28
In the weeks leading up to the convention, it was easy for Lilah not to dwell on it too much. She was too wrapped up in Shane, filming, Shane, hunting for her next job, and Shane. But before she knew it, they were boarding a flight to San Francisco, checking into their hotel, clutching their itineraries as they rode the elevator up to their suite in silence.
Their schedule wasn’t too demanding—meeting fans and signing autographs in the morning, the panel in the afternoon, a party in their honor at night—but it was all crammed into a single day, rather than spread out over the weekend. She was preemptively exhausted by the emotional energy it would take to be on all day, meeting hundreds of fans, second-guessing everything she said, ensuring no one walked away disappointed while still protecting her own boundaries.
But, of course, now that she and Shane were together, she hadn’t thought twice about agreeing to do it. She didn’t want to be apart from him a minute longer than she had to. Plus, the fact that he would be by her side the whole time was enough to ease some of her nerves. She’d had an emergency session with her old therapist the week before, working through every possible worst-case scenario in excruciating detail, coming up with strategies to calm herself without resorting to drugs—but with a freshly refilled prescription of benzos in her purse just in case.
She slept fitfully, waking up long before her alarm, lying there wrapped in Shane’s arms as he snored softly next to her. At breakfast, she was able to choke down some coffee and most of a banana before her stomach tightened like a fist. She pretended not to see Shane’s worried expression as he watched her.
In the van on the way to the convention center, Lilah sat silently in the back as the rest of them chatted and joked around her. Shane joined in, but kept her hand tightly in his the whole time.
The building spanned what seemed like an entire block, with a capacity of hundreds of thousands—hordes of people in brightly colored wigs and costumes were buzzing around the outside. Even though they were brought in through a back entrance, the distant roar of activity on the main floor was already oppressive. Lilah toyed absently with the laminated badge around her neck as Raf and Brian discussed which panels they were hoping to sneak away to catch in between their own commitments.
Before leading them onto the floor, the convention staffer who’d been assigned to them gave them a rundown on the rules: They weren’t obligated to sign anything they didn’t want to. They could take pictures and chat, but the priority was keeping the line moving. If they felt unsafe at any point, they should alert the security guard posted next to the table. Lilah’s heart thudded beneath her collarbone, her eyes slipping out of focus as the door opened and she was swallowed whole by the noise of the crowd.
She’d expected the autograph table to be in its own room, but it was right in the center of the action, the roped-off lines of waiting fans practically indistinguishable from the masses of other passersby trying to shove their way through. The table was at least a dozen yards away from the door, and Lilah fought to keep her nervous system from getting overwhelmed at every step.
She could vaguely make out people screaming their names—LilahKateShaneHarrison—as an endless sea of phones pointed at her from all directions, but the only time her extra-wide smile faltered was when she felt someone yank on her arm. She whirled around, but whoever it was had already been absorbed back into the crush.
Once they were seated at the long table—Shane on one side of her, Natalie on the other—Lilah was able to relax a little, her smile turning genuine as she waved at the long line of fans beaming back at them. She leaned over to Shane, her lips by his ear.
“Is it always like this?” Her memories of the one and only time she’d done this were beyond hazy at this point, but this still seemed exponentially more intense.
He glanced out at the crowd. “Never,” he murmured back, giving her forearm a quick squeeze.
“KISS HER!” someone yelled, and Lilah jerked away from him like she’d been tased. A cheer rose up from the crowd, a handful of others taking up the chant: “Kiss HER! Kiss HER! Kiss HER!”
Lilah’s face burned as she fought to keep her expression neutral. Shane turned back to the crowd and shook his head, waving the request away with a self-deprecating smile—as always, knowing how to strike the perfect balance of firmly shutting it down without looking like an uptight asshole. Her heart ached with gratitude for him.
Once the signing got under way, though, Lilah found herself enjoying it. The majority of people who made their way through the line were sweet and respectful. She got genuinely choked up as one person after another gushed that Intangible was their comfort show, that bingeing it had gotten them through chemo, or divorce, or the first lonely weeks in a new city. That Kate had inspired them to be bolder and more outspoken and unafraid to chase what they wanted. That the show’s exploration of the long tail of grief had helped them work through their own.
