Page 14 of Nothing Special X: The Last Stand

Voices crashed over him from every direction. Loud and emotional, desperate to be heard over one another.

People shouted that they loved him, were praying for him, that they were sorry for what happened.

He moved down the blockade with a forced smile, holding the sharpie in his trembling hands.

They all wanted selfies. Some pushed posters and glossy photos of him into his hands. Others just wanted to touch him for half a second, curling their fingers around his wrist or shoulders, sighing against the clammy skin over his throat.

Every couple of minutes he glanced around for Cassidy. He never had to search long. He’d seen him give curt nods to security before they’d intervene and peel an overeager fan away.

Three days ago, Xander would’ve interacted with his fans longer. He would’ve smiled for real, hugged people back, thanked them properly. He knew most of them meant well. But tonight, every shout sounded too loud, every sudden movement made adrenaline spike like an electric shock.

His smile ached from how forced it was, and the longer he stood there under the flashes and commotion, the more the crowd stopped looking like supporters and started blending into restless, unpredictable blurs of threats.

By the time the black chauffeured SUV rolled up beside the curb, he was damp from sweat and dizzy with overexertion.

He climbed into the backseat faster than his dignity should’ve allowed, the heavy door shutting behind him as if sealing him inside a vault.

A light tap sounded against the driver-side window before Xander could even catch his breath.

His heart jumped, until he saw the black-clad torso.

Cassidy motioned for the driver to lower the glass.

The dark window eased down with a soft hum, and Cassidy bent slightly with one arm braced on the roof of the SUV.

The night breeze wafted inside carrying the scent of Cassidy with it. It was the end of the day and Xander could still smell faint traces of his masculine soap under his unique nighttime scent.

God.

“You did good,” Cassidy said.

Xander opened his eyes slowly.

“Despite how you’re feeling, you gave each one of them your attention.” Cassidy was staring him in his eyes. “That says something about you.”

The praise touched a part of him it shouldn’t have.

Cassidy tilted his head slightly. “You all right?”

Xander blinked up at him.

Everyone around him saw Xander Vale, the Academy Award-winning, hardest working actor in Hollywood. Being in his orbit equaled opportunity.

But Cassidy looked at him as if he saw Lane Cross. The man who was barely holding himself together and wanted nothing from him but to make sure he was okay.

With his words trapped in his throat, he could only manage a small nod.

Cassidy reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a simple black card.

“My cell’s on the back,” he said, extending it in his direction. “If you need anything…anything, call me.”

Xander’s hand trembled as he reached for it.

Their fingers brushed.

Cassidy’s fingertips were rough and warm despite the cool air, and the contact sent a shiver through Xander that had nothing to do with fear.

“Th-thank you,” he whispered.