24
Shane’s Late Night Live episode was scheduled for their second week back in production after the holidays. Intangible had arranged it so his time in New York would coincide with shooting the backdoor pilot for Rosie and Ryder’s potential spin-off, so neither he nor Lilah would have much to do that week. He tried not to wonder how she planned to spend her time off, whether she’d be seeing that guy from the party again.
He couldn’t stop himself from texting her after his first meeting with the LNL writers, though.
SHANE: hey
Were you planning on coming out to New York to watch the show?
She replied almost instantly.
LILAH: ummm maybe
I haven’t bought a plane ticket yet or anything
Why?
SHANE: Would you want to make a cameo?
In the monologue, I mean. Maybe a sketch if you’re feeling adventurous
She started to type something, then stopped. He added hurriedly:
It was their idea
LILAH: haha
No sketches
I’d do the monologue though
When would I have to come out?
And would they pay for it
SHANE: Just for the dress rehearsal on Friday, if you can. And probably
LILAH: deal
SHANE: you’re the best
He hit “send” before he could stop himself, then put his phone back in his pocket, immediately self-conscious. To his surprise, it buzzed again immediately.
LILAH: So how’s it going out there?
SHANE: good, I think. We haven’t really done anything yet,
but everyone’s cool so far
Doesn’t seem like they’re going to humiliate me on purpose, at least
LILAH: idk
You know what they say
Never trust a comedian
They’ll do anything for a laugh
Five nights later, as Shane was sweating his way through the live show, he regretted not taking her warning seriously.
He couldn’t even blame sabotage, though. He was bombing, and it was nobody’s fault but his own.
Things had started out okay. The monologue had gone over well; he’d stumbled over the cue cards a few times but managed to get laughs everywhere he was supposed to.
The highlight had, of course, been Lilah’s cameo. One of the cast members, Faith, had come onto the stage dressed up as an uncanny Lilah-as-Kate, and the two of them flirted heavily, moving closer and closer, complete with smoldering, meaningful eye contact, and dramatic music not unlike the score of Intangible.
“Sorry, am I interrupting something?” Lilah’s entrance had been greeted with cheers and applause, Shane biting the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning.
He rode into the first commercial break on a high, pulling Lilah into a dazed hug as soon as he left the stage, his heart hammering wildly in his chest. Maybe it was his nerves, but it felt like she was holding on extra tightly. But too soon, he was rushed off to wardrobe to get ready for his first character.
It was all downhill from there, though.
During the brainstorming phase early in the week, he hadn’t wanted to seem like a diva, so he’d enthusiastically agreed to every idea that the writers had thrown out, whether or not he liked it. There hadn’t been much time to second-guess during the breakneck rehearsal period, with sketches being added, dropped, and rewritten every hour. Throughout it all, they’d assured him that, as chaotic as the process seemed, it always came together in the end.
He started to doubt it halfway through the first sketch, in which he played the father of one of the show’s signature recurring characters: an awkward tween girl who always got her period at the worst possible time. That one had gone fine, since the character was inexplicably popular, and all he had to do was play the straight man.
But next, he had to carry his first character sketch, playing a taxi driver who overshared about his sex life with his passengers. They’d given him a huge fake mustache that itched like crazy, pulling his focus, his New York accent fading in and out. He tripped over the punch lines, earning mostly polite, embarrassed laughter.
After that, he was so psyched out, it was hard to recover. The executive producer came over to him during a commercial break and clapped him on the shoulder, telling him he was doing great and he just needed to relax, which only freaked him out more.
He’d never experienced anything like this before. If nothing else, he was confident. Now, though, he had to admit that he was totally out of his depth. He could practically feel the other role—the one that, despite his better judgment, he’d let himself get attached to over the past few weeks—slipping through his fingers. He knew he was stiff, his energy low, but the train was too far off the tracks, each flubbed joke landing worse than the last.
He felt like a cartoon character, running off the edge of the cliff only to find there was nothing but air beneath him, legs pinwheeling hopelessly for several long seconds before he plummeted to the ground in a cloud of dust.
…
From her vantage point in the audience, watching Shane struggle through the show, Lilah felt physically ill.
As he stumbled through one misguided sketch after another, his timing off and his delivery wooden—playing Borat as a courtroom judge; dressed in full granny drag in a knitting circle; pulling off tearaway pants and dancing to Europop in a silver Speedo—it struck her how, six months ago, she would’ve relished this. That he was finally getting his first taste of failure in the charmed career he’d stumbled ass-backward into. Instead, it almost felt like she was up there instead of him: blanking at the cue cards, lights roasting her skin, the uncomfortable silence of the audience pounding heavily in her ears.
He’d be able to bounce back from this. The next week or two would probably be bad, but beyond that, it would quickly fade from public memory—at least until it was time to aggregate a new “Worst LNL Hosts of All Time” clickbait list.
