30
Now
RIP—Relationship in Pieces! Supernatural sweethearts Lilah Hunter and Shane McCarthy give up the ghost!
Less than three months after Intangible stars Lilah Hunter and Shane McCarthy shocked the world with public confirmation of their long-rumored relationship, the pair has officially called it quits.
“They’ve always had chemistry, but at the end of the day, they’re just too different,” says a source close to the couple. “But they’re committed to keeping their working relationship civil and ending the show on a positive note.” Representatives for Hunter, 32, and McCarthy, 35, declined to comment, other than to confirm the split.
Hunter and McCarthy, who previously starred together on UBS’s flagship drama for five years, have had their share of ups and downs since Hunter’s highly publicized return for the ninth and final season. Between a racy photo shoot cut short, guest director Jonah Dempsey quitting mid-episode amid rumors of an on-set brawl, and their spontaneous kiss during McCarthy’s stint hosting Late Night Live in January, the pair’s behind-the-scenes antics have kept Intangible in the headlines—and on top of the ratings. However, their breakup should effectively squash the whispers that the it-couple status of its stars meant Intangible, whose series finale airs May 18, might be in for a last-minute resurrection.
…
For the final Intangible wrap party, they’d booked the ballroom of the same hotel where Shane and Lilah had shot their Reel cover. It must have been a coincidence, but as Shane made his way through the lobby, he couldn’t shake the eerie feeling of déjà vu that settled over him.
He’d come alone, of course. Dean hadn’t been able to make it: though it was still under wraps to the general public, he’d just been officially cast as the first bisexual Bachelor. The producers had already whisked him back to Oklahoma to shoot promotional B-roll of him “at home,” conveniently obscuring the fact that he’d lived in Los Angeles for almost ten years. Shane was both thrilled for his brother and extremely grateful that he wasn’t in his shoes.
He could’ve found a date, but as he nursed his whiskey and looked out at the room, he was glad not to have a relative stranger at his side tonight. That wasn’t what this was about: it was about saying goodbye. He knew it was borderline toxic to think of a workplace as a family, but as he slowly made his way through the crowd of familiar faces—most of whom he’d known for close to a decade—it was hard to get the word out of his mind. He felt like he’d talked to every person in that room over the course of the evening.
Well, every person except one.
Spirits were high: they’d just gotten the news that Rosie and Ryder’s spin-off, Invincible, had been officially picked up for a full season a few weeks earlier. Shane bumped into Polly, congratulating her on her new showrunning gig, but she was already so drunk and giggly that he was sure she wouldn’t remember a thing.
Late in the evening, he saw Walt by the bar, and he gave Shane a gruff hug—the first time Shane could ever recall hugging him. When they separated, Walt clapped him on the shoulder.
“Thank you, Shane. For all your work over the years.” He raised his glass. “The end of a fucking era, right?”
“Right.” Shane clinked their glasses before taking a sip. “Have you figured out what you’re doing next?”
“Nothing for a while, thank god. Lance has been trying to get me to go to Peru, stay in one of those transparent pods on the side of a mountain. You heard of these? Supposed to be incredible.”
Shane cracked a smile. He hadn’t seen Walt look this happy the entire time he’d known him.
“No, I haven’t. That sounds nice.”
“What about you? Have you booked anything?”
“Actually…” Shane looked down into his drink. “Actually, I think I’m going to take a little break. Go back to school.”
Walt blinked. “To school?”
“Yeah. I’m starting classes in the fall. Psychology. I’m sure they just accepted me for the novelty, but, hey, whatever it takes.”
“No shit.” Walt shook his head in disbelief. “The thirty-six-year-old freshman. I bet you could pitch that as a reality show, if you wanted.”
Shane laughed. “I don’t know about that. I think I’m ready to live my life off-camera for now. Besides, I’m doing all my gen eds online, so I won’t be on campus for a while anyway.”
“Oh really?”
“Yeah, in case I want to get out of L.A.”
Walt raised his eyebrows. “Anywhere in mind?”
Shane shrugged. “No, just…in theory.” He took a long swig of his beer.
Walt looked him over appraisingly. “You know, I’m happy for you. I never would’ve called it, but I think that might be just what you need.”
“Thanks, Walt. Me, too.”
It was then that he heard it: Lilah’s laugh, cutting through the room, as clearly as if she were standing next to him. He couldn’t stop his head from whipping around automatically, his stomach lurching when he saw her, absorbed in conversation with Margaux and Natalie.
He looked back at Walt, whose brow creased in concern. “I really was sorry to hear about you two,” Walt said. “But I appreciate that you were able to keep it separate. Not bring it to set.”
Shane forced himself to smile. “You mean, for once?”
