Celebrity 2 - Acting Out (5 page)

BOOK: Celebrity 2 - Acting Out
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Evan went to the store and filled the pantry with spices and necessities. He also stocked the freezer. Except for fresh foods, which he’d have to pick up, next time Cree let him cook, he was going to make sure it was better than anything a restaurant would deliver.

Mostly, he bided his time, waiting for Cree to say something personal. But it had been five days without any kind of encouragement.

The movie production was flying everyone to a small Austrian town tomorrow for a scene meant to represent Montana. Evan didn’t know why the hell Austria did a better job representing Montana than Montana did. Regardless, he was packed and so was Cree.

The office fax beeped. Evan walked over to it and pulled off the first page as it printed. It was a message from Pete. David Fowler had been located.

Evan’s heart rate jumped to a gallop. He stared at the paper, his mind utterly blank, then immediately racing with questions.
He’d done it. He’d found him.
When finding his father was still theory, Evan had had plans. He’d known what he would do next. Now, he just stood there with plans crashing into each other, tangling with Cree and Austria and his mother.
Two more pages printed off. Numbly, Evan picked them up. The first had a photograph, and while it was the face of a man he’d never met, tears welled in Evan’s eyes,
because
it was the face of a man he’d never met. Because now he had someone to associate with the pain, with his mother’s hard life, and with the devastation left behind from a man who wouldn’t care, who’d thoughtlessly turned his back on real people he was accountable to, for a dream.
Judging by the second sheet, showing drunk and disorderlies and assorted other misdemeanors, that dream hadn’t panned out. He’d managed to dodge all attempts to find him for child support. Why? So he could throw those dollars at the nearest bartender?
It made him sick to think of how much the smallest help would have eased his mother’s hard life. How if he’d stuck around and believed in the kid he’d help bring into the world, taken responsibility for the decisions he’d made early on, Evan wouldn’t be in this place now.
“Fucking bastard,” Evan snarled.
“Everything sown up for the trip?” Cree asked walking into the office.
He didn’t know why he couldn’t just say yes, and let it go. He should have. He didn’t owe Cree more than solid administrative services, but the words wouldn’t come. Evan held the papers. Dumbly, he looked up, confused when Cree looked blurry until Evan blinked and realized there were tears.
God, he so didn’t want to cry in front of Evan. He so didn’t want to fucking cry over a man who’d never given him a passing thought either. David Fowler didn’t fucking deserve an iota of emotion, damn him!
“Shit. What’s wrong?”
With a frustrated shout, Evan wadded the papers up and threw them down. He shoved the fax off its cart, and stormed out of the small room. Where were his plans? Where the fuck were his plans? What the hell did he do now? Blindly, he paced the huge living room before charging toward the wall of sliding windows.
He needed air. He couldn’t breathe. Holy shit, he couldn’t fucking breath. Evan pounded his chest as though that would loosen the tight band around his ribs that kept him from drawing a full, deep breath. Stumbling into the brilliant afternoon light, he hit the porch railing and held on, gasping.
“Evan.” Cree must have chased after him.
Evan barely registered the chase except to recognize someone was behind him. Cree touched his shoulder and Evan shook his head. “No, it’s—no. I—I can’t breathe.”
* * *

Cree pried one hand off the rail and partially turned him. He hauled back and slapped Evan across the face. Twice, when Evan could do no more than stare at him.

“Go away,” Evan said brokenly.

