Silver Screens and Broken Dreams (Echoes of Us #2)

11. “I saw that you were perfect, and so I loved you. Then I saw that you were not perfect and I loved you even more.” — Angelita Lim

Dylan

W e ascended the stairs until we reached a single metal door. "I thought it might be a bit quieter up here." With already full hands, Spencer turned and pushed down on a metal bar with his butt, giving it a heavy shove, swinging the door open.

The sharp, cold bite of the night air felt like a splash of clarity from the dreamlike state that Spencer always seemed to imbue in me. The city sprawled beneath us, a vast network of lights and shadows, the distant sounds of traffic muffled by our elevated refuge from the rest of the world, and from the chaos of the party below.

"How'd you know to come up here?" I sighed, walking towards the edge of the building.

"This ain't my first industry party here," he said from somewhere behind me, "I always try to find a little home away from home at all of these things. They aren't really my scene."

A large metal barricade separated the edge of the tall building from the long drop below. Grasping onto the metal railing, I leaned my body over the edge. A wave of vertigo hit me as the extent of our elevation was revealed in vivid detail for the first time. I pushed back away from the edge, turning to see a smirk playing on the edge of Spencer's mouth. I realised he must have seen my legs turn to jelly. I narrowed my eyes slightly before stalking toward him.

"Not your scene? But you're Mr. Big-Time Action Star. I thought these parties where all the studio execs, young starlets and handsome young wannabes fawn all over you would be your idea of heaven?"

Spencer nodded towards a group of plastic chairs set up near what looks like a giant air conditioning unit. He took a seat on the farthest one and set the bottle of champagne and the tray of canapés down at his feet. Pulling his jacket open, he produced two slim champagne flutes from his inside pocket. I chuckled and shook my head as he set them down next to the bottle.

"None of this is real," he sighed, picking up the bottle and smoothly pulling the cork out with the slightest of pops. He poured two glasses of the shimmering gold liquid and passed one across to me. "This is work. This is expected of us and part of my contractual obligations. This isn't who I am really."

"And who are you really?"

He eyed me carefully, assessing me whilst mulling over my question. "I'm kind of hoping you will stick around to find that out," he smiled, biting his bottom lip.

I looked away nervously as my gaze drifted over the cityscape again. The night enveloped everything in its melodic embrace, with only the occasional flare of lights from distant buildings or the sporadic whoosh of cars below to remind us that we were not completely detached from reality.

"Maybe I will," I responded, my voice soft but clear in the warm air. We clinked our glasses gently, a chime that seemed to punctuate the stillness of the night perfectly. Taking a sip of the champagne, I let the crisp, bubbly drink cleanse my palate, the rich flavour reminding me of the extravagance of the event below yet feeling miles away from it all on top of this building with Spencer.

He shifted in his chair, looking up at the stars briefly before meeting my eyes again. "It's funny," he started, setting his glass on the makeshift table beside him, "how these heights can make you feel so small yet so alive, isn't it?"

I nodded, following his gaze upwards. "It's like being on top of the world, yet invisible to it," I added, feeling the cool metal of the railing against my palms as I leaned back slightly.

He huffed out a small laugh, a sound that seemed to carry with it a hint of relief. "Exactly. It's the perfect escape." He stood, stretching his arms above his head. His shirt pulled free of his black trousers, exposing a strip of tanned but hair-covered flesh just below his belly button. The muscles there were tense and defined. My own chest heated underneath my collar as I attempted to try to stop openly ogling him. He crossed the small space between us to come and stand next to me. His presence was oddly calming, grounding even, against the backdrop of this otherwise surreal evening.

We spent the next few moments in silence, just watching the city breathe below us. The noise of the party below was barely audible from the stairway. The speeches now seemed to have given way to some kind of DJ set, the sound like an echo of a now-distant world.

"So," I broke the silence, turning to face him. His eyes, reflecting the city lights, seemed to hold stories yet to be told. "What's the real Spencer like, then? The one who doesn't have to smile for the cameras or schmooze with producers?"

He shrugged, a smile forming, a genuine curve of his lips appearing that didn't quite reach his eyes. "He's a lot more boring than you'd expect. Stays home a lot. Watching movies with the curtain drawn on a sunny day. Reads a lot of books, hikes, spends far too much time just playing with his dog, and thinks about life too often and what's out there waiting for him."

"That doesn't sound boring to me," I said, my tone even and measured, "it sounds real."

"Real," he repeated, mulling over the word. "Yeah, I guess that's a good way to put it." He looked back towards the open stairwell, a wistful expression crossing his face. "I think I've had enough real for the minute," he sighed, walking across to fetch his glass. "To a season well done," he toasted, his voice carrying over the slight wind that whipped around the building. The clink of our glasses under the starlit sky felt like a seal on our shared experiences over the last few months and the gruelling work now left behind us. "And to all the time I hope to spend together."

