Page 40 of Beyond the Bright Lights

“A tizzy?” Mylan’s brows furrow.

Harold waves his hand around. “The media, the fans. We usually have a good number of visitors trickling in during the summer because of the lake in the town over, but never this many. It's exciting, like the fair has come to town.”

“Oh,” Mylan utters. I expected him to shrink into his shoulders like he did at my grandparents, but he stands tall. “Let me know if there are any problems. I can control the media, to an extent, and my fans usually back off if I ask.”

Coach Harold bobs his head in thought then slaps a palm on Mylan’s shoulder. “I appreciate that, Mister Andrews.”

I snort, and Mylan lifts a brow at me as we follow Coach out of the office.

“Mister Andrews,” I mouth at him, and he shrugs.

Coach takes us deep into the locker room to the senior section. He points at locker twenty, Tyler’s locker, which was transformed into a memorial for him shortly after his death.

Coach props a foot on the bench and leans over to rest his forearms on top his knee. “Tyler was the most selfless person I ever met.”

Mylan unravels his rolled-up script again and begins writing.

“He’d always look out for us, his teammates. He’d know when we were struggling, either with schoolwork or maybe something going on at home. One kid, a freshman, couldn’t afford new shoes and was wearing his brother’s old torn ones. So, Tyler gathered donations and bought that kid three new pairs.”

“I remember that,” I say, smiling.

“Another time, a sophomore, Kyle, who would talk and joke around non-stop, showed up to practice one morning before school and sat on the bench, silent. Right away, Tyler knew something was wrong. When the rest of the team left for the field to begin warm-ups, Tyler stayed behind. He offered a safe space, he offered support, judgment free, and found out Kyle’s father was physically abusing his mother and mentally abusing him.”

Mylan’s stiffens next to me. I glance at him and notice his tense face and clenched jaw.

Coach is still talking, so I can’t ask Mylan if he’s okay. Instead, I offer him my hand, which he takes after storing away his script and tucking his pencil behind his ear. His shoulder’s drop, and he lets out the breath he was holding.

“. . . the mother and father separated. She got a restraining order against him and Kyle was safe again. Tyler was always so observant. Might have saved that young man and his mother’s life.”

Coach waves at us to follow. If he noticed our embrace, he doesn’t say a word about it. We walk through the gymnasium as Coach Harold points out plaques with awards or banners hung high listing division title wins that Tyler was a part of.

I’m still holding Mylan’s hand and whatever dark memory appeared in the locker room is long gone. His ability to dismiss an emotion as quick as it arrives is incredible. Is he able to do that because he’s an actor? Is he trained to do that?

Coach Harold rambles on for the next thirty minutes, going way off topic and not even telling stories about Tyler anymore. Every so often, I’d catch Mylan lifting his right hand and sniffing his index and middle fingers.

Sniffing me.

I curse my nipples for hardening in response and squeeze my thighs to ease the pulse in my cunt that comes to life around him.

Damn him.

He’s doing it on purpose, teasing me, irritating me.

Turning me on.

By the time we’ve walked around most of the school, and we’re back at the front, next to the office, it’s been an hour. I manage to peel my fingers free from Mylan’s tight hold seconds before Coach whips around to face us.

“Now, you’ve got some big shoes to fill,” he says, waving a finger. “I’ve read some stuff about you, and I’m trusting you won’t be doing any of that here?”

“No, sir,” Mylan answers, and I actually believe him.

“Good. This movie may just be a job for you, but it’s our life. Our history. It’s our future. Tyler’s legacy is our legacy. We work very hard, Lana works very hard, to make sure his final wish never dies.”

Coach holds out a hand and Mylan takes it. The two men shake.

“Don’t worry, Coach,” Mylan begins. “I won’t let everyone down.” He turns his head to me. “I won’t let you down.”

My stomach fills with fluttering butterflies, and I look away from Mylan’s searing gaze.

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