BY EMMA BRODIE

Into the Blue

Songs in Ursa Major

Ballantine Books

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Copyright © 2026 by Emma Brodie

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CONTENTS

Dedication

New York, New York

Part I: Acting Lessons

Gladstone, Massachusetts

Part II: Into the Blue

New York, New York

Santa Monica, California

Episode 1: “A Man, a Dog, and a Wormhole”

Episode 2: “Scallywags”

Episode 3: “Sticks and Stones”

Episode 4: “Asleep”

Episode 5: “17”

Episode 6: “Mating Season”

Episode 7: “Parlay”

Episode 8: “Life Preserver”

Episode 9: “Castaway”

Episode 10: “Wholesale”

Episode 11: “Hot Water”

Episode 12: “Horses”

Part III: Blue Coats

New York, New York

New York, New York

Albuquerque Comic Expo

Florida Supercon

San Diego Comic-Con

Blue Con

Part IV: Fire & Water

Gladstone, Massachusetts

New York, New York

New York, New York

Hollywood, California

Acknowledgments

About the Author

_155709041_

For Kevin—

Temba, his arms wide

NEW YORK, NEW YORK

October 2013

TEN MINUTES BEFORE DRESS REHEARSAL, AJ Graves sat alone in the auditorium of the Hayes Theater, watching the stage lights rise. Her head was full of ticking. Ten minutes. One more run-through, just them. Then the doors would open, and—

Tick, tick, tick, tick.

What was she going to do?

With a mechanized clink, the stage turned gold, and Noah Drew strode on carrying a prop chair. AJ stirred as his muscular, six foot three frame crossed center; he had such command, even when he wasn’t trying. He halted over a taped spike mark, his tousled black hair etched in light. He tried the chair this way then that, his expression so familiar it made AJ’s chest ache.

Hers. He was hers until the show closed. That’s what they’d agreed.

Noah’s gaze lifted as he sensed her presence. He gestured to the chair. “Thoughts?” His low voice projected effortlessly over the scalloped red rows of the theater.

“What’s the difference?” asked AJ. Half their show was improvised—the chair’s role changed each night. But tomorrow was Noah’s directorial debut: even the chair must be considered.

He turned his broad back on her. “This way acknowledges the fourth wall. This way does not.”

AJ smiled as she stood. “Whatever you want. You’re the bride.”

Noah muttered something that sounded distinctly like My grave is like to be my wedding bed and returned to the prop. As AJ watched him fuss, she felt a tug near her sternum and knew: this was about them. Each tiny adjustment delayed the show from opening. From closing.

Slowly, AJ walked down the aisle. Noah faced her, severe. “Speak again, bright angel,” she teased.

His lip twitched as he tried to hold on to his irritation. Then he smiled, his gaze appraising. AJ’s cheeks warmed. “Come here,” he said.

She stepped up to the stage, and he knelt before her, his enormous hands brushing strawberry-blond wisps out of her eyes. Then he plucked something from her hair. A stray leaf.

Fucking foliage. “That was fashion,” grumbled AJ.

“That was garbage,” said Noah. He examined the half-yellow leaf, then tucked it into his pocket like it was nothing, like of course he would deal with her garbage hair leaf, that was his job in life, and now AJ couldn’t breathe.

She had read once that falling in love was like being a celebrity to one person. The irony was that Noah was actually famous. Wildly, obscenely famous and beloved. An Academy Award winner. The last Drew. People’s Sexiest Man Alive, 2012.

But despite that, despite everything, here he was, cleaning her up like she belonged to him.

AJ’s throat constricted. “Don’t throw it away.” She wasn’t talking about the leaf anymore.

Noah’s brow creased as he read her. “It’s dead,” he said gently, his thumb smoothing her cheekbone. AJ leaned into his touch, looking up into his beautiful dark eyes.

“No, it isn’t,” she whispered. Not yet.

“Five minutes, you two,” their stage manager, Jerry, called from the wing.

For a moment, neither of them moved. They’d been suspending time for weeks, playing out entire lives on this stage. But once the doors opened, the clock would restart. There would be no turning back. Let’s keep playing, AJ silently begged him. Let’s never stop playing.

“Age,” he breathed, and she glimpsed a war in his eyes. He was having doubts. AJ’s heart leapt.

Then he dropped his hand, his stare going distant. AJ knew this look. She knew what it meant.

Twelve performances, then Noah would be gone.

Tick, tick, tick, tick.

He surveyed her now, reserved. “Are we doing this?” He hadn’t changed his mind, AJ understood. But he couldn’t hide from her, not his pain nor his regret. He didn’t want this any more than she did.

AJ held his gaze.

Twelve performances. Twelve potential outcomes.

“Play until you reach the limits of existence,” Eudora had told them, back when it all began.

And just like that, AJ knew what she had to do.

“Yes,” she said, placing her hand in his. She let him pull her up onto the stage.

She was going to save them.

To save him.

PART I

Acting Lessons

Who? What? Where? When we ask these questions, we’re not just initiating a scene; we’re announcing our intention to play with the Cosmic Consciousness.

—Laughter & Death, by EZELL FARR

GLADSTONE, MASSACHUSETTS

June 2000

AJ GRAVES REWOUND THE VIDEO AND hit play.

That morning, she was pulling a doubleheader at Reel World Video: watching Astronauticals on the store’s silver Panasonic while writing Astronauticals fan fiction behind the register.

Or she was trying to. She’d broken her arm last month during track finals—just in time for junior prom. Each keystroke was torment, but AJ typed on. Anything for her twelve followers.

Doubleheaders were one of many reasons AJ loved her shifts at Reel World. With four siblings at home, AJ barely had space to think, much less write. By contrast, a solitary afternoon among Reel World’s eclectic posters and inventory felt like teleporting from bleak Gladstone to New York—or what she knew of New York from Friends, Felicity, and Saturday Night Live.

That was AJ’s dream—to move to the city and write for SNL. It was also why she watched and watched Astronauticals, the 1964 cult series about hippie pirates traveling the stars in the hump of a giant space whale. The show was totally improvised, which according to Storm, Reel World’s owner and cinematic Yoda, made it a staple for any aspiring comedian.

And it was hilarious. As a devout fan, or Nautical, AJ could recite every line.

As episode 1.10, “The Mirror of Janus,” began to play, she glanced down at the cast restricting her right arm. The ink from her track teammates’ signatures had bled into the fiberglass like survivor’s-guilt tie-dye. AJ felt a stab of dejection; New York had never felt farther.

To put it bluntly, her stupid arm had ruined her life.

AJ’s endgame had been planned out so beautifully: A summer spent interning at The Berkshire Eagle and attending heavily scouted soccer intensives would have perfectly teed up her senior year and college applications. With luck, she would have been looking at a full ride to NYU.

But her accident had destroyed all that.

No driving meant no internship at The Berkshire Eagle. No vigorous activity meant no soccer intensives. No references, no scouts. No scholarship. No escape.

“Relax,” her mom had said. “You’re still a shoo-in for UMass.”

AJ’s entire family had gone to UMass. Her mom, her dad. Her siblings Patrick and Libby both loved it. Both popular. Both on track to graduate, return to Gladstone, become their parents, and die.

Now, at seventeen, AJ felt trapped—like the rest of her life had been scripted, and she hated this movie. Her hours alone at Reel World were her only escape.

The partition rippled, a beaded curtain depicting the All-Seeing Eye, and Storm emerged from the back room. A slender trans woman in her forties, she had long burgundy hair and nails to match.

“Age, good. You’re here,” she said. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

“Oh?” said AJ, reaching into a Ziploc for a handful of Reese’s Puffs, her favorite.

Storm drummed her acrylics on the counter. “I’ve hired some extra help.”

AJ froze. “You didn’t.”

Storm pointedly eyed AJ’s cast. “Actually, I did.”

AJ frowned. “Do I not get a say in this?”

Storm smiled sweetly. “Nope. Noah—”

A shadow appeared behind the All-Seeing Eye, and AJ’s heart sank. Storm never let customers in back, even to use the bathroom.

She truly had decided to hire this person.

A large hand parted the beads as an extremely tall young man stepped through. He was dressed head to toe in black, with jet-black hair that hung shaggily about his broad shoulders and scowling black eyebrows; his overall vibe screamed villain. Except his eyes—dark and expressive and surprisingly lovely for such an intimidating person.

As they flicked to the Panasonic, time slowed. AJ watched the stranger’s frown deepen and knew at once he must be Noah Drew.

Even the tiniest backwater along AJ’s homestretch of the Mass Turnpike had ties to some historical figure of note. Great Barrington had W. E. B. Du Bois. Lenox had Edith Wharton.

Gladstone had the Drews.

They were a family of great actors, each generation more famous than the last, starting with Sir Errol Drew, who had made a name for himself on British and American stages in the 1880s, down to Noah’s father, Daniel Drew, a massive action film star in the 1980s.

The Drews were omnipresent. In fact, a very young Eudora Drew was currently battling it out on the Panasonic as Glimmette, the go-go-boots-wearing, ass-kicking pilot on Astronauticals.

In fact, AJ was writing Glimmette fan fiction.

“AJ,” said Storm. “This is Noah.”

“Hi,” said AJ, quickly minimizing her browser.

Noah’s gaze slid from the Panasonic to AJ. His eyes went wide. “I—You.”

Storm’s head tilted. “You two know each other?”

They absolutely did not. “I probably just look familiar,” AJ supplied, when Noah continued to stare at her. “I think you might have been in my older brother, Pat’s, class?”

AJ was just being polite. She knew for a fact that he had been in Pat’s class, four years ahead of hers. According to town lore, Noah had been raised by his mother, a college professor, who had shipped him off his senior year after an incident involving arson. Last AJ heard, he’d gone into the armed services.

What was he doing back in Gladstone?

“That’s not it,” said Noah. He was watching AJ with an intensity that made her feel small, which was unusual, since she was pushing five foot nine. AJ was suddenly very aware of her ratty jean shorts, hand-me-down basketball jersey, and messy strawberry-blond topknot.

As they sized each other up, AJ felt a strange untamed aspect of her being awaken.

Noah was so big, he made the DVD cases look like baseball cards. His face was angular, pale, and far too tired for someone only a few years older. He looked like he’d forgotten how to smile.

Even so, he was uncommonly handsome. As he turned his gaze back toward the Panasonic, AJ took in the aquiline nose, the precipitous cheekbones. He stared at his aunt onscreen, unreadable.

AJ sighed. “We were planning a whole Drew-themed welcome display for you, but this was the best we could do on short notice.”

Noah didn’t laugh. His focus shifted to the store’s computer. “What is that?”

AJ glanced at the screen and realized to her utter horror that her browser was still open, the fanfiction.net masthead so large it was practically screaming.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Handbook for the Recently Deceased,” she blurted. Her cheeks burned, but she held his gaze.

Noah blinked. “You’re Patrick Graves’s sister?” he drawled, and AJ felt as though an invisible hook had tugged her by the ribs. He was calling her weird. Too weird to be Pat’s sister. Which…maybe she was.

But who was he to judge? “You’re Glimmette’s nephew?” she retorted.

Noah glared at her. AJ glared right back.

“Well, this went well,” said Storm. “Come on, Noah. Time to learn about returns.”

For a moment, Noah continued to watch her. Then he nodded to Storm and withdrew through the All-Seeing Eye.

“I don’t think this is working out,” said AJ.

“Play nice,” said Storm, then she followed Noah with a knowing air AJ could not fathom.

AJ ARRIVED HOME TO find her dad having one of his quiet nights, which was never a good thing. She counted four empty cans of Bud in the trash before bringing the salad bowl to the dinner table. The tension in Patrick’s burly shoulders told her he had done the same.

“Is that Russian dressing?” he asked, taking the bowl and giving AJ a reassuring wink as she slid in between him and their younger brother, Mike.

“You know it,” said AJ, relieved. Having Patrick—and, grudgingly, Libby—home for the summer felt like holding a full deck of cards.

Patrick was the King of Diamonds. While he and AJ shared their father’s height and strawberry-blond hair, on twenty-one-year-old Patrick, it was somehow godlike. Golden. He played point guard for the Minutemen, but he’d always been a star. In high school he’d been class president and tri-captain. Everyone loved Pat.

Across the table sat Libby, the Queen of Clubs. Packaged in a five foot two frame, with straight blond hair that dried frizz-free in July, nineteen-year-old Libby was a born ruler. She had dominated Gladstone High with an iron pom-pom as head cheerleader, and her hive had followed her right to UMass.

Beside Libby was Emily, AJ’s twin, the Ace of Hearts. Emily had fine blond hair, a rollicking sense of humor, and a deep, abiding love of Shania Twain. She also had Down syndrome and a knack for bringing out the good in others—even Libby.

Last was Mike, the one-eyed Jack of Spades. Slight and quick-witted, with dark hair that must have been recessive, fifteen-year-old Mike lived for Super Mario, Dungeons & Dragons, and Astronauticals.

He was also the most likely to set off their father.

Sure enough, as the seven of them began passing platters and bowls, a chirping erupted under the table, and their dad zeroed in.

“Mike, that better not be what I think it is,” he murmured. Mike ignored him and kept playing.

Once a week, the two of them got into it over Mike gaming at the table. This never failed to frustrate AJ. She was also nerdy. Not as nerdy as Mike, but nerdy enough to occasionally tag along to his Science Fiction Society of the Berkshires meetings. And yet, she somehow managed to blend in, to be liked, to not provoke their father like it was her job. So why couldn’t Mike?

Bleep-bloop, went Mike’s Game Boy.

AJ nudged him under the table, one eye on her dad. She had to cut the tension. Her next words popped out. “What’s the deal with Noah Drew?”

“Why do you care?” asked Libby, predatory senses activating.

AJ shrugged as all eyes pivoted to her. God fucking damn it, was she blushing? “He’s working at Reel World as of today.”

Mike snickered. “He’s working in a video store?” he said without looking up from his game. “Isn’t that kind of like getting a job waxing his own family’s portraits?”

“I wouldn’t think he’d need a job.” AJ’s mom sniffed, tilting her pretty blond head.

Katie Graves was an older version of Libby, a former cheerleader who had fallen for AJ’s dad at UMass while he, like Patrick, had been starting point guard. She’d become the most beloved second-grade teacher in town, while he’d become a successful-if-small-time actuary.

For all outward appearances, they were perfectly normal.

Libby shrugged, all-knowing. “It’s probably the only job Noah could get after what happened. We all know Storm’s okay with weirdos—case in point.” She nodded at AJ, who flipped her off.

Emily sat up a little, bored with a conversation that didn’t include her. “Can I have dessert?”

Bleep-bop.

“Mike,” said their father warningly. AJ kneed Mike harder.

“One sec,” he breathed.

AJ glanced at their dad, a worn card shark. The more he drank, the quieter he got, watching for tells, waiting to strike. Jack Graves had a singular ability to cut people down with a look or a word. His rages, though rare, were terrifying—enough to keep the family in check.

For the most part.

Mike’s Game Boy unleashed an arpeggio of artillery.

“Mike.” Their father slammed his can down on the table with a hollow thud.

For a moment, everyone froze.

Then Patrick angled his body to shield Mike from view. “I thought Noah was doing better,” he said swiftly. “I heard he got into West Point. I hope that’s true. He was scary smart.”

“Smart enough to get out of town after he pyro-ed the Sherwins’ garage,” Libby added as their dad’s glare refocused on Patrick.

“The Sherwins? That can’t be true,” said AJ, only half aware of what she was saying. The three of them were practiced at this, at performing tricks on a table their father had just set on fire.

Libby’s eyes widened. “Are you defending him?” She gasped. “Oh my God, Age. You like him!”

Fuck. “Actually, I don’t.”

Mike finally powered down his game as Libby sang, “Guys. Jayde is on the prowl.”

Several sets of white, fang-like incisors flashed around the table—a family trait.

AJ’s face was ablaze. Seventeen years ago, in a moment of pure insanity, her parents had named her Ashlee Jayde, the trashiest, worst name in an entire family of average-named people. When her siblings wanted to make AJ wish for death, they wheeled out Jayde, her stripper alter ego. For AJ, who had never been kissed and felt very behind, this was beyond mortifying.

“Ow-ow,” said Patrick.

“Ow-ow,” Emily parroted.

Their dad smirked at AJ’s faded jersey, her flyaway hair. “You do paint quite a picture.”

He didn’t need to laugh for AJ to know he was laughing at her, at the absurdity of her ever being someone’s idea of attractive. As if AJ didn’t already know that beside tiny, perfect Libby, she was an overgrown ginger Muppet. AJ’s chest buckled, but she refused to so much as blink.

“Better to look good than to feel good,” she said dryly, referencing an old Billy Crystal SNL bit.

Her dad nodded, then tipped back the last of his beer, satisfied.

For AJ was the joker. Humor was her armor and also her straitjacket; AJ didn’t have a voice, unless she used it to lighten the mood. This was how it had always been at home and at school: she was the sidekick, the comic relief.

And thanks to her accident, she always would be.

“Can I have dessert, please,” said Emily, louder this time.

“Yes, I think that’s a good idea,” said Katie Graves, taking the opportunity to clear the table.

Like any good dealer, their mother saw everything and said nothing.

NOAH DREW WORKED ALMOST exclusively in the back room, but it didn’t matter. His presence sullied everything AJ treasured about Reel World—her ability to relax, her freedom to move about without judgment. Binging Astronauticals in his presence felt like a massive faux pas. Ditto writing fan fiction inspired by one of his relatives.

What AJ burned to know was why? Why was he here? Why did someone who was Hollywood royalty need a shitty part-time job? And most of all, why this one?

Unlike the colorful customer-facing part of the store, the rear was a monochromatic catacomb, a library of white DVD shells stacked in alphabetical order. Over several bathroom trips, AJ ascertained that when Noah wasn’t shelving inventory, he was seated on a stool watching Ken Burns documentaries on the store’s backup TV, or reading, or just brooding into space.

