Page 39 of Script
“They want to rapid releaseRapid LoveandRapid Danger.” He snorted at his own joke. “And I told them no, and when they asked if it was about more money, my agent heart began to wither and die.” He pressed his free hand to his chest. “DIE! I tell you! Die!”
I shuffled to the side, getting the counter between me and him just in case he planned on using the bag of salad items as a deadly weapon.
“Okay, but why—”
“Why?” He pointed at me with his bag-carrying hand, a tomato escaping and flying across the kitchen to hit the coffee machine. I winced. “Because for some fucked-up reason, I like you, and agents shouldn’t like their clients. Hell, I even feel affection for you.” He rubbed his chest with his free hand as if that was the most awful thing on earth.
“I like you too,” I murmured. “But—”
“You don’t need four more years of hiding!” he shouted at me, and then the piss and vinegar disappeared from his voice. “Can a queer actor carry an action franchise? No. Not right now. If you sign on the dotted line, they’ll screw you on the morality clause if you so much as step out of line. One innocent kiss caught on camera, and they’ll label you as wrong. You come out as gay, or bi, or pan, or whatever you identify as—”
“Gay.”
“That. You come out as gay, there is no way I can spin that to Byrnes-Rose and make it stick when you could cost them millions in box office receipts.”
I tilted my chin and got all defensive. “I happen to think that being openly queer or not, I can carry two more movies.” Wait. What was I saying? That was a lie—the movie world was a fickle and unforgiving mistress. Anyway, I didn’t want to do any moreRapidmovies. I wanted to make a name for my acting alone,thenI wanted to come out.
I wanted to spend time with someone and not worry that my secret would spill.
Cameron. It’s Cameron I want.
I deflated then, but the counter at my back held me up.
“Finn? Look at this.” I glanced at Atlas, who was holding up a phone with a photo on it. He seemed to have calmed down, and I edged closer to check it out. The photo was an innocent one of me and Cameron at the party—me in my Thor outfit, kids in a circle around me, and Cameron laughing. I remembered that moment—it was a perfect second where I’d told a silly joke to the kids about Cameron and his inability to do cartwheels, and the children giggled and Cameron elbowed me, then proceeded to show me that yes, I was right, he couldn’t do cartwheels.
The moment might have been innocent, but the photo was a different story. It was beautiful—Cameron grinning at me as I smiled back.
“It’s a nice photo,” I said, and I knew I sounded lame.
“It’s all over social media.”
“Okay, but—”
“Just be careful, because if I can see the way he’s looking at you, then others could. Head down, okay? Get through to full release onThe Cup, and then after that, it’s up to you to make the life you want. I’ll make you the best most wanted gay actor in the entire world, but, please, for now, be careful.”
“Okay.”
The warning Atlasgave me spun in my thoughts as I made my way to the rink to meet Cameron for today’s lesson. I was getting better on a daily basis, working on the balance ball at home, and setting up a net in my basement. I’d even invested in some roller skates to scoot around my sprawling terraced gardens with their artful pathways. This huge area was about all I’d miss when I sold this place, and selling it was very much on the cards. My financial team was horrified when I suggested I sell, then said I should re-invest in property. I reminded them that I had invested in property, but it never became a home. Cameron’s place was a home—this was just a house. A big empty house. The real estate agent was a friend of Atlas, who told me I’d get eight million for my place, and it would go in less than a day, and had pushed a load more details my way about bigger houses for me to move to.
I said I needed to think, and she huffed that the money would waste away in the bank.
But it wouldn’t, if I started a charity like Cameron did with his hockey kids—how about an acting charity for kids? Or an acting hockey charity, or a hockey with actors charity or—
“Bend your knees, Finn!” Cameron barked in my ear, and I flailed, going from upright to ice in a second, sliding along the surface like a penguin and ending up in the net. Damn my brain and its momentary lack of attention to the real world.
“Goal!” I exclaimed as Cameron arrived at my side with an expression that mixed frustration and amusement.
“Where did you go?” he asked as he went to a knee next to me.
“Into the net, clearly.” I said and sighed. “Did you know some goalies talk to their nets? I read about this one goalie, Russian, kind of sexy; he talks to his goalposts all the time. Sean Gunningdon-Loomin or something.”
“Stan Gunnerson-Lyamin,” I corrected. “You think he’s sexy?”
“Well yeah, big, strong—”
He placed an icy glove over my mouth, and I spluttered.
“Have you stopped thinking about goalies I want to kill now?” Cameron asked.
