Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 123873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 619(@200wpm)___ 495(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 619(@200wpm)___ 495(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
Brendan deserved that.
That, and much more.
Soon, he promised himself. Let them finish the production, go their separate ways…give Cillian time. Figure out the right thing to say. Look at something head-on that he’d been refusing to face, and push himself out of the simple quiet “peace” he’d found that was nothing more than a self-protective cocoon to stop him from ever having to experience…
Loss.
That was what let him finally figure out Landon Cheng, as they brought filming to a close.
Landon had experienced the utter shattering pain of losing someone he loved—and for him, there was no Better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all. No…for Landon, that loss defined him, turned him into a hollow shell of a person. It transformed his world so utterly that he could never be the same, and he would not see his daughter suffer the same fate for the folly of loving someone.
Nor could Landon stand losing her, when she moved on into a life where she no longer needed her father.
Brendan held that motivation, that understanding, close as he adjusted his costume and took up his position opposite Cillian, garbed in full period gear with his close-fit breeches and velvet coat, hair curled and styled into a lordly little sweep currently fighting with a stiff breeze that occasionally swirled a few bits of ice and snow across the day. The crew had scouted the perfect location out in the craggier areas of the slope leading down from the island’s central plateau: a snowy crevasse no more than seven feet deep, perfect for filming the last desperate duel for the lady’s honor at cliff’s edge. Landon Cheng would fall to his death, here.
Brendan would just fall a few inches to a rocky, silty crevasse bottom, and leave the rest to greenscreening and special effects.
Not really a fan of the ending. There was really no reason for his character to die other than dramatic effect, but…that was the script, that was the role. He swung the weight of his dull-tipped costume rapier carefully, testing its heft, trying not to be obvious about watching Cillian. Cillian wasn’t there, not really.
He'd retreated into Richard Kerrington, his expression aloof with icy determination and noble hauteur as he gave his own rapier a few practice swings.
That was fine.
One last scene together where they wouldn’t be themselves, wouldn’t cross swords over the memory of chasing each other around his living room with wooden dowel rods and then crashing into fast, hard, claiming sex that had left a deeper mark on Brendan than he’d realized.
Cillian was a river winding through him.
Working slow, working long, but gradually eroding a chasm so deep inside Brendan that he would never be the same—every tiny increment of erosion seeming like nothing at all, until suddenly Brendan’s heart split into a canyon, pulled open for those waters to rush and rage and crash their way through.
Focus. This wasn’t about him and Cillian. This was about two actors getting through their jobs like professionals.
This was about Landon and Richard.
About who deserved the love they fought for.
And as Newcomb called the shot, as the cameras began to roll, Brendan took up position, facing off with Cillian with the rocky cliff wall to one side and the sheer drop to the other.
Dart. Feint. This time there was no banter, no quick wit and playful, teasing comments, flirting, turning this into a game. They crashed and rebounded off each other again and again, strength thrown behind every slash, every blow, intense silence making the clash of steel to steel ring in loud, tense shrieks that came faster and faster as they dove at each other in flurries of offensive moves only to push each other back in a wild counteroffensive.
He's been practicing, the dim part of his mind that still belonged to Brendan noted, admiring the grace of Cillian’s form, the swiftness of his footwork, the grim intensity that made the light kiss his features with a glow that would captivate on camera.
He’s beautiful.
Even Landon was caught off guard—caught by what ferocity love could drive a man to; caught by how a man could fight when it meant protecting that love. It was that moment of stunned, aching realization as he gazed into Kerrington’s eyes over locked blades that was his downfall. His footing faltered. The rock crumbled beneath his heel.
And the earth went skidding out from under him, sword falling away to plummet into the bottomless ravine, as he dropped over the edge of the ravine.
Brendan had practiced this fall with a few of the stunt doubles several times yesterday, finding just the right spot where he could drop and slide easily, but there was still a moment of vertigo as his chest dragged against the ragged stone outcroppings before his feet struck the bottom. Perfect height, letting him stretch up on his toes and grasp at the edge of the cliff as if dangling, fingers slipping, holding on for dear life—