AJ was pretty sure she hated him based purely on his dank, wall-to-wall moodiness. But she confirmed it the day she went in back to grab Heartburn for a customer and found him sprawled on the floor reading Waiting for Godot.

So pretentious. AJ smiled to herself as she moved toward the next row.

“Yes?” said Noah. His voice sounded rough, like he hadn’t used it all day.

AJ shrugged, schooling her features into a neutral expression. “Nothing.”

“You’re smirking.”

AJ nodded toward the book in his hands. “I’ve just never seen someone volunteer to read Waiting for Godot.”

Noah considered her. “Godot is a classic.”

“Right,” said AJ, turning away.

“Have you read it?” His tone immediately pissed her off—he clearly assumed she hadn’t.

“I have,” said AJ. Technically, she’d watched the 1961 televised version with Zero Mostel and Burgess Meredith while working at the store, but close enough.

“And?” asked Noah, his dark eyes probing.

AJ ground her heels into the carpet. “I think Sam Beckett was just having a laugh at everyone’s expense. Honestly. If a woman wrote a show that long about waiting for a guy to call, they’d just tell her to get an answering machine.”

Noah snorted. “Is that what you’re working on out there?”

AJ felt a jolt, and there it was again, that all-consuming awareness. Of him. “Actually, it’s a piece about arson. Care to comment?”

Noah’s nostrils flared, but he averted his gaze to the text.

AJ stalked off, fuming. Yup, she hated him.

AJ, BECKY, AND SARAH had been Gladstone High’s starting midfield lineup for two years. They were known as the Powerpuff Girls because of their hair colors, and that summer, their plan had been to take the Brown University soccer intensive by storm.

“Aww, Blossom. I still can’t believe you’re not coming,” said Sarah, placing her duffel in Becky’s mom’s van.

“We’ll tell all the scouts about you,” said Becky. Sarah jabbed her in the ribs.

“Wait, are you not bringing a life-size cardboard cutout of me?” AJ quipped to hide her tears.

To cheer her up, Patrick and Libby took her to a UMass house party that night.

“Little Graves! Where’s your squad?” asked Brendan Walsh, tilting the keg to fill AJ’s Solo cup.

“Fighting crime,” said AJ. She could feel Patrick worrying about her from across the yard, so she forced herself to smile at Walsh’s South Park impressions. When she tried to inquire about the UMass comedy scene, he didn’t understand. “I didn’t know girls did that. Crazy.” Then, in Cartman’s voice, he asked if AJ thought he had a shot with Libby. AJ told him maybe.

As the party devolved around her, AJ cradled her broken arm, trying and failing not to think of Becky and Sarah at Brown. So close. She’d been so fucking close to getting out.

The next morning, when a customer requested Alien, AJ went to the back room to retrieve it herself. Technically, she was supposed to ask Noah for help, but she was so sick of not being able to do things because of her stupid arm, and asking Noah Godot-Is-a-Classic Drew, who did not need this job and could leave Gladstone whenever he wished, was beyond the pale.

Unfortunately, Alien was on the top shelf.

Determinedly, AJ hoisted herself onto two facing lower shelves, her body suspended between like a drawbridge. The case for Alien was still slightly out of reach. As AJ rose onto her tiptoes, she felt the rung supporting her right leg bow.

Fuck.

“What are you doing?” said Noah furiously.

AJ jumped at the sound of his voice, her right foot sliding six inches, her good hand clutching as she twisted back. She had a split second to realize that she was about to fall on her broken arm.

Then she felt a warm, solid presence at her back, two enormous hands on her ribs. In one deft movement, Noah caught her, folding her into his chest to shield her injured arm from impact. As her legs swung off the shelves, AJ’s cheek brushed against the rough line of his jaw, and a chill went through her. Up close, he smelled good—clean and sweet and earthy.

For a moment, he cradled her body against his, and she let him, his mountainous size seemingly shorting out her brain. Dazedly, AJ lifted her eyes and found him watching her with a startled expression. Several seconds passed as they stared at each other, AJ’s feet six inches off the floor.

Then, abruptly, Noah set her down. “You shouldn’t do that,” he scolded, taking a step back.

The absolute nerve. “I would have been fine if you hadn’t surprised me,” AJ snapped.

Noah’s eyes flicked dubiously to the now-bent rung where she had been perched. “What do you need?”

AJ chewed the inside of her cheek. “Alien.”

Noah effortlessly plucked it from the shelf and handed it to AJ. “Next time, come get me. Or get a stool.”

“Yeah, sure,” said AJ.

Noah cut his eyes at her and stalked off.

When AJ returned to the back room forty minutes later, a stool awaited her with a note in cramped scrawl. A JOB WORTH DOING IS WORTH DOING WELL.

The hand that had written that had left bruises on her ribs; AJ could feel them through her shirt.

What a dick.

THE FOLLOWING DAY WHEN AJ arrived at work, she found herself blissfully alone.

Time for a doubleheader. AJ typed her username, NautiGurl421, and password into fanfiction.net and cued up Astronauticals episode 1.08, “The Curse of the Gemini.” As the tape warbled to life, a dashing thirtysomething with a voluminous Afro entered the frame.

This was comedy legend Ezell Farr, the father of improvisational theater. Astronauticals had been his only foray into television, and sci-fi fans and comedy nerds alike flocked to the show to study Ezell’s portrayal of Captain Winslow Shoe.

“Gemini” was Ezell’s crowning achievement. The episode had some of AJ’s favorite lines—lines so good it didn’t seem possible they had been improvised. There was a pattern to it; the actors were cuing one another. AJ had to figure it out. She hit rewind, squinting at the screen.

“Play it again, Sam,” said a low voice behind her. AJ whirled around to find Noah walking through the beaded curtain. Evidently, he was working today.

AJ instantly switched off the TV, then her monitor. “That’s not a real line,” she mumbled, cheeks scalding. “In Casablanca. He just says ‘Play it.’ ”

“Noted,” said Noah. His eyes drifted to the dark television, amused. “So, you like Astronauticals.”

“Fine, yes,” AJ fumed. “I like your aunt’s show. Actually, I love it. I’m sorry if that offends you.”

Noah’s nostrils flared. “That’s not—” He took a breath. “I—”

He stalked behind the counter, towering above her. AJ refused to step out of the way. Her heart rate spiked as he stared down at her in frustration. Then, gently, he took the remote from her hand. “You need to go further back.” He rewound the footage to the start of the scene.

“What are you—”

“You’re trying to figure out how they know how to justify their lines, right?” He nodded to the screen. “He announces the game right…here.”

Onscreen, Ezell Farr stated, “Everything I know about love, I learned from an old space farm.”

AJ blinked. “How is that a game?”

Noah hit pause. “Game is what improvisers call the skeleton of a scene,” he said. “This game is ‘space farm’—the rest of the scene just builds off that. Here, look.”

They watched the sequence again, and he was right—every line AJ thought was hilarious was playing off that initial idea. It was as if he’d shown her an X-ray of the episode.

As Noah offered her the remote, AJ looked up at him in awe.

“I love Astronauticals,” he said shyly. “I used to watch it with Zell, but my aunt threw away all our tapes after he died.”

Right. Because Eudora Drew and Ezell Farr had been a couple in real life, as well as onscreen. Ezell Farr was Noah’s great-uncle.

“That’s the reason I even came into Reel World in the first place,” Noah went on. “Nauticals is basically all I can stand to watch since—” He cut himself off, probably realizing, as AJ did, that he’d spoken more in the last breath than in the entirety of their acquaintance. “Anyway, enjoy.”

AJ’s heart continued to pound as he moved toward the back room, his hulking shoulders up by his ears. She took a breath. “Do you want to finish the episode?”

Noah paused, turning back. His gaze passed over her hesitantly. “You sure?”

AJ shrugged. “You’re not going to aggressively quote every line, right?”

Noah’s eyes lit. “No, but I will say ‘This is funny’ right before anyone says anything funny.”

AJ laughed and Noah grinned. She’d never seen him smile before, and it transformed his entire face. It transformed this entire town. AJ caught herself staring and quickly busied herself finding the spare folding chair for him.

Noah clearly loved the show as much as she did and knew it even better. Though he didn’t quote, he’d quietly offer trivia as they watched. Again and again, the two of them cracked up at the same parts. Noah’s laugh—deep and rich and sometimes a bit giggly—made AJ laugh harder.

When the episode finished, he returned to the back room. AJ didn’t move for several minutes. Then, curiously, she opened her most recent fic. She stared at it for a long time, puzzling over its various beats. They weren’t quite a game…yet.

AJ hit edit, determined to write one good joke. Just one joke as funny as Astronauticals.

THE SCIENCE FICTION SOCIETY of the Berkshires met in the basement of a Methodist church that doubled as a preschool. As AJ sat in a circle of nerds, sandwiched between Mike and Noah Drew, she stared at a finger painting and wondered how this had become her life.

It had been about a week since she and Noah had discovered their mutual love of Astronauticals and embarked on a tentative friendship. They’d watched a few more episodes and joked around in passing, though he still kept to the back of the store, and she to the front.

That had changed yesterday, when AJ’s little brother had dropped by to register a complaint.

“Pat can’t drive me to the SFSB meeting anymore,” said Mike, giving her cast a resentful glare. “I don’t think Rick or Jamie will be pleased.”

“I’m so sorry my broken arm offends your friends,” said AJ.

“It’s just really annoying, AJ,” said Mike. “I told them I would be there.”

“Be where?” said Noah, emerging through the beaded curtain.

Mike, who was about a third of Noah’s size, immediately shut up.

AJ laughed. “Relax, he’s a Nautical,” she said, then summarized their predicament.

Noah’s brow creased. “What time is it?”

“Six-thirty,” said Mike glumly. “Well, seven officially, but six-thirty for the inner circle.”

“I can take you,” said Noah, looking curiously from Mike to AJ, who realized that he thought she belonged to SFSB. Sure, she went occasionally, but she wasn’t a full-blown member.

“Oh, that’s—”

Mike’s eyes went cartoonishly large, imploring her not to blow it. In truth, AJ enjoyed the SFSB meetings. And she didn’t mind the idea of spending time with Noah outside work, even if this forum was decidedly nerdy. She blushed. “Thank you. That would be great.”

“Great!” said Mike.

“Great,” said Noah.

This afternoon, they’d all piled into Noah’s red Camaro and headed for Pittsfield.

“What is this stuff?” said Mike from the back seat, surrounded by a dozen parcels of various shapes and sizes, all marked Return to sender.

Noah frowned. “My aunt has a badly managed addiction to the Home Shopping Network.”

“Your aunt’s Glimmette, right?” said Mike.

“Right.”

“Good to know.”

By the time they arrived in the parking lot, Mike had his game face on.

“Don’t expect any favors just because you’re with me,” he said, walking ahead. He and Libby were so alike: on his own turf, Mike was the alpha. Something to do with being a D&D prodigy.

“Roger that, Dungeon Master,” said AJ, trading grins with Noah as they followed Mike inside.

The SFSB chair, Peter van der Hopper, was about forty and looked like a college professor, only he wielded a Klingon bat’leth instead of a pointer.

“It’s great to see so many of you again. Oh, hello, sister of Mike!” He nodded to AJ, who sank three inches as his eyes slid past her to Noah. “And some new faces. Now, we have a very full agenda today, so let’s try not to get too bogged down in the drama from the boards.”

Too late. Conflict had already erupted between the Trekkies and the Nauticals.

“For the last time,” said a boy in a Gumby shirt. “Star Trek did not steal the idea of a space whale from Astronauticals.”

“First,” said Mike scathingly, “the term isn’t space whale. It’s crater whale, or crale. Second, they absolutely did. Gomtuu on Next Gen? Come on.”

As the discussion raged, AJ caught a number of SFSB members glancing at her legs. Apart from one much older woman with a pageboy haircut, AJ was the only girl in the room.

Then the looks stopped. It took AJ a few minutes to realize it was because Noah had lightly draped his arm over the back of her chair. He wasn’t touching her—he was probably just stretching. But it was enough to scare off every nerd in that room.

“Settle down, everyone,” said Peter van der Hopper. “Springfield Comicon is upon us. We’re going to be hosting another Magic card auction, big thanks to all who participated last year. And as some of you know, it’s Astronauticals’ thirty-fifth anniversary. Our panel is nearly complete, but we’d really love to get someone from the original cast. I’ve written to Elmore Aldrich. It’s a long shot because he’s out in L.A., but he’s still pretty active.”

“What about Eudora Drew?” asked a man in a Han Solo T-shirt. “She’s local.”

Behind AJ, Noah’s arm tensed.

“She never responded when I reached out for the thirtieth, but it could be worth another shot,” said Peter van der Hopper, shuffling his papers.

“You could ask her,” said Mike, turning directly to Noah.

Now all eyes were on Noah, taking in the long profile, the dark hair and eyes, the insane handsomeness. In context, he was easily recognizable as Daniel Drew’s son.

“Mike,” hissed AJ, blood rushing to her face. She didn’t dare look at Noah. Eudora had become increasingly reclusive after Ezell’s death in 1993—Mike’s request was wildly inappropriate.

“What?” said Mike, shrugging. “You said he’s a Nautical.”

Noah cleared his throat. “We can ask her,” he said, glancing at AJ. Her heart skipped.

“Wait, really?” said Mike, flashing a fanged grin. “I did not think that would work.”

“We can ask,” Noah repeated.

“Well, all righty then,” said Peter van der Hopper, unable to keep a trill of excitement out of his voice. “We also need volunteers to work the check-in counter on Sunday.”

As the conversation moved on, AJ’s heart continued to beat a little faster than usual.

We, he’d said.

TWENTY MINUTES FROM GLADSTONE’S center, Drew House was a buttercream Gilded Age mansion, the famous family’s country hideaway for four generations. As Noah’s Camaro pulled into the large circular driveway, AJ’s adrenaline surged.

She’d nearly met Eudora Drew once before—at Gladstone Elementary’s Halloween costume contest. The grand dame had been slated to judge.

But when ten-year-old AJ had won for Pippi Longstocking, Eudora Drew had been nowhere in sight. Instead, AJ had been awarded her Baskin-Robbins gift card by a high schooler in a Jason mask who was so realistic AJ had shrieked in front of the entire school. People still called her Pippi Lung-stocking.

AJ shuddered at the memory as Noah led her under the portico. He hesitated. “It’s not m—”

“Don’t you dare say It’s not much,” said AJ.

Noah huffed a laugh.

The thick oak door swung inward to reveal a vaulted entryway, complete with a grand staircase curving up to a balcony, an ample crystal chandelier, and a seven-foot grandfather clock.

AJ gulped.

“That thing’s a pain in the ass,” said Noah, following her gaze. “It dies if it’s not wound, like, once a day.”

“Sounds tragic,” said AJ, stepping inside. He was about to respond when they were rushed by five puppies, paws skittering across black-and-white marble.

“How did you get out?” muttered Noah, frowning as two of them tugged at his shoelaces.

“I thought they could use a change of scenery.”

Holy shit. It was her.

As Eudora Drew floated down the stairs, clad in soft gray cashmere, AJ had half a second to process that Glimmette was now in her seventies. She knew, of course, that Eudora Drew had had a massive career following Astronauticals, racking up multiple Tony Awards, an Emmy, and an Oscar nomination.

But gone were the peachy bouffant and go-go boots. The elegant woman who landed in the vestibule was more akin to Katharine Hepburn than Glimmette, her frosted-blond French twist resplendent in the afternoon sunlight.

“Hortense, come,” she intoned, and it struck AJ afresh that this person was truly famous.

Presently, a caramel-colored Cavalier King Charles trotted out of the drawing room, stopping beside Eudora for a scratch behind the ears.

“Negligent minx,” murmured Eudora as Hortense sauntered after her brood.

“Dorie, this is AJ,” said Noah, his tone clipped.

“I’m—yes. Hi. It’s nice to meet you.”

The great actress’s dark, intelligent eyes slid to AJ’s jean cutoffs and hand-me-down cardigan.

“We work together,” AJ added after a beat. “At Reel World.”

Eudora’s head tilted. “You’re actually quite pretty, beneath all that scruff. Leonine. A young Charlotte Rampling. It’s the deep-set eyes. And the wide nose bridge.”

AJ blushed at this assessment. “Uh…thanks.”

Noah placed his hands on his hips, his expression stern. “We’ve come with a message from the Science Fiction Society of the Berkshires. And an invitation.”

In a few curt sentences, he described the panel.

“It’s Labor Day weekend,” he finished gruffly.

“We’d be grateful if you’d consider it,” added AJ, annoyed that Noah hadn’t done a better job of selling the event. “I’m a huge fan, by the way. I loved you and Ezell in Astronauticals.”

Eudora Drew’s eyes sparked. “Astronauticals.” She pronounced each syllable with disdain. “I’ve never understood how a show that looks like a two-bit home video spawned such a base. Of course, they’re all a bunch of grade A nutjobs. Maybe that explains it.”

This struck a nerve. “I mean, it’s not Shakespeare,” said AJ. “But that doesn’t make it bad.”

The great actress’s expression turned feline. “And what would you know of Shakespeare?”

AJ’s cheeks burned. “I’ve read Romeo and Juliet.”

“Oh, well then…”

“Dorie,” Noah warned. He cleared his throat. “The panel.”

Eudora’s eyes traveled between them, calculating. It seemed impossible that this ostensibly humorless woman had produced some of the best punch lines ever delivered. Still AJ held her breath; she would give a lot to hear Eudora’s firsthand insights into her favorite show.

At last, Eudora said, “I’ll consider it. If you’ll consider something in return.”

Noah sucked in a breath. “What?”

Eudora ignored him, focusing on AJ. “I’d like you to read something for me.”

Noah rolled his eyes. “Come on, AJ,” he said. “We’re going.”

“Read what?” asked AJ, unable to turn away from the challenge in Eudora’s stare.

