I stumble for my line as I look back down, knowing there is no way I can even match how seamlessly he slipped into his character. “I don’t know anything anymore.” My voice seems flat compared to his, but I keep going. “All I know is after tonight . . . after watching . . . never mind. It’s probably best if you just go now.”
“Huh.” He shakes his head. Disappointment is reflected on his face as he takes two steps toward me. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“You lost the right to know what I’d like and not like when you walked out.” My voice breaks. Life imitating art in a way I never expected when I told him I’d run lines with him. I swallow over the lump in my throat, because I know that pain. I start to talk and stop. “I didn’t make you leave, Noah. I didn’t start the fire. I didn’t hurt anyone. I wasn’t the reason shit went south. And more than anything, I didn’t make you erase me from your life.”
“I never erased you!” he shouts with shoulders squared and eyes alive. We stare at each other for a beat before his defensive posture slips away. His shoulders slump, head drops, and voice lowers so I can barely hear him. “I could never erase you, Gabby.”
“Don’t do this to me. Don’t waltz back into town like you own this place with that chip on your shoulder. I’ve moved on, Noah. I’ve made my own life. One that has no place for you in it.”
He lifts his head, strides across the patio with determination, and slams his hands onto both sides of my chair. I jolt at the sound, at the force that moves my seat, at the unmistakable virility of both Noah and Hayes combined in the eyes of the man looking at me. “Anywhere you are is my place, Gabriella.”
I snort. Know Gabby would do just the same and catch the flicker of surprise in Hayes’s reaction. “No. It’s not.” I can barely speak the words. Hate the pang I feel in saying them. Shit. Shit. Double shit. Do I feel the same way about him in real life?
“Tell me you don’t love me.” His hands are on my chin directing my face up. His eyes are so honest, so true, that I almost forget I have a script in my hand. Silence stretches between us and I convince myself I need to look down at the lines. Yet I can’t find it within me to break the hold he has on me, let alone breathe.
Script, Saylor. The script.
I force myself to look down to the papers. To the words I need to say. I exhale unsteadily when I read them and then look up to meet Hayes’s eyes. “I don’t love you, Noah. I’ve met someone else. Another man who I know won’t leave.” I avert my gaze. Push down the emotions rioting through me. How funny. I thought I was going to feel so silly doing this and yet everything I am is in the tone of my voice right now. “Like I said before, it’s over. It’s best that you leave.”
“You’re lying,” he grits out between clenched teeth as he pounds a fist on the arm of the chair again. “Lying! Did you really think I’d give in so easily? Walk away without a fight?”
I’m mesmerized. Can’t take my eyes off him. “You did before.” My voice is a whisper of sound. My emotions raw in a scene that has nothing to do with me.
This is Noah and Gabby. Noah. And. Gabby.
Not Hayes and Saylor.
“You don’t get it, do you?” He’s exasperated. Frustrated. Pleading. He reaches out and tilts my face back up to his again. I hold my breath as he leans forward ever so slowly and puts his lips right to my ear. I smell the signature Hayes Whitley clean scent of soap and shampoo. Feel the heat of his breath. Warm under the touch of his hand. “It’s you. It’s only ever been you. I begged, borrowed, and lied to get this chance. To stand here in front of you again. To right my wrongs. To make you see why I am . . . why I can’t just walk away this time without knowing, Gabby.”
“Without knowing what?” I’m glad I remember the line because if I lean forward to look, I’ll come face first with his chest and that’s not something I need right now. The situation, the lines we’re rehearsing, the man before me—all three are powerful enough, and I don’t need the physical aspect of him to intoxicate me even more.
Hayes leans back so that our lips are inches apart. “Knowing what my forever tastes like.”
Neither of us move. Or breathe. And when he finally takes a step back, his mouth slides into a satisfied grin.
“You’re good, Say. Gotta hand it to you.” He ruffles a hand through his hair. “I’ve been running that line all morning and hadn’t figured it out. I was going in too hard, too angry. Having you to bounce it off made it easier. Let me see I needed to be softer with the delivery. Thank you.”