A picture of two little boys wrapped in blankets causes an ache in my chest. The older one looks heartbreakingly sad, and the little one looks so tiny and confused.
Aidan.
Beside that is a picture of a beautiful couple, and another one of the burned-out husk of a car.
My eyes eat up the words, reading as fast as I can. “They watched their mother die.”
Fiona nods. “Something like that has to leave scars, right?”
“I can’t even imagine the pain.” I see an image of Aidan in my head, smiling, teasing people on set, telling Clara in wardrobe how beautiful she looks, and it’s hard to believe that somewhere in there is this sad, lost little boy.
“Maybe he hasn’t gotten over it, and he’s afraid to let people in?” Fiona is filling in the blanks with her overactive imagination. “He lost his father too, a few years after that. Maybe he’s still aching inside and needs healing.”
“If healing is code for sex, he gets a lot of that, believe me.”
“What if he wants more, and he’s afraid to reach for it because he’s still hurting inside?” She gives me a dreamy look and I toss a pillow at her.
“This is real life Fiona, not one of your novels.” As much as I want to believe the only reason Aidan rejected me is his childhood trauma, it’s very unlikely.
It’s more likely he’s just not that attracted to me.
Not attracted enough to break his rules about dating actresses he works with. Not attracted enough to find out what my dad would think. Not attracted to take advantage of the fact that I’d thrown myself at him.
It rankles.
“Let’s talk about something else,” I say with a sigh, handing Fiona her phone.
The next day, after another set of rehearsals without Aidan, the rest of the cast heads out to attend a photography exhibition headlined by one of Kyle’s friends. I stay behind, even though he invited me. I’m too miserable about Aidan to want to do anything but be by myself.
After lingering in my dressing room for a while, I head home too, taking a last-minute detour toward the stage.
Most of the technicians are gone for the day and as I walk past all the boxes and material stacked offstage, I’m practically alone.
As always, the mere significance of my location overwhelms me. Especially with no one else around to detract from the beauty of the wide-open stage, the immense auditorium, and the ghosts of thousands of past performances hanging in the air like a fantastic daydream.
It’s beautiful, and the beauty emphasizes my solitude. I feel almost as if I’m carrying the weight of all the thousands of heartbreaks that have been portrayed on the stage.
“It’s amazing, isn’t it?”
Aidan’s voice jolts me out of my thoughts, overwhelming me with a mixture of shock, surprise and happiness.
“Aidan!”
My voice conveys everything I’m feeling…relief, longing, happiness and a host of other emotions I can’t even explain.
He’s seated a few rows from the front, cloaked by the shadows. As I watch, he rises and walks toward me. He’s wearing jeans and a sweater, and his hair waves over his collar, longer than usual, and devastatingly sexy.
My heart is racing, swelling. I want to run to him and tell him how happy I am to see him.
I know that I love you.
Taking a deep breath, I squelch my excitement and wait for him to come to me, focusing my thoughts on the memory of the humiliation I felt when he rejected me.
“I heard you were coming back tomorrow,” I say evenly, even though my heart is aching.
“I got back into town last night.” He climbs onto the stage with a lithe movement that makes me forget everything but how much I want him. There’s something tender in his expression as he comes straight toward me, and something else, something that mirrors what I’m feeling. “I have to apologize, to you, and to the rest of the production.”
With him so close, I can’t think straight. I pull in a shaky breath. “My father has been livid.”