Page 21 of The Viper
We rehearsed the scene—a quiet conversation, all soft gazes and implied longing. Franklin’s voice floated across the set: “Nice, but make it realer, Lexi. Like you’re aching for something you can’t have.”
If only he knew.
As Benji delivered his lines, I looked past him—past the camera, past the glinting water—and thought of the man from last night. The way he’d stepped between me and danger like it was second nature. The weight of his presence.
The ache Franklin wanted was already there.
When the scene wrapped, Franklin clapped once. “Good. That’s the tone. Hold onto it.”
Benji leaned closer, voice low. “See? Perfect take. He’s in love again.”
I laughed, and some of the tension broke. “I’ll try not to enjoy it too much.”
Lunch was served under a tent overlooking the marsh. Crew chatter hummed around me, the easy rhythm of people who belonged somewhere. I ate quietly, grateful for the noise. Hannah hovered near craft services, on a call, her posture all business again. She hadn’t mentioned our little fight, and I hadn’t either. That was how we healed—through avoidance and time.
My phone buzzed once in my pocket. I ignored it. Then again. Then again.
Finally, I looked.
Another flood of messages: PR updates, gossip blogs, fan theories. But one thread made me stop. A post from a local news account:Police investigating incident involving unidentified Navy officer at Pelicangate. No arrests made. Witnesses describe a “civilian male” intervening.
Unidentified. Civilian.
He hadn’t left a name. Not even to the cops.
I stared at the screen until the letters blurred.
Whoever he was, he didn’t want recognition. He’d acted, then vanished.
I closed my phone, a strange ache curling low in my stomach.
Later, Franklin wrapped early, apparently satisfied that I hadn’t self-destructed twice within twenty-four hours. Crew members packed up, laughter and clatter echoing off the water.
As I walked toward the trailer, Benji caught up. “You okay, really?”
There it was again. Why did people keep asking me that question?
I hesitated. “Define okay.”
He gave a small smile. “Alive. Grounded. Still breathing.”
“I’m working on it.”
He nodded. “That’s all any of us can do.”
For a moment, we stood there, watching the marsh reeds sway. Beyond them, the horizon shimmered—a line between the world I knew and the one I couldn’t quite reach.
“Do you ever wish,” I said softly, “that you could just start over? Not famous, not followed. Just anonymous.”
Benji’s gaze was steady. “Every day.”
The honesty of it startled me. He squeezed my hand once, friendly, and walked away.
I stayed, watching the sun across the water. My reflection shimmered faintly in the surface—Lexi Montgomery, actress, cautionary tale.
And somewhere out there, a man with no name had risked himself for me and disappeared before the flashbulbs could find him.
I didn’t know why that mattered so much. Only that it did.