Still, there was no ignoring the fact that there were more than a few fans there whose interest in the show—and the two of them—bordered on extreme. She knew to brace herself for them because they would either give Natalie a death glare or ignore her completely en route to Lilah.
One fan turned their nose up at everyone else at the table, only to shove a homemade shirt in Lilah’s face to sign. Her stomach dropped when she realized what was on it: “#KARRISONFOREVER” in big block letters, over a picture of the two of them kissing on LNL—as themselves, not their characters.
For a split second, she considered refusing to sign it. But we asked for this, she thought ruefully, flashing the fan a brilliant smile as she scribbled her autograph above her own head.
Toward the end of the hour, a woman in her late thirties dumped a pile of memorabilia spanning the entire run of the show in front of Lilah. As Lilah began to work her way through it, the woman crossed her arms, her gaze flicking back and forth between Lilah and Shane.
“I knew it the whole time,” she said with a smirk.
“Knew what?” Lilah asked, barely looking up from the copy of the original pilot script she was autographing.
“That you’ve been married since the first season, and all your other relationships since then were faked to try to throw people off.”
That got Lilah’s attention. She looked up abruptly. “Excuse me?”
The woman pressed on. “Is it true you left the show because you were secretly having his baby? And that’s why you didn’t work for the next few years?”
Lilah gaped at the woman, lost for words. “Uh…”
The fan seemed to take her shock for confirmation. “Don’t worry, I don’t think most people figured it out. But you left so many clues, it was easy to put it all together once we started looking for them. I have this blog…”
Lilah buried her face back in the stack, signing the last few items as quickly as possible as the woman rambled on. “Thanks for watching,” she mumbled, avoiding the fan’s gaze as she pushed the pile over to Shane, who remained oblivious.
Once their time at the autograph table was up, Lilah skipped lunch in favor of taking a nap in their hotel room, the adrenaline leaving her body so fast that she passed out practically as soon as her head hit the pillow. She woke a few hours later to Shane’s hand on her shoulder, gently coaxing her into consciousness.
“How are you doing?” he asked, his voice tender, his gaze even more so. “Did you grab something to eat?”
“I’m okay,” she said, in response to both.
He nodded, though the look on his face was skeptical. “The panel’s in an hour. I wasn’t sure if you set an alarm.”
“I did, but I must have slept through it.” She stretched, making no attempt to get up yet. He slid his hand down her collarbone, resting on her stomach, bare from where her tank top had ridden up. He looked like he was about to say something, then bit it back, smiling to himself.
“What?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Nothing. Just…you can hardly tell you had my secret baby.”
Lilah half laughed, half groaned, burying her face in the pillow. “She brought that up to you, too, huh?”
“Yep. Although she was mostly grilling me about how my relationship with Serena was all an elaborate cover-up.”
Lilah sat up with a sigh, shaking off the head rush. “God. I hate that this has to be part of it. Of us being together. I know I should just brush it off, but…it’s fucking weird, right? Doesn’t it bother you?”
He shrugged, taking her hand, rubbing his other palm lightly over her knuckles. “It bothers me because it bothers you. Of course I think it’s weird, but it’s not really about us, you know? They don’t actually know us. We shouldn’t let it affect us.”
“Yeah. You’re right.” She knew it didn’t sound convincing. He let go of her hand so he could wrap his arm around her waist, drawing her closer to where he sat on the edge of the bed, and she rested her head on his shoulder.
“I’m sure this is the worst of it,” he said. “It’s still so new, plus the show ending, plus Kate and Harrison getting together at the same time…but I don’t think things will be like this for much longer.” He dropped a kiss to the crown of her head. “Besides, can you blame them? I’ve been obsessed with the idea of us for just about as long as they have.”
He felt her smile against him. “So when can I see your blog?”
“Trust me, you don’t want to. It’s filthy. Unhinged. You’d never speak to me again.”
She laughed and tilted her head to kiss him. “Save it for our vows, then.”