Her eyes gleamed. “Oh, something you’re familiar with.”

She swept into the stately drawing room, leaving AJ and Noah to have a quick nonverbal conversation. He shook his head warningly, and AJ shrugged, following Eudora. He joined them as Eudora extracted two tattered volumes from her floor-to-ceiling shelves.

“Here,” she said, placing a copy of Romeo and Juliet in AJ’s hands, flipped open to act 2, scene 2. The infamous balcony scene snapped AJ back to eighth grade—cracked voices and sweaty hands.

The other copy went to Noah. Holy shit. Eudora meant for them to read this. Together.

Noah took one look at the scene and shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

“It’s just one scene,” said Eudora innocently. “In view of what you’re asking, this is hardly an imposition.”

Noah had had enough. “We’re not doing this.” He closed the play and moved toward the door.

“Wait,” said AJ, still looking at Eudora. “If we read this, you’ll do the panel?”

“I’ll consider it,” said Eudora with a Cheshire grin.

AJ held her gaze. Clearly, Eudora Drew was mocking her. And yet AJ couldn’t help thinking of her alter ego Glimmette’s most famous line: Never back out. Never back down.

She squared her shoulders. “Noah, let’s just do it. It’ll take five minutes.”

Noah’s eyes looked troubled as they met hers. “This was not how I wanted this to go.”

“Seize the moment, Noah dear,” said Eudora brightly. “Life never goes according to plan.”

Noah glowered at his great-aunt. Then, to AJ’s surprise, he stepped back into the room.

They stood facing each other on the faded carpet, afternoon light streaming in through the windows. Gingerly, Eudora folded herself into a white armchair.

“Noah, begin whenever you’re ready.”

Noah cleared his throat. His brow furrowed as he skimmed the page. AJ felt her lip twitch in anticipation of him reading Romeo in his bored, dry voice.

But when Noah lifted his eyes, his sardonic expression was gone, replaced with an open yearning she found disconcerting because it didn’t feel overdone at all; it felt real. Was Noah acting? Or was he really looking at her that way?

“But soft, what light through yonder window breaks?”

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Somehow, up until this point, AJ had managed to ignore that Noah had a century of acting pedigree bred into him. Evidently, he’d also picked up a lesson or two over the years, because he was either in love with her, or he was really fucking good.

His eyes flicked to AJ.

“It is my lady. O, it is my love,” he said. “O, that she knew she were.”

The line leveled AJ. She had never seen Noah this open, this…vulnerable. She could laugh at him, scoff at him, turn this into a joke. Come to think of it, he could have done that himself—but he hadn’t. He had chosen to reveal himself, what he could do. He had put himself in her hands.

He trusted her.

AJ felt her then—Juliet, right there. They were not so far apart in terms of youth and inexperience, though Juliet did not have a chorus of siblings always ready to tease her.

AJ’s sternum thrummed, and she realized: she trusted him too. That sense of him, that heightened awareness, was pulling now, as if this were always what it had been for.

AJ slipped out of her armor and into Juliet like a silk robe.

“Ay me.”

Then they were gone, replaced by the world’s most timeless lovers. The parts moved through the players line by line, as they always had and always would. And when every word was spoken and every feeling felt, they tucked themselves back into the gutter of a book.

For a moment, AJ and Noah stood golden in the afternoon light, echoes passing between them.

O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?

What satisfaction canst thou have to-night?

Noah’s gaze was searching. They were both breathing hard.

In the hall, the grandfather clock chimed four.

“Well, well,” said Eudora.

Her voice recalled AJ to herself. She blinked rapidly and took a step back. She felt lightheaded, disoriented. When AJ glanced back at Noah, his face had closed.

His eyes were on his aunt. “Well?” he demanded. AJ watched the muscle in his jaw tense.

“I’ll do it,” said Eudora. “If you agree to work with me. Both of you.”

Noah’s face had lost all expression, his eyes boring into Eudora’s.

AJ felt elated. They’d done it! Glimmette was doing the panel.

Then it hit her.

“Wait, you don’t mean—” She held up the play.

Eudora nodded. “I’m getting older. It’s time for me to pass on what I know. What Ezell knew.”

Suddenly AJ couldn’t breathe. Whatever had just happened had been an accident, an aberration. She had all but disappeared.

The vast room was bearing down on her now. As AJ took in her rich surroundings, she realized just how far she had wandered from everything she knew.

She wasn’t Juliet. She was AJ Graves, who lived in a split-level down the hill. Her parents’ only claim to fame was that they had both been runners-up for prom royalty.

AJ didn’t belong here.

“I just remembered,” she said, adjusting her cast. “I need to get back to town.”

“I’ll drive you,” said Noah.

“No,” said AJ, not meeting his eyes. “I’ll walk.”

“Think about it,” said Eudora.

AJ brushed passed Noah as she left the room, barely aware of the puppies at her ankles. As she burst into the splendid afternoon, her only aim was to get as far away from Drew House as possible.

MERCIFULLY, AJ WAS NOT scheduled to work the next day. Over breakfast, she stared at her plate, stupefied with relief that she wouldn’t have to face Noah after walking out of Drew House.

Whenever AJ closed her eyes, all she could see was the two Drews watching her panic.

Her toast was still untouched when her mother called her into the laundry room.

“Since you’re around, can you bring Emily to the park while I go shopping?”

AJ made a noise of dissent at the back of her throat.

“Or you could do this,” said her mom.

The ancient washing machine clanged menacingly.

The park was located just outside the town center, right beyond the local grocery chain, Big Y. AJ felt seven years old again as her mom dropped them at the entrance.

They were the only two there. AJ unfastened the gate, and Emily beelined for the jungle gym.

“Age!” she cried from the top of the slide. “Oh my God, let’s practice.” She twisted on the spot, smiling, and AJ realized what she meant.

“Oh, you want to do the play?” she said.

Emily nodded. She was the only person AJ had told about her visit to Drew House. Just the important points: boy, girl, balcony. She’d left out the part about running away in terror.

AJ made a show of clearing her throat. “Ah, there she is, my beautiful Juliet,” she paraphrased in a false baritone. Emily smiled at this. “Oh, speak, bright angel!”

Emily shrieked with laughter—arguably the greatest sound in the world.

According to a body of research and the testing of a developmental specialist in Lee, Emily’s intellect would never surpass that of a nine-year-old. AJ often wanted to ask the person who had conducted this testing why, if that were true, laughter could collapse the distance between their supposedly disparate levels of intelligence.

To the outside world, AJ was the lucky twin. She had always known this and had spent her entire life working to justify having won the genetic coin toss. But to Emily, AJ was just…herself.

“Who are you?” asked Emily, giggles subsiding.

“Why, I am Romeo!” said AJ, dramatically.

Then a low voice spoke. “I would ask to see some ID if I were you.”

AJ’s heart sank.

Noah Drew was standing on the other side of the playground fence, a plastic Big Y bag clutched in his enormous hand. He must have been grabbing food before his shift at Reel World.

As Emily’s eyes caught on Noah, she stilled, straightening up. “Oh my God, Age,” she said breathlessly, in a very near imitation of Libby. “Who is that, Age?”

AJ was still in denial that this was happening. Noah took charge.

“I’m Noah,” he said warmly. “AJ’s friend.” His eyes calmly slid to AJ’s.

AJ introduced them, her cheeks coloring. Then she swung open the gate to let him in.

Emily and Noah were fast friends. They quickly fell into a game of tic-tac-toe on the park’s giant beige markers. As Noah frowned over each move, Emily giggled at his seriousness.

When Emily tired of tic-tac-toe, she transitioned to the tire swing, donning her teal Walkman. She hummed along to “Come on Over,” by Shania Twain, slowly spinning on the spot.

Noah turned to AJ. “Want to sit?”

AJ was embarrassed. She glanced at the shady bench where he’d left his grocery bag. “Okay.”

As they situated themselves, Noah’s familiar scent washed over her—Dial soap, and fancy French lavender laundry detergent, and something darker, saltier. He handed AJ a bag of vinegar chips then started in on his meatball sub.

AJ held the pouch but didn’t open it. “About yesterday—”

Noah shook his head, glancing over at her. “Don’t worry about that.”

“I shouldn’t have walked off.”

Noah snorted. “Yes, you should have,” he said. “That whole thing was super weird. We are super weird. My aunt—”

“She hates Astronauticals.” AJ still couldn’t believe it.

Noah’s brow furrowed. “She doesn’t, deep down,” he said. “She just wants Ezell to be remembered for winning the Pulitzer for The Cone Cycle and for his civil rights activism. She’s incredibly protective over his legacy. She won’t even let me read Fire & Water.”

“What’s that?” asked AJ.

“The play he was writing when he died,” said Noah, taking another bite of his sandwich.

This was easier than AJ had thought it would be. Sitting with him. Talking to him. “I’ve never done anything like that before,” she heard herself say. “Acting, I mean.”

Noah eyed her as he swallowed. “Really?”

AJ nodded.

He studied her. “Are you considering Eudora’s offer?”

AJ scoffed. “That wasn’t a real offer,” she said. “She just thinks I…I don’t know.”

“No, you don’t,” said Noah. His eyes seemed to draw in the June sunlight, changing to an almost honey gold. It was…not ugly. “Trust me. My aunt never does anything that’s not in her own self-interest. She wouldn’t waste her time if she didn’t think you had talent.”

AJ surveyed him. “Why aren’t you in the family business? You clearly have…talent.”

Noah grimaced. “Because I don’t want to end up like the rest of my family. Hollywood is soulless…it’s just a bunch of terrible people behaving terribly in really expensive houses.”

AJ stared at him. “Noah, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but you kind of live in a mansion.”

“That is not my house,” said Noah hotly. “I’m only there because—”

Noah looked at his sandwich as if it had gone stale. AJ watched him rewrap it as he contemplated his next remark. At last, he said, “My mom is sick. That’s why I’m back.”

Suddenly, imposing, terrifying Noah Drew seemed about twelve years old.

“I’m so sorry,” said AJ. “How is she doing?”

“Not great,” he said. “We’ve got her at Simmons trying to figure out what’s wrong. At first they thought she’d had a stroke because she can’t talk and her mobility is shit, but they ruled that out. She’s basically being shuttled between a blood lab and an MRI machine.”

“Noah, that’s—”

Simmons was a full-time-care facility two towns over, geared toward patients with chronic conditions. Those who went in rarely came out. What AJ wanted to say was horrible, horrifying.

Instead, she said, “Expensive.” Then quickly, “Not that…I’m sure you can afford—”

“My aunt can,” said Noah. “To be clear, I would never take her money. Hence how I became your favorite coworker. But for my mom’s sake—” He chewed his lip. “My dad split when I was nine. I’m basically all she has.” He looked down at the sandwich in his hands. “I’m grateful for Eudora’s help, don’t get me wrong. But if it were up to her, the doctors would just pump my mom full of drugs, keep her out of sight and out of mind. That’s why I need to be here—she needs an advocate.”

AJ noticed Eudora was no longer Dorie for this conversation. “You don’t seem to like your aunt that much,” she said carefully. “Why stay with her?”

Noah winced. “I can’t go home.” His eyes were guarded, but he didn’t look away. “It’s been a brutal couple of months, AJ,” he said with difficulty. “Watching my mom go through this is…heartbreaking. And coming from West Point…I’d rather deal with Eudora than be alone.”

He creased the sandwich paper in a neat line. “Cadets commit to serving in the army before their junior year. That was supposed to be me this summer,” he said in a low voice. “All the guys in my unit went for it. And instead, I’m just…here. Stuck.”

AJ’s chest ached. “I know how you feel,” she said, and without warning, she was telling him about her injury and what it meant for her college prospects. She found herself in tears as she described the Powerpuff Girls, which was embarrassing in light of everything he had shared.

But Noah didn’t seem fazed by it. He listened intently, absorbing it all, and as she spoke, AJ felt the oddest sense that nothing she could say to him would ever be wrong. That she was safe.

When she finished, he sat back, draping an arm over the back of the bench. “You really should consider my aunt’s offer,” he said after a beat.

“What happened to ‘Eudora never does anything that’s not in her own self-interest’?”

An adorable pink tinge swept across Noah’s cheekbones. “That doesn’t mean your interests can’t align—just don’t get swept up in her bullshit,” he said. “A rec from her would open doors. And there’s a lot she could teach you, as an artist.”

Artist. The word conjured a starving mime in a beret. AJ scrunched her nose. “I’m not an artist.”

It was Noah’s turn to gape. “AJ, I hate to tell you this, but you practically live at a video store. You spend every spare second you have writing. And you’re obsessed with the inner workings of an improvised show. You are an artist.”

“I—” AJ closed her mouth. It was strange to have someone draw a line between these aspects of herself. That’s not really who I am, she wanted to say. She was an athlete and a star student—at least, according to her family.

Still. He had a point about Astronauticals. It would be incredible to learn its secrets from the source.

AJ squinted. “What would the recommendation be for? Theater?”

Noah nodded, and a single white square began to illuminate on the board in front of AJ—not a full strategy, but a move. A path forward.

AJ looked at him uncertainly. “I’m not a performer.”

Noah’s eyes danced. “Oh come on, Pippi, I think we both know that’s not true.”

AJ thought she had misheard him. Then it hit her. “You?” she gasped. “You were Jason?”

Noah flashed her that grin, which was unnecessarily lovely given how flustered AJ already felt. Her mind skipped back to their first interaction at Reel World. You.

He’d known this whole time.

“I don’t believe this,” said AJ, aghast. “It took me years to live that down.”

“Hey, I’m the victim here,” said Noah, laughing. “My aunt gets stage fright at the last second, so I go on in her place and this little girl screams her head off in my face.”

AJ was laughing despite herself. “So then you agree I can’t act.”

Noah held her gaze. “You did just fine as Juliet.”

AJ bit her lip, her mind slowly integrating this information. “Her offer was to train us both,” she reminded him. “So what, you’re saying you would take acting lessons with me?”

Noah shrugged.

AJ’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? Why?”

He was studying her now, his eyes intent. They were sitting very close.

“It’s fascinating,” he said with almost academic detachment. “Improv operates out of the collective unconscious. Connections between actors can be extremely psychic. My aunt and uncle claimed they could feel each other’s emotions—it’s trippy stuff. With us, I’ve noticed a sort of…pull. I’d be interested to see if…it could be worth exploring.”

A shadow passed over his features. “And for what it’s worth, playing Romeo the other day is the only time in the past three months I’ve been able to…forget.”

AJ’s mouth went dry. “Noah,” she said softly. Without thinking, she placed her hand on his arm. “You’re going to get through this. I know everything sucks right now, but they’re going to figure out what’s wrong with your mom, and you’re going to get back to school.”

He covered her hand with his. “Yeah, I hope so. I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” AJ repeated, masking the thrill she felt at his touch.

Noah’s eyes creased sadly. “To be honest, the whole time I was at the Academy, part of me was waiting for the other shoe to drop. When I had to leave it seemed almost…inevitable. That sense of belonging didn’t really feel like my life. I never had it before.” He looked at their hands. “I think you know, I never really fit in Gladstone.”

AJ watched a golden ray of sun hit his profile. “Maybe you just don’t belong in Gladstone.”

Noah turned to her. “No, I don’t,” he said. “And neither do you.”

It was the best thing he could have said, and AJ smiled at him. She couldn’t help it. Noah seemed momentarily thrown by this. He blinked.

Then he was on his feet, stepping back. As he ran a hand through his hair, his attention shifted to Emily. “There are five of you, right?”

“Right,” said AJ, trying to keep her expression as detached as his, jarred by his sudden movement. She watched him circle his shoulders, stretching one, then the other.

“Your brother Pat’s my age,” he noted off-handedly. “And there’s another sister between you?”

“Libby,” said AJ. “She’s nineteen. We’re two and two.”

“Very orderly,” said Noah. “So you’re seventeen?”

“Yes,” said AJ.

He nodded. “I’ve never had a little sister,” he said with ease. “It seems fun.”

The words hit AJ like a blow. I see you like a little sister was implied.

She stood up to hide her disappointment. “You might not like it,” she said crisply. “Having someone around all the time. It can get annoying.”

There was something she couldn’t name in Noah’s gaze.

“Try me,” he said.

Then he offered her his hand.

AJ stared at it, thinking of all he’d said, of the recommendation, of the strange pull between them. And of that word he’d used about her: talent.

AJ longed to be talented most of all.

“Okay,” she agreed, palm to palm, her hand in his.

And that was how they became scene partners.

EUDORA DIDN’T SEEM AT all surprised to see AJ at Drew House the next day.

“Oh good, there you are,” she said breezily, adjusting her beige cashmere ensemble as she ushered AJ into the drawing room. “Noah just got back from Chesterfield. I’ll call him down.”

Simmons was in Chesterfield, so Noah had been to see his mother. AJ waited on the antique sofa, watching sun swirl through dust particles.

When Eudora reappeared, her fluid movements called Glimmette to mind; she looked rejuvenated and full of purpose.

Presently, Noah arrived through the wide-framed doorway wearing a gray T-shirt and jeans. His expression was somber as he passed Eudora, but his eyes lit when they connected with AJ’s. He took the vacant seat beside her, and AJ tried to suppress the flutter in her stomach.

“Right,” said Eudora. AJ watched in amazement as she produced a clipboard and a blue Gelly Roll pen adorned, inexplicably, with a silk flower. “We’ll start with the fundamentals.”

Eudora began each session by warming them up using Method acting exercises.

“Repetitions!” she’d announce.

Then she had AJ and Noah stare into each other’s eyes and repeat what they heard in an infinite regress.

“Hello,” said AJ.

“Hello,” said Noah.

“Hello,” said AJ.

“Hello,” said Noah.

At first, AJ’s only point of awareness was her own blushing face. But then she remembered that Noah thought of her as a sister, and her mind quieted.

Soon, the word began to sound different.

