Impossible,” he mutters. “He’s fucking impossible,” he repeats to our director.

  “I gave you what we need,” I sigh. “What this movie needs. Abbigail is the core, we can’t cast just anyone.”

  “Who is she?” This comes from James, the director. Sliding his phone onto the table, he looks at me head-on. Finger pointing to his heart, he repeats, “Who is she?”

  I clear my throat. “She’s a little bit whacky and a whole lotta whimsical. She’s kind and understanding and accepting to a fault. She’s beautiful, but that’s the most ordinary thing about her. Everything else is extraordinary. From her drive to her spirit, to her laugh and the way she loves. This character,” I cough, “sees the best in everyone, even when there isn’t much of it to see. The world is better for having her in it.”

  “Poetic,” James muses. “But I meant the who in the literal sense. Who do you see playing her?”

  “Oh.” Thankful I don’t blush, I laugh off my embarrassment.

  “Holy shit,” Baxter mumbles and we all look in his direction. “It’s her. Isn’t it?” He scrutinizes. “It’s Monroe.”

  I swallow deeply.

  “It’s her,” James confirms. “Okay, so who is Monroe?”

  “Roxy,” I croak out. “Roxy Monroe.”

  “You’ve got to be shitting me,” Rob splutters. “The chick who only months ago was caught with her fingers in her own pussy.”

  “Watch your fucking mouth.”

  “You know what,” Rob gripes, throwing his chair back roughly to stand. “Fuck this. Go with the PR nightmare, see if I give a shit.”

  I watch him slam the door on his exit, the sound breaking through the room like a knife.

  “Rob’s a dick,” James relays my own sentiments. “But he’s good at what he does. None of those women today were terrible.”

  Turning to face him, I nod. “Not terrible doesn’t cut it though. We can’t settle for mediocre.”

  “Have you fucked this girl?”

  “What?” I frown. “No.”

  “Do you want to fuck this girl?”

  “No.”

  His sigh is heavy. “I don’t think I need to tell you that the studio took a massive gamble agreeing to you producing this movie. As did I working alongside you. Sell it to me, why her?”<
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  “She’ll sell it to you.”

  He shakes his head, leaning forward, elbows on knees to watch me closely. “And she will. But first, I want you to.”

  I thumb through the script. A polished version of the scribble I created years ago. “Abbigail was written for Roxy. They’re one and the same.”

  Lips pursed, he considers what I’ve just told him. “People change.”

  “Certain things do. Outer frameworks. But Abbigail is the core of who Roxy is. She may be scorned by the negativity this world has to offer. But deep down, her defining attributes will always remain.”

  “Bart,” he yells at Baxter.

  “It’s Baxter,” my assistant corrects, and James ignores him.

  “You have the rewarding job of going through that door and telling all those blonde hopefuls thanks but no thanks.”

  “Wonderful,” Baxter mutters.

  “Let’s get our people” —James points to Baxter’s back— “to talk to her people. Best if we could get her in over the next twenty-four.”

  Picking up his phone and script, James watches me, waiting for confirmation. Which I offer with a single nod.

  “Excellent.” Thumb and pinky held against his face like a phone, he mouths “call me” before disappearing after Baxter.

  “Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity fuck,” I mumble to myself.

  Can you really call it eavesdropping if you’re only hearing one side of the conversation? And situation reversed, I’d bet my left nut on the fact that Roxy would be doing the same thing.

  “They specifically asked for me?”

  “You know it’s still eavesdropping even if the person is on the phone.”

  I jump at Baxter’s voice, eyes closing over in irritation. “Shhh.”

  “Relax, she can’t hear.” He stands on tiptoes to get a better look. “She’s pretty.”

  I ignore the comment. That’s always been part of who Roxy is. Beautiful. But she’s aged into it better than I could’ve imagined. Her blonde hair looks thicker than I remember, it’s definitely longer. It’s been colored, softer tones lightening the dark blonde I was used to. The freckles that decorate the apple of her cheeks have been covered in makeup and I find myself annoyed that she’s attempted to change any part of her appearance. Missing freckles aside, she looks the same, older, but not aged.

  Cell caught between her ear and shoulder, she rifles through her bag, listening to whoever’s speaking. Humming understanding at whatever the person on the other end of the line says, she opens her compact mirror, checking her teeth. Satisfied they’re clean, she tidies the line of her lipstick before pinching at her cheeks to deepen the soft pink hue.

  The mirror closes with a clean snap before she throws it back into her bag. Glancing around the deserted hall, she cups her hands around her mouth and cell. “I cannot believe I’m about to meet James Valentine. I’m so fucking nervous. And excited. More excited, I think,” she adds.

  I smile. I felt the same way when he agreed to sign on for the production of Firefly. I was sweating profusely through my clothes as we shook hands.

  She giggles down the line of her cell. “So you know nothing else about this movie? What it’s about? Who’s producing?”

  My balls shrivel to the size of raisins.

  Baxter chuckles beside me. “Nervous?”

  “I could fire you at any second.”

  He laughs. “Could, but won’t.”

  “Whoever it is.” Roxy pulls my attention again. “They must be decent enough for James Valentine to work with them.”

  She listens for a beat. “Okay. I’ll call you as soon as I’m done. Wish me luck. Hopefully, I’m not crying into my Cheerios at the end of this or you owe me a drink.”

  She ends the call without another word.

  “I feel weird spying on her.”

  I glower at my assistant. “I’m not spying. I just wanted to see her demeanor.”