But if this was supposed to be an audition for his next job, there was no question that his performance tonight had killed his chances. The two of them had that in common now, at least. Still, watching it happen in real time was viscerally painful, her whole body tense, a boulder of anxiety where her stomach used to be.
And, worst of all, she knew his confidence in himself was rattled in a way that would stick with him long after the public forgot. However badly he was doing, she could tell he thought he was flopping ten times worse. She was so attuned to his every microexpression that a single helpless twitch of his eyebrows was enough to make sweat bead at the base of her spine.
Something clicked into place then. Something she should’ve realized a long time ago.
She’d spent years resenting him for his easy charm, how effortless it was for him to make people love him—but for the first time, she understood it wasn’t easy. It wasn’t effortless. It was how he survived. He didn’t know who he was without it.
When she looked at him now, trying as hard as he could to win over an increasingly disengaged audience, all she could see was that scared little boy he’d once been, convinced he could fix everything if he was just agreeable enough, accommodating enough, lovable enough—whatever he thought everyone around him wanted him to be.
Her hands trembled from how badly she wanted to reach for him, to jump on that stage, wrap him in her arms, and tell him that he was enough.
It fucking killed her that she couldn’t help him. That she was powerless to do anything but sit there and watch.
But she wasn’t powerless, she realized. There was something she could do. The idea took shape all at once, grabbing hold of her and refusing to let go.
She expected panic to follow, but instead, she felt strangely light. Peaceful. It was as if she’d been trudging around in head-to-toe armor for so long that she no longer noticed the burden, but now that it was suddenly lying in pieces at her feet, she was left both weightless and defenseless. She slipped out of her seat, her feet carrying her backstage without a second thought.
…
Shane dragged himself to his dressing room, back in his street clothes again after his last sketch. There were still a few minutes left in the show: a second performance by the musical guest, one more commercial break, and then the good nights. For better or worse, he’d made it through in one piece—physically, at least.
He opened the door, and Lilah was there, sitting on the counter, leaning against the mirror.
Until he saw her face, he’d been holding out one tiny bit of hope that his performance hadn’t been as tragic as it felt from the inside.
“I know,” he said weakly.
Her expression cleared as she quickly tried to regain her poker face.
“The writing was garbage. You were just doing your best.”
He collapsed on the couch.
“Fuck. Fuck.” He covered his face with his hands and groaned. “This is exactly what I was afraid of. This is all everyone is going to be talking about tomorrow, isn’t it? That I blew it?”
She didn’t say anything, just braced her palms on the edge of the counter and leaned forward, her shoulders pushed up to her ears. “Maybe,” she said carefully. “Or we could give them something else to talk about.”
He was so agitated that it took him a moment to process what she was saying. Or what he thought she was saying. He sat upright. “What?”
Her head was still angled toward her lap, but her gaze slid up to meet his. Her chest rose and fell. She said nothing.
He stood up suddenly, pacing, impassioned, as he groped for words. “Isn’t that—we can’t—wouldn’t that be…I don’t know. Manipulative? If it’s not—if we’re not…”
She looked down again, saying it almost to herself. “What if we were, though?” Her eyes flicked back to him.
He felt like he was frozen to the spot. He opened his mouth, then closed it.
“Huh” was all he could manage.
He sat back down on the couch with a thud. Neither of them said anything, their eyes locked for an interminable moment. He shook his head, as if that would knock everything back into the correct place and make this suddenly make sense. “And this is how…? Shouldn’t we…like…talk? Or something? First? Before we just…” He trailed off, gesturing vaguely with his hand.
“You don’t want to?”
“Of course I want to,” he blurted out immediately, ignoring the satisfied smile that played across her lips. He felt his voice rise against his will, his emotions already heightened after the stress of the past few hours. “But this would be a big fucking deal, Lilah. For me, anyway. And I don’t want to be fucked around. Are you just doing this because you feel bad about talking me into it? You feel sorry for me? Because I don’t need your pity.”
She let out an exasperated sigh, eyes flashing with irritation, her voice rising even louder than his. “No, Shane, I’m doing it because I’m in love with you.”
The words rang out like a slap, sharp and harsh. She looked almost surprised she’d said it, her face flushed, mouth slightly open. All he could do was blink at her, unable to move. Barely able to breathe.
“What?” His voice came out tight and strangled.
She took a deep breath, her hands twisting in her lap. When she spoke again, her voice was quiet, careful. “I love you. I want…I want to be with you. And I don’t care if the whole fucking world knows this time. I want them to know.”
He felt dizzy, suddenly so light-headed that he wished there were a way to sit down while already sitting down. Of all the things he’d expected her to say to him—not just tonight, but ever—that was pretty much dead last on the list.
He wondered whether this was the first time she’d said it to anyone. Whether she’d said it to her ex while they were together. Whether she’d believed it then.
Whether he should let himself believe it now.
But then it hit him. The full gravity of what she was suggesting.
