Ryan’s eyes narrowed on me. “Yeah, I guess. Why? What was wrong with it?”

“Are you just telling me your lines or are we doing this full-on like we normally do when we run lines at home?”

He crossed his arms, taking a defensive pose.

“Don’t get mad,” I said. “You just . . . I don’t know. You just sort of barked your lines at me. I thought Chase is supposed to be frustrated and more depressed. Well, that’s how I interpreted it anyway.”

“Sorry, you got me a bit distracted. I’m horny and I’m pissed that I can’t do anything about it right now.”

“Margaret Thatcher in a thong.” My attempt to redirect him with Austin Powers movie humor wasn’t well received.

He gave me “the glare.” I knew that glare very well.

“Tell you what. If you promise to nail this scene, I promise I’ll let you nail me in your trailer right afterward. How does that sound?”

That got him to smile. “Bribery, Ms.

Mitchell? And what’s this garbage that you’ll let me . . .”

“Uh-uh. That’s the deal. You have to make sacrifices for your craft.”

He groaned.

“Multimillion-dollar actor, big mega-million movie? Ringing any bells?” His jaw clenched. “I’m going to nail you hard later, just so you know. It may hurt, too.

Make your teeth rattle.”

I planted a foot, loving his feistiness. “You nail this scene in the first two takes and I’ll add in a bonus prize.”

His eyebrows rose, intrigued.

“But first you have to act your butt off.”

“You drive a hard bargain. All right, shit.

Let’s try it again.” Ryan shook out his arms.

“Ready?”

I took a deep breath, pulling myself into that mind-set I do when we practice in private, and recited my lines again.

Ryan pretended to glance back at the building, rubbing his stomach where the bullets from earlier in the story had supposedly entered his body, and hunching from imaginary pain. “They brought one of my dad’s associates in for questioning, but it didn’t turn up any new leads.”

“Did you tell them about the van that followed you the other day?”

Ryan’s lips pressed tightly together and he shook his head.

“What about the address you found on your dad’s cell?”

“No,” he answered abruptly, looking away.

“I didn’t bother.”

“Why not?” I said, demanding an answer.

If someone killed my pretend parents, I’d be hounding the police for every minuscule detail.

Ryan turned his gaze back to me, giving me that “I really have no valid excuse so I’m just going to stand here and huff at you for a few seconds” look. “Because . . . I went there and it’s nothing, another dead end. Apparently I’m just wasting my time. Chasing ghosts,” he mumbled.

Ryan appeared to be genuinely sad. I remembered this part of the script very well, for this was Chase and Emily’s first fight, out on the sidewalk in front of the police station.

I disagreed, imploring him to give more information. “What about the bullet casing?

Surely they have some results—”

“They have nothing, Em. Nothing!” Ryan said harshly. “Just forget about it, all right?

No prints. No leads. Nothing. So just drop it!

I’m done.”

I pushed on, lightly grabbing his arm when he turned. “So that’s it? Just like that, you’re going to give up?”

Ryan glared at me. “What do you want me to do? Go back in there and force them to do their job? It’s not that simple.”

“But . . .”

“But nothing!” Ryan’s hand sliced the air, halting my reply. “Detective Bennett told me to stay out of it. I’m not supposed to be alive, Emily! Remember? Whoever broke into my house and put eight bullets in my family intended for me to die that day, too. There weren’t supposed to be witnesses.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I should have,” Ryan snapped back, letting the role of Chase completely take over his emotions. It was a beautiful thing to witness, and I was so there with him. God. Losing both of your parents. I knew exactly how that felt.

“Is that what you want? To waste the precious gift you were given by wishing you were dead? Is that why you pulled that ridiculous stunt trying to free-climb that crack out on Viper’s Pass, figuring if bullets didn’t do the job that free-falling three hundred feet would?”

Ryan groaned incredulously, like my words stung.

“Look at me. Don’t you dare do this to yourself. Do you think Megan would give up if she were here?”

Ryan’s head snapped back. “Leave my sister out of this,” he growled.

“I can’t. Not when you wake up every night freaking out that you couldn’t save her.

Not when you see her ghost drifting through walls and ceilings everywhere you go.

Chase . . .” I grasped his jacket in both of my hands. “She wants you to find peace just as much as I do.”

Ryan knocked my hands free.

“Just go. Go home.” He nodded his chin, telling me to take a hike.

“Chase . . . no,” I said stubbornly, snagging his jacket again. “I’m just trying to help.

I . . . I didn’t mean to make you upset.

Please . . .”

“Let. Go,” he ordered, glaring at the hold I had on him.

I felt my teeth lock in place. “No. I will never let go. I will not stand off to the side and watch you destroy yourself.”

“You can’t keep saving me, Em. You can’t.”

“That’s not for you to decide.” Ryan’s face twisted with anguish, feeling pain that was only pretend.

“Don’t push me away, too,” I said softly. “I need you just as much as you need me.” Ryan scoffed, shaking his head back and forth. “My mind is becoming unhinged and yet you still want me to be this, this guy . . .

this guy I just can’t be for you.” I gazed at the fabric bunched in my hand and then up into his eyes, knowing that Ryan Christensen and some poor scripted guy named Chase Sheffield would always be more than enough for me. “I’ve never asked you to be anything more than who you are. If the police won’t help us, we’ll find someone else who will.”

Ryan nodded and then slowly wrapped his arms over my shoulders, pulling me in. My hands automatically slid underneath his jacket and up his muscular back; I nuzzled my cheek on his warm chest. For a moment, I forgot we were standing here rehearsing, just like we did all those times in the apartment when I ran lines with him.