“Ready,” Jill said. “Lights, camera, Colby at death’s door, okay, action!”
Jason charged down the hall. Slammed through the door, Ryan at his back. Burst into the bedroom set. Calling for Will, frantic.
He stumbled over the edge of yet another ostentatiously expensive rug—those ludicrous displays of wealth, plus Stephen’s damn inflexible boots—while turning toward the bed. He caught himself on the doorframe: unplanned, unscripted. No one called to cut, so the clumsiness must’ve worked.
The next breath vanished out of his lungs.
Colby lay on that bed. Colby lay on that bed, limp and unresponsive, asleep or—
Jason’s brain shouted rationality at him. Acting. The scene. Will. Will was sick. Not Colby.
He knew it wasn’t real. He did know.
His heart didn’t know.
Colby seemed smaller in t
