Page 15 of Lights, Camera, Love

Austin already showed me these tasteless messages a while back—Nadia sent him the screencaps on the same day she sent the video of him jacking off to his own image, which she found on his computer.

He breathes out hard and sags onto the bed. If this post goes viral, the social media warriors are going to tear him apart. Austin’s fans won’t know—or care—that he sent those texts years ago, when his marriage was falling to pieces, and he wasn’t in a good place.

He blinks up at me, his eyes round. ‘What are we going to do? I look like a complete asshole in those messages. This could screw up everything I’m trying to achieve with this film, and I might not get another shot. Dad would never let me hear the end of it!’

I massage the back of my neck, thinking. ‘We need to do two things. One: we have to get those posts taken down right away. And to do that, you’re going to have to call Nadia.’

‘Noooo,’ he groans, clutching his cheeks.

‘Just play nice. Ring her and apologise; say that you’ve been too busy to be in touch.

Don’t even think about implying that you miss her romantically, but you can acknowledge her existence and your history together.

Say it would be good to catch up as friends some time, but that if she wants to do that, she’ll have to take those posts down.

Tell her it’s not right to expose a private moment between the two of you.

Tell her you don’t want the public to know anything about your private life.

Make her feel special, like she’s still a part of it. ’

Austin’s skin has turned a pale shade of grey.

‘This is just temporary bullshit to get her to take down that post right away,’ I reassure him.

‘The second thing we need to do is make a serious effort to drive up excitement around Moving . If someone googles “Austin Reynolds” right now, we want articles about the movie to spring up everywhere, drowning out anything Nadia might post. The producers are doing fuck all to market it in advance. So, we need to do something to get people talking about it.’

His feet are tapping like mad against the jute rug. ‘Okay. So, how do we do that? I’m already posting behind-the-scenes stuff on my socials.’

‘We need something juicier than that.’

‘Juicier?’

Like the solution to a brain-teaser suddenly clicking into place, two photogenic faces come together in my mind—a match made in movie heaven. ‘You and Evie should pretend to be a couple,’ I say. ‘In real life, I mean.’

Austin’s brows slide up. ‘You mean fake dating? Like a PR stunt?’

I nod, doing a quick mental tally of the many Hollywood couples this has worked for in the past. ‘All we’d need to do is to get you guys seen around town.

Cuddling, holding hands—stuff like that.

We can tip off the paparazzi that Austin Reynolds has been spotted out and about with his new girlfriend, who also happens to be his co-star. ’

His eyes grow large. ‘Fuck, man, I don’t know. Do we really want the media digging into my personal life?’ He blinks fast, staring into space.

‘As long as you’re not back on drugs, and we can keep Nadia’s stuff buried, what’s there to discover?’

He gulps hard. ‘Do you think Evie would even go for it?’

‘We can only ask, but I think she can be convinced. Moving is as much a romance movie as it is a dance film. If audiences believe that you and Evie are genuinely falling in love, they’ll pay good money to see that transpire on the big screen.

And that’s good for her, too. But she has to be one hundred per cent in, or it’s not happening. ’

He lets out a sharp breath. ‘I don’t know if she will, man. She’d be forever tied to me on those “who’s dated who” sites.’

I roll my eyes. ‘What a fucking nightmare. Being forever associated with one of the country’s biggest sex symbols.’

A blush flowers over Austin’s cheeks, and he looks away before smiling up at me. ‘You always tell me what I want to hear.’

‘It’s true. Now, about Nadia. We’d obviously be poking the bear in that regard, but if we can get enough media interest in this story, I’m confident that it would end up taking over anything she can do.

I’ll think about how we can stay ahead of her, starting with a written statement explaining those offensive messages you sent, just in case we need to use it. ’

I don’t love having to make excuses for Austin for acting like a dick, but it’s my job to manage his reputation, so that’s what I’ll do.

One of his knees is frantically bouncing again, and I give it a nudge.

He settles, inhaling a deep breath. ‘All right. We can burn that bridge when we come to it. For now, let’s ask Evie.’ His eyes trace over my face. ‘What do you think of her, anyway?’

‘Evie?’ Warmth flares in my chest, but I school my features. ‘Seems nice enough.’

‘She’s so gorgeous, right? Like, really fuckin’ gorgeous. That face is worth serious moola.’

The bizarre twist of jealousy that moves through me is chased by a spike of irritation.

Evie is, indeed, really fuckin’ gorgeous, but there’s more to her than that—especially a pay cheque.

Yes, she’s got the perky demeanour of a cheerleader in her dance classes—I get it now: it’s her happy place, and there’s nothing wrong with that—but she’s also sweet and patient; determined and curious.

And while she walks around smiling like the whole world was made for her, in the short spells I’ve been around her, I’ve sensed pain and hurt behind her eyes.

