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Better. Although the LED lights were a pain in the noggin. I stumbled through to the next set and spotted my goal. Glinting gold with red and green, I made my uneasy way over to Santa’s spot and collapsed into it.
The soft rap of footsteps forced my eyes open again as a beam of light flashed across my face.
“Whoa.”
“Fuck.” I covered my eyes with my arm, squinting from under the shelter to size up the intruder.
“Abel … Clarke?” The beam of light moved again, this time casting to the side but illuminating my face.
“Hey, man.” I dropped my arm and relaxed back into the chair.
“Uh, you know the set is closed, right?”
“You sure? I thought they were filming a dining in the dark scene.”
The security guard stared at me for a moment before realizing I was being a smart-ass. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
“Sure, give me a second. I tripped and knocked myself out a few hours ago.”
“Hours? Do you need me to call an ambulance? You could have a concussion.”
I waved my hand at him. “I was drinking—drunk. That probably didn’t help.”
We lapsed into silence for a moment as the guard waited for me to say something else.
When I didn’t, he cleared his throat. “Listen, I was doing one more sweep before locking up. I have somewhere to be.”
“Right.” I grabbed the arms of the chair and rose, swaying slightly as the room turned again. Attempting to take a step, I missed, and if not for the burly beefcake, I would’ve gone down again.
“Easy there.” His arm wrapped around my waist. There was a discernable sniff and a recoil before he cleared his throat. “How much you had to drink?”
“Enough,” I muttered, trying to steady myself before we started to tango.
“Listen, I’m not judging, but aren’t you like a big movie star or something? Why the hell are you drinking on set?”
“Bad day,” I said, pulling myself away completely. Maybe he wasn’t judging, but it felt like judgment, and I didn’t need his help standing up.
“Yeah, okay. We all have those, but that doesn’t mean you go looking for comfort at the bottom of the bottle. It’s Christmas, and I would’ve been the last to say this X days ago, but … don’t you have someone you want to spend it with?”
Scout’s smile flashed across my mind like a right hook to the gut. “I thought I did, but I was wrong.”
Mr. Security frowned at me before rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, I know how that is. But if you’re wrong, or even slightly wrong, this time of year …” He paused, clearly thinking of something or someone. “Well, a lot can happen and change—some good, some bad—but it’s also a time when the last thing you expected to happen can and will. So, if there is someone you want to be with, and maybe you think they don’t want to be with you, it’s worth letting them know.” He shrugged. “What’s the worst that can happen? You get drunk and knock yourself out past lights-out at work? You’ve already done that.”
A small laugh forced its way out. “Then I meet Mr. Six-foot-something Built-Like-A-Brick-Shithouse.”
“Most people call me Ryder.” He flashed a grin.
“Well, Ryder, I don’t need to tell her I want to be with her. She made it clear she never wanted to be with me, I was just a stepping stool for her career, and she didn’t mind stuffing her heel into me on the way up.”
“She said that?” He looked surprised and then regretful, hopefully over saying anything else to me.
“Not in so many words, but I overheard it.”
“Hang on. You overheard her saying something but didn’t ask her about it to her face? God, you actors are all drama queens.” He shook his head. “Go and speak to her. You know what they say about assuming. Makes an ass out of you and me.”
“You’re seriously calling me an ass right now?”
“Yeah, because you are if this is how belligerent you get over something you don’t know for sure—total asshole move.”