…
Lilah’s strategy for getting through the panel was simple: smile. Wear her Engaged Listener face. Nod affirmatively and laugh where appropriate. Say as little as possible unless asked a direct question.
So far, it seemed to be working. With seven of them up there—the six principals, plus Walt—there was always someone ready to jump in and respond so she didn’t have to. When the moderator asked her what it had been like to return to the show, she recited the same rote response she’d been giving for months, though now it triggered a round of knowing chuckles from the audience when she mentioned how much she enjoyed working with the rest of the cast.
Shane, of course, was nailing it. Charming, funny, confident without dominating. It was all Lilah could do not to sit back and watch in admiration. Even when someone asked a question lightly poking fun at Shane’s LNL episode, Shane didn’t flinch. He threw his head back with genuine laughter before playing it off with the perfect self-deprecating joke.
As the moderator prepared to wrap it up, inviting one last audience member to ask a question, Lilah let out a long sigh of relief that she’d made it through without incident.
The man who stepped up to the microphone looked like he was in his early forties, with a scruffy brown ponytail and a beard to match.
“Randall Meyer. I write for The Geek Sheet. I was wondering if any of you could comment on the rumors that Intangible is getting a last-minute renewal for another two seasons?”
Shocked murmurs rippled through the crowd. Lilah briefly glanced around at the other cast members, who seemed as confused as she was, before her gaze shot straight to Walt. His brow was creased, his expression troubled, though that didn’t necessarily mean anything.
He cleared his throat. Lilah waited for him to shut it down, to drop a few hints about the spin-off. Instead, he asked, “Where did you hear that?”
Her blood ran cold.
“I don’t feel comfortable revealing my sources,” Randall said with a smug grin. The chatter in the audience increased.
Lilah’s eyes were trained on Walt, but it didn’t seem like he was going to say anything else. She leaned forward to speak into her microphone. “We’ve worked very hard to give the show the perfect send-off this season. It’s not easy for any of us to say goodbye, but I think everyone will be very satisfied with the ending.”
Randall’s gaze flicked to her, an unmistakable challenge in them. “But viewers have waited so long to see you two get together, and now the show is ending as soon as it happens. Isn’t that kind of a tease? Don’t you think you owe it to the fans to continue Kate and Harrison’s story?”
“Actually, I don’t think we owe the fans anything,” Lilah said crisply, before she could stop herself. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Shane flinch. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,” she hedged, trying to recover, the crowd already buzzing with disapproval at her answer. She dropped her hands to her lap so no one could see how much they were shaking. “Of course we’re very grateful to everyone who loves the show. But our first priority is always doing what’s best for the characters and the story.”
“Great answer,” said the moderator hurriedly, sensing an opening. “Thank you, Randall. Let’s give it up one more time for the cast of Intangible!”
They headed offstage to significantly less enthusiastic applause than they’d entered to. As soon as they made it into the empty greenroom, the six of them huddled around Walt, fizzing with nervous energy.
“Is it true?” Margaux asked immediately, wide-eyed.
Walt sighed. “Yes, it’s true.” They all began speaking at once, so he held up his hands. “It’s true we’ve been discussing it. Nothing’s set in stone yet.”
“Why now? Why did they change their minds?” Shane asked.
With eerie synchronicity, Margaux, Natalie, Brian, Raf, and Walt all turned their heads to stare at Shane and Lilah. The two of them exchanged an uncomfortable glance.
No one needed to say anything. The answer was obvious.
“So who makes the final decision?” Lilah asked with trepidation.
Walt took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Well, this isn’t exactly how we wanted to break the news. But the network is extremely interested. Apparently the ratings these last few months have been…very persuasive.” He cast a weary glance around at the rest of them before returning his gaze to Lilah and Shane. “You two are the only ones who aren’t locked into your contracts yet if we decide to continue.”
The implication settled over the rest of them instantly—the color draining from Natalie’s face, Margaux and Brian looking at each other, stricken.
“And it has to be both of us?” Shane asked, his voice rising in pitch.
Walt nodded. “Both of you, or no deal.”