“Helloi,” said Noah.

“Helloi,” said AJ.

“Good,” said Eudora.

Warm-ups were followed by Shakespearean scene work, a segment of the routine that seemingly existed for Noah to show how annoyingly good he was at acting while Eudora favorably compared him to other Drews.

“Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage,” said Noah.

“Ah, that’s just how my father would have done it!” said Eudora. Then she noticed AJ smirking. “My dear, are you laughing at bloodlust?”

“I would never,” said AJ. “Read on, Macbeth.”

Eudora’s eyes tripled in size. “Never say the name of the Scottish King in this house.”

AJ apologized, but in vain. “That’s not enough,” said Eudora, looking increasingly like Lady Macbeth herself. “You need to go outside and walk thrice around the house. Backwards.”

“What?” said AJ, as Noah laughed into his script.

“Thrice!” said Eudora.

Grumbling, AJ made her way out the kitchen door—this was a bit much, even for a killer recommendation. But Eudora’s grounds were glorious and somewhere between AJ’s second and third run-in with a cement cupid, she had to admit: she hadn’t thought about her broken arm all day. Drew House might be a mad world unto itself, but AJ liked it. She would play by its rules.

For the most part, Eudora was content to observe, though she would demonstrate when necessary. After they both botched Valentine’s big speech, she leapt up on the ottoman and recited it herself.

“What light is light, if Sylvia be not seen?” she pondered. “What joy is joy, if Sylvia be not by?”

“Ah, I see,” said Noah after. “What light is light.”

AJ nodded. “What joy is joy.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” said Eudora.

The Drews employed one full-time staff member, an Irish housekeeper, Mrs. Gilroy. Each day after their morning scenes, she’d prepare lunch. Or rather, she’d prepare lunch for Noah and Eudora. Mrs. Gilroy prided herself on serving the Drews and was loath to serve AJ.

“There are only two sandwiches here,” said Noah, looking over the contents of her silver tray.

“Beg pardon,” said Mrs. Gilroy. “I didn’t realize she was eating.”

“I love eating,” said AJ helpfully.

“Gilroy,” said Eudora, sweeping into the room. “Have you seen my orange shell cameo brooch? I got in on a limited-time offer. The man on Home Shopping Network said there were only sixty made, I’ll be devastated if I lost it. And do feed AJ, we can’t have her acting the stewed prune.”

“The what?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Mrs. Gilroy, muttering Saints preserve us as she withdrew.

After lunch, Eudora would herd them onto the patio for the portion of the program AJ dreaded most: kinetic synthesis.

“You are now each other’s shadows,” Eudora announced. “When we’re done, you’ll be so closely attuned that you’ll be able to feel each other across a crowded room.” Then, she inserted disc one of an “as seen on TV” A&M Gold two-CD set into a boom box. “Now, move!”

AJ froze. She didn’t dance unless she was wasted. She turned to Noah pleadingly. Maybe they could stage a walkout. Noah seemed undecided about how to proceed.

“Move, move!” cried Eudora.

For the next ninety minutes, they circled each other “dancing” in a five-foot radius, occasionally making eye contact then looking away as the greatest hits of 1956 blared over the boom box.

It was so excruciating that AJ’s consciousness actually vacated her body. When the disc finished, all she had access to were a patchy montage of her own jerky one-armed movements, determined looks past Noah, and desperate glances at Eudora, who blithely scribbled away on her clipboard.

While kinetic synthesis was now the bane of AJ’s existence, she greatly looked forward to what followed: entire afternoons devoted to improvisation, the building blocks of Astronauticals.

In theory, the rules were simple. Agree to everything your scene partner says. Support everything your scene partner does. The only thing you can never say is “no.”

This proved much harder in practice.

“Damn, I really loved that suitcase Dad got me,” AJ initiated.

“Yeah, sweetie, he really wanted us to have fun on our honeymoon,” said Noah.

“Derek, why are you calling me sweetie?” said AJ, teeth gritted. “You’re my brother.”

“And scene,” said Eudora.

“Why?” said AJ, exasperated.

“Because,” said Eudora. “That’s not how agreement works. The second he calls you sweetie, you have to throw out every preconceived idea you have about the scene and accept his gift, build on what’s actually happening onstage. Otherwise the whole thing falls apart. You need to listen.”

Then she made them have an entire conversation using only the word “hair dryer.”

“Hair dryer,” said AJ, meaning hello.

“Hair dryer,” said Noah, meaning something.

“Hair dryer dryer,” said AJ, meaning Stop ruining my scenes.

“Dryer hair dryer,” said Noah, meaning something.

Ten minutes later, Eudora had them each write down what they thought they’d been discussing.

“Ice cream,” Eudora read, nodding. “And spaceships. You must listen.”

“He’s the one who ruined my initiation,” snapped AJ.

“She’s the one who ruined our honeymoon,” fumed Noah.

After that, AJ thought she might finally be in for a taste of his famous temper. Instead, Noah invited her to come check on the puppies.

“They keep trying to escape,” he said, performing a head count over the fluffy crescents snoozing under a kitchen cupboard. The litter was a mix of black, white, and brown, still so new their noses were pink. Gingerly, AJ reached down to pet a chestnut puppy, who nipped at her cast.

“I feel like I’m looking at Hortense before life hit her,” she muttered, switching hands.

Noah chuckled. “We can call that one Hortense II.”

“The Hortense Strikes Back,” said AJ.

“The Hortense of Doom,” said Noah.

AJ looked up at him. His expression was soft, unguarded. “I could probably listen better. In our scenes,” she admitted.

Noah gave her a half smile. “I could too.”

AFTER PRACTICE, AT LEAST one of them would head to Reel World for the late shift. On the evenings they both worked, they were together for thirteen hours straight. AJ kept waiting to feel crowded or for Noah to get bored, but their ability to spend time together only seemed to increase.

They flowed easily from one activity to the next. The car rides were transition time—they’d talk about what they’d just learned or listen to the radio.

Once at work, Noah would duck into the back room and AJ would set up at the counter. She’d get through the returns in about an hour, then dive into her fic. As she embodied Glimmette, AJ tried out Eudora’s craft lessons on pacing, structure, and stakes and saw her writing markedly improve with each tool she applied. Her thirty-eight followers agreed.

Noah usually poked his head in around five, and they’d eat dinner while watching something on the Panasonic. Noah usually let AJ choose, which was for the best. He was a magnet for every obscure tape Storm had ever collected.

“This is Léontine’s Battery,” he said proudly. “It’s a comedy about a girl who electrocutes everyone in her path.”

“Sounds hilarious,” said AJ, putting on an old episode of SNL instead.

As they watched Patrick Stewart deliver his opening monologue, Noah brooded.

“The Shakespeare-to-space-opera pipeline is so strong,” AJ commented cheerfully. She found nothing more satisfying than cracking Noah when he was in one of his moods. “Obviously, there’s Eudora. Patrick Stewart was a stage actor before Star Trek.”

“Peter Cushing was a stage actor before Star Wars,” Noah offered, despite himself.

They spent a lot of time shooting the shit, and even more time laughing.

At the end of their shifts, Noah would drive AJ back to her house. He’d park across the street, and she’d wave goodbye from her stoop, and watch his red Camaro speed off into the dark.

A few weeks into this routine, they arrived at the Graveses’ split-level on a bad night. AJ knew before they’d even parked—it was only nine-thirty, but every second-floor light was out, which meant that her siblings were pretending to be asleep.

Sure enough, as the Camaro pulled up to the curb, AJ’s father came into view through the dining room’s picture window, a beer clutched in his hand. Across from him, Mike stood insolent, white-faced. AJ saw her dad’s temple bulge, saw him bare his teeth, saw Mike flinch.

Hide, AJ silently urged her brother. Turn and hide.

But Mike never hid. That was the whole problem.

As Noah switched off the car, AJ stayed riveted to the window. Mike was the youngest, her little brother. She should step in. Get up, she commanded herself.

But she couldn’t. The seconds ticked on without pity; she could feel them in her pulse.

Then Pat was there. In two strides, he placed himself between their dad and Mike. Go to bed, he seemed to say. Mike left the room. Their dad was reaming Pat now. AJ’s gaze fell to her cast.

“Want to walk?” Noah offered gently.

It took AJ a moment to remember where she was, then another to absorb that he was witnessing this. Without looking at him, AJ nodded and opened the door.

The moon and streetlamps dappled her neighborhood in pools of silver and gold. They strode a careful distance from each other, AJ up on the sidewalk, Noah beside her in the street. A cool breeze rolled in off the mountains, but AJ couldn’t feel it. She was too ashamed.

“Pat’s always been like that,” Noah ventured. “I remember him sticking up for other kids in elementary school. And he’d always…say hi. You know, in class. No matter what.”

AJ snorted to cover her embarrassment. “He needed your vote. For class president.”

“Well, fuck,” said Noah, chuckling.

AJ smiled at her feet. “You’re right. I’ve always looked up to him.” Even if I’m a chickenshit.

She didn’t realize how far they’d wandered until Noah came to a stop outside a darkened home.

“This is my house,” he said, and AJ took in a split-level that must have gone up within a few years of her own—same cheap siding, same metal rail. The lawn had been freshly cut; Noah must be mowing it for his mom.

AJ’s chest tightened. “Can I ask you something?”

“Please do.”

“The fire you set,” she said. “What happened?”

The dark fabric of his shirt rippled as he rolled back his shoulders. “What have you heard?”

AJ shrugged. “That you burned down the Sherwins’ garage and were sent away after.”

As she said the words, she glanced at the neighboring property. It looked spartan in the moonlight.

“That’s not—Here.”

He unlatched the fence and led her around back. Where AJ’s yard was full of sports equipment, grilling accoutrements, and mismatched patio furniture, Noah’s was empty but for a small shed and a pile of mossy rubble in one corner. Noah nodded toward it.

“That is what I burned down,” he said. “Mrs. Sherwin saw the smoke and called the fire department and the whole thing got blown way out of proportion.”

“What was it?” said AJ, squinting at the strange blackened mound.

Noah cleared his throat. “A dog house. For Marlow,” he said. “My dad took her when he left, but we could never bring ourselves to get rid of it. Until…”

His eyes were distant. “When I was seventeen, my mom went off her depression meds. I have no idea why. And one day I came home from school and found her unresponsive in the bathroom.”

AJ stifled a gasp.

“Yeah. The doctors insisted that it was more of a cry for help than a genuine attempt on her own life,” he said. “I mean, she took the pills in time for me to get home and call an ambulance…”

“Noah,” said AJ. She couldn’t imagine how that must have felt. “I’m so sorry.”

He glanced at her shyly. “I was in pretty bad shape after. And I was pissed. I didn’t think this should all fall to me, and so one night, I decided I’d show my dad by destroying the one thing he’d ever liked about this house. Which was…exceedingly dumb, considering it got me dumped with him for my senior year. Doctor’s orders.”

He nodded toward the street, and they slowly began to retrace their steps. AJ didn’t want to think about what awaited her at home.

“So how long were you in L.A.?” she asked.

“Two years,” he said. “I graduated, then I just sort of…fell into the scene. My dad didn’t give a shit if I sank or if I swam. He just wanted to party so that’s what we did.”

An image of Noah surrounded by models glimmered in AJ’s mind. She realized dully that he probably had a lot of experience. “Oh no, an all-you-can-eat buffet of aspiring actresses. Sounds rough.”

“That’s not—”

“Admit it.”

He bit his lip. “Fine,” he said, and AJ’s chest caved. “But it’s nothing to romanticize, certainly nothing to…look up to. The novelty wears off pretty fucking fast, then you’re just chasing the high. Those girls…their eyes are dead. But by the time you see it, it doesn’t matter because so are yours. It’s a selfish existence. Meaningless.”

As they turned onto her street, AJ kept her gaze on the pavement, waiting for him to continue.

Noah shoved his hands in his pockets. “One night about a year after I graduated, we were out, and my mom called. She wanted to wish me happy birthday, and…I didn’t even know what day it was. I just remember listening to her voice, staring at this champagne fountain thinking, If I don’t get out now, I never will.”

AJ glanced at his long profile. “So you gave up being a scenester to, what, get hazed?”

Noah laughed. “We call it basic training, but yes. And it was exactly what I needed—being expected to pull my own weight, regardless of my last name…sometimes in spite of it.”

They had arrived back at AJ’s house. The picture window was in shadow. A faint blue light flickered in the boys’ room—hopefully Mike was gaming with Pat. Hopefully they were okay. AJ hesitated at her front walk as a fresh wave of embarrassment overtook her.

“This was a bad night,” she said quietly.

Noah nodded. “Well, whenever he’s having a bad night, you can call me.”

AJ bristled. “This isn’t, like, a regular occurrence.”

“I just mean I get it,” he said quickly. “My dad’s the same when he drinks.”

AJ stared at him in alarm. “What?” she said, panicked. “That’s not—I never said that. My dad doesn’t—”

Noah looked stunned. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

The fuck he didn’t. “My dad is nothing like your dad,” AJ growled. How dare he. “I mean, he’s here, isn’t he?”

Noah’s jaw clenched. He nodded.

“I don’t know what you think you saw, but this was just a bad night,” she repeated.

“My mistake,” said Noah, not meeting her eyes. He looked…hurt.

AJ was too furious to care. “Yes, it was.”

With that, she stormed back into the house. In the hall, she took off her shoes and tried her best to slow her breathing. Outside, she heard Noah’s car rev to life and pull away.

THE NEXT DAY, AJ had half a mind to skip acting practice. But she didn’t want to go back on her bargain with Eudora—after failing Mike last night, the least she could do was deliver on the Astronauticals panel. The second she faced Noah, her rage reignited.

How dare he.

“If I be waspish, best beware my sting,” she hissed, advancing on him.

“My remedy is then to pluck it out,” said Noah, taking a step back. They had started in the middle of the drawing room, but with each exchange, AJ drove him toward the entryway.

“Ay, if the fool could find where it lies,” said AJ, lunging forward again.

Another step back. “Who knows not where a wasp does wear his sting? In his tail,” said Noah, his spine hitting the wide doorframe.

AJ pressed up against him, jabbing her finger into his sternum. “In his tongue,” she said, giving his mouth an accusing stare, then flicking her eyes up to his, awaiting his rejoinder. His brow furrowed as he took her in. He swallowed.

“Line,” he said.

“Whose tongue?” said Eudora, seated over where they’d started in the drawing room.

“Whose tongue?” repeated Noah, his voice low.

“Yours,” said AJ, relaxing her hand so she could move another two inches toward him. She was right in his face. “If you talk of tales, and so farewell.”

Noah’s lips parted slightly.

“Scene,” called Eudora. “My goodness, AJ—they’ll need to keep a fire brigade parked out front with you as Kate. Let’s take it again from ‘You were a movable.’ ”

AJ’s eyes were still locked with Noah’s. She gave him a pointed glare, then walked back into the drawing room. Slowly, Noah peeled himself from the doorframe and strode in after her.

THAT NIGHT, AJ WAS blessedly alone at Reel World. She processed the returns in a self-righteous haze, then hammered out a very satisfying fic for her forty-two followers: Glimmette bringing a treacherous crewmate to justice in zero gravity. After, she ducked out for a slice.

When she returned, Storm rose from behind the counter. “You just missed your boyfriend.”

“My—who?” said AJ. Storm nudged a small brown-bag parcel toward her.

“Coming in on his day off…it must be serious,” said Storm, slinking away.

AJ felt her cheeks warm as she opened the package and pulled out a tattered copy of Laughter & Death: A Handbook for Improvisation, by Ezell Farr.

Trembling slightly, AJ flipped open the cover to find a looping inscription on the title page.

Noah—

My angry cherub, remember to eat.

Zell

Below it, Noah had added a note.

AJ-

EZELL WROTE THIS WHILE FILMING ASTRONAUTICALS. I THOUGHT YOU MIGHT LIKE IT.

NOAH

A peace offering. AJ briefly considered chucking it. But there was something arresting about the way he’d written her name, hooking the J beneath the A, a singular curve in an angular alphabet. Like he’d savored the pen stroke. She closed the book and tucked it in her bag.

THAT NIGHT, AJ STAYED up reading Laughter & Death until her flashlight grew dim. The book provided comprehensive instructions on improv craft—covering everything from agreement to edits. Ezell’s writing had a cryptic, sphynx-like quality that gave his wisdom a mystical air.

Laughter is a response to psychic death. We could have died. We didn’t. So we laugh.

Those who are in the Black Room can’t tell you where to find it. You can only find it if you know where it is.

The game of a scene is its soul, its truth, its essence.

It was dense reading. According to Laughter & Death, improv games were not merely observational fodder, but real psychopathologies people endlessly played out to avoid unwanted feelings.

All people play games. They’re given to us by parents, teachers, and society at large, the scripts written long in advance. Here’s what they’ll never tell you: you don’t have to play.

As AJ skimmed the long appendix of games that followed, she thought of the ones she had invented for her own family. King of Diamonds. Queen of Clubs. Card Shark. Dealer. Joker.

Then her eye snagged on the game “Alcoholic.” Beside it, Noah had scratched one word: DAD.

AJ felt a sickening wave of heat—anger at what he’d witnessed the other night and embarrassment at her own reaction when he’d tried to talk to her about it.

He’d wanted to help; she could see that now. He had no way of knowing she’d never spoken to an outsider about her father. She barely spoke of it with her siblings. Their silence stemmed from a simple logic: if they didn’t speak of it, it wasn’t happening.

But it was happening—that’s why Noah bearing witness had been so painful.

As AJ read Laughter & Death, her mind kept drifting to the boy who had scrawled things like SPECIOUS AT BEST and COGITO ERGO SUM in the margins. She thought of all he had shared with her, and how bruised he had looked when she had pushed him away.

There can be no trust without understanding, Noah had underlined. It’s the foundation on which castles are built and razed and built again.

That night, AJ fell asleep staring at his handwriting.