“Shut up.” Cree pulled Evan squirming into his arms. “Breathe slower. You’re about to pass out.”
“I can’t.”
“Then I’ll keep holding you until you come around,” Cree promised quietly.
Evan clutched him, pulling at Cree’s shirt. Cree ran his hands over Evan’s back. Evan’s hot breath on his neck scared him. He’d never seen Evan like this. He’d never seen Evan freak out about anything, even when he told Cree that he didn’t expect anything from him and Cree had gotten angry.
Cree murmured, his cheek pressed to Evan’s temple. He didn’t even think about the words he said, or whether they made sense, but they seemed to calm Evan. Evan’s breathing slowed. Cree continued to assure him and rock. He stroked the back of Evan’s hair, his shoulders, anything he could touch to offer comfort.
Evan held on.
Cree fell silent, still holding, still stroking.
Evan let go of his death hold to hug Cree closer.
“That’s right. I’m here. I’m staying right here as long as you need me,” Cree murmured.
Evan suddenly pushed away, then grabbed Cree’s hand and dragged him inside to the couch. Evan slammed the flats of his hands on Cree’s shoulders and Cree stumbled backward, hitting the white leather cushions with a whoosh.
Evan landed on his knees between Cree’s legs, and before Cree even realized what was happening, Evan had Cree’s pants down and was already working his chub into a full hard-on.
“You don’t have to—” Cree’s words strangled to a stop as Evan swallowed his cock, tapering off whatever he was going to say into a long groan.
He was a master. In five sucking sweeps of Cree’s shaft, he had to fight to keep from coming. But goddamnit, Evan’s dedicated pursuit of his cock, the hungry devotion he showed to every inch, the soft throat sounds of Evan eagerly taking him, made the effort sure to fail.
Evan slid his hand under Cree’s shirt, easing it up his belly over his sternum, Cree’s pec, where he twisted and tormented a nipple.
Cree shouted. He bucked, coming hard, shooting sharp jets down Evan’s throat. Evan sucked him clean. He rose, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Leaving Cree’s cock to air dry, Evan started to turn away.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” Cree snarled.
He shrugged. “Wherever.”
Adrenaline raced through Cree’s veins. “Not again, damnit!”
Swinging a foot out, he knocked Evan’s feet out from under him. Evan crashed hard to the floor. Cree rushed to straddle him, then took a minute to close up his pants. Planting his hands on Evan’s chest, he looked him dead in the eyes.
“No. I don’t actually think you’re an ass, so I’m not going to let you act like one,” Cree decided.
“I think ass-iness is completely up to the ass being assy.”
“Fuck you. And fuck you for thinking you can fuck me over and that I’ll take it. And then fuck you again for being all sensitive, needing me, and then blowing me like you still want me.”
Evan looked up at him with reddened eyes from unshed tears. He looked tired, lost, confused. Cree’s heart melted a little, and it pissed him off.
“I do still want you, Cree. I never stopped wanting you.”
“Because putting a notch in your belt last week wasn’t enough? You walked out of my room.”
“You kicked me out, or did you forget that part?” Evan snapped.
“Did you try to stick around? No.”
“I don’t play games. But, stupid me, I live in the real world. I forget how you Hollywood types are.”

