Double Act

Chapter 1 The outside air smacked Sean in the face. After the heat of the lights, the sudden chill stunned him. He glanced over his shoulder to see if they were giving chase. No one followed. He leaned over, resting his palms on his knees and taking deep breaths. The cool air burned his lungs. His outfit—a sleek set of gray chinos, a tight shirt, and vest—wasn’t made for the late February weather. He’d freeze in another few minutes. He didn’t care. He stepped out of the shade of the building, walking farther into the cold. I’m so f*****g tired. He knew he looked the part of a spoiled child throwing a tantrum, but if he hadn’t gotten out of there, he would have slugged Landon. To those around, who hadn’t heard the comment, Sean fit the stereotype of a celebrity not getting their way and storming off. As expected, his phone rang. Macie. His manager. He paid her to tell him what to do, but right now he didn’t feel like listening to her. She’d calm him down and make him finish the shoot. He hit the silence button on the side, cutting off the piercing ringtone. I wish I was back home. His fingers itched for Molly, his favorite acoustic guitar. The tour was in April, approaching soon. He only used her for performances, so it’d been awhile since he held her. Tally would have to suffice when he got back to his apartment. That prick. Why did Landon have to go and mention Carl? Jesus Christ. Does the man have no tact? The tabloids were still full of the scandal. Every time Sean saw a newspaper article, or a quick blurb on the television, his stomach tied in knots. He felt such a fool—hoodwinked again. Why were all the men in his life assholes? Why couldn’t he meet someone decent? It couldn’t be that hard to find a good man in this huge f*****g city. His phone rang again. “Yes?” he asked, lifting the device to his ear. “Sean, get your ass back to the shoot.” He nearly snorted. Good ol’ Macie. He could count on her in his moments of emotional insecurity. “I want a break.” “You’re not a preschooler who needs nap time. We are on a tight schedule, in case you didn’t know. We have a meeting scheduled at six. This has got to be wrapped up now.” “No. I need a break.” “God, you’re such a child.” “Macie, did you even hear what he said?” “Yeah I did. And you’re a big boy who can handle the taunts without flying off the handle.” He sighed. She was right. Like always. “No,” he repeated. “We’ll have to reschedule. And next time, make sure Landon’s not there.” “Sean—” He hung up. And as he slipped the phone back into his pocket, his eyes caught sight of Carl. An image of Carl, but still enough to make Sean grind his teeth. He’d never be able to get over this. He watched the TV in the small newspaper stand on the corner. The anchor smiled sweetly at Carl, who so recently had been the object of Sean’s affections. “So you have a new romance already?” she asked the bastard. He smiled, pure and innocent. “Already? Sean and I have been split up for two months. That’s adequate time to move on.” “And the rumors that you cheated on Sean with your new beau, Travis Ross?” “Completely false, of course. Sean and I were pretty much over last year. We sort of just kept together through Christmas.” “No hard feelings, then?” He laughed. “Oh no, we’re still good friends.” Lies. Such lies. And so believable, why even doubt? Sean had thought Carl loved him. He’d been so wrong. If that were the worst of his string of lovers, he’d consider himself lucky. Except, Carl and his roaming ass was probably the mildest. Cohen had stolen Sean’s credit card. Mark took naked photos of Sean then sold them to the media. Evan had crashed Sean’s car and ran from the scene. In short, Sean was doomed to be alone and miserable. Yeah, right. The problem was he never learned his lesson. He’d fall head over heels for the next pair of brown eyes. Sean rubbed his arms. It was probably time to head back to the shoot. Jake had the car. Or I can grab a cab. He spied one across the street, parked outside a restaurant. Getting a ride home would be easier than walking all the way back. The light turned green and Sean slowly crossed the ice-covered street. As cautious as he was, he still managed to fall to his hands and knees. The damn shoes weren’t made for this weather. His pristine clothes soaked up the damp and dirt of the asphalt. “f**k,” he said aloud, struggling to his feet. The “don’t walk” sign flashed ominously. He hurried, knowing cabbies in New York City didn’t give a damn about pedestrians. He’d be