No Sacrifice Read online

  “Oh fuck,” Patrick said, and even though he didn’t know Doug, he felt the stab go through him.

  “You see, apparently, he didn’t do it sooner because, well, he didn’t have enough motivation. I guess the drugs skewed things. I don’t know. But it wasn’t until he was feeling better that he had the… the ability to carry it out. I don’t know what happened to make him do it—I’m sure something did—but… anyway.” He took a deep breath and swallowed hard. “He’d have been twenty-four today.”

  “Oh God, I’m so sorry,” Patrick said, knowing how pathetic it sounded.

  “I mean… I didn’t love him or anything, but… he was my friend. And… that could have been me, Patrick. You know? If Mama hadn’t been so understanding?”

  Patrick didn’t want to think about that. He looked at the man next to him, and despite his own confusions—despite his worries, his fears, his problems—he knew Chance meant something to him. Maybe it was more than it should be, and Patrick couldn’t deal with that right then, but he could, at least, admit… part of it. “I… would prefer not to think about that,” he murmured. “I’m glad it wasn’t.”

  “Thanks. That’s… thanks.”

  The waiter came by, and Patrick signaled for fresh drinks. “You’re welcome,” he replied. “I’m glad you’re my friend. That sounds… lame and pathetic, but… that’s me.” He chuckled, and Chance shook his head.

  “No, it’s not. It’s good to hear, especially tonight.” When the beers arrived, they drank in silence for a while. “I should get back onstage. Thanks, for being here, for listening.”

  “Anytime, Chance.” Patrick looked up at him, and their eyes met for a very long moment. Something passed between them that Patrick couldn’t name, but he knew their friendship—if that was all it really was—wouldn’t be the same from then on. “Go kick ass. For Doug.”

  “Yeah, I will.” Chance’s shaky smile seemed to be firming up. “Thanks.” With another look and a wave, he turned toward the stage. Patrick watched Chance get in place, his mind a mess.

  Chapter 7

  Patrick grinned when he wandered into his dressing room the next morning. There, sitting on the corner counter, was a glazed donut and a cup of coffee. A Post-it note next to the cup read: Last one. Wouldn’t want you grumpy. -C

  He snatched up the donut and bit into it, his eyes closing in pleasure. He’d passed the crafty and saw they’d all been taken and was bracing himself to deal without. Instead, he had his pile of fried doughy sweetness and knew he’d be able to face the day much easier. He picked up the cup and took a sip, surprised Chance had put cream in it as he liked, then headed into the back to get dressed for the day.

  “What are you smiling at?” Chrissy asked him from the chair.

  Patrick held up his donut. “Sugary bliss,” he replied, and she rolled her eyes at him.

  “You’re addicted.”

  “I don’t deny it,” Patrick said with a grin, then ate the last piece.

  She shook her head. “Go wash your face so we can start. It’s a fight today. Lots to do.”

  Patrick saluted and moved into the tiny stall that served as a bathroom.

  As he washed up, he heard Chrissy grumble. “Wish I could eat a donut every day and look as good as him.”

  Patrick laughed, came out, and dropped a kiss on Chrissy’s temple. “You look great every day.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You’re not kissing up to me that easily.”

  Patrick grinned and winked at her. “Yes, I am.”

  She sighed and made an impatient gesture toward the chair. “Shut up,” she muttered, and Patrick laughed as he settled in.

  Patrick frowned down at his phone and sighed. He never knew what to write for these things, but he’d been told—over and over—that he needed them. He pursed his lips and scrolled a little farther until he saw a tweet from Rhys: The gym kicked my ass. Lookin’ good, though! With a chuckle, Patrick typed his reply, playing up their on-screen relationship: My man always looks good! And hit “send.”

  He sent off a birthday tweet to Emily next, then scrolled through her tweets, replying to a few from the day before. After that, he switched over to Facebook and posted a new update on his official page with a hint for later in the season, as well as a picture of himself in front of the makeup mirror. Then he made replies to a couple of things Rhys posted and finally one to Emily.

  That ought to take care of it. He was still getting used to the idea that people wanted to see him outside of the show. He’d never really had anything like that before.