THEY DIDN’T HAVE ACTING practice on Saturdays, but they both worked. When Noah came in just after four, he looked worn. AJ knew right away he’d been to see his mom.

“Hey,” she said, giving him a small smile.

“Hey,” said Noah, his eyes brightening.

Then they were in the Saturday rush. Mansfield Park was the video release of the weekend. AJ offloaded all fifteen of Reel World’s copies within the first hour of their shift.

By nine P.M., the store had quieted down, and AJ popped an Astronauticals VHS into the Panasonic. She chose episode 2.10: “Fire & Water,” the one where the crew visited a world where they had the ability to manipulate, or weave, elements.

As the opening credits began to roll, Noah stepped through the beaded curtain. He gave her a weary smile, then folded himself into the metal chair beside her stool.

AJ offered him her Ziploc bag of Reese’s Puffs as young Ezell and Eudora appeared onscreen. “I’m honored,” said Noah, accepting the cereal.

“You should be,” said AJ. “How’s your mom?”

“The same. We’ve got another round of tests next week.”

AJ shifted. “Maybe Eudora could go check on her tomorrow, give you a break.”

Noah laughed. “That would never happen,” he said flatly. “They hate each other.”

“Why?”

Noah ran a hand over his face. “Because my mom thinks Eudora is an uppity bitch who spoiled my dad, and Eudora thinks my mom is a meddling foster kid who drove my dad to drin—Well, you know.”

Onscreen, the special effects were at their 1964 jankiest. AJ and Noah watched Captain Shoe unfurl a blue streamer at Glimmette: water weaving. Glimmette shot back a red streamer: fire weaving.

“Apparently those were left over from a birthday party,” said Noah, offering AJ an out.

She kept her eyes forward as she asked, “How old were you? When you knew he had a problem.”

Noah stilled beside her. “Six. We ran out of gin at Christmas, so he flipped the table.”

AJ’s mouth went dry. “Does he not have an emergency stash?” she heard herself say. “My dad keeps four cases hidden behind the boiler at all times. That’s in addition to what’s in the garage.”

Noah snorted. “My dad’s more the get-a-DUI-on-the-way-to-buy-more type.”

“See? Like I said, nothing alike,” said AJ with false lightness. Then, “Do you think I’m a coward? For not intervening the other night.”

“Not at all,” said Noah emphatically.

“I do,” AJ whispered. “I am. But he’s just so…”

Noah leaned forward. “I know,” he said soothingly.

“Do you?” said AJ, finally looking at him. “What’s the worst thing your dad’s ever said to you?”

Noah’s bangs were getting long; they fell carelessly across his brow as he said, “Probably that I’m his biggest mistake and the reason he drinks. You?”

AJ’s eyes stung. “That it’s my fault Emily was born the way she is.”

She’d been ten when it happened. Emily had blown up on a class field trip, and AJ had walked in on her parents arguing about it. When she’d tried to insert herself, her father had gone off—his actual comments had been so crude AJ couldn’t bear to recall them even seven years later. He had apologized after, tried to take it back, but the words had already left their mark.

Noah’s eyes were burning. “We say the worst things to the people we care about. It’s shitty, and there’s no excuse for it. But I need you to know that…you’re not alone.”

There were tears in AJ’s eyes as she nodded. She waited for shame to envelop her. But as Noah held her gaze, she could sense him with her and all she felt was…relief.

After a beat, she said, “Thank you. For the book.”

Noah’s hand twitched, and for an instant AJ thought he might reach for her. Then he nodded and leaned back, and the two of them immersed themselves in the show.

MIDWAY THROUGH JULY, AJ’S cast came off. Though she wasn’t allowed to play soccer for another eight weeks, she could now type using both hands. To celebrate, Noah let her drive his Camaro. And Eudora gave her a gift from Home Shopping Network: NOW That’s What I Call Music! 4.

“It’s supposed to be all the hip tunes,” she said sternly, as AJ and Noah roared with laughter.

“According to who? Bob Barker?” said Noah, wiping his eyes.

NOW That’s What I Call Music! 4 was seventy-one minutes and one second long, and the first time they used it for kinetic synthesis, AJ and Noah giggled almost the entire time.

But they moved—more easily than ever before. If A&M Gold was a sock hop, NOW 4 was MTV bubblegum: overplayed, overproduced, and familiar. After one afternoon of NOW 4, AJ felt more ownership of kinetic synthesis than she had in several weeks of ancient, deadly A&M Gold.

Eudora wasn’t picky about what they did, so long as they kept dancing, and as the days of NOW 4 strung together like pearls on a strand, AJ and Noah began to develop a routine.

They devoted an entire session to the choreography from track two, Britney Spears’s “(You Drive Me) Crazy,” which Libby had taught AJ the previous fall in a rare act of sisterly bonding.

“No, you bend forward when Britney does the hand-cross thing,” AJ scolded. “Like this.” She folded at the waist, rolling up one vertebra at a time. As her hair flipped back, she found Noah gazing at her midriff. Her shirt had rolled up. He didn’t look away; instead, he reached over and gently tugged it down. AJ’s heart jumped as his hand withdrew.

Then he frowned. “Wait. If you’re Britney, who does that make me?”

AJ nodded, recovering. “You’re Britney’s backup dancer. The one in the blue-and-yellow shirt.”

Noah crossed his arms. “I don’t even get a name?”

AJ shrugged. “There can only be one Britney.”

By the time they finished that day, they could do the dance in perfect unison.

Noah didn’t watch MTV, so AJ dutifully took it upon herself to fill this gap in his cultural knowledge, although Noah tended to take the fun out of it.

“So she’s in a green bug and then they go to a diner and then she dances in a snake pit,” he said, summing up AJ’s description of the music video for “Candy,” by Mandy Moore (track four).

AJ cackled. “Skate pit,” she said. “As in skateboards.”

Noah scowled. “That is really disappointing.”

The only song that seemed to hold any personal resonance for him was track eleven, “Waiting for Tonight,” by Jennifer Lopez. When it first came on, his entire body went rigid.

“What?” asked AJ, perplexed as his feet ground to a halt.

“We used to do squats to this song,” said Noah.

AJ shook her head, stopping alongside him. “That is…no. Why.”

“Move!” cried Eudora over her clipboard. “Move!”

Noah tilted his head, raising one eyebrow suggestively.

AJ couldn’t think when he looked at her like that. “No,” she said, flushed. “Absolutely not.”

Two minutes later, AJ’s thighs were on fire as she somehow lowered herself into another squat.

“Lengthen your back,” he barked at her.

“It is lengthened,” AJ whimpered, sweat rolling down her spine.

“Longer,” said Noah. “Don’t be sloppy. We’re going double time at the next chorus.”

They moved and moved, song after song, day after day, their shadows stretching long across the flagstone. Then one day, as they moved, AJ felt a tug, and there it was—the connection between them, a thin gold cord. As she concentrated on it, it began to glow.

Noah looked up; he felt it too. Slowly, their hands opened against each other’s. As they focused on that thread, the world began to fade, and they sank beneath their conscious selves.

Down here, AJ discovered another self, an essential self. I know you, this self said to Noah.

Then she felt a feeling as big as the sky. I know you, Noah’s essential self said back.

Ezell’s writings referred to this phenomenon as the Black Room, a state of shared consciousness where two or more improvisers could move through a scene as one.

Initially, AJ and Noah needed kinetic synthesis to access it. The tugs they felt—moments of heightened empathy—were a prelude, a knock. But as they danced, as they let themselves stay tuned to each other, the world would hush, and the door to the Black Room would open.

The first time they managed to get inside while improvising, AJ thought she was hallucinating. Noah had initiated a scene about a librarian—“I’ll never finish stamping these books”—when suddenly AJ found herself at a circulation desk. As if she had walked into Noah’s daydream.

“I’ll help,” she said dazedly. “I don’t want you to get fired.”

Then, they both reached for the same imaginary stack of books. Their eyes collided, and for a split second they broke character.

“Whoa,” said AJ.

“Yeah,” said Noah.

And then he handed her the books, and they never looked back.

Soon playing in the Black Room became automatic. A scene would start, their energy would lock in, and a series of game moves would illuminate before them like a flight path through interstellar space.

This was everything Eudora had hoped for. “Take yourselves out for a spin,” she would say. “And don’t come back until you’ve hit the limits of existence.”

They were sailors then clowns then firemen then trees, on and on until the flight path ended, and they parachuted back into their bodies, silly and spent.

Now AJ was a mermaid and Noah a pirate.

“I don’t normally talk about my treasure,” said AJ, flipping her imaginary tail. “But you seem different than the other pirates.”

“I read Shakespeare by candlelight,” said Noah, kneeling. “I keep the candle right here, on the end of my hook.”

He held up his right sleeve, which was suddenly empty, and AJ had to choke back a cackle.

“You know what would look great with that hook?” she said, batting her eyelashes. “This orange shell cameo brooch I procured from the good ship Home Shopping Network.”

“What a pair of mooncalves,” muttered Eudora, as Noah’s face split into a grin. He howled with laughter until he was on all fours, which made AJ laugh so hard she couldn’t breathe.

She had never known such freedom.

NOAH’S MOTHER’S ILLNESS HOVERED around their practices like a fourth participant. One morning Eudora had them performing routine tasks on the patio “as if no one was watching.” Noah was halfway through constructing a model plane when Mrs. Gilroy burst breathless from the kitchen.

“Noah, Dr. Clements has the blood test results.”

Noah was out of his chair so fast it was still wobbling as he strode into the house. AJ glanced at Eudora, seated beside her in the shade. She made no move to follow him.

The sun glared as the minutes ticked by. On the table, Noah’s fragile creation began to sag.

When AJ could stand it no longer, she ventured, “Should we see—”

“No, dear,” said Eudora.

AJ heard the muted sound of Noah’s car on the other side of the mansion.

“I’m a twin, did you know that?” said Eudora, eyes unfocused. “Elijah—Noah’s grandfather. Snuffed out one night doing ninety on the 101. He took too many drugs. He was only thirty-seven. A mercy compared to Ezell. Cancer—really took its sweet time. He dwindled for years, then one day he was…gone. Ah well. You must follow them to the end, into death if necessary.”

This last was a quote from Laughter & Death, but AJ had just been hit with too much Drew acting voltage to form a cogent response. Eudora sniffed. “According to Noah, his mother’s taken a turn, but I haven’t heard anything from the doctor that sounds life-threatening.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said AJ, but Eudora appeared not to have heard her.

“I’m afraid if we continue like this, he’ll never break free,” she lamented. “At a certain point, there’s nothing more I can do. If he wants to throw away our legacy…”

She glanced at AJ, remembering herself. “You’re coming along nicely, dear,” she said crisply. “What’s next for you? School play?”

AJ squirmed under her gaze. “I hadn’t thought about it,” she said, and she hadn’t. Her vanishing point in these lessons had been college…college and the SFSB panel.

“Oh?” probed Eudora.

AJ considered. “I want to write. Comedy, like on SNL.” The desire to share her fic had been organic, a natural extension of this dream. But what she did here was somehow private. Sacred. That new self, the one beneath her armor, had only ever come out at Drew House. Playing on the patio with Noah felt right. Safe. Acting onstage at the high school felt like…Pippi Lung-stocking. “I’m not really a performer.”

Eudora raised an eyebrow. “Well, you certainly won’t be if that’s what you tell yourself.”

AJ laughed. “I like acting, I just…I don’t know if I could do it if I knew people were watching. They might think it was stupid, and then I’d…I don’t know.”

Eudora gave her a sidelong look. “I understand.” She sighed. “I’ve had terrible stage fright since Ezell died. It’s like without him, the part of me that knew how to do this died too. I just can’t face the crowd.”

AJ was stunned. “But you’re…you.”

Eudora winced. “I’m not what I used to be,” she said. “It’s painful to watch people’s faces fall when they realize that. I saw it in your eyes the first time we met. It’s a terrible thing to stand in the wings, haunted by the specter of your younger self.”

“I’m sorry,” said AJ. Suddenly, it occurred to her that Eudora might be backing out of the panel. Ezell hadn’t covered stage fright in Laughter & Death. “So, how do we, um, fix it?”

Eudora laughed. “Don’t worry, I’m not reneging on the nut convention just yet,” she said, reading AJ’s mind. “I’ll find a way to hold up my end of the bargain. You’ve held up yours. Admirably, too.”

AJ’s cheeks colored. “Anything for Astronauticals.”

Eudora continued to eye her. “You really don’t know how good you are.” She sounded almost mystified. “For what it’s worth, I think you could really make a go of this.”

AJ looked up at her, startled. “You do?”

Eudora nodded. “I know you have your cap set at NYU, but you might consider Juilliard. Either way, I’ll be happy to make the call.”

AJ’s heart did a somersault as the next square on her path sparked into existence. “That’s really—wow. Thanks.”

Eudora rose to her feet and patted AJ on the shoulder. Then they went inside to work on Titania’s monologue, leaving Noah’s half-formed model plane to wilt in the sun.

A FEW EVENINGS LATER, as AJ and Noah watched the original Christopher Reeve Superman on the Panasonic, they received a visit from AJ’s older brother, Patrick.

“Surprise,” he said coldly, looking from AJ to Noah, then drawing himself up to his full height.

“You remember Noah?” said AJ finally, when neither of them spoke.

“Sure do,” said Patrick stiffly, all goodwill apparently evaporated. “What’s up, man?”

To AJ’s dismay, Noah straightened up as well. “How’s it going?” he asked. “How’s UMass?”

“Can’t complain,” said Patrick. He tapped his hand on the counter a few times, not blinking. “I was going to see if you had A Goofy Movie for Emily.”

Noah roused himself. “I’ll go check.”

The second the beaded curtain swished behind him, Patrick leaned over the counter.

“Libby said she saw you together. Age, you two aren’t—”

“What? No,” said AJ, blushing. “No.”

“Good, because he’s, like, old.”

“He’s your age,” hissed AJ. “And you said he was scary smart.”

“Yeah, key word scary,” said Patrick. “And I am not hanging out with high school girls.”

Just then Noah returned, DVD in hand. AJ rang her brother up with a complimentary death glare.

“Great seeing you, man,” said Patrick, eyes boring into Noah, then AJ. I’ll be watching.

Then he left. For a moment, the only sound in the room was John Williams’s score.

“He’s just—”

“Yeah, got that,” said Noah.

In truth, AJ wished Patrick’s fears had some foundation. These days, she was giving some of her best performances at Reel World, acting like she wasn’t besotted with Noah. By contrast, her heart was often on full display “acting” at Drew House; at times, it felt like Noah’s was too.

But only ever in a scene.

Noah was often preoccupied at best, morose at worst, and AJ could sense too much of his pain to hope he might have romance on his mind.

Their bond had grown so strong, they often locked into each other’s emotions outside of acting. For example, when Noah wandered into the store on his night off, AJ felt his energy, frenetic as the air before a thunderstorm, and knew he had come to forget whatever had happened that day.

“Let’s play,” he said.

“I’m tired,” said AJ, minimizing her fic, now fifty-five followers strong. “Play what?”

“Premise attorneys,” said Noah, stepping closer. It was a fun exercise, where each player had to justify an imaginary argument to the best of their ability—no matter how absurd.

“Okay,” said AJ, suppressing a yawn. “Coming to work on your day off is bad for your health.”

“It is,” said Noah, and he dove into a frighteningly detailed summary of Dr. Martin Seligman’s studies on the correlation between happiness and work-life balance.

For the next twenty minutes, they made their way through the shop’s three rooms—Directors, Genres, and Foreign/Erotic—reshelving DVD cases and hurling premises back and forth like tennis serves. They had just finished in the Genre room when Noah went quiet.

He was looking at the floor as he said, “No one should know how they’re going to die.”

He was seated on the radiator, long legs extended, the picture of ease—but when his eyes flicked to AJ’s, there was fear in them like she had never seen.

“No one should know how they’re going to die,” she repeated, slow. The words tasted like dirt. Something must have happened with his mom. Dr. Clements has the blood test results. What had they shown?

AJ cleared her throat. “Imagine the burden. You’d be living under a shadow, a sword of Damocles—to spend your life dreading this thing, unable to stop it, then one day it just happens. People aren’t meant to live like that.”

Noah nodded, watching her. AJ felt numb.

His lips trembled as he spoke again. “If you’re going to die, it’s better to know.”

“Noah,” AJ breathed. “What happen—”

Noah shook his head, his eyes burning, and AJ understood. The tests had come back inconclusive, and Noah didn’t know if he could watch his mom struggle through another round.

He was asking if she thought they should give up and let the disease run its course.

Tentatively, AJ moved toward the radiator to sit beside him. “Knowledge is agency,” she said finally. “If you know what’s coming, yes, there is fear, but there’s also power. You can make a plan. Modern medicine is amazing. The doctors will find a cure and—”

It happened in an instant—Noah’s face began to crumple, and in the split second before he turned away, AJ surged forward, gathering him in her arms. His body went stiff, stunned, and for a moment AJ thought he might shrug her off. He was so much bigger he easily could have.

Then he softened, his hands clutching her so tight her shirt bit into her skin. He didn’t make a sound, but AJ felt his diaphragm spasm, his head heavy on her shoulder as his tears began to spill.

AJ ignored the way her heart stammered at his nearness. She banished the urge to nuzzle his cheek, to inhale his dark, salty scent. Instead she held him fast and let him cry, as if he were Emily, as if he were hers to protect. She did not let go.

The silence that exists between two people contains entire universes, Ezell had written.

They stayed like that until Noah’s breathing evened out, and then a little while yet.

IN THE DAYS THAT followed, AJ kept a close watch over Noah. Something had changed—she could sense it. It was as if this last round of tests had upended some fundamental certainty. The fears Noah had kept at bay all summer were now inescapable as a damp mist.

AJ hated to watch him suffer. She had always used humor as a defense, but now it became a bridge, a way of reaching out, of reaching him.