You
don’t play games? Are you for real? What the hell do you call sucking my dick and trying to walk away?”
“Self-preservation,” Evan yelled.
Cree stared at him. Evan tried to turn his head. Cree hadn’t unpinned him, so looking away would have been Evan’s only recourse to disengage him. But he saw it, the vulnerability Evan tried so hard to hide. Had it always been there? Had that been the reason he always seemed so stoic? Was it because Evan was more like Cree than he’d realized?
“Goddamnit. Fucking—god
damn
it, Evan. Fuck you. Fuck you for everything. I should have known having you here was a mistake. I should have hired another goddamn idiot from the company.”
“God’s list is stacking up. Might want to delegate.”
“What?” Cree paused in his tirade to make sense of Evan’s words. They sank in and he started laughing. “You’re a fucking asshole.”
“I
like
fucking asshole, but that doesn’t make me one.” “Prove it. I have a box of condoms upstairs.”
Evan looked uncomfortable. “I can’t.”
“You can. I was there the last time, or have you forgotten?”
“I didn’t forget.” Evan rested his hands on Cree’s thighs. “I’m not going to forget. I just can’t do it again.”
“Why?”
“Because of this.” Evan gestured between them. “Because you’re never going to understand why getting involved with you isn’t a good idea. It can only be casual.”
“Fine. I’ll take what I can get. Call it casual if you want to. I’ll know the difference,” Cree contested.
“I’m not worried about how you’ll take our relationship, Cree. Believe it or not, it’s not about you.” Evan huffed. “Get off me.”
“What’s it about, Evan?” Cree ignored the request. He needed to know. He needed to hear whatever Evan had to say. Either way, it would help him move on. It couldn’t hurt any more than the last round had, could it?
“You’re a big shot. You have your pick of anyone you want. I’m a flash in the pan. It wouldn’t take long before you start looking around for the next lay.”
“So this is about your insecurity?” Cree asked.
“Cree, you’re not a guy someone like me falls for and gets over. You’re the kind of guy who destroys guys like me.”
“Bullshit.”
“Bullshit, nothing. I’ve found what I came to Hollywood to find. Now I have to deal with it and go back to Indiana. There’s nothing about having a relationship with you that makes that easy for me.”
What did he come to Hollywood to find? The guy he’d hired the private eye to locate? The fax? Cree clamped his lips. He got off Evan and stalked down Evan’s hallway to the office. Pieces of fax machine lay everywhere, along with papers, both unused and wadded.
“Cree!” Evan jogged into the office. “Don’t.”
Cree spun on him. “Right now, I’m Mr. Radek and my employee just busted up very expensive equipment because of his personal life. Back the fuck off.”
“I’m serious. Don’t mess with my shit. You wouldn’t understand.”
“You’re right. I’m a moron. I’m incapable of the simplest concepts—including how to
back the fuck off
. Sit your shit down, while I muddle through. If I don’t understand, then you have nothing lost anyway.”
“But I—”
“Walker, the man I thought wanted to be my boyfriend just dumped me over a fax. I have every right to find out why.”
Cree went straight for the crumpled papers. He opened the first one. “David Fowler, age fifty-nine, of Glendale, California. Six feet two inches, one hundred and ninety pounds. Caucasian descent, with brown eyes and white hair. Arrived in Los Angeles approximately thirty years ago, from—” Cree’s eyes flicked to Evan’s as he read the town.
He continued out loud. “Huntington, Indiana. Pursued acting career and was involved in the following productions.” Cree’s gaze skimmed the short, unimpressive list. “Continued behind the scenes on various projects.”
“You don’t need to read it. I already did.” Evan’s words sounded forced, rough.
“I haven’t.” Cree skimmed more of the page. “No known family.”
He opened the next two pages. One was a picture, and the growing suspicion was revealed with a clunk. He looked like Evan. Older, more jowly, beaten up a little by life, but the resemblance was uncanny. The same brown eyes looked back at him. The same hairline, the same nose, the same halfway smile.
“He’s your dad,” Cree stated.
“It must have killed her.”
“Who?”
“My mom. I look just like him. She had to raise a boy who looks exactly like the man who left her for Hollywood,” Evan said, dully.
“An actor who broke your mom’s heart, and the heart of her little boy,” Cree said, fitting the last piece in place.
And now the little boy was afraid he was following in both his parents’ footsteps. His mother’s for potentially falling for an actor. His father’s because he’d left his mother for Hollywood. Different reason. Same outcome.
“I’d never seen a picture of him before,” Evan confessed. “She never showed me one.”
“She probably realized how it would affect you. She loves you.”
“I came here after him. She didn’t want me to go. She thought I’d stay like he did. Now I know why. I’m history repeating itself in her eyes.”
Evan’s defeated tone shook him.
“You aren’t your father,” Cree told him.
“Aren’t I? I abandoned her.”
“Really? Is that why you left Indiana? To hurt your mother?” Cree said disbelieving.
“I came to find the rat bastard and slap him with a subpoena. Then I planned to go home and make sure he paid her every penny of back child support so maybe she can retire one day.”
“Doesn’t sound like abandonment to me. Sounds like integrity.” Cree put the papers on the desk. “You’re a good guy. Your mom raised you to be. You’ve nothing in common with David Fowler except his looks. Give yourself a little credit.”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“You’re right. I couldn’t possibly have led a normal life before I came to Hollywood. I had a rose petal path with no issues standing in my way either. That’s where you’re going with this argument?”
“I just mean that you and I have different histories. Mine happens to be a six-foot-two, deadbeat dad,” Evan said.
“Mine involved me getting repeatedly used, to accomplish other people’s goals.”
Evan gaze met his. “I wasn’t using you.”
“That’s how it feels.”
“I wanted to be with you. I was just very aware that I wouldn’t be sticking around in Hollywood after I found David.”
Cree wanted to stop talking. He was getting the strange queasiness in the pit of his stomach that he always got when he had to confront someone. He hated this part of a relationship. They both wanted each other, but neither one of them wanted to give up their stance. And Cree, for one, still felt pretty strongly about the way Evan had handled their—fling.
Mostly because it hadn’t been a fling in Cree’s mind. Evan’s explanation after the fact, the lack of trust, and the expectation of Cree’s character failing Evan, had stung. He wouldn’t claim it compared to Evan’s pain, but God he wanted to. Cree’s pain was just as valid.
But it wasn’t his time, it was Evan’s. Evan’s pain was fresh, and Evan had finally found his father. “Which means,” Cree said, picking up both his thought and the segment of conversation where Evan had left off. “You’re returning to Indiana.”
“That’s the plan.”
“What about Austria?” He wanted to say,
what about me
. Evan had answered that question clearly five nights ago. Cree didn’t figure into the equation.
“I still have to talk to the lawyer back home and get that subpoena issued. He’s waiting to file the request with the judge, so it won’t take long.”
“Production had planned being onsite for several months, until location filming is done there. Then they were going to tie it up in Canada,” Cree reminded him. He felt guilty for bringing it up. He knew Evan would feel accountable, and he was right.
“I’ll stay through production of the film. However long it takes. I just need some time to get the suit settled.”
Cree looked at the floor. The destruction. He didn’t need to look at Evan to see the pain in his eyes. The evidence in this office was enough to make the point. Evan wasn’t okay. He wasn’t close to okay, and he wouldn’t be until he looked after his mother. Which is what he should do. It’s what Cree would expect him to do.
“Go home,” Cree said after several silent moments.
“I’ll take a couple of weeks, then come back once my mom’s taken care of. She still works three jobs. She needs the money David will be forced to pay back. I’ll finish up the shoot with you and help you hire a replacement.”
Cree shook his head slowly. “No, Evan. Go home.” His voice cracked. He picked up a cartridge on the floor where he’d been staring moments ago, so Evan wouldn’t see how hard the request had been. Without another word, Cree walked out.

BOOK: Celebrity 2 - Acting Out
4.23Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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