Walt grinned. “You said it, not me.”
Shane turned around again, only to find this time that Lilah was staring right at him. She looked away again, her expression inscrutable. “Yeah. Me and Lilah…we’re good. It just wasn’t right.” He turned back to Walt. “I’m sorry about the show, though. That we couldn’t continue.”
Walt shrugged. “I told the network it was a bad idea to base their long-term decisions on your relationship—no offense—but all they’ve ever seen when they look at the two of you are dollar signs. But I’m not sure how much more we could’ve squeezed out of it once you were together, anyway. Kate and Harrison, I mean. Nine years is a hell of a run.”
“Right.” Shane sipped his beer. “Probably best to go out on top.”
“I guess that’s what you’re doing, too, huh?”
“That’s the idea.”
“And who knows? Since you two are on good terms, maybe they’ll get you back together for one of those recap podcasts in a few years.”
Shane laughed. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
Walt drained his drink, setting it on a side table. “I should probably go congratulate her before I forget. I’ll tell her you send your regards.” Shane thought he saw a conspiratorial twinkle in Walt’s eye before he excused himself to go talk to Lilah.
The news had broken between the time they’d wrapped and the party: Lilah had booked a starring role in a prestige miniseries adaptation of Macbeth set in the corporate world, scheduled to start shooting in New York in the fall.
He leaned against the wall, watching Walt approach her, only looking away once she caught him staring again.
When the party was down to the last stragglers, Shane slipped out, taking the elevator to the top floor. He made his way down the empty hallway, hand in his pocket, fingering the key that had been burning a hole there all night. When he reached the door to the suite at the end, he hesitated before inserting the key into the lock, glancing back over his shoulder one last time to make sure no one saw him.
“You’re in trouble,” he called to the empty living room, shutting the door behind him and kicking off his shoes.
Lilah appeared in the bedroom doorway, eyes wide with panic. “What? Why? Did somebody say something? Do they know?”
“Not that.” He stalked toward her. Her eyelids fluttered in anticipation as he reached her, but instead of pulling her into his arms, he crouched down, wrapped his arms around her thighs, and threw her over his shoulder with a grunt. She shrieked in surprise, and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing as he carried her back into the bedroom.
“I’m talking about these,” he said, running one hand up the seam of her stockings, past the stretch of thigh bared at the top, grabbing a rough handful of her ass. “You think it’s funny to show up dressed like this, parading around in front of me all night when you know I can’t do a damn thing about it? When I shouldn’t even be looking at you?”
“Kinda?” He couldn’t see her face, but her voice was breathy in a way he knew was half-amused, half-turned on.
He reached the bed and tossed her down with a soft thump. She grinned, stretching out like a cat, the hem of her dress riding up high enough to flash the garters clipped to the tops of her stockings. Her dress was short but loose, high at the neck, practically a tent, not revealing whatsoever—but as soon as he’d walked into the party and seen the stockings, he’d known what it meant, his mind racing all night about the possibilities of what else she might be wearing underneath it. A secret message just for him.
He felt overheated all of a sudden, stripping off his suit jacket and loosening his tie without taking his eyes off her.
He stood there for a moment, taking her in.
It wasn’t so much about how she looked, though that didn’t hurt. The teasing silhouette of her body under the pooled fabric of her dress, the pristine—for now—crimson slash of her lipstick, color high in her cheeks, hair spread out like a cloud behind her head.
It was how she was looking at him. Soft and open and tender, hungry and satisfied all at once. Better than any fantasy he ever could’ve conjured on his own, because she was real, she was her, and she was his.
He must have paused for too long, because she propped herself up on her elbows. “What?”
“Nothing.” He shook his head. “I’m just really fucking lucky.”
The corners of her mouth curled up. “It isn’t luck.”
“No,” he said, pulling his tie off completely before unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling up his sleeves, her eyes tracking his progress. “I guess it isn’t.”
It may have been luck that brought them together initially—luck, fate, chance, whatever they wanted to call it—but it wasn’t why they were together now.
It was the work they’d done over the past nine years to finally be ready for each other. It was waking up and choosing each other every day: facing the world as one indivisible, united front, no matter the obstacle.
It was love.
Back in San Francisco, in the greenroom after the panel, he’d come dangerously close to losing it—losing her. He wasn’t proud of it. He’d been in a state of shock, fear clouding his ability to think straight. It had taken the sight of her breaking down and bolting out of the room to snap him out of it. Even months later, he was still ashamed of not getting his shit together as soon as he’d seen the look on her face after Walt had confirmed the news.
But all that mattered was that this time—this time—he’d gone after her.