“I can feel you monitoring me,” he said while they watched Sullivan’s Travels.

“Sorry, your existential dread is just really loud today,” said AJ.

He kept his eyes ahead, but AJ saw his mouth quirk. He was noticeably surlier, though never with her. While he’d snarl at Eudora and grumble at Storm, AJ’s presence seemed to calm him.

The main change in their rapport was that Noah no longer spoke about himself. He was content to absorb the minutiae of AJ’s life for hours, but if AJ tried to reciprocate, a cloud would descend.

“Your birthday’s April twenty-first, right?” he asked, thumbing through Storm’s Cosmopolitan in search of AJ’s horoscope. He smirked. “Here we go. Beware a Taurus’s temper. They may be mellow as May, but if the bull sees red, amscray!”

“What?” said AJ, grabbing the issue from him. “When’s your birthday?”

Noah immediately shut down.

“When?” said AJ, prodding his bicep.

Noah grabbed her hand to keep her from poking him.

“Tell me.”

Their eyes met, and his expression thawed slightly. “November tenth.”

AJ took her hand back to flip the page. “Let’s see…Scorpio,” she said, skimming the entry. “Whoa, did a Scorpio murder this person’s entire family?”

“Usually,” said Noah, then he folded his arms and stared off into the void. AJ refrained from pointing out how this display of “extreme moodiness” corroborated Cosmo’s description.

“I’m afraid he isn’t sleeping,” Eudora confided the next day, after Noah had been called away to Simmons. “I hear him up at night, skulking around like a ghoul.”

“You might just have a ghoul,” AJ observed.

Eudora ruffled. “No thanks to you, bandying about the Scottish King’s name under my roof!”

To make her point, they spent the afternoon dissecting Claudio’s speech on the afterlife.

THAT SATURDAY, AJ AND Noah sat in the yard at Drew House, watching Emily play with the puppies on the lawn—a last hurrah before the litter were relocated to more permanent homes.

It was a postcard-worthy afternoon, warm and bright, all blue skies and hydrangea blossoms. Mrs. Gilroy had just stopped by with cookies for Emily, a beer for Noah, and nothing for AJ.

“You know, if you were to ask for something, she would have to get it for you,” said Noah when Mrs. Gilroy was out of earshot.

“I don’t want to give her the satisfaction,” said AJ.

Noah snorted. “And there it is.”

“Hmm?” said AJ.

“Your game,” said Noah. “You won’t play if you can’t win.”

AJ whacked him in the arm.

“Here,” said Noah, handing her his beer so AJ could have a sip.

They watched Hortense II flop off Emily’s knee. Noah laughed, and AJ had a stroke of brilliance.

“You should keep her,” she said, handing back the bottle.

“No I shouldn’t.”

His tone was so imperious, AJ instinctively pushed back. “Why not?”

“We’ve already agreed to sell them,” said Noah stiffly. “The breeder is coming this week.”

“So?” said AJ. “You’re allowed to change your mind.”

Noah gave her a bland look. “AJ, what would I do with a dog at West Point?” Then he frowned.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“What?” AJ repeated. Don’t shut me out.

He glanced at her, then away. “I don’t know. Acting this summer—this has been…I don’t know.”

AJ watched his long profile. The day before, they’d run monologues—Ophelia for AJ, Hamlet for Noah. His rendition of the “To be” speech had given AJ goose bumps.

“There’s no shame in wanting to pursue this,” she said casually. “You are really good.”

“I’m not really,” he said.

“And there it is,” said AJ smugly.

Noah threw her an irritated look. “There what is?”

“Your game,” said AJ, gently nudging him with her elbow. “You pretend to think you’re bad at acting so people will tell you how marvelous you are.”

Noah opened his mouth in mock outrage. “That is just great,” he said. “I share my sacred texts with you, and you use them against me.”

AJ laughed. “Uh-oh, did the angry cherub forget to eat?” she said, aware that she still hadn’t returned his book.

Noah cracked the first real smile she’d seen from him in recent memory. He had one dimple that AJ absolutely loved. “That’s it, you’re done,” he said, reaching for her.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” she said, but he had already started to tickle her. As his long fingers made contact with her ribs, AJ fell onto the grass, shrieking her apologies. After what felt like an eternity, Noah hit the ground beside her.

Their eyes connected, still laughing. Hours in the garden had given Noah a light tan, but right now a faint pink played across his cheekbones.

AJ knew every turn of his face, every line of his figure. Between A&M Gold and NOW 4, they had danced over a thousand dances together, and there wasn’t a body she was more comfortable with. She could have told you the time of day from the smell of his shirt: the clean laundry scent of morning or the dark, salty aroma of early afternoon, after they’d been working in the sun.

His lips were a feature she was careful not to linger on—full and expressive and just a little bee-stung. She was looking at them now, though, feeling Noah’s familiar weight shift beside her as he rolled onto his arm. His eyes swept over her contemplatively. Then Hortense II ran up to him and started licking his face.

“Agh,” he said, sitting up and grasping the dog. She looked tiny in his hands.

AJ roused herself slowly, watching Hortense II swipe at Noah’s shoes.

“That’s your dog,” she said.

“No she’s not,” said Noah, releasing the pup, who beelined for his laces.

“She is,” AJ pressed.

“Age.” He held her gaze, eyes burning. In one precise movement, he reached over and snatched a blade of grass from her hair. AJ willed herself not to blush as he examined it, then let it twirl onto the ground. He cleared his throat. “She needs a real home. I don’t know if I can give her that.”

AJ bit the inside of her cheek. She picked up the pup and gave her a squeeze. “She’ll be happy as long as she’s with you,” she said, and handed her to Noah.

Noah tried to look severe, but then Hortense II licked his nose. As an uncontrollable grin spread across his face, AJ knew she’d won.

FROM THEN ON, THE pup was Bud. Whether this was in reference to Air Bud or something more fringe, like rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, AJ couldn’t say.

“I’m afraid she misses her brothers and sisters,” Noah confided the next week during warm-ups as Bud lay at his feet, chewing a bully stick.

“In hair dryers!” Eudora insisted from her customary chair.

“Hair drying, hair dryer, hair dryer dryer,” said AJ. I’m afraid Emily will feel the same when I go.

Noah shrugged. “Hair dryer dryer.” Emily will be fine.

Though Bud brought some added comfort, nothing could distract Noah from his mother’s deterioration for long. As August wore on, his nerves continued to fray.

“How’s it going with your mom?” AJ always asked.

Noah would offer her one of several rotating responses, like a doll with a cord in its back. He might shrug and give her a tired smile. Other times he’d say, “She’s the same.” Once AJ directly asked what was going on, and he told her “They’re running more tests” in this way that made her so sad, she had to excuse herself to cry in the bathroom.

Then one day when she checked in, he blushed.

“You can absolutely say no to this,” he said sheepishly, “but she asked if she could meet you.”

AJ had never even considered this a possibility. “Really? Why?”

Noah cleared his throat, glancing at Eraserhead on the Panasonic. “I sometimes talk about you.”

“Oh, right,” said AJ, heat sweeping her own cheeks. “I mean, yeah, okay.”

“You sure?” said Noah, finally looking at her. AJ was not used to seeing him uncertain.

She smiled. “Of course.”

THAT SUNDAY, AJ TRIED to slip out before her family noticed Noah’s Camaro, but Libby had the reflexes of a trained assassin.

“AJ,” she said knowingly. “Is that who I think—”

“Goodbye,” said AJ, heading out the door.

“PROWL JAYDE,” Libby shouted after her.

“What did she just call you?” asked Noah as AJ buckled herself in.

AJ shrugged. “I don’t know. She says things.”

As they drove through the mountains toward the Mass Pike, AJ did her best not to stare at Noah’s hands. The closer they got to Simmons, the harder he gripped the wheel.

“Where did your parents meet anyway?” AJ asked to distract him. “Like, why do you exist?”

Noah smirked. “Yale. Shakespeare and Ethics. I guess my mom schooled my dad on the Dark Lady sonnets, and that was it. She toured with him until they had me, then he dropped us off at Drew House, which lasted all of a week. God, he was fucking useless. Mom had no family of her own, so we stayed nearby so Eudora and Ezell could watch me while she finished her PhD.”

AJ considered. “She sounds like a badass.”

“She is.” His fingers drummed the wheel as he chose his next words. “She, um, can totally understand what’s going on. It just might take her a minute to respond.”

Simmons was an industrial matrix of antiseptic halls coated in lemon Lysol. The nurse at the front desk knew Noah by name and gave AJ an extra-big smile.

“It’s this way,” said Noah. AJ had never seen him so agitated; he was trying not to show it, but she could feel the fitful bursts of his anxiety. She wanted to reassure him but was increasingly skittish herself. She had no idea what they were in for.

They took the elevator up one floor and walked down a fluorescent-lit corridor. When they stopped at the third door on the left, Noah was breathless.

“This is it,” he said, his hand on the knob. “Thank you in advance for doing this.”

“Of course,” said AJ. Her mind went blank, as if they were about to start a scene.

Noah pushed the door open to reveal a small blue-toned room. Sunlight filtered in through a single window. A few machines whirred unobtrusively in the corner.

“Hey, Mom,” he said quietly.

Noah’s mother was propped up in bed, a wan, skeletal figure beneath a shock of black hair. AJ hadn’t been prepared for how thin she would be—Noah took after her dark coloring and high cheekbones, making her gauntness that much more striking by comparison.

Books littered her bedside. A large communication chart containing the alphabet lay discarded to one side. She was rocking back and forth, her face twitching as she met AJ’s eyes.

“Professor Bell,” she said, inching closer. “I’m Noah’s friend AJ.”

Noah’s mother looked at her without recognition, continuing to rock. AJ could feel Noah tensing behind her. After about a minute, the professor took a breath.

“Lorraine, please.” She spoke as if her mouth were full of marbles—AJ was relieved to find she understood. It took the professor another minute to push out, “Noah says you like movies.”

AJ smiled nervously. “I do like movies.”

“Maybe you can help Noah,” she said. “He has terrible taste.”

AJ laughed in delight. “He really does.”

“Hey!” said Noah.

His mom shrugged while pitching forward. “You’re no fun,” she managed as her arm flailed.

Noah glowered. “I’m fun.”

AJ giggled. “You once referred to Dekalog as whimsical.”

A bleat of laughter escaped Lorraine Bell, and her eyes darted approvingly to Noah before another spasm overtook her. AJ and Noah froze in helplessness.

Then AJ pulled a chair up to her bedside. “I’m glad to know he didn’t get the Kieślowski gene from you,” she said, and Noah closed the door.

THEY LEFT HALF AN hour later, after a lively discussion about films. During the visit, AJ had been so focused on understanding what Lorraine was saying and treating it like a completely normal interaction that she hadn’t even let herself take in some of the details.

It was only now as they drove back down the Mass Pike, a light rain drumming on the windshield, that AJ could feel her own perturbation at the abject horror of Lorraine’s situation—the constant involuntary movement, the way her eyebrows went up and down, the way, when she was listening, it seemed like her tongue was trying to escape her mouth.

“The side effects are—” Noah broke off, shaking his head.

“It must be so frustrating,” said AJ, trying to keep her voice steady so Noah wouldn’t notice she was crying. “She’s with it, you can tell—she’s just trapped.”

Noah nodded. “Nothing sets her off like people talking to her like she’s incompetent,” he said. He cleared his throat. “You were amazing.”

AJ looked out the window. She didn’t feel amazing. She felt wretched for Lorraine and even more wretched for Noah. His mother wasn’t the only one who was trapped.

“Age,” said Noah tentatively. “It’s okay to be upset.”

There had been one particularly painful interlude when his mother had knocked over a cup of water and started screaming. Noah had been at her side in a heartbeat, so loving, so gentle, touching her face as if it weren’t a nightmare, holding her as if she weren’t a husk.

Until that moment, AJ had only guessed at his caliber—as a person, but also as an actor. Now she knew his entire life must be a performance, approximating human normalcy, all the while silently keeping vigil for his mother as she lived out her fate in that room.

“I couldn’t do it,” AJ said, a sob escaping her.

The windshield wipers etched silver hour lines across the glass.

“You could,” he said, knuckles white on the steering wheel. “But I hope you never have to.”

THE DAY BEFORE THE Astronauticals panel, Emily awoke with a fever, which meant she couldn’t accompany their mother to Mike’s all-day chess tournament in Lenox.

“You need to stay with her,” Katie Graves informed AJ. “Everyone else has a real commitment during the day.”

AJ seethed as her mother packed Mike’s lunch, viscerally aware that the only thing she shared with this woman was the shape of their hands.

Then she trudged to the hall phone to let Eudora know she couldn’t make it. “I’ll be sure to pass that on,” said Mrs. Gilroy. Her tone did not inspire confidence.

Meanwhile, with Emily in bed and everyone else out of the house, AJ found herself in the rare position of being in charge. She blasted the air conditioner at sixty-eight degrees. She jumped the laundry line and threw all of her clothes into the wash without sorting them. She opened the brand-new box of Reese’s Puffs and sat in the catbird seat on the sectional, watching Astronauticals at full volume.

Two episodes in, a juddering sounded from the ancient laundry machine. The wash had stopped mid-cycle, leaving the load inside completely sodden. AJ tried to restart it, to no avail.

Her head was inside the drum when the phone rang. It was Noah.

“What’s going on?” he asked irritably.

“Emily’s sick,” said AJ, and she relayed what Mrs. Gilroy clearly had not.

The line went silent. Then, “This really isn’t a good day for you to not be here.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Even as AJ snapped at him, she felt a rush of guilt thinking of Eudora—they’d planned a full agenda to take her mind off the impending performance. “Look, I have to go. The washer’s having a coronary.”

She hung up before he could make her feel worse and traipsed back into the laundry room to survey the damage. The clothing was too wet to put directly into the dryer, so AJ grabbed a bucket and began squeezing out each item.

She was so annoyed at having to do this that she almost missed the doorbell when it rang. Whoever it was didn’t go away. AJ wiped her red hands on her flannel pajama pants as she stalked to the front door, yanking it open.

She gave a start. “Noah.”

He stood on the other side of the screen, his dark T-shirt and jeans absorbing the daylight. They eyed each other warily. Then, Noah tilted his head. “What’s up with the washer?”

AJ explained as she led him down the hall. Noah knelt before the struggling washing machine, spinning the drum so the clothes sloshed and dropped.

“Your drainpipe is blocked,” he said. He glanced up at her. “Do you have a toolbox?”

AJ stood by as he unbolted the unit from the floor and unplugged it from the wall. Then, he took hold of the machine and lifted, water, wet clothes, and all. His back expanded, power surging through his shoulders and biceps, his enormous hands spread wide against the enamel surface.

Watching him made AJ feel soft, sluggish. Unbidden, a vision flitted through her mind—in it, Noah was pushing her up against the wall instead.

“Age,” Noah grunted.

Jarred, AJ ducked under his arm to remove the front panel. She positioned the bucket under the drainpipe, but the second she unscrewed the trap, water gushed everywhere. The tendons in Noah’s neck strained as AJ extracted the culprit: a shirt from one of Emily’s dolls.

It was chaos trying to collect the water from under the washer. They worked together to mop up the spill until the floor was toweled off, and the two of them were drenched.

“I think that does it,” said Noah, replacing the last bolt.

He pulled himself onto his knees to face AJ. His shirt was soaked; it clung to the broad muscles of his shoulders, the taper of his abdomen. AJ felt a rush of heat. She dragged her gaze up from his stomach and found him studying her intently. He was still panting, his cheeks flushed. His pupils seemed to grow as he took her in. He wet his lips, and AJ’s mouth went dry.

Holy shit, he was beautiful.

“Age?” came Emily’s voice from the hall. “Oh my God, what’s going on, Age?”

AJ was standing in an instant.

“Everything’s fine, Em,” she said, heart hammering. “You should be in bed.”

“Oh, hello,” Emily said, giving Noah a coy smile.

“Hi, Emily,” said Noah, getting to his feet.

AJ had snapped into hyper-functioning-sister mode. She told Noah to help himself to Patrick’s clothes from the dryer then showed him to the boys’ bathroom down the hall. She settled Emily onto the small end of the sectional with a blanket and a ginger ale, and finally sped upstairs to change out of her own sodden clothes. She tried not to imagine Noah doing the same.

A few minutes later, she returned to find Noah standing in the living room, deep in conversation with Emily about her current wish: a driver’s license. At the sight of him wearing Patrick’s loud purple sweatshirt and clownlike maroon sweatpants, AJ smiled.

“Mom says I can have one if I work hard,” said Emily, blushing. She was clearly enjoying Noah’s attention. “I’m seventeen. Same as Age.”

“Yes, I know,” said Noah, eyes drifting to the gallery of framed Graves family Christmas cards on the mantel. He picked one up and examined it. His eyes crinkled.

“You’re so cute,” said Noah, and AJ felt a warm glow spread across her chest. He replaced the frame on the mantel and cleared his throat. “You all have the same smile.”

He glanced down at her then over at the sectional with something akin to rapaciousness. “I haven’t seen a real couch in…way too long.”

AJ snorted. She hadn’t thought about it, but all of the furniture at Drew House was doll-size compared to Noah. “Have at it,” she said, taking the seat beside Emily.

Noah seemed stunned by his options. “What if I just—” He grabbed one of the pillows and placed it next to AJ, then lay down. He was so long, he didn’t quite fit, so he sat up a little and tentatively repositioned the pillow on AJ’s lap. “Is this okay?” he asked, meeting her eyes.

AJ’s pulse jumped. She nodded, and he nestled into the pillow, and now this was AJ’s favorite day. Possibly ever.

“Which episode are you on?” asked Noah, as AJ restarted Astronauticals.

“ ‘Pilot’s Plunder,’ ” said AJ, as Ezell’s deep voice filled the room with the show’s intro.

