Monday, March 7, 2016

Hunted – 52

By the end of the day Brice was drained. The scenes that they’d shot had been a stress both physically and emotionally, which was the norm. It was the reaction of his coworkers that had gotten to him. Almost universally they were positive, and he’d spent a great deal of his free time between scenes being told he’d done the right thing—which he knew but was happy to have reinforced. Even his co-star had said, albeit in his usual sarcastic way, that he was okay with it. Brice wanted to tell him, 'As if you have a choice', but restrained himself.

“You look like a wrung out dishrag,” Faolán commented with a laugh as they left the studio and headed to the parking garage.

“I feel like one,” Brice admitted. “Do you mind if we go right back to the condo and order supper in?”

“Not at all, why would I?”

“No reason I suppose. It just…it feels right to ask, not just say that’s what’s happening.”

Faolán smiled at him. “I take it you’re not used to sharing decisions. At least not in your personal life.”

Brice unlocked the car as he said, “I think I can safely say this may be the first time I’ve actually had a personal life like this since I came here, sad as that sounds.”

“It sounds very sad, but that’s going to change,” Faolán told him. He got into the car, and, once Brice had too, rested his hand on Brices's thigh. “I’m going to do my best to make certain of that.”

“I hate to say this, because it may be too early, well I don’t hate saying it but… Damn, and I’m supposed to be good with words.” Brice put his hand over Faolán’s to grip it as if it were somehow a lifeline.

“You don’t need words,” Faolán told him quietly. “I feel the same way. It’s sudden, unexpected and yet it’s there.”

Brice whispered, “Yes.” He felt lightheaded with relief that Faolán felt the way he did. Reluctantly he released Faolán’s hand in order to start the car and pull out of the garage onto the street. Then he gripped Faolán’s hand again--not hard. More because he needed the connection.

The drive home was spent mostly in silence, other that a brief discussion of what they wanted to order for supper. Just as they entered the condo Brice’s cell beeped. He answered then listened as Morgan told him that the panic room had been painted to Brice’s specifications. When he said he still didn’t get why Brice wanted the floor painted, as well as the rest, Brice explained, again, that he was just claustrophobic enough that having everything light colored, including the floor, would help him, should he actually have to use the room. He hung up with Morgan’s chuckle ringing in his ear.

“He buys that excuse?” Faolán asked.

“It’s probably more that he thinks I’m totally eccentric, but for the price I’m paying him, he’s willing to overlook that.”

“As long as it got done, that’s what counts. Now, supper?”

“On it.” Brice made the call to order from his favorite Thai restaurant. With that done he headed to the bedroom to change clothes. Faolán followed, going down to the guest room since all his things were there.

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