Page 9 of Nothing Special X: The Last Stand

It still looked like a movie set—lights blazing down from the rafters, cables taped in countless lines across the floor, and crews moving in all directions—but something underneath it all had changed. Whatever had protected it before had disappeared and nothing and no one could bring it back.

“Action!”

Xander didn’t move.

His lines and cues sat somewhere just out of grasp. He opened his mouth anyway and forced something out, but it landed wrong. Flat and hollow. The passion and excitement that should’ve been there felt fake even to him.

He couldn’t act because the real thing that’d happened three days before had taken root and was clawing its way around, consuming every part of him.

Geez, is that all it’s been?

Only three days since someone had made it past every layer of security on the lot with the determination to kill him.

If he hadn’t turned around to use the bathroom, it would’ve been him who’d been beaten almost to death, not his good friend, Devyn.

The thought hit him in his stomach like a physical blow.

The attacker hadn’t hesitated or slowed long enough to realize he had the wrong man.

If Devyn’s bodyguard—his boyfriend—hadn’t also been there, the attacker might’ve succeeded.

Both of them were strong and martial arts-trained, but it didn’t matter; they were still in the hospital.

And Xander—

He gritted his teeth, his stomach recoiling every time he thought about it.

He’d cowered on the damn floor, curled up beneath a counter like some gutless man-child.

He hadn’t shouted for help, ran, or even reached for his phone.

He’d just…froze.

Well, at least now he knew which reaction he’d succumb to when faced with a fight or flight situation.

He hadn’t been able to move until…

Xander squeezed his eyes shut, right there under the lights with cameras zoomed in on his face.

…until he heard him.

That voice. Low. Steady and sure.

Only then had he been able to crawl out of hiding.

His heart hadn’t slowed since he walked back onto Stage 8 three days later.

Every unfamiliar face made his stomach churn, and the lingering glances felt suspicious.

“Focus!”

The director roared across the set, angry and impatient.

Xander flinched. His throat tightened, his breathing now shallow and painful.

“Focus, Xander! Come on!”

He blinked hard, trying to drag himself back into the moment, into the version of himself who could do this job without thinking twice—