  Immediately, he got notifications for the likes on his picture and a number of retweets and favorites on the birthday message. He waited to see if Rhys or Emily replied to his messages, but by the time he was called up to take his place on set—for once without Rhys there, a rare thing—he hadn’t received anything.

  When he headed to lunch nearly two hours later, the first thing Patrick did when he sat down was check his phone again. He waded through replies from fans—he hadn’t gotten used to having them—more retweets and favorites and a mess of likes and comments from fans on his Facebook page. There were even a number of likes on the replies he’d left Rhys. He could see why some people really got into the social media thing.

  But despite all the things he saw from fans and one or two comments from Angelo and Sebastian… there wasn’t a thing from either Rhys or Emily. It was possible they were both busy, but when he scrolled farther, he frowned. Emily had tweeted something about her show and a comment about her friend, Sara. There was a conversation about some movie they were going to see.

  But no reply to him.

  He tried not to let it bother him and instead switched over to look at Rhys’s Twitter. And frowned again. Rhys replied to a number of fans, favorited almost all of the replies and retweets… and ignored his comment entirely. Patrick scowled. Why did they push him to tweet and post if they were going to ignore him?

  He sent Emily a happy birthday text message and shoved his phone into the pocket of his robe.

  “Something wrong?” Chance asked as he sat down to Patrick’s right.

  Patrick took a deep breath and shoved the disappointment away. He had a friend right here who wasn’t about to ignore him. “No. Was just trying to do the social media thing. I’m not great with that stuff.”

  Chance made a face. “I avoid Facebook like the plague. Another reason I’m happy to never be in the limelight. Honestly, all the stuff that you have to do….” He shook his head. “No, I’m glad I’m not out there like that.”

  “Well, it’s part of being an actor,” Patrick grumbled, then sighed. “I’ll just have to get used to it.”

  “Get used to what?” Sebastian asked as he took his seat across from them.

  “Social media,” Chance said for him.

  Sebastian shuddered. “Horrid stuff. Truly horrible. I’d rather have my eyeballs poked out with a dull spoon.”

  “That’s about where I am,” Patrick said before taking a bite of the pasta.

  “Who’s poking your eyes out?” Angelo asked, taking his seat next to Sebastian.

  “I am,” Sebastian said, chuckling. “Social media.”

  Angelo harrumphed. “Not my favorite thing either, but I’d prefer your eyeballs in their place, thank you,” he said. He glanced around and, when he was sure no one was looking except Patrick and Chance, dropped a quick kiss on Sebastian’s cheek.

  Sebastian laughed. “Thanks. I won’t really gouge them out. I just… would rather do that than Facebook and Twitter.”

  There were chuckles around the table. “Really glad I don’t have to. What happened?” Chance asked, looking up at Patrick.

  Patrick shrugged one shoulder and frowned. “It’s hard to come up with things to say, you know? But then to not get replies—except from fans, who’ll reply to anything—just… it’s frustrating. I start asking myself if I’m saying the wrong things and messing up my image or something.”

  “One reason I do
n’t like it—getting ignored.” Sebastian frowned. “Used to happen a lot before… before I starred with Angelo here. Now we go back and forth a lot. The fans really like it.”

  “Rhys won’t reply.” Patrick sighed. “I don’t know what his problem is lately.”

  Sebastian and Angelo exchanged looks. “I suspect he’s, uh, questioning some things,” Angelo said quietly.

  “You think?” Patrick asked, raising his eyebrows. He felt better knowing someone agreed with him.

  Sebastian nodded. “We saw him after your last love scene. He was very bothered by something and, uh, well, obvious.” Sebastian’s cheeks colored a little.

  “Well, I do remember him reacting,” he replied, then chewed a bit of garlic bread. “But I didn’t know that he was bothered by it.” He shook his head. “Doesn’t mean he has the right to be an asshole, though.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” Chance said, looking at Patrick. “That kind of thing is never easy, and I guess we all here can imagine, at least a little, what it’s like. But if we’d been an asshole to other people, we’d have been called out for it too.”

  “I’m sure I was, and was told about it. My own mother knocked me down a peg,” Sebastian said. “Then hugged me, gave me tea, and told me to tell her what the hell was going on.”