Past planet rings,

And comets bright,

The crater whale Gilaride,

Sails her crew.

Where new worlds wait,

She charts her flight,

Out of the black,

And into the blue.

Emily passed out about five minutes in. Then to AJ’s astonishment, so did Noah, his head sinking, eyelids flickering.

AJ stayed absolutely still, not wanting to disrupt this miracle. Midway through the next episode, Noah unconsciously curled toward her, draping his hand over her left knee. After that, AJ lost track of what was going on in Astronauticals, consumed by the pleasant weight of his chest, the gentle rise and fall of his breaths. Then she too drifted off, her hand resting lightly on his back.

They stayed like that until AJ’s mom dropped Mike off. Three hours had passed.

“You guys excited for Spring Con tomorrow?” he asked, plunking down on the sectional and shoving a handful of Reese’s Puffs in his mouth. “Nauticals will be representing hard.”

“That’s great,” said Noah, sitting up and wiping his eyes.

With Mike home to watch Emily, they were free to go. They changed into their now-dry clothes, said goodbye to AJ’s siblings, and climbed into Noah’s Camaro.

“I can’t remember the last time I slept like that,” said Noah, yawning.

AJ smiled, yawning too. “Fixing a washing machine is no joke.”

Noah kept his eyes on the road. “Yeah, I’m sure that was it.”

Eudora had spent her day orchestrating a celebratory banquet on the patio. AJ counted no fewer than three forks at each place setting by the light of twin silver candelabras.

“I’m always looking for an excuse to use the family china,” said Eudora, as Mrs. Gilroy grudgingly poured AJ a glass of wine.

Noah almost spit his out. “The family china?”

Eudora’s cheeks went pink. “All right, fine, the Home Shopping Network was having a sale on American Royalty patterns, and I’ve always envied Jacqueline Kennedy—”

“Made in Indonesia,” said AJ, peeking under her plate. “Very American.”

“Oh, you two are incorrigible,” said Eudora, as Noah snorted.

The meal was delicious, gazpacho followed by arugula salad, roast lamb, then raspberry gelato for dessert. When they’d finished eating, Eudora mysteriously disappeared into the house and returned with two brittle typewritten pages. They were jaundiced with age and soft where the typewriter’s keys had left an impression. She handed one copy to AJ and one to Noah.

“What’s this?” said Noah, squinting at the paper in the twilight.

“Seeing as AJ returns to school on Tuesday, I thought we’d try something different. To celebrate a job well done,” said Eudora. AJ blinked. She knew this, but somehow the idea of not being at Drew House each day came as a shock. She glanced at Noah and found him lost in thought. Eudora sighed dreamily. “Ezell named this piece after an Astronauticals episode, you know.”

It was a scene for two characters initialed W and F. Water and Fire.

Fire & Water?

With a start, AJ glanced up at Noah, who gave her a meaningful look—this was a page from Ezell Farr’s unfinished play. The last one he ever wrote. The one Eudora had refused to show anybody.

“Start at the beginning,” said Eudora. “Then play until I stop you.”

They scrambled into place on the patio. Noah went first, taking the part called “W.”

“It’s ours forever,” he read.

“I don’t understand,” said AJ, reading F.

“This hill, the house. The stars. We’ll be safe here.”

AJ laughed “disbelievingly,” per the stage instructions. “You know there’s no such thing as safe for me. I’m dying, remember?”

“Not here,” said Noah. “Time can’t touch us here. Nothing can.”

“How?” asked AJ.

“Our work, of course. Love, I’ve used our discoveries to tear this place from the very fabric of existence,” said Noah, stepping toward her. “As long as we stay here, you can never die.”

“As long as we stay here,” said AJ.

That’s where the scene ended. They looked at each other, and the sounds of the patio faded. Play until I stop you. As the Black Room enveloped them, Noah crossed in front of AJ.

“Washer’s all fixed,” he said, eyes glinting.

“You sure are handy,” said AJ.

They’d been gifted certain details from the script that had to be incorporated and fleshed out. Their “work” AJ quickly labeled astrophysics, which was how Noah’s character had managed to wrench their house from the space-time continuum. AJ’s character’s illness, Noah declared to be early-stage lymphoma—deadly, but stable thanks to their supernatural living arrangements.

The last detail they hammered out was the nature of their relationship. W had referred to F as “Love,” and the pet name dangled in the air like a loose shingle, waiting for one of them to grab hold and nail it down. Finally, Noah presented AJ with a wrapped box.

“I got you something,” he said. “For our wedding anniversary.”

Carefully, AJ lifted the lid. “A telescope,” she breathed.

“To keep an eye on the outside world,” said Noah.

As darkness set upon Eudora’s roses, F and W took turns spying on the couple next door.

“He’s keeping secrets from her,” said AJ.

“Maybe it’s for her own good,” said Noah.

AJ pulled back from the telescope. “Do you think anyone’s watching us?”

Noah’s eyes flashed, and now they were an alien couple on a distant world.

These aliens were not so unlike F and W—scientists, who had met and fallen in love while working on the most advanced telescope in the known universe. When she was stricken by a terrible illness, they combed the cosmos with their groundbreaking invention for a cure.

The aliens’ search was endless, their prospects bleak.

“It’s going to be okay,” said AJ when another world proved fruitless.

“You can’t know that,” said Noah. In the starlight, his eyes gleamed like polished onyx.

Just as the aliens hit their lowest point, their lens happened upon F and W’s lab…and a cure.

“See? I told you,” said AJ as Noah administered the medicine.

“You did.”

Now they were F and W, back in their own living room.

The flight path was winding down, they could both feel it. They moved in tandem, putting away the telescope. For a while, neither spoke.

“I have loved every minute of…this day,” said AJ at last.

Noah bowed his head. “So have I.”

The air between them was thick. AJ felt suddenly nervous. “I didn’t get you a gift.”

Noah looked straight at her. “Stay with me,” he said. “That’s all I want.”

His yearning shook their connection like wind on a wire. AJ felt time slow.

“I’m here,” she managed.

Noah’s stare was so charged she could feel it in her cells, whole swaths of her being limning, waking, silently chanting It’s you, it’s you. For a moment, even the darkness held its breath.

“And scene,” said Eudora.

AJ reared back, but neither she nor Noah could stop looking at each other. Heart racing, AJ watched him fill his great lungs and exhale a slow jet into the night.

Then Eudora rose to her feet, drawing their attention. She opened her mouth and closed it, eyes brimming. Finally, she whispered, “Ezell would be so proud.”

Noah moved instantly, enveloping the old woman in his arms. AJ saw him whisper something in her ear, saw her nod. Then they both looked to AJ, and she joined in their hug, her senses aswirl in Eudora’s rich floral perfume and the feeling of Noah’s hand on her back.

Eudora sniffed loudly as they broke apart. “Is that the time?” She scoffed, “I need my beauty rest. Wouldn’t want to look piqued for the nut convention.”

“I’m actually allergic to pine nuts,” offered AJ as the three of them headed inside.

She heard Noah’s deep laugh and caught his eye as they crossed the threshold.

And there it was again, insistent, unmistakable.

It’s you, it’s you.

MIKE ASKED IF HE could carpool with AJ to Springfield, clearly hoping to spend some time with Eudora. When the Graves siblings arrived at Drew House at five, the grande dame was already waiting outside in black cashmere pants, an electric-blue-sequined blouse, and white boots.

“You look incredible,” said AJ, taking her hands.

“Just trying to keep the fantasy alive,” said Eudora, her eyes drifting to Mike.

“Eudora, this is my brother Mike—”

“Oh yes, I’ve heard all about you,” she said. “Apparently, you’re the man to know.”

Mike’s chest inflated. “I’m a huge Nautical.”

“I won’t hold that against you,” said Eudora. She looked over AJ’s shoulder to the family’s blue Ford Escape. “Shall we?”

For a second, AJ didn’t understand what she meant. Then she noticed that Noah’s Camaro wasn’t in the driveway. She gave Eudora a confused look.

“He had to rush up to Simmons at the last minute,” said Eudora dryly. “He’ll meet us there.”

AJ nodded and released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

Stay with me.

The move had been completely on game for their characters, but as he said it, not one part of AJ had doubted he had been speaking directly to her. She didn’t dare think what it could mean.

Eudora was already strolling toward their car. As she brandished open the passenger door, the bag from AJ and Mike’s McDonald’s run plopped onto the driveway. “Charming.”

“Hey,” whined Mike. “That’s my Transformers Beast Machine.”

The drive to Springfield was just under an hour, during which Eudora and Mike bickered so verbosely over the radio station, AJ was forced to play the only CD in the car: Spiceworld.

“Ah yes, I remember the gal on the Home Shopping Network talking about them,” said Eudora, her toe tapping along to “Stop.”

“They kind of stole your look,” said Mike. He showed Eudora a picture from the CD booklet.

“Quite right,” agreed Eudora.

They parked in a large municipal lot a block from the Springfield Civic Center. Mike popped out immediately, but Eudora held her seat, staring absently out the windshield.

“You good?” asked AJ.

Eudora gave her shoulders a shake. “Of course.”

The civic center was an ode to the worst of 1970s architecture; all brick and hard angles and aggressively rectangular windows. A cluster of teens had gathered near the entrance—a mix of goth kids and cosplayers. They nodded to Mike, whispering “Dungeon Master” and “DM” as he passed. A hush fell when they noticed Glimmette. With great solemnity, Mike ushered AJ and Eudora through the main doors into an overwhelming throng of fans.

“This way,” he said. AJ and Eudora exchanged a quick look, then followed him to a check-in counter explicitly for exhibitors. “That’s you,” Mike explained. In two minutes flat, he had badges in their hands and had located a staffer to bring them backstage.

“This is where I leave you,” said Mike, then he evanesced into the sea of costumes.

“Shall we?” said the staffer.

AJ scanned the crowd for Noah—no sign of him.

“Let’s,” said Eudora. She took AJ’s hand.

They followed the staffer into the arena, past colorful booths and zany installations, toward a large stage that had been erected at the rear of the stadium. The audience was already teeming with fans—AJ was pleased to see a fair few dressed as Glimmette.

As they were led through an industrial hall to the backstage area, AJ felt Eudora’s grip tighten.

“Here you go,” said the staffer, motioning them into the first wing.

The stage was set for a four-person panel, empty except for a technician taping down cables.

“Here we go,” said Eudora.

The stage manager introduced herself, then the other three panelists: a pop-culture journalist, a radio personality, and a set designer Eudora remembered from Astronauticals. AJ met them all, since Eudora would not let go of her hand.

The moderator, AJ already knew.

“Sister of Mike!” grinned Peter van der Hopper. He touched his heart. “And of course, Ms. Drew. It’s so good of you to come.”

“It really is,” said Eudora, though not with her usual bite.

A swell of noise shook the auditorium, and Eudora’s grip clutched. This place was packed.

“Five minutes,” said the stage manager.

“Oh dear,” said Eudora.

As the rest of the talent gabbed in the first wing, AJ led Eudora into the second wing for a moment of quiet. They stood together, staring out at the empty stage. AJ could feel Eudora’s palm quaking.

Where was Noah?

“You don’t have to do this,” said AJ finally. “We can just leave.”

“I know,” said Eudora.

Her rings dug into the flesh of AJ’s fingers as she squeezed tighter. AJ looked up to find Eudora’s dark, intelligent eyes on her—scared, but resolute. “This was…unexpected for me,” she said finally. “But it was worth it. To find you.”

AJ blinked rapidly, a lump forming in her throat. She nodded. Then, with great difficulty, Eudora released her hand.

They watched side by side as Peter van der Hopper strode out to give the introduction.

“As chair of the Science Fiction Society of the Berkshires, I’m thrilled to welcome you tonight—”

A familiar stomping filled AJ’s ears and relief flooded her body.

“Hey.”

Noah stood behind them, breathless. As their gazes met, AJ knew at once something was wrong. His outward expression was calm, but his eyes were hollow. As they roved over her, AJ felt a tug, and she sank beneath the churning tide of his uncertainty, the undertow of his despair.

Noah. What was going on?

As she searched him, AJ sensed a golden ray cutting across the horizon—their connection. She focused on it and felt the cord glow brighter, felt the sky reemerge from the sea.

Eudora thwacked Noah’s chest. “Cutting it a bit close, aren’t we?”

He tore his eyes from AJ’s. “I made it, didn’t I?” he said, his kindest grin spreading across his face. AJ gave herself a shake—perhaps her own nerves were getting the better of her.

Onstage, Peter van der Hopper announced the first panelist.

“Oh dear,” said Eudora. Noah grasped her shoulder. Eudora’s lip quivered as she looked up at him. Again, she grabbed for AJ’s hand.

“Our next panelist is a real legend, a Tony Award winner and an Academy Award nominee. But we all know her as an ass-kicking pilot in a minidress. Give it up for Eudora Drew.”

The crowd was rabid with anticipation. AJ felt Eudora’s hand, clawlike, and remembered her words. It’s a terrible thing to stand in the wings, haunted by the specter of your younger self.

“You’ve got this,” she said.

Noah held his great-aunt’s gaze. “Break a leg.”

Eudora looked up at him, terrified, unable to move. Fuck.

Noah gave her a small, reassuring nod.

Slowly, AJ felt Eudora’s fingers unclench. She took one step forward, then another, her shoes tottering toward the stage. Then with one great breath, she stepped into the light.

As the crowd shrieked, Eudora smiled, and AJ knew they didn’t have to worry anymore. The second the spotlight hit her face, it was like she’d never been away.

“Go, Glimmette,” AJ cheered, as Noah whooped beside her.

She caught his eye, and laughing in relief, they reached for each other. Noah pulled her close, his hands fanning open across her back, and AJ sank into his embrace. Her head fit perfectly under his chin. This feeling was beyond good—it was safe and warm and right.

It was home.

Noah released her slowly, his hand steadying her lower back, then falling away. The first question was to Eudora; AJ’s heart was in her ears as she faced forward to listen to her response.

Halfway through Eudora’s favorite anecdote about Ezell, the one where he woke up in the middle of the night after a dream about a space whale, AJ’s eyes drifted back to Noah. His expression was soft, out of focus, and AJ had the impression that he was very far away.

What had happened today at Simmons?

AJ turned back to the stage, but she could feel him near. As Eudora got a laugh, his weight shifted toward her, and AJ’s heartbeat picked up.

Between two trusting players, the slightest gesture can change the course of a scene, Ezell had written in Laughter & Death.

Over the next several questions, AJ leaned incrementally toward him, until her hip gently sloped against the firm muscle of his thigh. More questions, more answers. Noah didn’t move away, and neither did she.

AJ could hear the stage manager murmuring through the curtain, but here they were alone. Hidden. In the shadows, Noah consumed her senses. With every breath, AJ went a little softer against his body, awash in the clean, earthy scent of his skin, in the feel of his heat through her shirt.

Close to her ear, closer than she expected, she heard him swallow, and her pulse quickened.

The crowd was laughing again, but AJ had missed the joke. Slowly, so slowly, she turned toward him, glancing first at his chest, then his lips, then finally his eyes.

Stay with me.

He was staring at her with an expression AJ had never seen, his brow furrowed, his jaw tense, and something warm swooped in the pit of AJ’s stomach. Lower.

She felt herself blush, but she didn’t look away.

Noah’s gaze fell to her lips, the color rising in his cheeks. His throat bobbed. They were pulling toward each other now. His head bent low, his bangs sweeping forward in this way that was so unexpectedly vulnerable it hurt, but AJ couldn’t take her eyes off him.

They’d been skirting this line for so long, she couldn’t fathom what had changed, but there was something about the dark, something about tonight.

AJ wasn’t breathing as his lips brushed hers, so featherlight she trembled. Oh. Her eyelids dipped, and she kissed him tenderly, her heart beating It’s you, it’s you.

For an instant, time stopped.

Then AJ pulled back, her eyes wide. Her first kiss. And it was Noah.

The look he gave her in return was almost broken by joy.

“Age,” he murmured. You too?

AJ smiled shyly, then his thumb was at her jaw, drawing her close.

This kiss was rougher, fuller. He bit down on her lower lip, enveloping her chest in solid warmth as he slowly, hungrily rolled his hips into hers. Fuck, that felt good. AJ gasped, shimmering with need, suddenly aware of the glowing ache between them.

Then his hands were in her hair, his thumbs at her cheekbones, tilting her head back, deepening the kiss. God. His sweetness and his strength—AJ sighed, her lips parting under his. As Noah tasted her, a low, impatient noise escaped his throat, and now AJ’s knees were gone.

She clutched at his belt, too eager to care if she was a mess. Noah grasped her waist, then her shoulder blades, holding her fast against him until AJ felt his entire body shake. Holy shit. She was melting, she was melting, and she could not have loved him more.

As the house erupted into applause, AJ broke the kiss. For a split second Noah followed her, like he wasn’t finished yet.

Then the wing beside them rustled as the panelists trooped off.

Noah was breathing hard, his eyes raw. “Hi.”

“Hi,” said AJ. Holy shit.

“Well, how was I?”

AJ jumped as Eudora joined them in the second wing.

“You were—”

“Marvelous,” said Noah.

They rushed forward to hug her, then Eudora swept back out for a curtain call. She bowed, sequins glittering in the stage lights. AJ tried to settle herself, but as she and Noah traded dazed smiles, she knew nothing would ever be the same.

Though Eudora marched off muttering “Damn Nauticals” under her breath, she was beaming.

They emerged from the backstage area to find the main hall swarming with fans hoping to get Glimmette’s autograph.

“Do not crowd, please give the lady some space,” said Mike, reappearing from nowhere to offer Eudora his hand. “Nice job, Glimmette.”

Eudora shook it. “Thanks, Dungeon Master,” she said, and Mike’s friends cheered.

“She just made his life,” AJ whispered to Noah. She looked up to find him watching her as though from a great height. He took a shallow breath. “What’s up?” asked AJ, startled.

