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)
“A bit, yeah, I…” He stared at Brendan. “You don’t…you’re not going to say I’m weird?”
Brendan had picked up a bottle of ointment, reading the back of it with his brows furrowing, but now he stopped, glancing up at Cillian over the tube. “I’ve been both secretly and openly gay in Hollywood since before you were born. Nothing you could do could shock me.” He shrugged, twisting the cap off the tube with a brutal twist of strong hands, thick knuckles. “But I would recommend vetting your liaisons a little more thoroughly. That sort of thing…you might want to talk to your agent about cultivating a few safe people on call—people who know the rules. It might take a little time to develop that sort of trust, but…” He flicked two fingers to Cillian, beckoning him in again. “Better than the alternative.”
Almost blankly obedient, not really thinking about what he was doing, Cillian leaned in to the command in those curling fingers, and held still while Brendan coated his fingertips in ointment and then began to dab it against Cillian’s skin. He just…
Just like that?
Just like that. Cillian had been so twisted up inside, beating himself up so much, and then Brendan had just accepted it with absolute calm normalcy, like Cillian wasn’t…wasn’t…
Like there wasn’t something wrong with him.
His mouth started to tremble. He clamped his lips together, fighting back the sudden cold rushing feeling in his throat. “You’re…I don’t…but—” His chest hurt. “…isn’t it my fault? It’s…people can see I’m weird, Director Newcomb could see it, that guy could see it, it’s because I’m like this—”
“It’s because people are selfish shitheads who will take any opportunity to prey on someone they see as vulnerable,” Brendan countered firmly—and this time, when he caught Cillian’s chin, it was to hold him as that overwhelming stare captured and imprisoned him, winding like a boa constrictor around Cillian’s heart. “What you choose to do willingly in your bedroom is not an excuse for anyone to hurt you,” he said. “And it was not your fault. I know. I know it feels like you brought it on yourself somehow, but you didn’t. You didn’t invite anyone, there’s nothing wrong with you, nothing about you that makes you a target. They’re the ones at fault. Them. Not you, just for having a kink.”
Cillian’s eyes welled. He hadn’t had a proper fucking cry since Newcomb’s stinking breaths in his face, and he wasn’t going to start now, but goddamn did the building tears burn.
“How do you know that?” he demanded. “Maybe I’m just rotten—”
“You’re not.” Brendan’s touch gentled. “You aren’t. I’ve been fighting off disgusting people in this industry since I was younger than you, Cillian. I’ve had more than one talent scout or producer or casting director invite me for cocktails to discuss a role—then try to climb in my lap, slip me a roofie, God only knows what else. I didn’t bring it on myself any more than you did, though I felt the same kind of guilt. The rot’s in this industry. Not in you.”
Cillian thought he might choke, trying to keep the tears inside.
Brendan had been right. He didn’t know Brendan Lau the man at all.
Because Cillian never would have expected him to just…just…be like this.
“Give me a minute,” Cillian said, sniffling and turning his face aside. He couldn’t take that touch right now, or he’d want to lean too hard into that kindness and beg Brendan to comfort him, to hold him up with that steady confidence Cillian envied. He scrubbed his hand against the back of his nose. “Sorry, I…”
“Delayed reactions. It catches up to you.” Brendan set the tube of ointment down and wiped his fingers off on a clean alcohol wipe. “Are you sure you want to do this, Cillian? If you pull from the film, I will too. There’ll be a bit of blowback, but my agent can work with yours to manage the fallout and start vetting new roles for you.”
Cillian stopped. Stilled. Stared, his heart rising into his throat as something clicked that hadn’t had time to process yesterday.
“…you’re really only staying for me, aren’t you?”
Brendan shrugged and snapped the first aid kid closed. “No other reason to.”
“But…I’m not…”
“Don’t say you don’t deserve it.” A long, heavy look fixed on him. “Everyone deserves someone to believe them. And I’ve been there. I’ve been that scared new kid who thought the world would fall out from underneath me if I told.” He stood, rising to his full, formidable height. “I’m still here. And the last director who tried to touch me is shooting low-budget commercials for local mattress shops out in the middle of nowhere.” Arching a thick brow, he jerked his head toward the door. “C’mon. Let’s get you into makeup. I know the head artist, and she’ll be discreet about getting you camera-ready.”