I wonder how much of it has to do with the fact that her father doesn’t seem to want to know her. Been there. Own the T-shirt.

I zone back into the room and find that Austin is still gushing about her.

‘I’m not even sure I’d have to fake it,’ he says, watching me with burning cheeks.

A cold, hard realisation smacks me across the face.

My lingering thoughts about Evie, the baffling calmness I felt with her that night on the cabin verandah, that blazing little spark bouncing between us—none of it can go any further.

Because never again will I put Austin, or myself, through what I did two years ago.

He just openly declared his romantic interest in Evie, which means I have to step aside—while also pushing them together for real. Top work, Kye.

‘We should go back outside,’ I mumble, stepping back. ‘I’ll go first, but before you follow, there’s one thing you need to do.’

His eyes raise to mine. ‘Please don’t say it.’

One side of my mouth quirks. ‘Tell Nadia I said hi.’

The smile slips off Austin’s face, and I draw in a stuttered breath. ‘Kidding,’ I add, forcing back the rock in my throat. I escape for the door as Austin pulls out his phone to call his ex-wife.

‘Do you think you could ring Evie?’ he says to my back. ‘I think we need to jump on this showmance thing in case Nadia doesn’t delete the post, and I don’t want to be the asshole who suggests it. Evie’s gonna think we’ve lost our minds.’

‘Yeah. But I don’t need to call her; I can mention it in class tonight. If she’s there.’

His gaze flashes down and up my body. ‘You’re going to samba tonight?’

‘ Hip-hop .’ Before I can stop myself, I add, ‘Is that okay?’

I don’t like handing over this much control to Austin, but the surest way to get him to leave me alone for a night is to ask for his permission.

‘Sure, bro,’ he replies, his lips splitting into a smile. ‘It’ll give you a chance to talk to Evie. So, go to class.’

My cheeks tighten as I smile.

Thanks for unlocking the cage.

While Austin begins placating Nadia, I change into grey gym shorts, a white T-shirt and a black baseball cap, even though Evie’s class doesn’t start for hours.

Whenever I hang out with Austin and his parents, I try to give the three of them some time alone.

Austin hates it, but I want him to enjoy being around his mum and dad when I’m not there.

Besides, I’m not their foster kid anymore.

After I say goodbye, dodging Austin’s unimpressed frowns, I drive across the bridge to the leafier side of town, heading for my favourite place to be alone—the vast national park that stretches across the north end of the city.

Mike used to bring me here when I was a kid, and the quiet, scenic hiking trails are the only places other than a dance studio where I can forget about the outside world.

After finding a parking spot beside the kids’ playground, I stroll towards one of my favourite walking tracks, clapping eyes on an older boy pushing a younger version of himself on a swing. The air in my lungs seizes up and I avert my gaze, upping my pace.

The ancient bushland swallows me up, and I tread along the bumpy, meandering track until I reach the waterhole, keeping an eye out for unusual bugs in the scrub.

By the time I get back to my car, I’ve added a black Jezebel butterfly and a geometrid caterpillar to the mental catalogue of insects I’ve spotted on this walk over the years.

Once I’m in the driver’s seat, I change into a clean T-shirt and pull out my phone. Shit, I’m gonna have to put my skates on; Evie’s class is due to start in less than an hour.

Ignoring Austin’s string of messages asking when I’m coming back, I give my emails a quick scan.

The production coordinator for Moving has sent Austin’s updated call sheet, and there’s an interview request from an obscure radio station that no one’s fucking heard of.

I make a mental note to politely turn it down.

The next email sends a punch of shock to my stomach. It’s from the NSW Department of Corrective Services, and the subject line reads: ‘Important information regarding inmate MIN 917883; Evans, Jace’.

My heart crawls up my oesophagus as I tap open the email.

Notification to next of kin: Due to overcrowding at Broken Hill Correctional Centre, Broken Hill, NSW, inmate MIN 917883; Evans, Jace, has been transferred to Long Bay Correctional Complex, Sydney, NSW. A copy of this letter has been posted to the address on your file.

Relief that my half-brother hasn’t been beaten into the ground by a prison gang floods my lungs. But the moment of solace is quickly eaten away by a fresh horror.

Until now, Jace has been locked up in a jail that was about a twenty-six-hour round trip away from me—even further when I was living in LA.

Since he first moved away when we were teenagers, the enormous physical distance between us has made our estrangement, and the creeping regret I feel over it, simpler to ignore.

But Long Bay prison? I could drive there from my apartment in twenty minutes, or even walk. It’s probably not much further than the hike I just finished.

I rest my forehead against the steering wheel, the tension that was eased by today’s walk slowly reforming until my spine feels like a steel pole.

I don’t make it to Evie’s dance class.