  Chance chuckled. “That sounds like how Mama talked to me.”

  “Is it just him?” Angelo asked.

  Patrick frowned. He didn’t really want to admit, at least to Angelo and Sebastian, that Emily wasn’t talking to him. He nodded but glanced at Chance. “Yeah, pretty much,” he said and could tell Chance didn’t really believe him. He gave Chance a look that said “later,” and they all fell silent to focus on eating.

  Patrick rubbed at his temples in a vain attempt to avoid the approaching headache. He wanted to be anywhere but there, right then. His dressing room, home, anywhere. Then he checked that. No, he wanted Jack to be somewhere else.

  The man was doing his damnedest to make everyone miserable. They’d been working on the same scene for going on two hours now. Rhys was at the end of his patience, Chrissy wanted to throw things, and the poor cameraman, Bob, had muttered more than once about making Jack run it himself. Just about everyone was at their wits’ end.

  The worst part was, Patrick couldn’t quite understand why Jack wasn’t satisfied with anything. He and Rhys had been struggling with the scene, that was true, but most of the simple portions of it should not have caused these kinds of repeats. If Patrick didn’t know Jack was male, he’d wonder if it had something to do with the time of the month.

  As it was, they’d reset again and were about to start the same part of the scene they’d been working on for the last hour. Chrissy came up, fixed his hair, dusted his cheeks a little bit, and gave him a look that said, Try to read his mind, will you?

  If only. She finished with Rhys and disappeared. Patrick saw Randy, the boom operator, get into place and make his call. Bob threw his out, and then Jack, frowning, gave his reluctant call. Patrick took a breath and turned to Rhys.

  “I don’t know what you’re so worked up about, Cyrus. I wasn’t even hurt.”

  Rhys ground his teeth, the muscles in his cheeks jumping. “Yes, you were,” he said, lifting Patrick’s hands. Fake cuts covered both palms. “You call this ‘not hurt’?” he asked, frowning. He dropped kisses on each one, then looked up and shook his head. “I didn’t bargain on this.”

  “What did you think would happen?” Patrick asked, pulling his hands out of Rhys’s and spinning on his heel. He paced across the room to where the window was supposed to be and watched out of the corner of his eye as Bob followed on the camera track. He shook his head, staring out the window. “Did you think we’d just live rich? Eat the good food, wear these clothes, and sit around with Bathasar and Teman? There’s an assassin after him!” Patrick spun again.

  “Maybe.” Rhys shrugged.

  Patrick threw up his hands and sighed. “Really?”

  Rhys frowned. “No. But… I’d hoped. Or, well, that… if anyone got hurt, I thought it would be me.”

  Patrick shook his head. “And I would want to see you hurt? Any more than you want to see me?”

  Rhys turned his head. “Nadir….” He refused to look at Patrick.

  “You know I’m right.”

  Rhys sighed and nodded, then turned back, meeting Patrick’s eyes. “Maybe we just need to find someone else to guard him, then.”

  “Do you really want to trust our malik’s safety to someone we don’t know?”

  “Shahid and Akil are there…,” Rhys said, eyes turning almost pleading.

  Patrick shook his head. “No. The assassin is still out there, and if anything, this proves that we need to be more vigilant than ever!” By the end of the line, Patrick was shouting, almost as angry as Nadir would be. “Would you really trust your friend’s safety to someone else? Teman’s?”

  Rhys took a half step back, shaking his head. “Are you asking me to choose between you?”

  Patrick rolled his eyes and sighed, turning around again to the window. “No, I am not. And you know that, Cyrus.”

  “I’m sorry, yes, I do,” Rhys said, moving up against Patrick’s back. His arms slipped around Patrick, and he leaned in. Patrick saw Bob move around them and guessed he was closing in on their faces.

  Patrick twisted his head to look up at Rhys, but Rhys was nuzzling Patrick’s ear. “Cyrus, this isn’t going to get you out of discussing this,” Patrick warned.

  He felt rather than saw the grin against his skin. “We’ll talk later. I need to feel you, Nadir, know you’re okay.”

  Patrick sighed. “I’m fine, for the last time!” The words began in a growl, but then Rhys bit down on his earlobe and they ended on a moan, which was only partially acted. “Cy…. Cyrus,” he tried again, but Rhys started along his neck, biting lightly along a line to the top of his collar.

