Fair Play (6 page)

Chapter Seven

Ashlyn

I hadn’t seen Noah since he left me in front of my door the day before. With rehearsals about to start, concern for his emotional well-being had taken a back-seat to the importance of actually giving the actors something to rehearse. That’s why I now stood in front of Lucas’s office, waiting for him to get off the phone so I could meet with him and hand him the revised act 1 and mostly finished act 2.

Role-playing with Noah had triggered my creative juices. I’d been upset when Lucas had ordered Noah and me to act out the scenes together, but he’d been right—demanding I spend time with Noah in order to connect to my muse had done the trick. The stalker scene now in the script was something to be proud of. By channeling Caroline, I’d been able to come up with the right actions paired with perfect dialogue. I
knew
Lucas was going to love the scene.

And I couldn’t wait to show him.

However, not only had the improv left me nearly topless and completely vulnerable, but I’d also been on the verge of getting down and dirty in a stairwell with a guy I’d known forever but didn’t even like. Since that first kiss in my bedroom two days ago, I hadn’t been able to get Noah out of my mind. But that still didn’t change things between us.

Just like my controlling father and overprotective brother, Noah thought he knew what was best for me. Having a hand in bringing me to Phair, shackling himself to me with party-favor handcuffs, and shoving an air-conditioning unit in my bedroom window were just the three most recent examples. What I couldn’t explain was how abruptly he’d not only pulled away, but stayed away.

Finally, Lucas opened the door and I barged into his office. “Do you have time to look this over now?” I asked him, tossing the script on his desk.

Peering up at me above the rims of his glasses, Lucas picked up the pages while I seated myself on a red velvet settee.

Dressed in a mint green T-shirt and gray cardigan, he looked every bit the thin-skinned old man he was fast becoming. The issues with the theater, it seemed, had aged him over the last few months. I wondered if some of his old vigor would return once we won Best in Show.

Lucas took a seat behind his desk, and as he read, his gray eyes darted my way every now and again, but I couldn’t decipher what he was thinking. Even his body language didn’t give me a clue. By the time he finished reading the act, our eyes finally met.

That’s when I saw the tears.

But what did they mean? Tension knotted my shoulders. Long seconds passed. His outright silence could mean only one thing.

I’d failed.

Again.

I stood. Before heading out of the office, I let my gaze make a circle around the room, stopping on thirty-two frames that were featured prominently on the far wall. Each of those frames held an autographed script or playbill from a now famous playwright, director, or actor who’d received his big break in Phair because of The Marshall Theater Players.

It had been my dream since I’d heard of The Wall of Fame to become part of it. Judging from the look I’d seen on Lucas’s face, my dream had just imploded.

“I’m sorry,” I said, doing my best to ignore the voice inside me, the one that said I wasn’t good enough. Then I heard the voices of my parents. My mother—perfect and blond—the ultimate society woman, setting me up to marry rich so I’d always be taken care of. Then there was my father, telling me theater and writing was fine as a hobby, but that it was time to grow up, take responsibility, and be an adult. Follow in his footsteps.

I’d failed to live up to either of their expectations. Worse yet, I’d failed to live up to mine.

Lucas straightened the pages in front of him and fastened them with a clip. He placed the sheets in his top drawer. Then he stood suddenly and came around the desk, stopping in front of me.

This was it.

The end of the line.

“Have you been interacting with Noah as I demanded?”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. Pride made my chin rise. “Yes.”

“I’m at a loss for words,” he said.

I mentally cataloged my personal belongings—I would leave Phair with only what I brought—my laptop, a few clothes, and the contents of my cosmetics bag. Everything in my apartment, from the sheets on my bed, the curtains on my windows, down to the old lumpy sofa, had been borrowed either from Jess or from the prop room. I could leave a note at the Double Shot to tell Noah where to locate his beanbag.

“Ashlyn, did you hear me?”

The sound of Lucas’s voice pulled me back to the present. I blinked, trying to focus on his kind yet weary face. “I’m sorry…what did you say?”

“It’s working.”

Light-headed, I swayed, then squeaked out, “It’s
working
?”

“Yes. Which means you and Noah need to keep doing exactly what you’re doing.”

