Page 38 of Act Like You Don't Care
“You don’t need to do this…”
“I do. I know him. I have to. He knows me.” I opened my eyes and stared at the back of the old guy’s head. “He’s talking about a part of my life that I don’t like to remember. I—” Words failed me and I looked down at the letter again. Maybe if I finished reading it, I’d remember.
“Tam.” Mile’s fingers were gentle on my face. “It gets worse.”
I stared at him, I think in shock. What could be worse than a death threat?
Carefully, he slid the computer out of my grip and hid it away behind his hip. I reached for it and he blocked me.
“No, I was wrong. What you’ve seen so far is enough. There’s nothing in the rest of it except more threats. Nothing you’d be able to identify him by.’’ He cupped my chin and did that thing where someone uses their hand to block the light from getting to your eyes so they can see what your pupils do. “I think we should cancel the shoot this afternoon.”
My heart stuttered, then raced and even I could hear how ragged my breathing had gotten. “I can’t do that. You know this. We only have this time to get everything done.” I wet my lips. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine. Just give me a minute to breathe.”I’m a professional. I will not let this destroy my career.The studio had been good about this so far, better than me when it came down to it. But I was sure that the haters and the ones who believed that omegas weren’t capable of handling meaty roles were already circling, nibbling away at my reputation. If the schedule couldn’t be recovered because of me, that would be the start of the landslide. So I forced myself to fill my lungs deeply and slowly, letting the air trickle slowly out of my nose until I could feel my heart rate go back to something more normal for me. “I’m fine,” I repeated and looked him straight in the eye.
I wasn’t sure what I was expecting. It certainly wasn’t what I got. He was watching me with the sharp, studious expression I often saw on his face when he was working on the computer, but something about it was more personal than usual. He was worried about me. Not just for me, but about me. And as soon as I realized that, something pinged inside, like a wire fence giving way under pressure.
Miles
Tam did pretty well that afternoon. I’d expected retake after retake like had happened back in L.A., but he’d nailed each and every one, most of them on the first go. Even when Dominic had decided to film some of tomorrow’s scenes today, Tam had just dug in and rolled through them like that had been the plan all along. It was like he’d never read the first part of that letter. Like I’d never watched the color of his skin turn ashen or his pupils blow up until the blue of his eyes had almost disappeared. The strength of character it would have taken to laugh and make these early, family scenes in the movie believable blew my mind. But it made me even more determined that he should not see the second half of that letter.
After the filming, though, we fought. And the Laydon temper came out in full force.
He asked again to see the rest of the letter, having evidently been chewing on it the whole time with none of us the wiser. I said no, because it was bad enough that was in my head, it didn’t need to be in his too. Especially after his reaction to the first couple of paragraphs. Besides, it didn’t give us any new information to track the stalker down. It did tell us we were looking for a Vinist in one of the more radical sects, but that didn’t narrow things down by much, and Tam should have been fine with just knowing that. He didn’t need to read that damn rhetoric.
Except he was Tam Laydon and pushy and too damn stubborn for his own good. We ate our evening meal late, in the hotel restaurant, the argument growing louder and attracting more attention every minute. I was dealing with Dad and Mom and trying to redirect Tam’s obsession and still get something to eat, until I finally lost my temper and told him to shut up.
In hindsight, that was a stupid move on my part.
What I saw then was the Tam I knew from the news stories and the gossip mags. His rage boiled off him like a cloud of steam as he stormed out of the dining room. My first inclination was to let him go and allow that frustrated fear and anger to burn itself out in the relative isolation of our room. Until I reached for my computer bag to check in with the crew and my hand met empty air. I swore as I watched Tam and my bag swing out of the dining room, dropped money on the table to pay for our half-eaten meal and raced after him.
Tam slammed into the elevator and pushed several buttons. I tried to slip inside, but he hit me with a punch straight from the shoulder, hard enough I had to take a couple of steps back or land flat on my ass. The elevator doors closed on his angry, triumphant face, leaving me the object of several dozen interested stares.
I did, at least, still have my key card. And the hotel only had three floors, out here in the outskirts of the city, so I dabbed at the blood running down from my split lip and took the stairs. Now that my adrenaline was fading, I realized I didn’t need to rush—the computer was password protected. Worst case scenario, once he discovered he couldn’t get into the computer, was that he would smash it, but a computer could be replaced.
I was so, so wrong.
The door lock clunked open and I strolled into the room, a little guardedly because I couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t throw anything at me like he’d done with previous boyfriends.
No projectiles greeted me when I came through the door. Worse—Tam was seated on the end of the bed, the computer open on his lap, one hand over his mouth and a sick, dismayed expression on his face.
Two seconds later, I’d yanked the computer out of his grasp but I could tell it was already too late. “How did you get into it?” I demanded, closing it and setting the lock screen as fast as possible.
“I’m sorry,” he said in a small voice. I could hear the air rattling in his throat.
“Tam?” I asked, finally looking at him.
“I see what you meant now,” he told me, smiling shakily at me. Entirely unsuccessfully too. His eyes were wide but it didn’t look to me like he was really seeing anything that was in the room.
I put the computer down on the desk and knelt in front of him. “I drove you to it.”
He shook his head. “No. That was all me. I don’t need any help getting into that mindset. I guess I have some growing up to do.” He sucked in a huge lungful of air and then he began to shake like a leaf, one hand reaching out pitifully to pluck at the collar of my jacket. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said through teeth chattering like he was at the North Pole.
I sat beside him. “Forget that. I shouldn’t have even shown you the first half. He’s not going to get you.”
“I know,” he replied. “I just… I don’t understand how someone can even think about doing that to someone.”
“He’s not sane.”
“No.” The shaking wasn’t stopping. If anything, it was getting worse. Then again, if someone had described how they and their buddies were going to force themselves on me until I straightened up and flew according to his flight plan, I might be shaking too.