Noah cleared his throat. “Inter-franchise harmony just really gets me.”

AJ snorted, but continued to eye him until Mike poked her arm. “I’m gonna stay over tonight. A few of the guys got a hotel room, so…”

“Ugh, please don’t do anything disgusting,” said AJ.

“I guess it depends how disgusting you find side quests.” He wrapped her in his arms and hugged her tight. “Thank you so much,” he whispered.

It took them another twenty minutes to extricate themselves from the convention center—everyone wanted to talk to Glimmette, to tell her how much they loved her.

By the time they made it to the parking lot, AJ’s ears were ringing. Noah had lucked into a spot close to the entrance. Gingerly, he and AJ helped a very fatigued Eudora into the Camaro.

“Don’t drive off without me,” said Noah, handing Eudora his keys.

Eudora turned on the ignition and rolled the window down. AJ felt strange telling her mentor she was proud of her, so she simply said, “You did it.”

Eudora nodded. “So did you.” Her eyes twinkled knowingly as she raised the glass.

AJ’s cheeks warmed and she glanced at Noah—he lifted his eyebrows once, then turned away, sticking his hands into his pockets.

Together, they made their way up the rows of cars. The evening sky was a starless dome; beneath, ribbons of headlights cut clear into the mountains.

AJ had parked under a lamppost. She watched their shoes cross into a circle of golden light.

“This is me,” she said, halting beside the Ford Escape.

AJ looked up at Noah, at the black T-shirt straining over his broad shoulders, at his dark, intense stare. “It’s too bad we can’t drive together.”

His eyes were full as they met hers. “Agreed,” he said soberly. “We should…talk.”

AJ’s gut panged again. She couldn’t read him for shit tonight. Backstage. In the corridor. And right now—she had the strangest sense that he was screaming inside.

She searched him. “Am I in trouble?”

Noah’s jaw rolled. “I am.”

Then he kissed her hard, just once, as if that was all he would allow himself, and enfolded her in his arms, his nose in her hair. AJ closed her eyes as his heart galloped into her, then slowed. When Noah finally pulled back, his eyes were brimming.

“What is it?” she asked softly, struggling to orient herself. “Did something happen—earlier.”

Noah’s gaze dropped. “Nothing for you to worry about,” he said swiftly. He gave her a weary half smile. “I’m just tired.”

AJ nodded. “Me too.”

But I’m happy.

She didn’t need to say it. He took her hand in both of his and held it, bowing his head. It was such a formal, courtly gesture, but it took AJ’s breath away.

Finally, he looked up. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said with a tight smile. Then he let her go.

For a moment, AJ’s body rebelled, refusing to move away from his.

It’s you, it’s you.

Then she forced herself to take a step back, to unlock the car. “See you tomorrow.”

She smiled at him, and the look he gave her in return was so intimate her heart tripped. Then she opened the door of the Escape. By the time she brought up the headlights, he was gone.

AJ BARELY SLEPT THAT night. Each time she began to drift off, memories of Noah—his lips, his hands, his eyes—replayed in her brain. If that was kissing, then she couldn’t wait for sex. She couldn’t think of another time in her life when things had gone so…right.

The next morning at work, AJ did her best to appear natural as she took her seat behind the counter. When at last the door chimed, she waited a beat before looking up—but it wasn’t him.

At ten past the hour, it became clear he was running late. He had probably overslept, tired from the night before. AJ busied herself straightening out the counter, which was always a mess after Storm worked, then started on the returns, jumping whenever a car drove by.

Around eleven, she heard the rustle of the beaded curtain and looked up to see Storm.

“Oh,” said AJ.

“Hello to you too,” said Storm. “From the way your boyfriend sounded on the phone, it must have been quite a night.”

AJ gave a start. “Is he—”

“He’s out,” said Storm. “For the week. Something about a last-minute something or other.”

“What?” said AJ, startled. “Where—”

“Not my business,” said Storm, wafting back through the All-Seeing Eye.

AJ felt cold, as if a layer of her skin had just been peeled off. She sat staring at the metal folding chair in the corner. This wasn’t weird, she told herself. Noah knew she’d be busy in the morning and didn’t want to bother her. He’d call in a bit, when things slowed down.

By four P.M., the phone still hadn’t rung, so AJ picked up the receiver and dialed Drew House.

Mrs. Gilroy answered.

“Is Noah—”

“Not available,” she said firmly.

AJ bit her lip. “Well, can you have him call me?”

She hung up feeling zero confidence that Noah would receive the message. Which is what she told herself the next day, Monday, when he still hadn’t called her back.

On Tuesday, AJ began her senior year. She was taking four AP courses, a yeoman’s load, but as she went to the introductory lesson for each subject, she could hardly concentrate.

Where was Noah? And why hadn’t he called?

There’s no reason to panic, she told herself. Just because they had kissed and he’d all but vanished didn’t mean the two occurrences were linked.

He’s busy, she told herself. He had a lot on his plate with his mom. Clearly, there was something else going on that had nothing to do with AJ. This was no time to start reading into everything like Libby would.

You know him, she told herself. Noah was a steady character; he always showed up. He’d shown up at her house to fix her laundry machine. He’d shown up for his mom when it meant stopping his whole life. If he wasn’t here, he had a good reason.

At work, AJ tried calling again. And again.

“Can I speak with Eudora?” she asked finally.

“She’s indisposed,” said Mrs. Gilroy. “Really, you two. Keeping her out to all hours.”

The days crawled by in silence. Finally, Saturday arrived again. At last—a full week. AJ felt jittery heading into her shift. She had no idea what to expect.

Every time the door opened, she looked up, expecting to see him. But it was just the Saturday rush. And as the hours slipped by like used Kleenex, AJ fell into a pit of anxiety. She tried to convince herself she had misunderstood, but as she locked up that night, she felt ill.

Where was he?

The next day she awoke determined to get answers.

Be calm, she told herself as she drove up to Drew House. He probably won’t even be there.

And he wasn’t. When AJ pulled in, his car was not in the driveway. She rang the bell once, twice, then admitted herself when no one answered.

“Hello?” she called into the palatial entrance.

Hortense trotted over to meet her, wagging her tail, nuzzling AJ’s shins. Bud, who was normally Hortense’s shadow, was nowhere to be seen.

The kitchen door whined, and Mrs. Gilroy emerged. She jumped when she saw AJ. “I’m afraid this isn’t a good time,” she said without her usual rancor.

AJ’s unease deepened. “Is everything okay?”

“It’s really none of your business,” said Mrs. Gilroy, primly.

“Gilroy, it’s all right,” said Eudora from the top of the stairs.

AJ started at Eudora’s appearance. She wasn’t dressed but wrapped haphazardly in a pink silk bathrobe. The absence of her immaculate cashmere wardrobe was nothing compared to the shock of seeing her face. Here was Eudora, but not Eudora. She looked defeated. She looked old.

“Are you sure, ma’am?” said Mrs. Gilroy as Eudora made her way down, clutching the banister. Her expression was drawn, her mouth a thin line.

“Don’t fuss, Gilroy,” said Eudora.

“Hi,” AJ greeted her mentor. “How are you?”

She waited for Eudora to ask for tea, but she didn’t. She didn’t invite AJ into the drawing room. As Mrs. Gilroy withdrew to the kitchen, Eudora folded her arms across her silk bathrobe.

For a moment, there was nothing but the ticking of the grandfather clock.

“I’m afraid our acquaintance has run its course,” said Eudora.

AJ smiled, not getting the joke. “Sorry, what?”

Eudora shrugged, unmoved. “There’s nothing more I can do for you,” she said. “Please don’t come back.”

AJ suddenly felt like a ragdoll, tufts of cotton in her ears. “I don’t understand,” she said numbly. “What’s going on? Where is Noah?”

“As Gilroy put it rather inelegantly, that’s really none of your business.”

AJ blinked, unable to take this in. “Where is Noah?” she repeated.

Eudora looked at her, eyes burning. “He’s gone,” she said finally.

AJ felt as if her blood was draining into the checkered tile of the entryway.

“What do you mean, gone?” she heard herself say.

“He took his things and the dog and left last week,” said Eudora.

This wasn’t computing. “Why?” said AJ. “Where did he go?”

Eudora shrugged.

“What about his mom?” asked AJ, reeling. There was a natural order to things—there was no way that Noah would just leave her.

“She’s in good hands,” said Eudora. “There’s nothing more for him to do.”

“So they figured out a treatment?” AJ pressed. “Tell me what’s happening.”

Eudora held her at bay with a look. “It’s not my place,” she said coldly. “If Noah didn’t see fit to tell you himself, then I think you know everything you need to know.”

AJ’s mouth fell open, but no sound came out. Then her anger surged. If nothing else, Noah was her friend. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll just ask him when he’s back.”

Eudora regarded AJ with pity. “He’s not coming back,” she said. “Not for a good long while. And now it’s time for you to leave as well.”

Confusion was overwhelming AJ now, stinging her eyes, stunning her into silence.

“Look,” said Eudora briskly. “I think you’re a nice girl, and I wish you all the best. But you must see that this was all for Noah. You had his ear—that’s the only reason I asked to work with you.”

Eudora never does anything that’s not in her own self-interest.

The air was suddenly very thin. It made sense. Perfect sense. But somehow—

“I don’t believe you,” said AJ, shaking her head. “Backstage, you said—”

“I know what I said,” snapped Eudora. “And I did us both a disservice. You’re perfectly fine. Average. But the truth is, we can’t all be touched by the hand of greatness, and frankly, dear…”

She brushed her fingers across the marble entrance table, examined them, and found—nothing remarkable. AJ couldn’t breathe. The squares of her new path were flickering out.

She dug her heels into the floor, ignoring the smarting in her eyes.

“What about my recommendation?” she asked flatly. If Eudora was going to couch their entire relationship in terms of usefulness, so was she.

Eudora gave her a simpering look. “Oh, that.” She sighed. “If you send the forms up to the house, I’m sure I’ll be able to think of something.”

Without sparing AJ another glance, she sauntered into the drawing room.

“Hortense, come.” Eudora’s voice drifted over her shoulder.

For a moment, AJ stood immobilized. Then, mechanically, she rerouted toward the door.

AJ didn’t remember driving back into Gladstone. All at once, she found herself inside Reel World Video, Storm looking up from the counter with the most serious expression AJ had ever seen on her face. Slowly, she removed her rhinestone glasses.

“Noah quit,” she said.

“When,” said AJ, looking around the store as if she might catch him on his way out.

“He called this morning,” said Storm.

“He called.” AJ could barely say the words. She realized then that she still had hope. Even after speaking to Eudora. Eudora was complex. Eudora might be lying.

But this was Storm. And as she looked at AJ with regret in her eyes, AJ felt the last of her hope give way. He’d called Storm. Twice. This wasn’t a mistake—he was not calling AJ on purpose.

He meant to ditch her.

The room was suddenly too hot, the walls too close. “Did he say where—”

Storm shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

AJ nodded. Then, she walked into the back, shut herself inside the bathroom, and burst into tears.

THAT WEEK, AN AUDITION sheet went up for Gladstone High’s fall drama: Uncle Vanya.

AJ was in such a rage when she signed her name to the roster she broke the pen.

She would show them how average she was.

She read the play that night and warmed herself up right before going on. She could do this.

But as she waited in the wings with the other Tuesday four-thirties, the darkness tugged at her memory, pulling her back to that night, to Noah, the way he’d kissed her, like she was his dying wish.

We should talk.

The vision blipped and dissolved, and now AJ was hot. Really hot. She was so hot the air wouldn’t go into her lungs. No matter how hard she breathed, she couldn’t get any oxygen.

You’re perfectly fine. Average.

Now her hands were needling, tingling, and she was rubbing them, trying to get them to stop vibrating. Now the other kids were asking if she was okay.

You’re perfectly fine. Average.

Now she was doubling over, and the faculty director was walking into the wing to see what was wrong. Now he was taking her by the elbow and escorting her onto the stage. This was Pippi Lung-stocking all over again.

No.

AJ would not be known for this for the rest of high school. As the lights hit her eyes, her armor clinked back into place. “Sorry,” she said. “I think I just overdosed on Chekhov.”

The faculty director gave her a look of sheer surprise, then burst out laughing. So did the students. AJ shrugged, the consummate joker, and let their laughter carry her offstage.

And as she left that theater, her defenses sealed shut, locking away that essential self for good.

IT WAS TOO MUCH to absorb at once, this world without Noah, without Eudora, this world where people could turn on her without warning, where they could disappear.

AJ couldn’t sleep or eat. She flittered through her many commitments like a hologram. With Libby and Patrick back at UMass, there was no one to notice, and for once AJ took solace in her family’s noise. Astronauticals, her greatest source of comfort, was now an echo chamber for all she had lost. She couldn’t bring herself to think about her fic, let alone log on.

Noah’s absence was absolute, as if he had altered gravity itself. AJ could feel it in her bones, a brittle lightness where before there had been certainty and weight. Even as the weeks stacked up, she looked for him. Even as she told herself he wasn’t coming, she waited for him to reappear and explain. There had to be a way this made sense.

But all of the patterns had been broken; none of the pieces fit. There was no solution where the Drews cared about her and acted this way, or at least none AJ could see. Her only conclusion could be that she had been very wrong about them. The only person left to blame was herself.

Regret had its uses; AJ aimed hers at her college applications like a fire hose. She wrote a series of scalding op-eds for the school paper that had kids cackling in the halls. She took the SATs three times. She got A’s on all of her midyear exams and bagged glowing recommendations.

But the real coup had been her NYU alumni interview.

“Sister of Mike!” said Peter van der Hopper, inviting her into his surprisingly normal living room, where AJ then met his surprisingly normal wife. “What a small world.”

After sidestepping several comments about Eudora and ticking off the perfunctory form questions, they started talking Astronauticals and wound up in an hour-long philosophical discussion about Gothic archetypes in space operas.

“I don’t want to say it’s in the bag, but…” Peter van der Hopper winked as he showed her out.

That night at Reel World, AJ pulled up the recommendation form for Eudora. For a moment, her mouse hovered over the print button. On a whim, she opened up her fic instead.

Holy shit. In her absence, NautiGurl421 had amassed 1,213 followers.

AJ stared at the number.

Then she reached for the keyboard. With a few choice sentences, she placed Glimmette in a new adventure and began again.

As the post went live, AJ reopened the recommendation form and hit delete.

She would go it alone. She would rather lose betting on herself than win with Eudora’s help.

When AJ’s acceptance to NYU arrived that March, she felt as kickass as Glimmette herself.

That summer, AJ did everything she hadn’t the summer before. She laughed at conversations entirely composed of South Park quotes and didn’t think of it as a game. She partied at night and did more than kiss boys—turned out, it wasn’t that hard. She removed the folding chair from behind the counter at Reel World and tried so very hard not to look whenever a red car drove by.

Because Noah was gone and he wasn’t coming back. And soon, so soon, it wouldn’t matter.

Because soon, AJ would be gone too.

PART II

Into the Blue

Callbacks are just other timelines peeping through. Oh, there I was. Here I am again.

—Laughter & Death, by EZELL FARR

NEW YORK, NEW YORK

November 4, 2007

AJ GRAVES SAT IN A PADDED editing bay at HGTV’s Midtown offices waiting for an audio clip to load into Avid Media Composer.

Her boss, Ian Farnum, clicked a pen over her shoulder.

“Not helping,” said AJ.

“Sorry,” said Ian. “We’ve just got no story.”

“Patience,” said AJ.

AJ had once heard Ian describe himself as a thirtysomething potato in glasses, which…fine. He was bald and pasty. But AJ would have added that he was a top executive producer by day and a crack comedian by night. Then again, she had Ian to thank for basically everything in her life.

They’d met her sophomore year at NYU during a networking event for the Film and Television department. AJ had settled on a writing concentration, aiming to apply all she had learned from her classes and that summer to TV scripts. Ian worked in unscripted television but was a kindred spirit, and with no connections in the business, AJ had readily agreed to intern for him on House Hunters.

She had been working in reality TV ever since.

After graduation, Ian hired her full-time as an associate story producer on Turn It or Return It, the compulsively watchable feel-good show that pitted hapless house flippers against conservationists hoping to reclaim the underlying land for Mother Earth.

Which was how they had arrived here.

Even feel-good shows needed some drama, or story. The problem was this couple—Jim and Malinda. They were too nice. Nothing had ruined their reno. They were going to pull it off.

It was terrible.

“If only they’d brought the mother-in-law on the walk-through,” Ian whined.

“Patience,” AJ repeated as the audio clip finally appeared in her timeline.

She hit play.

“They don’t show it, of course, but a mother always knows.” The mother-in-law’s voice crackled over the speaker. “The truth is, they’ve been going through in vitro, and their bills are through the roof. Even the slightest issue with this house will completely bankrupt them.”

Suddenly, every corner of the pretty house on AJ’s screen exuded menace. Tada: story.

“How did you—”

“One of the field producers had it on her phone,” said AJ, rotating her chair to face him. “I figure we can really make it sing with some shots of that creepy carpet in the garage.”

Ian grinned. “NautiGurl, I’m sorry I ever doubted you.”

AJ laughed and turned back to save her changes. She had told Ian, a fellow Nautical, about her Astronauticals fanfic years ago—he only called her NautiGurl as the highest praise.

“Come on,” said Ian, standing. “The Frying Dutchman is downstairs, I’m buying.”

AJ jumped up—her favorite food truck.

As they walked toward the elevator, Ian said, “I heard the WGA is about to strike.”

AJ rolled her eyes. “They’re always saying that.”

Those who worked for reality programs, such as AJ and Ian, were exempt from union strikes. Because they weren’t part of a union. Because the industry didn’t consider story craft “writing.”

Ian shrugged. “Will you picket in solidarity?”

What went unsaid was that most in reality TV would give their left eyeball to get a shot at a real writers’ room. This included AJ, and, AJ suspected, