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There were a shitload of apologies due.
CHAPTER 19
REED
Tate was acting weird.
Or maybe it was me.
It seemed like no matter what we were doing or where we were, he was in my personal space. Had he always been like that? Was I too caught up in my own feelings for him in the past to realize?
Or was this new? Or my imagination?
Whatever the case, everything felt like us, but different. More intense.
He was possessive of my time and person more than usual. Not to mention, I caught him eye-fucking me the other night. But I dismissed it. Or, I didn’t let on that I noticed.
The realization was heady, but it also scared the crap out of me.
This was my best friend, not a guy I could walk away from.
Not again.
And there was something about Tate now, how comfortable he was in his skin, how open he was with me and with our friends, that made my heart squeeze so tight it was about to burst wide open.
I thought for sure he’d be the one panicking when it came to working our first scene together, but it turned out to be me.
Would everyone else on set know how I felt about him by the way I spoke my lines? Bringing emotional depth to my character was not going to be a problem. As soon as Tate and I were in the same room together, our natural ebb and flow took over.
“Okay, people,” Jared yelled out. “Here we go. Places!”
I was already seated, in my spot. Tate was just off set, waiting for his cue to walk into the room.
In the opening scene, Oliver the grieving widower, AKA me, is waiting in the funeral home as a handful of mourners offer their condolences on the loss of my partner, Kingsley. The story takes place in the late 90s, when gay marriage wasn’t legal. Oliver and Kingsley aren’t recognized as husbands in the eyes of the law, or the community at large, even though they’ve been living together for fifteen years. Fellow queer friends and my character’s brother are the only ones who show up to the funeral. And, of course, Tate’s character, Ambrose, one of my husband’s coworkers.
Looking around at everyone’s solemn expressions, the scene was eerily reminiscent of my mom’s funeral.
It wasn’t difficult for me to slip into my role and back into the hell that was grief.
“Camera ready?” Jared continued.
“Ready!”
“Lock it up. Quiet on the set,” Jared paused. “Roll sound!”
“Rolling.”
“And… action!”
I took a deep breath and stood up to greet the mourners. One by one, in their turn, they made their way into the room to speak to me.
But I was all too aware of Tate waiting at the end of the line, in his herringbone suit, his face solemn.
When it was his turn to come forward, I started to tremble. I looked up in his eyes and I saw warmth and a wariness reflected.
He offered his hand, and I gave mine.
When our palms touched, a rush of heat pulsed through my body.
