Darren couldn't sleep. Even with the window open, the room felt stifling. The cold shower had helped little. Sleeping shirtless didn't help either. It was as if the heat burning inside him came not from the air, but from somewhere deep within his own body.
He turned onto his other side without opening his eyes. His heart thudded restlessly. The sheets irritated his skin.
In the morning, he was supposed to report to the LAPD with the show's head writer. The thought of that alone was exciting—but the idea of being at the same precinct as Chris…
Christopher Landry was the most beautiful man Darren O'Shea had ever seen in his life.
He had no idea why he hadn't noticed it until ninth grade.
Chris had been a little taller than Darren, though narrower in the shoulders, yet somehow more muscular—he played volleyball, after all. Neither of them was quite six foot two, but at their school, only three boys were taller.
Darren used to love watching Chris's practices, and maybe that's when he realized—really realized—how impossibly attractive he was. Beneath his hazel eyes, a few shy freckles dotted his lightly tanned skin, adding to his boyish charm. A straight nose, narrow but expressive lips, noble features, and dark blond hair—somewhere around ninth grade, Darren's heart had started to beat faster whenever he saw him.
They'd grown up in the same neighborhood, on the same street, in a small California town like so many others. All through elementary school, they'd been in the same class, so of course they'd been friends. Not best friends—there were two other boys from their class living nearby—but close enough to know a lot about each other. Darren, for example, knew that Chris dreamed of becoming a police officer.
Back then, almost every boy in town dreamed of being a cop. That summer, an old police show from the '80s had suddenly become popular again, and those TV cops were just so cool that every twelve- and thirteen-year-old boy idolized them.
Darren, however, soon realized those cops weren't real—the actors were. And before long, he decided he wanted to become one of them. But unlike his friends, he kept that dream to himself. He'd been afraid they'd laugh at him. Looking back, he figured he'd probably been right.
He bit his lower lip.
The heat still wouldn't fade. How could it, when he was thinking about Chris?
He wanted to see him again—just once. To meet him, talk to him, apologize… Both of them had lived in Los Angeles for seven years and six months now, yet Darren had never once found the courage to visit his old friend, his old…
He sighed and pressed a hand against his trembling chest.
He'd never gone to see Chris, but he knew where he worked. No, he hadn't stalked him—he'd just wanted to see him. And he hadn't dared.
In front of the camera, Darren was brave. He did most of his own stunts. He could say the boldest lines and even throw himself into fire—controlled fire, of course; nobody wanted reckless risk. But still—fire. And yet one simple meeting with someone from over seven years ago was, somehow, too much.
When it came to his past—to Chris—Darren was nothing but a coward.
But tomorrow, he would have no excuse.
Well—tomorrow itself was the excuse. A chance to see Chris, to talk to him. To look him in the eyes and…
He shivered. Was that the ocean breeze?
Darren sat up. He pulled his legs under the thin white sheet and wrapped his arms around his knees. He looked out into the bright, breathless night beyond the window. The curtain stirred faintly, but the wind was warm. His flushed cheeks told him the chill washing over him wasn't from the air.
It was fear.
He wanted to see Chris. He truly wanted to. To see him, to talk, to apologize—and maybe, by some miracle, to earn forgiveness and start over. But after what he'd done, and how he'd done it… Chris Landry might never want to forgive him. Maybe he shouldn't.
Hope and fear battled in his veins, filling his body alternately with fire and ice.
How could he possibly sleep? How could he, when tomorrow would be such a crucial day—the day he'd have to face the sin of his teenage past?