Page 34 of For My Finale

T he village hall was abuzz with nervous energy as Blossom paced backstage. This couldn’t be happening. Not on her watch. Honestly, she took over for half of a play and now, now what? The Bankton Players were about to have their worst show ever.

Probably.

Possibly.

There was still no news.

Costumes hung in neat rows, set pieces stood ready, there was the scent of old wood and fresh paint in the air. The cast were murmuring among themselves, as unsure as Blossom as to what was actually happening.

Two hours Daisy had been gone. And there was still no news. Blossom’s stomach tightened, and she started to feel quite sick.

Then Ives burst through the doors, panting slightly as she scanned the room for Blossom. The second their eyes met, Blossom knew, deep down in the pit of her nauseous stomach, that something had gone most terribly wrong.

“Bad news,” Ives said, hands on her knees as she caught her breath. “Really. Not. Good.”

Blossom felt her heart plummet. “What happened?”

“I just saw Daisy,” Ives said, straightening up. “She went with Gloria to the doctor, and she’s about to drive her to the hospital.”

Blossom stared. “What?”

“Turns out that ankle isn’t just sprained,” Ives said grimly. “The idiot’s been hobbling around on a broken leg for the last day and a half in complete denial that anything awful had happened.”

The room went still. All eyes turned to Blossom, waiting for a response, a solution. But what solution could there be? Her heart went out to Gloria, so stubborn, such a consummate professional that she hadn’t wanted to let anyone down. But they were all out of options at this moment in time.

“That’s it, then,” she said quietly, more to herself than to anyone else. “The play is over. Doomed.” She ran her hand over her face. “We’ll have to cancel.”

There was a second of complete silence, then a voice, clear and confident, cut through the air like a blade. “We most certainly will not.”

Blossom stiffened. That voice. It sent a shockwave through her system, made her heartbeat stutter, made her breath catch in her throat painfully. She turned.

There, standing in the doorway outline by the late afternoon light, stood Lilah.

Blossom’s world narrowed, her vision tunneling in on Lilah’s face, on the sharp, determined set of her jaw, the confidence in her stance.

Her heart hurt, it was beating so hard, and a hundred emotions surged through her, relief and anger and longing, but she couldn’t pick one out of the masses.

So all she said was, “How can we put on a play without a star?”

Lilah smirked and strode forward. There was some muttering at this, and a short roll of laughter.

A star. Lilah raised an eyebrow. “A star?” she asked.

She looked around then glued her eyes back to Blossom’s.

“I’ve played Blanche once in summer stock, once on the West End, and I’ve been directing this production for weeks.

” She stopped in front of Blossom, close enough that Blossom could smell her perfume, expensive and floral and far too familiar. “Still need a star? ”

Blossom took a step back. The room around them felt charged, as if the entire universe had been thrown off balance. She gulped. “You can’t.”

“Why not?” Lilah asked, tilting her head.

Blossom struggled to form the words she needed. “Because… because you’re Lilah Paxton. You’re not a star. You’re the star. You can’t just step in and do a village hall play.”

Lilah pursed her lips for a moment, nodding. “The thing is,” she said. “I’m not a star anymore. A star or the star, it doesn’t matter. I’m neither.”

“What?” Blossom asked.

“I’ve quit. For good this time.” Lilah’s voice was even and neutral. “But I will make an exception for this. One more night. One more time. One more role. A swansong, if you will.”

Blossom was finding it hard to keep up with what was happening. “You quit?”

“I did,” Lilah confirmed. “And we really don’t have time for this.” She turned on her heel and clapped her hands. “Places everyone. Arty, get ready for a run-through. It’s the only one I’ll get before the curtain goes up, so let’s make it a good one.”

Arty blinked, then scrambled into action. The rest of the cast followed suit, some looking amazed, others uncertain, most simply taking it in stride. The entire hall shifted, the energy in the air changing.

Blossom was relieved, she couldn’t deny that. But she was also… suspicious. This wasn’t about the play, she knew that. This was about Lilah. She needed to know exactly why Lilah was back. But she wasn’t about to get any answers now, not when the actual show was mere hours away.