She’d torpedoed their relationship the first time around at the first hint that they might have to go public. And over the past few months, she’d made it clear she was too stubborn to ever admit she might want to try again—which was the only thing stopping him from getting down on his knees and begging. But now, she wasn’t just asking, unprompted, for a second chance—astonishing on its own—she was offering it up as a lifeline. A distraction. Drawing attention away from his performance, so he wouldn’t have to suffer even a fraction of the same public humiliation that she had.
Which meant it must be true.
She really was in love with him.
If he were a cartoon character, the revelation would’ve been an anvil to the head, birds and stars circling in the aftermath. Or maybe a piano, leaving him smiling dizzily with a mouth full of keys.
She groaned, scrubbing her hands over her face—a noise of frustration with herself, not with him. “God. I’ve never done this before. I’m not good at it, it’s coming out all wrong. I shouldn’t have just sprung it on you, this is totally the wrong time. You’re right, we should probably talk about it first. And we don’t have to do it like this, make a whole public thing out of it right away.”
Her hands fell to her lap again, her gaze following them. She shook her head resignedly, voice cracking with emotion. “But I couldn’t wait another fucking minute to tell you. I’m sorry. I just couldn’t.”
At that last part, she finally met his eyes, and his breath caught when he saw the mask was gone. The studied archness, the annoyance, the smugness at shocking and destabilizing him. It was just Lilah, cracked wide open, as unguarded as he’d ever seen her.
Dimly, in the recesses of his mind, he realized he should probably say it back. But he also understood, as brave as she was to confess, she never would’ve done it if she wasn’t completely confident he was in just as deep as she was. He could see it in the way she was looking at him. She wasn’t waiting for it. She already knew.
So he bit it back, letting her have her moment. He had the whole rest of his life to tell her. To show her.
Besides, now they were even.
“You know that was never my problem,” he said quietly, holding her gaze. “Going public, I mean. If it’d been up to me, I would’ve shouted it from the rooftops from day one.”
She dropped her gaze, presumably to hide the flushed smile creeping across her face. “I guess there wouldn’t be any point trying to keep it a secret, anyway. It seems like we’re the last to know.”
“Speak for yourself.”
Her smile widened, verging on giddy. “You weren’t going to say anything?”
“Can you blame me?”
He felt something kick to life inside his chest as he reached her, her thighs parting so he could stand between them. He was going to kiss her, already cradling her jaw in his hands, but once he got up close, he could see she was shaking, her pulse fluttering wildly beneath his fingers.
So instead, he took her hands in both of his, running his thumbs softly over their smooth backs, over each knuckle. A shiver ran through her, her eyes flicking shut, then open again. She looked heartbreakingly vulnerable in that moment, like she was going to cry, and he tightened his grip on her hands.
“No. I can’t blame you,” she said quietly.
A loud rap sounded at the door, startling them—a PA sent to herd them into place for good nights. Shane let go of one of Lilah’s hands but kept hold of the other as she eased herself off the counter, still holding on as they wound their way to the stage and took their place front and center among the cast members. He had a vague sense of people talking to him, congratulating him, slapping him on the back, but all he could focus on was the weight of Lilah’s hand in his.
The prospect of what was about to happen—what they were about to do—filled him with an eerie sense of calm. It was like the rest of the evening had been a nightmare, a distant, unpleasant memory that held no power over him now that he was awake.
He released her hand and wrapped his arm around her shoulders instead. She flicked her gaze up at him before edging closer, placing her hand on his chest, then dropping it self-consciously to her side again as a producer counted them down. The band began to play, and Shane looked into the camera.
“Thank you to Lilah Hunter, Andromeda X, the cast…it’s been an amazing week. Good night!”
He looked at Lilah as the music swelled behind them. If he’d seen even a trace of apprehension in her face, he wouldn’t have done a thing. But all he saw was excitement, anticipation, a simmering ache—an expression that probably matched his own.
Just the smallest curl of his biceps around her shoulders and she was in front of him, her chest pressed to his, his mouth on hers without hesitation, his other hand floating up to cradle the back of her head.
He was dimly aware of the applause around them heightening to an earsplitting roar, but it faded to white noise as her arms slid around his waist and her lips parted, her tongue seeking his. It wasn’t a raunchy kiss, though. It felt sweet and hopeful and perfect, the two of them wrapped tightly around each other, rocking gently back and forth, a self-contained loop, their own secluded island, unaffected by the chaos around them. Public, but intensely private at the same time.
He had a feeling that even if they’d been completely alone the first time he kissed her again—really kissed her—he would’ve heard a cheering section anyway.
He pulled back slightly. In his peripheral vision, he could see the shocked, gleeful expressions of the cast hovering around them. He ducked down to murmur in Lilah’s ear.
“So you were thinking something like that?”
She laughed. “Yeah. That’s pretty much what I had in mind.”
“Guess you’re stuck with me now.”
Lilah pressed her cheek against his. He could hear the smile in her voice. “I’ve been stuck with you for the past nine years.”
She tilted her head and caught his lips again, and everything besides the two of them ceased to exist.