Page 8 of Broken Romeo

Oh, God. The paper wrinkles as I tighten my grip on the script. Four lines in and I’ve already fucked this up?

He stands, and after a few swift strides, he hops onto the stage, rushing into my personal space. He towers over me, his voice cracking like a whip. “What are these tears?”

The tears have all but vanished, drying up the moment he stopped the scene.

I’d felt proud of that acting, as short lived as it was before he interrupted me. I was natural and real and—

“I’ll tell you what they are. They’re bullshit,” he says, shattering what little confidence I have.

“Tears aren’t bullshit,” I respond before I have time to think better of it. “They show compassion for the person you hurt. Empathy. And pain—”

“You’re right. Tears aren’t bullshit… but yours are.” He drives the point home by leaning closer into my face, his whisper so low that no one else can hear him except for me. “I know what your tears look like, Kate.”

A swallow sticks to the back of my throat. I haven’t been this physically close to Holden in years, and my body is responding in all kinds of fucked up ways. My pulse races, the flutter rapid against my jaw. My thighs clench and I squeeze them together against the ache that settles at the apex.

I hate him. I hate him so much, but somehow the rest of my body never got the memo.

“This character isn’t in pain yet,” he continues, but he doesn’t back out of my personal space. “She’s desperate, yes. And fearful of losing Zach. The tears can come eventually… but only if it’s organic. Only if it comes from here.”

With one finger, he brushes the space between my brows. It’s a gesture so quick, so personal, that no one else would understand. A reference to a time when we were young and carefree, and I shared with him that when I cry, I feel the buzz in my sinuses first, before anywhere else in my body.

“In your scene, you were trying to cry. But in reality, this character would be doing everything possible to not cry.”

He’s right. Fuck. I hate that he’s right.

“Try it again,” he says. “Only this time, read the lines directly to me.”

“What?” My voice catches, and I want to kick myself.

He lowers his voice to a whisper. “I want you to read the lines with me. To me. I want your focus laser sharp.”

My attention shifts between the script clutched in my hands and his stare. His expression is an impressive mix of disappointment and doubt.

Yep, starting off on the right foot.

“Look at me, Kate,” he commands. “See me.”

My gaze glides up his body, noting the strong, wide stance of his legs and jeans that shouldn’t look this good on him. I see the spoiled rich kid from college; the kid who shines at anything he does. I stare as he fiddles with the antique spinner ring on his finger—his nervous tick. So subtle, almost a silent, imperceptible movement. But it’s there. This show is important to him, too. He’s nervous. His first directorial gig—and he has a lot to prove.

His five o’clock shadow shifts against the tick of his jaw, and I notice small worry lines that have formed in the years since undergrad.

I see all versions of Holden in front of me in this moment—the boy I used to love. And the man I now hate.

Energy crackles to life between us and a spark jolts in my spine. Only twelve inches separate us.

Well, twelve inches, one betrayal, and five years.

“Last chance, Katherine,” he whispers.

I’m powerless against him when he uses my full name. Especially in here, since he’s the boss. In this room, he can call me whatever he damn well pleases. And he knows it.

“Please don’t walk away from me,” I say my first line on an exhale. “You can’t honestly tell me we’re over.”

“There’s not a single thing you can say to make this better,” he says. The lines coming from him ring in my ears, haunting me, like ghosts of our past. “There’s no coming back from this.”

Heat pricks against my skin, and the tether of energy connecting us becomes a rope that attaches my heart directly to his. For the first time in years, a single goal connects Holden and me. We’re partners. I can’t be sure, but here in this moment, it feels like he needs me as much as I need him.

It almost feels like he wants me to succeed.

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