???

The rehearsal had been rushed, there was no denying that.

The blocking was hurried, there had been snatched glances at scripts, a few frantically scribbled notes in the margins.

But it didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter.

The audience was already settling into their seats, their murmurs and shufflings drifting through the thin walls of the backstage area.

The air was humming with anticipation, and for the first time in months, Lilah really felt like herself.

This was why had become an actress. The rush of it, the certainty of stepping onto a stage and becoming someone else.

The knowledge that, for a couple of hours, she would have the audience in the palm of her hand. She lived for it. Breathed for it.

Then she turned. And there was Blossom. And everything else disappeared.

She was standing just a few feet away, adjusting the collar of her shirt, a distracted frown on her face as she skimmed through the program that Arty had run off on the pub’s copy machine.

The lights above her cast a soft glow over her dark hair, making her look angelic, almost unreal. Lilah couldn’t breathe.

For so long, she’d been searching for meaning. In the perfect role, in the next film, in the applause that followed her every performance. And yet here, right in front of her, was something real. Something steady. Something worth trying to hold on to no matter the sacrifices.

Her heart throbbed in her chest, and before she could talk herself out of it, she crossed the space between them and grabbed Blossom’s hand.

Blossom looked up, startled. “Lilah—”

“This can’t wait,” Lilah said. Her voice was low, urgent as she pulled Blossom around a corner and into the shadows. “I need to say this now.”

Blossom’s lips parted in surprise, but she didn’t pull away.

Lilah took a deep breath and steadied herself. “I’ve been an idiot.”

“Ah,” said Blossom.

Lilah huffed out a short laugh, shaking her head.

“I’ve spent so much time looking for something bigger than myself.

I always thought I had so much to prove, to Hollywood, the press, my own damn reflection.

But I’ve been blind. The whole time, meaning was right in front of me. You were right in front of me.”

Blossom’s eyes softened, but she said nothing.

Lilah swallowed hard and forced herself to keep going.

“I don’t want to do this without you. I don’t want a life where I keep running because I’m too scared to hold on to something real.

I lied before when I said that I was leaving to protect you.

I left because I was scared. I know, God, I know, that my life is messy.

Maybe the press are always going to care about who I am and where I am.

Maybe I can’t disappear. But I’ll do everything in my power to protect you from it.

I’ll keep you out of the limelight, make sure they never touch you just—” She blew out a breath, shaking her head. “Just…” But she couldn’t finish.

Blossom’s expression was unreadable. Her hand was still in Lilah’s, warm and soft, but she hadn’t said a word. A sharp, painful fear coiled in Lilah’s stomach.

“I don’t deserve it,” Lilah said, voice hoarse and aching.

“I know I ran when I should have stayed. It wasn’t about you.

It was about me being a coward.” Her throat tightened.

“You know, I’ve spent my whole life thinking I was brave.

I was fearless because I could stand in front of a camera.

But I was never brave at all, because I was always someone else, someone pretending to be brave.

In reality, I was always scared. Scared of being open, of being vulnerable.

Scared of actually having to be myself.”

Blossom’s fingers twitched against hers.

Lilah forced herself to meet Blossom’s gaze. “I hate feeling vulnerable. I hate admitting I was wrong. But I can’t… I can’t do this without you. Please. Can you forgive me?”

Blossom’s lips parted slightly, as if she was about to speak.

But before she could, Arty came tearing around the corner. “Blossom, Lilah, there you are. Curtain’s in a minute and a half. The hall is packed. We’re doing this whether you’re ready or not. Places, people.”

Lilah jerked back, blinking as reality crashed over her. For a moment, she’d forgotten where they were, forgotten that there was still a play to perform, still an audience waiting beyond the thin, velvet curtains .

Blossom hesitated, then looked at Lilah. “Are you sure?”

And Lilah didn’t know if she was asking about the play and going onstage, or asking about them and their relationship. Maybe both. But it didn’t matter, the answer was the same.

“Yes,” she said simply.

She turned, took a breath, and stepped onto the stage.

The curtain rose.