squashed. His shoes slipped again, sending him back to his knees. The rough gravel dug into his skin through his pants. Damn it. Now Macie’d kill him for ruining a new outfit. “Hey!” shouted a sudden voice. Sean turned his head toward the speaker, a man standing on the street corner. “Move it!” the stranger yelled, waving his hands frantically. Sean glanced to his right, at a truck barreling toward him. No one stopped for anything in this city. He scrambled, trying to get up. His feet wouldn’t work. Or maybe it was the shoes. He couldn’t get purchase, couldn’t get out of the way. The impact hit him, but not from the truck, as he expected. The stranger from the corner tackled him, the man’s arms wrapping around Sean and pulling him in a tight embrace. The next series of motions happened so fast, Sean couldn’t keep it straight. Quick flashes of pain sparked in his back, his knees, and then his head. The world spun around him, and even when his body stilled, his mind continued to whirl. “You okay?” asked the same voice. Sean struggled to focus on the speaker, and saw the most amazing pair of brown eyes. “You’re gorgeous!” Sean said, staring up at the man. The concern on the guy’s face changed to surprise, then wry amusement. “Thanks for saying so, but I think that means you hit your head too hard.” A sudden pressure touched Sean’s head and he hissed. The man had a handkerchief pressed to Sean’s gash. The wound stung, and his eyes began to flutter close. “Hey, hey, stay with me. Focus on me.” Sean’s eyes snapped open and stared at the guy. “Good. You might have a concussion, so you can’t fall asleep.” Sean tried to nod, but the motion hurt his neck, and back, and head. “Careful.” The man’s hand tightened on Sean’s shoulder. “Let’s get you out of the street then I can call 911. Apply pressure on this.” The stranger lifted Sean’s fingers to the handkerchief. Then with his hands free, he helped Sean onto the nearby sidewalk. His palm stayed on Sean’s arm as he dialed and quickly reported what had happened—not mentioning Sean by name, for which Sean was grateful. Most people would add that in, get a bit of priority service. The less who knew he was in such a position, the better. Sean had heard the guy give his name as Emerson Willis to the dispatcher. Emerson. That sounded cute. “Okay,” Emerson said briskly. “They’ll be here in a few minutes. You’ll be just fine. I’m sure there’s no permanent damage, just a wang to your head.” “I wish your wang was on my head,” Sean heard himself say. Emerson snorted. “Nice pick up line. Save it for when you’re in full control of your faculties.” He started to stand. A surge of panic coursed through Sean. “You’re leaving?” The guy’s eyes widened. “You want me to stay?” Sean gulped. “The sight of blood makes me nauseous. I can’t handle this on my own. Plus, they’re already starting to take pictures.” “The f**k?” he said, his eyes scanning the crowd where many had cell phones in their hands. This would all wind up on the evening news. “People have no decency.” Emerson glanced at his watch. “I guess I can stay till they get here.” Sean relaxed and took the man’s hand in his own. “Thank you.” No more than a minute passed before sirens sounded in the distance. A flurry of activity happened all at once. The ambulance pulled up, EMTs surrounded him, and Emerson stood to leave. Sean tightened his grip on Emerson’s hand. His tone was high and pleading. “Don’t leave me.” Emerson’s brown eyes softened. “Sir,” one of the EMTs said to Sean. She was young and had her hair pulled back in a tight bun. Her eyes widened when she got a good look at Sean’s face. Still, she pressed on. “You’ll have to let him go.” “No,” Sean told her, holding tighter. “He needs to come with me.” She nodded, not ready to argue with him. They worked around Emerson, getting Sean situated onto a gurney. Sean’s held Emerson with a death grip. Emerson exhaled sharply, but allowed himself to be pulled along toward the ambulance. The door shut with a loud bang and Sean took a deep breath. Then, they shoved an oxygen mask over his mouth. Next, they unbuttoned his vest and shirt and applied sticky pads along his chest. “Oh, a guitar tattoo,” Emerson said, pointing at the mark above Sean’s heart. “I haven’t played my guitar since college.” “I’d rather die than go a day without touching her,” Sean answered, but his voice was muffled by the mask. He wasn’t sure if Emerson heard. “Maybe I’ll let you touch mine, too.” Emerson’s sudden smile let him know the message had gotten across.