Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 123873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 619(@200wpm)___ 495(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 619(@200wpm)___ 495(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
At least then, he’d be giving Cillian something real.
The real Brendan Lau.
Emotionally stunted jackass, extraordinaire.
He had to find…some way to reach out. If a letter didn’t reach him, then Brendan would have to try navigating his way back to that island, to that castle…
To Cillian.
But for now, Brendan flipped the cover of the script and settled back to read. He remembered Cillian mentioning that over dinner, once—Sophie telling him she wanted to direct. She certainly had a flair for writing, though as Brendan turned page after page, skimming flirty jabs between two rather prickly men, both of them denying the feelings between insults, the moments of genuine emotion in long looks and slow kisses before deflecting, pretending this was nothing? He realized this…this…
This was them.
Him and Cillian.
The lingering glances across the room, unable to stop from being drawn to each other. The teasing and snapping that always came light with unspoken laughter. The tiny intimate touches like a secret just between them. The bright, impudent young thing versus the stolid, overly traditional grouch. The older man’s dour demeanor and intractable stubbornness; the younger man’s bright smiles and hidden strength.
The way they were so obviously in love, so easily visible to everyone but themselves.
Brendan traced the last few lines, the story ending on a sweet note of promises, mistakes amended, futures planned. Was…was this how Sophie had seen them? Had they been so transparently and painfully in love, and yet refusing to stare at it head-on? Or was he seeing something that wasn’t there…wasn’t…
Fuck.
Rasping out ragged breaths, Brendan curled forward, pressing his brow to the back cover of the script and closing his eyes tight. He couldn’t do this anymore. He couldn’t keep missing Cillian every fucking day but holding back the words that could end this, could bring him back, could…could fix everything.
Or make everything catastrophically worse.
Risk it.
Risk your heart, Brendan Lau.
Risk everything.
He opened his eyes, staring down at the cover, then set the script aside. Stood. Crossed the room to his bed, and retrieved his journal from the drawer. He flipped through the scribble-filled pages, pausing to read one or the other, catching on so many words repeated again and again—need, miss, sorry, sorry, I’m so sorry—until he settled on an empty page.
And began to write, starting with a scrawl of the one word he hadn’t written yet.
Love.
l
“PSST! CIL! OVER HERE!”
Cillian lifted his head at the hissed call of his name, peering over the Los Angeles street café’s outdoor seating. He nearly looked right over her—then did a double-take as he realized that was Sophie beneath a wide-brimmed hat so broad it was almost bigger than her table. The hat perched over a yellow scarf covering Sophie’s hair, her face hidden behind massive sunglasses.
He angled between the tables until he reached hers, and dropped into the seat next to her. “Is there a reason you look like a Dallas extra?”
“You should be disguised, too. What if they arrest you?” Sophie whispered—so loudly she might as well not have bothered. “We’re supposed to be incognito!”
“…Sophie.” Cillian chuckled, propping his chin in his hand. God, it felt weird to be back in the States, but…he wouldn’t miss tonight for anything.
He just hoped Brendan would be there.
If not, well…
Cillian might just have to muster the courage to go knocking.
He hadn’t expected Sophie to want to meet with him, though, to the point where she’d left a note with his agent for when he was back in town—an agent who amazingly, somehow, hadn’t fired him despite him going completely off the radar and leaving absolutely no means to reach him.
He'd needed to work through some things. Do some thinking.
…that and winter had knocked out phone, internet, and boat service to the island for a few months, but, well, that happened.
“It’s not that kind of lawsuit,” he continued. “No one’s arresting me off the street. And you don’t need to hide your face.”
“Really? Oh, thank God, this mess is so hot.” She whipped her hat off, then her scarf, shaking her hair down with an exaggerated sigh before flashing a bright smile, dimpling at him over the tops of her sunglasses. “So, looking forward to the awards ceremony tomorrow? I hear we’ve got it in the bag.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it. It’s got me nervous as hell. But Sophie…” He watched her, frowning; there was something different about her cheerfulness today, something almost forced and manic. “You said you needed to see me about something serious. What’s wrong?”
“I…” Sophie’s cheerful demeanor fell away; she looked over her shoulder, a flicker of something fearful in her eyes. “…I wanted to ask, I…” Her voice dropped, and she stared down at her hands, interlaced on the table. “Did…did Director Newcomb ever try to…um…to touch you, or anything?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
BRENDAN HADN’T BEEN THIS NERVOUS at a red carpet event since his very first.