  “Mmhm.” He rolls his eyes. “I’m going to grab her. You going to keep hiding in this incredibly small room” —he grimaces at the thought— “or are you coming?”

  “I’m gonna let her meet James first. See if he likes her.”

  He pauses, hand on the door.

  “If she sees me, there’s a good chance she’ll walk out without even auditioning. This sets a fire for both her and James.”

  Shrugging easily, he inhales heavily. “If you say so.”

  I watch him introduce himself to Roxy, their hands clasped in a light shake. She smiles widely, the gesture pinching at the side of her eyes.

  Settling into my chair, the camera in the reading room casting to my laptop, letting me watch in real-time. I can’t be in there. Mainly for her. One, she’d bail as soon as she set eyes on me, I don’t doubt it for a second. Two, her nerves, I want her to be as calm as possible, this role is hers, I just need James to see that. But if I’m being honest, I’m not ready to see her. Not face-to-face. Not yet. Truth be told, I don’t know what to say. Everything seems altogether inadequate.

  I watch her through the screen, she inhales steadily, blowing out a quiet breath. Her voice carries openly through the camera and I can’t stop the smile that creeps onto my face. It starts small, a slight pull on the right side of my face, before widening as her voice settles into character.

  She’s perfect. Not that I considered an alternative.

  Third line in, she stumbles, brows pulling together in unease.

  “Everything okay?” I hear James ask.

  Forcing a smile, one that in no way reaches her eyes, she looks up at him. “I’m sorry, I just… I think I’ve read this script before. It…”

  Realization dawns on her like a nimbostratus cloud; thick, the sunlight in her face giving away to a shaded cocktail of uncertainty and anger.

  Clearing her throat, she straightens her shoulders. “Mr. Valentine, I pray that one day I’m given the opportunity to work alongside you. With an immense amount of regret, I have to say that today will not be that day.”

  Sliding the script in front of James, she smiles despondently.

  I’m up before I can stop myself, walking into the hall to rest my back against the door at my back.

  “Guessed it would take you about five lines in to recognize it.”

  She stumbles at my voice, her eyes wide in surprise.

  “It was two,” she answers finally, stopping just outside the room she was moments ago beaming to be inside of. “What are you playing at, Reid?”

  Seeing her this close hits me straight in the chest. She’s not the Roxy that I remember. Not the Roxy that spat into her hand and crossed her heart. Not the Roxy that would stay up all night and watch movies with me, mimicking the actors irritatingly when she knew their lines, inhibiting my ability to hear the film.

  She’s more. It’s as though eighteen-year-old Roxy was only a half completed puzzle. The life-smart version, the one standing in front of me is a force. The girl I know still inside, living comfortably and happily within the woman.

  I let my head move side-to-side. “Not playing at anything, Roxy.”

  The door behind her closes with a definite bang and she jumps at the sound. It’s been over ten years since I’ve been this close to her. Now a mere three steps separate us. I can smell her. I can make out every single changed line of her face.

  There was a time when the only way we’d walk anywhere was with her arm linked in mine, or mine slung comfortably over her shoulder. She’d jump on my back at any given opportunity, forcing me to cart her around. It was comfortable. It was easy. It was us. Now standing this close seems too much to ask.

  “Is this a game to you? You know what” —she lifts a hand— “don’t even answer that. This is my career, Reid. It might not be as noteworthy as yours. Not yet anyway. But I’m still fucking proud of what I’ve achieved. Well done on trying to make me feel like less once again.”

  “Less?” I splutter. “How has asking you to read for this role turned into me making you feel like less?”
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  “Your pity is unwarranted.” She stuns me by accusing. “Just because I don’t have a bronze statuette on my shelf at home doesn’t mean I need a helping hand.”

  “Pity isn’t my style,” I murmur angrily.

  “I’m just supposed to believe that I was the only person that could play this role.”

  “Yeah,” I grit out, annoyed that she’d think I’d be anything less than truthful to her.

  She moves to speak but thinks better of it. “You know what? I’m not doing this. Bye, Reid.”

  Her feet carry her away from me with quick, sharp steps that echo through the hall.

  Thumb and forefinger pinching the bridge of my nose, I want to scream. Fuck. This was not how this was supposed to go.

  “I might not have starred in anything over the last two years.” Her voice forces my head up, her feet forcing her back toward me. “But that was my choice. For reasons that are none of your business.”

  I stop the grin wanting to crawl onto my face, relief coursing through my veins.

  “Roxy. This movie was written with you at its core. There’s no pity involved, not for you anyway. I’m hoping you take pity on me, because I have the chance to work alongside James Valentine, but it doesn’t work without you.”

  “You’re producing?” She can’t hide the pride in her voice.

  “Yeah.” I let go of the grin, letting it pull along the right side of my face eagerly.

  “For a second I thought you’d be playing Tanner.”

  “I am.”

  “Oh.”

  I laugh. “Don’t sound so disappointed.”

  She smiles and I want to fist-bump myself.

  “Rox, this role was built for you and only you. It can’t succeed without you.”

  She lets silence settle between us, her feet shifting back ever so slightly. “Yeah? And why should I believe you?”

  “Because you deserve nothing less than the truth.” I level up, taking a step toward her. “You’re honest and kind and genuine, and lying to you isn’t something I’ve ever felt comfortable in doing.”

  She won’t meet my eyes, staring blankly at the wall beside her. I see the hesitance in her face, the indecision in the way she breathes.