  Patrick struggled, yet again, as arousal bloomed. He closed his eyes as he was supposed to, and he spread his lips in the smile Jack wanted. At the same time, he was working to not get turned on too badly. He’d tried very hard not to fight it too much, knowing all too well it came across in his acting. On the other hand, he really did not want a blatant erection showing for all and sundry either.

  “CUT!” Jack shouted, and a collective groan went up from the crew, Rhys, and Patrick.

  “What?” Rhys asked irritably.

  Jack crossed the room and glared at Patrick. “What was that?” he asked, hands propped on his hips and leaning forward.

  Patrick scowled. “I don’t know what you mean. I was doing exactly what you told me to.” Which was, in fact, quite true. The only thing Jack didn’t tell him to do was work on avoiding a hard-on.

  “We’ll back up to where the kissing started,” Jack grumbled, refusing to respond to Patrick’s accusation. Probably because he knew Patrick was right. “I’m fine!” Jack quoted.

  Patrick, exchanging the first companionable look with Rhys in a long time, closed his eyes and focused. When he heard “Action!” he gave his line again, doing the same growl-moan he had last time. Apparently, that wasn’t the problem, thankfully. Rhys bit his way along Patrick’s neck. Patrick gave the same moaned, “Cy…. Cyrus,” and was grateful when that didn’t cause a call.

  He decided not to try to fight it at all. With any luck no one would even notice. When Rhys’s hands started moving over him, he used the arousal instead of fighting it. Jack hadn’t scripted specific moans or other sounds for this part, which Patrick was grateful for. The speed with which his body was responding to Rhys’s stimuli would have made it damned near impossible to remember them.

  He bucked back against Rhys on cue and sucked in a gasp when he felt Rhys’s very hard cock against his ass. He kept the surprise contained—it wasn’t the first time Rhys had reacted, but it was probably the biggest—and let loose a moan instead when Rhys started unbuttoning his tunic.

  Patrick turned, looking up into Rhys’s eyes,
and reached for Rhys’s tunic as well. Rhys dove in and caught Patrick’s lips, and Patrick cheered inwardly when there was no call to cut over the kiss. He returned it, biting at Rhys’s bottom lip as he’d been instructed before they went back to the deeper kissing.

  Both of them kept their hands busy, working at buttons to strip each other of their tunics. In the back of Patrick’s mind, he had the tiny thought that said he was thankful that was all that would come off for the scene.

  He’d just about had Rhys’s tunic off when he did hear the call anyway. “CUT!”

  Patrick dropped his head on Rhys’s shoulder. Rhys had a low growl going in his throat, and Patrick had the vision of Rhys actually biting Jack. It helped him calm down a little.

  “No, no, no, no, no!” Jack called, crossing the floor again. “You need to seem more… desperate, more urgent! From the turnaround!” He grumbled, turning back.

  Rhys and Patrick fixed their tunics, and both let out sighs. “I’ll bet you fifty bucks we’re here doing this until lunch,” Rhys muttered.

  Patrick chuckled, watching for the boom and camera to reset. “I’m not taking a sucker’s bet. Though I’m not looking forward to it.”

  “Me either. I’m uncomfortable now as it is,” he murmured. “Can’t imagine how bad it’ll be kissing for another hour.”

  Patrick was sure the grumbling hadn’t been meant for his ears, but he couldn’t stop the surprise anyway. But he also understood. He was already quite hard himself and not interested in spending another hour kissing, undressing, and grinding into Rhys. And he’d started to accept his bisexuality. Rhys hadn’t.

  Once everyone was ready and the calls were made, Rhys’s lips were back on Patrick’s neck, hands moving over Patrick’s chest. Patrick bucked back, grinding his ass into Rhys as he’d been instructed, this time pulling a moan from Rhys’s throat at the action.

  Rhys turned him around, hands almost frantic on Patrick’s tunic. Patrick mimicked the motion, trying for the more “urgent” and “desperate” Jack wanted. He got the tunic open and shoved it off Rhys’s shoulders just before Rhys was fighting with his. As they worked, their lips met again for another kiss.