The room was silent for a long, loaded moment, before everyone abruptly started talking again, splitting off into their own side conversations to process the news. Lilah grabbed Shane’s arm and pulled him into a corner.
“You want to do it?” she asked, already sounding more agitated than she meant to.
“You don’t?”
“Of course I don’t. Why would I?”
“I don’t know,” he said, his gaze dropping to the ground. “I thought maybe with everything…with us…”
“The show isn’t us. We don’t need it for us to exist.” She ran her fingers through her hair. “This is exactly what I was worried about, that there wouldn’t be enough separation.”
“But wouldn’t it be kind of nice, though?” His voice was pleading. “Once we get other jobs, we’ll barely see each other. We’d have the same schedule for two more years. That’s a fucking luxury.”
She leaned against the wall, suddenly exhausted. “Or we’ll break up and go through all of this shit again, except worse.”
His face went slack. “You think we’re gonna break up?”
“No, of course not,” she said hurriedly. “But…no one thinks they’re gonna break up.”
Even as she said it, she realized it wasn’t true. In her other relationships, she’d almost immediately been all too aware of whatever incompatibility or shortcoming would eventually drive them apart. This round with Shane had been the exception—at least until now.
“What if it was just one more season, instead of two?” She could tell from his resigned tone that he knew it was pointless to even ask.
She exhaled. “I don’t want to do one more episode than I already have to, Shane. I’m done. I was done four years ago. It’s time to move on.”
“You still hate doing it this much? Now that things are good between us again?”
“That’s not what it’s about. I don’t hate doing it, I’m just bored. I don’t want to keep doing the same shit I’ve been doing since I was twenty-two. I’m running out of time.”
He scoffed. “You’re not dying.”
“I’ll be an actress pushing thirty-five, I might as well be,” she said dryly.
“Very funny. You know, you’re not the only one who’s going to be affected by this decision.” She was shocked at the sudden bitterness in his tone and fought to keep her own voice even, to not let herself be baited into losing her cool.
“Fine, you wanna play that game?” She held up her hand and began ticking off her fingers. “If we say yes, Margaux and Brian are stuck being our fucking sidekicks for another two years. Natalie won’t get to do her show. Raf booked that superhero thing. Most of the crew is either going to the spin-off or has another job lined up already. Keeping it going just because you’re afraid you can’t do anything else would be more selfish than ending it.”
His nostrils flared. “You don’t have anything lined up yet, either. You’re choosing nothing over two years of guaranteed work?”
“What happened to ‘I’m not worried about you’? What happened to ‘you’re going to be fine’?” She dropped her eyes to the ground, taking a deep breath, trying in vain to calm her galloping heart. “What happened to ‘I’ll never pressure you into anything you don’t want to do’?”
He didn’t say anything for a moment, but she could hear him breathing, rapid and shallow. “You’ll be fine. I won’t. I can’t give this up, Lilah, it’s the only thing I can fucking do. You saw me on LNL, I’m not cut out for anything but Harrison.”
The cracked, ragged edge to his voice drew her gaze back to him, and she took in the full picture of his agitation. His red face, his disheveled hair. He looked like he was on the verge of tears.
She was shaking uncontrollably again, her whole body this time, her heart pounding faster than ever. As she swayed in place, vision swirling, a cold sweat breaking out on her forehead, she realized too late she’d barely eaten anything all day, her plummeting blood sugar finally catching up with her.
And now she was having a fucking panic attack.
She slumped harder against the wall, covering her face with her hands, gasping for breath as her chest grew tighter and tighter, her legs jelly, her lungs locked in an iron grip.
No matter what, she was trapped. She’d be miserable if she chose the show. But if she chose herself, she’d lose Shane.
She dropped her hands and looked up at him in desperation. She didn’t know what she was hoping to see. He was just staring at her, frozen, his face blank. Nausea swirled in the pit of her stomach as she suddenly understood.
This was where the line was drawn. He wasn’t going to choose her, either.
A spontaneous sob burst out of her, loud and ragged, humiliating her even further.
“I have to…I can’t,” she choked, peeling herself off the wall and stumbling toward the door.