He positioned his hands in front of him, as if in a prayer. “In my twenty years of running this theater,
Midnight in Summer
is the most original, most poignant story I’ve read so far. I only hope I can do the justice in directing as you’ve done in writing.”

I dropped back down to sitting and stared at my hands, lying limp in my lap. Had I heard him right?

“Are you sure?” I asked, looking up.

A rare grin spread across his deeply lined face. “I knew from the day we met you were something special, Ashlyn. I’m so thankful Noah pointed me in your direction. You’ve truly become our northern star.”

My confidence soared like a booster rocket. But just as quickly, my mood crashed to the ground. What if my pushing Noah into the role-play and the scene that followed in the stairwell had given him second thoughts about sticking to our agreement? Regardless of how roughly he’d grabbed me, followed by his visible reaction to what he’d done, despite my suspicions about his upbringing, I knew Noah would never harm me.

But did he know that?

The way Noah had ended our research for the day told me he didn’t.

As I rushed down the stairwell, a mixture of giddiness and trepidation warred inside me. While I was happy Lucas approved of my script, I didn’t exactly know how to keep up the momentum and move forward after what happened with Noah yesterday. But maybe Jessica would, which was why my feet had taken me to her workroom without conscious thought.

“Hey,” Jess mumbled through a mouthful of straight pins when I walked in the room. A yellow tape measure hung from her neck like a scarf as she finished pinning the last of the fabric draped on the dress form. “What do you think?”

The dress was blue—a shade lighter than sapphire, with a wide plunging v that stopped high-abdomen and a full beaded skirt meant to come just above the knee.

“Pardon me for being blunt,” I said, “but the woman who wears this is going to need a phenomenal rack and a whole lot of double-sided tape.”

“It’s for Caroline’s last scene in act 1.”

“The dress is gorgeous, Jess. And perfect for Caroline.”

“Enough about fictional characters. How are things going with Noah?”

I nibbled my lower lip and thought of how to respond. “Strained at the moment, but I’m hoping we’ll work around it for the sake of the play.” I still had act III to write.

Jessica un-looped the tape measure from her neck and tossed it on the table. “I guess Noah told you about Kyle Pritchard, then.”

My gut bottomed out at the sound of that name. What on earth was she talking about? I waited, until finally Jess looked up and met my gaze. I found myself able to speak again. “What about Kyle? What are you talking about?”

Her brows slammed together, and I could tell by the way she looked at me that she’d stepped in it big time. She pinched her lips together and looked down at the fabric in her lap, feigning interest in a seam.

This wasn’t good. “Jess, you have to tell me. What does Noah know about Kyle Pritchard?”

“That the man is in town. He’s one of the festival judges.” Jess put her pin cushion on the table next to the tape measure, her silence saying everything.

My heart thumped, threatening to pound out of my chest. At the same time I got that tingly feeling in my extremities, making me feel light and unrooted, like this was some sort of out of body experience and not really happening at all.

Jessica’s hand on my shoulder pulled me back, proving this was all too real. Though Kyle and I were both part of the theater world, our paths had yet to cross. It had been wishful thinking, hoping I could avoid him indefinitely.

“Are you sure Noah knows he’s here?” I asked. But why wouldn’t he have told me?

“The entire population of Phair knows he’s here. He arrived with a bit of a bang. I’ll show you.” Her shoulders tensed as she dug the newspaper from two days ago from the bottom of her trash.

The headline read:
Festival judge turns hero to save mayor’s son!

I skimmed over the article that continued on the next to last page of the paper. Multiple photos were included, and I scrutinized every one. But it was the one taken by a pedestrian with a camera phone that held incriminating evidence. In the corner on the right-hand side of the picture, on the final page of the article, a man pulling a dolly with an AC strapped to it was crossing the street. And he was looking straight at Kyle Pritchard.

My emotions lurched from revulsion to panic to anger in a matter of seconds.

Noah Blake had been keeping secrets.

…

Needing to clear my head after what I just learned, I headed out to the batting cages at the end of the city park. Smacking softballs with a metal bat or throwing fastball pitches usually helped ease the stress, but somehow I couldn’t get out of my car. Instead, I sat there with the air on full blast, doing my best to keep my worry in check. Kyle Pritchard was a festival judge. After what I’d inadvertently put him through, he’d probably want revenge. Which meant we were all screwed.