She wasn’t in the hallway, which meant she hadn’t made it far. He’d tried the door to the supply closet to his right, finding it unlocked—and Lilah huddled on the floor, sobbing, illuminated by the bare bulb swinging gently above her.
He’d pulled her to her feet and straight into his arms, the two of them clinging wordlessly to each other for a long time, Shane shedding a few tears himself before either of them was calm enough to speak.
“I’m so sorry,” he’d murmured into her hair.
She hiccuped, her voice thick with tears. “No, I’m sorry. I’m so embarrassed, this hasn’t happened to me in forever. I hate my fucking brain sometimes.”
“Don’t be embarrassed. I love your fucking brain all the time.” She pulled away enough to look at him, her face bright red, her eyes still shining with tears, and he fought back a smile. “Glad to see you took my note about the snot for this one,” he teased gently.
She barked out a surprised, genuine laugh as he offered her his sleeve to wipe her face. She blinked up at him, suddenly earnest again. “But what are we going to do about the show, though?”
He pressed his forehead to hers. “Lilah. You are the love of my life. You made me believe in the concept of having a love of my life. Fuck the show. All I need is you.”
She’d started crying again, only stopping once his mouth found hers and stayed there. They probably would have kept hiding in that closet for hours if they hadn’t nearly given an unsuspecting custodian a heart attack a few minutes later.
As it turned out, he’d been correct in ways he hadn’t anticipated. It had been Lilah’s idea that he go back to school, suggesting it out of the blue while she was helping him prep for yet another audition he couldn’t have been less excited about. They’d tossed the sides in the recycling bin, Shane laying his head in her lap as they’d talked through his options. In a way, pursuing psychology was like an extension of the things he enjoyed the most about acting (and bartending, for that matter): listening, connecting, trying his best to understand other people, helping them understand themselves.
It was hard to predict exactly what the future would hold. For now, his schedule had enough flexibility for him to travel to wherever she was, and she could pick and choose her projects around him. But even if that changed down the line, he knew they would find a way to make it work, because there was no other choice. He’d lost her once—almost twice—and that was more than enough for one lifetime.
It had been her idea to fake the breakup, too. He’d wanted to tell the network outright that they didn’t want to do it, testing out the fearless assertiveness he’d learned from her—but she’d persuaded him otherwise. This way, they’d have the added bonus of taking some of the unbearable public scrutiny off them—at least for a while.
They’d have to go public again, sooner or later. They were too old to keep sneaking around like delinquent teenagers. He wasn’t worried about that, though. Now that the show was officially over, interest in them would wane soon enough. In a way, he was even looking forward to it: he could finally gloat in front of the world that, somewhere along the way, he’d done something right, to earn the love of someone so brilliant and beautiful and complicated and strange—someone he both understood completely and was surprised by every day. The woman he’d carried a torch for for almost ten years, whom no one else could hold a candle to.
But for now, he could still be selfish. Enjoy having her all to himself.
He eased himself onto the bed, one knee at a time, slowly pushing the hem of her dress up her thighs as she reclined again. “Maybe ‘grateful’ is the word I’m looking for,” he murmured.
“ ‘Blessed’?” Her voice went breathy again.
“That, too.”
“Show me.”
Every subsequent inch of her that he uncovered had his pulse pounding harder in his ears. But when he reached her waist, he stopped short, sitting back on his heels.
The spot on her other hip that had been bare and unmarked when he’d left her bed that morning was taped with a small square of black plastic wrap.
His jaw went slack. “Is that what I think it is?”
“Could be.” She half shrugged, her coy tone at odds with the unrestrained grin spreading across her face at his reaction.
All he could do was gape at her.
“Wow, speechless already,” she teased. “Guess I didn’t need to bother with all of this, then.” She arched her back, pulling her dress over her head, and his blood evacuated his brain so quickly that black spots danced in front of his eyes.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Let’s not go that far,” he said once he was able to, his voice an octave lower than it had been a moment ago and twice as husky. “I just didn’t realize we were that serious.”
She threw back her head and laughed, a laugh that started in her chest and rippled through her whole body. He would live inside that laugh if he could, sustain himself forever on it.
He brought his hands to her ankles and slowly slid them up her nylon-clad legs, her smooth skin, brushing over the plastic wrap as he made his way up her body.
“You’ll have to be careful,” she said quietly, and he knew she wasn’t just talking about the fresh tattoo. She was talking about herself.
Her heart. Her trust. Her loyalty. Access to her softest side, to all of her. The privilege to build the rest of his life by her side, his fate permanently intertwined with hers, wherever it led. None of it easily won or given, or to be taken for granted.
He moved up the bed until his face was even with hers, bending down to kiss her.
“Always.”