The silence that followed was charged, laden with an unspoken tension that seemed to thicken the air between us. I found myself caught in his gaze, in those deep eyes that seemed to strip away the fa?ade I kept up for everyone else.

"So, any plans during the hiatus?" I ventured, hoping to steer the conversation to safer waters.

He chuckled, a low, resonant sound that seemed to vibrate along the air. "Trying to change the subject, Dylan?" His voice was soft but edged with a playful accusation.

I exhaled, a cloud of vapour mingling with the brisk night air. "I'm not great at… this," I confessed, the admission more difficult than I expected. "Let's just say that my history with actors… it's complicated."

Spencer once again set his glass down, his movements deliberate, closing the small distance between us. "Complicated how?" he prodded gently, encouraging me to open up.

I stared at him for a moment, gauging whether I wanted to open this can of worms with a guy whom, outside of work, I barely knew. I saw nothing but raw open honesty in his stare and decided that yes, I wanted him to know this part of me.

Gathering my thoughts, I stared out at the city, its vastness a mirror to the turmoil inside me. "Austin was my first real love," I started, the name on my lips bringing a pang of old, yet familiar pain. "We started everything together – hopes, dreams, our careers. But as he had the chance to rise in the industry, it became very clear he needed freedom more than he needed me. When he left, it felt like he took parts of me with him. It's taken a lot to piece myself back together, to even consider letting someone in again."

Spencer listened as I told him of my past with Austin, from our time in high school right through to our home outside of New York. His expression was unreadable in the half-light, his nearness both a comfort and a torment. "And you think I'm like him?"

The question hung between us, a challenge laid bare. I met his gaze, seeing the earnestness there, the sincerity that set him apart from the version of Austin that now occupied my memory. "I thought I knew better than to fall for another actor," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "But then you came along, and I…"

The words trailed off, but Spencer seemed to understand. He reached out, his hand gentle on my cheek, turning my face towards him. The city lights, the distant sounds, the warm air – all faded into the background. His touch was a question, his eyes searching for an answer I wasn't sure I was ready to give.

"Until I came along?" he whispered, his breath warm against my skin.

"Until you came along," I repeated, my defences crumbling under the weight of his gaze, the sincerity in his touch.

He leaned in slowly, giving me a moment to pull back, a chance to stop what was inevitable. But as his lips met mine, all hesitation melted away. The earth seemed to shift on its axis. Everything clicked into place.

A feeling of rightness.

A feeling I hadn't experienced in what felt like forever.

Home.

This was what I wanted.

"It's La Lucerna you are going to, my friend?" the newbie driver called through to me from the front seat.

I lowered my phone and leaned forward towards him. "Yes, it's on East Seventy-Second Street." I raised my voice slightly, to make sure I was audible over the constant honking of horns and the din of the city outside the car.

"We may be running a little late," he hissed through his teeth, "the traffic is so bad. This is why real New Yorkers take the subway."

I sat back in my seat, a little stung at being called out for not being a true New Yorker. Fair enough, I did take advantage of the handy car service the network provided for me, but I didn't think I'd forgotten about my subway and city bus roots. "If you are worried about being caught in traffic, I can get out here and walk." I tried to ease the edge to my voice. "It's only a couple of blocks."

"That would be great if you don't mind." The driver beamed at me through his mirror. "This would normally be Luca's job as you know, but I'm on loan from Meave whilst he is dealing with something personal," he muttered, rolling his eyes.

"I think the personal thing is the flu, right?" I snapped. I honestly hadn't expected him to take me up on my offer to walk the few blocks to the restaurant. It was high noon in the middle of New York City. The whole place was like a boiled kettle. I hoped that I would not be sweating through my white linen shirt and cream chinos by the time I met my lunch companions.

"Oh you know," the driver shrugged, "there is always an excuse with some drivers."

"Yes, I think a high fever and throwing up is a pretty good excuse," I returned, deadpan. It made sense to me all of a sudden that he would drive someone like Meave. He must need quite a thick skin to cope with all the snide barbs and outright insults she likely threw his way on a daily basis. Being that close to the essence of pure evil obviously rubbed off after a while.

A few minutes later, he pulled the car over to the sidewalk. I exited the car, dragging my bag and bottle of water with me before closing the door. I attempted to turn around to thank the man, but I only saw the rear of the car as he sped away into the heavy city traffic.

"Charming," I muttered to myself. I slid my phone out of my pocket and fired off a quick text to let my lunch companions know that I might be a few minutes late, thanks to Maeve's underling. I scrolled back through my texts as I made my way along the sidewalk, a stab of annoyance in my gut as I still didn't see any messages from Spencer.