Only, what if Kyle didn’t remember me?

No. That was a dumb thought.

The two days he spent in the hospital after Noah had beaten the hell out of him would’ve ensured I was a name and a face he wouldn’t likely forget.

But the question niggling at the back of my mind was why Noah had kept the information on Kyle’s appearance in Phair a secret. Why hadn’t he told me?

Realization kicked in. Because of his savior complex, that’s why. Noah felt it to his bones that it was his responsibility to look out for me—whether I wanted him to or not.

Well, no longer. It had to stop. Today. I’d deal with the issue of Kyle Pritchard later. Right now, I was pissed and ready to have it out with Noah. I was done being his rescue project. I picked up my cell phone and dialed.

“Blake,” he said after the fourth ring.

“It’s me.”

“Hope you’re not calling me for one of your improv scenes, Wheels.”

“Not this time. I need to blow off some frustration and since you’re the one to blame—”

“Aren’t I always? But now’s really not a good time.”

“Doesn’t matter if it’s a good time for you. It’s a good time for me. Meet me at the batting cages. At the far end of Live Oak Park, where Main Street dead ends into County.”

Noah didn’t respond. Instead, I heard clicking in the background. The jerk was typing on his computer, not listening. Not cool.

I pulled out my ace. “If you don’t come, I’m going to look for Kyle Pritchard. Alone.”

The clicking stopped. “I’ll be there in thirty.”

“I’m not kidding, Noah. My patience ends in twenty.”

Noah arrived in ten.

Tired of being cooped up in the car, I’d moved to sit on the ground in the shade. Learning Kyle Pritchard was in town ate at my gut. Discovering he was a festival judge had me freaked. And that Noah kept that particular tidbit from me as a way of protecting me had me seeing red.

With Kyle as a judge of the Phair Theater Festival, there was more at stake than ever. I couldn’t trust he wouldn’t be manipulative again and give us a bad review. Because spending time with Noah had resulted in such success with the script, it was imperative we stick to Lucas’s original course. Once I convinced Noah that we weren’t done pretending to be Caroline and Andy Rich, we’d deal with the issue of Kyle Pritchard.

But for now, first things first.

Noah eyed me cautiously, like he wasn’t sure how to act when I didn’t immediately unload on him about Kyle. But I remained calm to keep him off the defensive. That was the only way to get to the
real
reason behind why he’d kept the information from me.

He closed the door of his Porsche 911 Turbo, walked around to his popped trunk, and pulled out a bat bag that appeared to be a relic, circa
The Natural
. It even
looked
like it smelled bad.

“You still have that old thing?” I asked.

“Would you give up an original Rogers and Hammerstein playbill?”

I wrinkled my nose. “I’d burn it if it had that odor. I’m afraid to ask how many pairs of athletic socks died in there.”

“If I’m lucky, I might have a spare to gag you with.”

“Handcuffs and now gags,” I said, shaking my head.

“Hiding how you want to tear my head off under a veil of light-hearted banter isn’t your normal MO, Wheels. I knew Pritchard was in town and didn’t tell you. I don’t know how you found out, but I understand why you’re pissed.” Noah dropped the bag by his feet, but kept his body shielded by the open trunk. “If I had it to do all over again, though, I wouldn’t have done it any different. So forgive me if I don’t apologize.”

Even now, after everything he’d done, the heat of Noah’s stare pulsed through me as desire for him made my legs feel unsteady when I stood. Deliberately, I took my time dusting off my rear end. “And The Patron Saint of Assholes is back and in rare form. You are one arrogant jerk, aren’t you?”

Seemingly unaffected, he gently closed the trunk and bent to pull a glove from his bag. He tossed it my direction. “If the only reason you called me out here was to sling insults, you can blow off steam without me. I have more important things to attend to.”

Leaning over, I picked up the five-gallon bucket of softballs I’d rented. Without watching to see if he followed me, I headed for the batting cage, calling over my shoulder, “I can’t exactly blow anything all by myself.”