Chapter Sixteen

Cade

“You can’t leave!” Amanda says as she races after me. “We’re supposed to block scene five. Cade! You have Friday off; you cannot leave.”

I’m barely listening to her as I pull open the door to my on-set trailer.

I don’t care if we have a three-day weekend. Hell, I wouldn’t care if we had a four-day weekend.

I’m going to Tahoe tonight.

I made a mistake in not calling Dylan sooner. My flight Sunday had a mechanical delay, and I didn’t get into Vancouver until close to four in the morning—two hours before I was due on set. Monday night I didn’t even make it back to the hotel, crashing in my trailer. Tuesday was another long day and as I was dialing Dylan’s number, I was pulled into a media engagement.

Then this morning, not even an hour after starting to shoot, the director called a break. There was news that effected people on crew.

After finding out just what the news was, the only thing I wanted, needed, was to get to Dylan.

“I’m leaving,” I tell Amanda as I grab my backpack and wallet, passing her on my way back out of the trailer.

“You’re going to regret this!” she yells after me. I’m making good time with my strides, already near the end of the lot and to my rental car.

No.

I regret not talking to Dylan.

I regret not being there with her when she found all of this out.

I will not regret being by her side, if she needs a friend.

She has Charleigh.

Yeah. And she’s going to have me, too.

***

Of course, the best flight I can find involves a layover.

Would it hurt so much to have a direct-to-Reno flight?

Thankfully, the layover is a twenty-minute one, but I barely make my second flight. Soon, I’m on the ground at Reno and making my way to long-term parking.

The following forty-minute drive drags on, and when I finally pull into the White’s drive, the sun is starting it’d descent in the sky. The house is completely lit up; lights on in many of the windows.

I see that Charleigh’s BMW is sitting in the drive, but I can’t bring myself to care.

I’m out of the truck and to the front door in seconds.

The house may be bright, but Charleigh nor Dylan are anywhere to be found. My guess then, is they’re on the patio. It seems to be Dylan’s favorite spot.

I drop my bag at the base of the stairs and move through the kitchen and out the sliding doors, where Charleigh and Dylan indeed are. Charleigh is jabbering on, an iPad in her lap, and Dylan is nodding but damn.

She looks exhausted.

Even in the darkening sky, I can see her eyes are heavy and they’re rocking some decent bags underneath.

“Ladies,” I introduce my arrival.

I may be listening to Charleigh, but my attention is one-hundred percent on Dylan, and when she startles I feel terrible. “Just me,” I say to that.

“Cade?” Dylan is frowning at me, then she blinks a few times. “Why are you…?”

Charleigh looks between the two of us, an amused smile on her face. “Well, well, well.” It’s soft enough that it’s nearly a whisper.

“I didn’t… I couldn’t…” Once again, I’m screwing up my words. I settle with what I can manage. “Charleigh, Dylan’s dead on her feet. Let her go to bed.”

“It’s only eight,” Charleigh says, as Dylan answers, “I’m fine.”

I don’t want to be the overbearing asshole, and I struggle with the fact Dylan is clearly tired, even if she says she’s not.

I worry she didn’t nap today and while, sure, I was only here the one afternoon, I got the feeling that a nap was something she did often in her current state.

I worry that by running herself to the ground, she’s doing something to harm the baby. Can not listening to your body be dangerous for the baby?

“Charleigh is showing me the things she’s put together for the nursery,” Dylan says, and she can deny it all she wants, but the girl is tired. Her words slur; not much, but enough for me to notice.

Deciding I don’t have much say in what’s going on out here, I walk over to the third of four Adirondack chairs, the one closer to Dylan’s than to Charleigh’s.

“I haven’t had much say, but…” Dylan throws a look at our friend, and there’s a smile on her face.

“You’re the one who would rather be secluded in the woods,” Charleigh teases.

“It’s nice out here,” Dylan answers on a sigh and I would bet money that she’d like to close her eyes. “But now that, you know, everything…maybe I’ll head back to my place this weekend.”

I freeze at that.

How would that have worked? Would she have told me? Or would I have ended up here, only to find the place deserted?

“Where is that? Where do you live otherwise?” I make myself ask. I sure as hell hope that she lives somewhere in the Los Angeles area.

“Currently, I’m near Thousand Oaks. My family is in Montana though.”

My heart literally stops in my chest at what sounds like her thinking about moving back to her home state.

“I’ve done the nursery in your apartment. You’re not leaving,” Charleigh says and while she says it jokingly, I can hear the fear there too.

“I didn’t say—”

“You eluded to it, though.” Charleigh shakes her head. “You can’t leave me, Dylan.”

Dylan smiles, “I’m not leaving you. Yet.” She glances over at me, so quickly I would have missed it if I weren’t looking right at her.

“So you say,” Charleigh says teasingly but with enough skepticism in her tone to say she’s afraid of Dylan leaving for good, too. “I’m going to head to bed, I guess. I have to leave before the sun comes up, unfortunately.” She groans then, shaking her head. “My father…”

He likely scheduled another gig for her. He liked to keep her busy and out of trouble, not that she was a troublesome Hollywood kid. She and I did go through a phase in our early teens though, where we broke curfew.

And maybe smoked a joint or two at a park.

Nothing worth being labeled over, but enough for her to be placed on the “Hollywood Kids Gone Wrong” list a few times.

“You two behave yourselves,” she finished, reaching out to rub Dylan’s shoulder and shooting me a death glare.

Swear to God, that was a death glare.

Dylan watched her walk into the house, and before I could apologize for my lack of communication this week, she’s pulling herself up from her chair. I take her in, and my second head appreciates the new view. Dylan is in her short-shorts and tight tank top, with her belly proudly on display. My cock wants to be proudly on display too, if the blood rushing there is any indication. “I’m tired after all,” she says. “I’m going to head to bed. Charleigh’s in the room you used. It was the only clean one.”

“Can I talk to you?” I ask as I push myself to stand, ignoring the rush of emotions and the like.

“You’re the one who said I was tired,” she challenges.

Her defensive walls are back up, and I know only I am to blame.

“I’m sorry—”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for!” She gives me a fake smile and a half laugh. “You’re fine, Cade. I’m going to bed.”

Dylan turns, and I step around the fire pit, reaching for her hand to stop her.

I use that leverage to pull myself toward her, not caring that I’m about to go within her personal bubble.

We breached bubbles over the weekend.

I refuse to let her put her walls back up.

Once my body is flush to hers, unintentionally bringing my growing cock to rest against her lower back, I switch hands so I’m holding one and place my other protectively over her stomach. I want the little guy to move, but he’s apparently resting.

She drops her chin to her chest in a move I saw too often last Saturday, and I dip my own, bringing my mouth as close to her as I can, given our height difference.

“I’m sorry, Dylan. I meant to call.” I hate that it sounds like I’m making excuses. “It was busy. But the moment I heard about Grant, the only place I wanted to be was here.”

“We’re hardly more than friends,” she finally says, not moving. “You have nothing to apologize for, Cade.”

I shouldn’t be crude. I shouldn’t be crude.

But the words are out before I can stop them. “Does it feel like we’re hardly more than friends, Dylan?” I ask, pushing my lower half harder against her.

Her body shivers against mine, and I decide to go all in. “I want you, Dylan. I want to get to know you. I want to be your friend, but I also want to be more than your friend. I want you to turn to me. I want to stand beside you. I want to be whatever you want me to be, when it comes to however this ends up with Grant. I want to prove to you that there are good guys. Let me be your good guy.”

Dylan is still.

Neither of us moves.

But then her hand is on my wrist and she’s removing my hand from her stomach. “Good night, Cade.”