It had been four weeks since he kissed me on the rooftop. We had stood there, me in his arms, and his mouth had made love to mine. The city lights had twinkled below, like constellations laid out just for us. He had sighed into my mouth before pulling back; his gaze had rooted me to the spot and set me ablaze. His stare, deep and revealing, had seemed to suspend time itself until we eventually had to descend back into the reality of the glittering industry party below. As we'd parted ways at the bottom of the stairwell that led back into the noise and chaos, Spencer's hand had come out to grip mine.

"Think about us," he said softly, his voice earnest. "I want something real, something serious with you. We have a while until the new season begins production, so take the time to make sure that seeing where this thing between us goes, is something you really want. Because Dylan, once you're mine, I'm not letting you go."

A few minutes later two men in suits opened the doors for me at an exclusive Italian restaurant on the Upper East Side, La Lucerna. A wave of cooled, fragrant air buffeted me as I walked through the gold-trimmed doorway, a heavenly escape from the hell-like heat outside. A beautiful young woman with deep-toned skin who looked to be in her early twenties smiled at me from the hostess desk just inside.

"Are you dining with us today sir?" Her voice was soft and sweet.

"I'm actually supposed to be meeting with some…" I began.

"Hey Sally May!" I grimaced, shooting an apologetic glance towards the hostess before turning my attention towards Natalie who was sitting just a few tables away. The other diners in the restaurant cast a mixture of amused and annoyed glances her way. I bit back a smile as Hillary, who was sitting next to Natalie, hid her face in her hands.

"I apologise for her," I winced at the hostess, "I'll make sure she behaves herself."

The hostess smiled gratefully as I headed towards the table. After a very handsome waiter took my order, I sat pinned by the curious stares of my two colleagues sitting across from me. "What?"

"What do you mean, what?" Natalie chuckled. "Have you heard anything from Jax?" It still threw me a little that everyone else still knew him as Jax, and only those closest to him were able to use his given name.

"Nothing," I sighed, picking up a glass of water from the table and taking a sip. "Maybe he's changed his mind about everything after all?"

"Are you okay, sweetie?" Hillary asked, eyeing me with concern.

"Just thinking about the break. And the show," I replied, trying to redirect the conversation to safer waters.

Natalie played with her wine glass, her eyes darting between me and Hillary. She looked as if she was on the verge of saying something, but holding back for some reason. Hillary saw me watching Natalie's confused stare and turned sharply towards her.

"Ouch!" Natalie yelped, reaching down to touch her calf.

Hillary shot her a stern look that screamed ' Keep it professional' .

Seemingly unable to contain herself, Natalie burst out. "Jax's been turning down dates. Like all of them."

"What?" That couldn't be true. Could it?

"Yep, his publicist is furious," Natalie continued. "They really wanted to jump on the viral marketing campaigns and the show's success to boost his profile even more. It's been a huge big thing for them."

"Natalie!" Hillary scolded. "Privacy!"

"Why isn't he doing what his team have asked him to do?" I asked.

Hillary barked out a laugh, a short, almost disbelieving sound. "You really don't know?"

"I didn't want to say anything," Natalie shrugged, "because despite all the evidence to the contrary, I do sometimes like to mind my own business."

"Natalie!" Hillary barked.

She rolled her eyes at Hillary's dramatics but obliged. "I caught up with Jax for lunch last week. He told me about the issues he has been having with his publicist and all their concerns. He was pretty clear about it – said he's found his person and doesn't need to look any further. He respects whatever decision you make Dylan, but for him you're it. Whether you need a month or a decade to figure things out. He's waiting for you."

My heart skipped. The clarity of Spencer's feelings, laid out so starkly, was both terrifying and exhilarating. "He said that?" I could barely hear my own voice. There was a part of my brain that refused to believe what Natalie was saying. It couldn't be true. Choosing me over his career? We barely knew each other. Of course, he would choose his own career, because that was what people did in situations like this. When it was a choice between me or fame, I was always left in the dust.

"Yes," Hillary interjected, "and we called him an idiot, because who waits around like that? But he's serious Dylan. He's waiting for you. I don't think you should wait for him to call."

The weight of Spencer's declaration settled around me like a cloak. I'd come to discuss crew setups, not revelations about someone else's heart. I couldn't for a moment lie and say I hated it, because here I was, faced with a decision that now seemed inevitable.

The rest of the dinner passed in a blur, with plans made and tasks delegated, but my mind was elsewhere. As I bid goodbye to Natalie and Hillary, my thoughts were of Spencer, his earnest eyes and our shared moment on the rooftop that now felt like just the beginning.

Maybe, just maybe, it was time to stop thinking about the past. It was time to stop letting my experiences with someone who didn't deserve me cloud my judgement. Spencer had made his choice clear. Now it was time for me to choose.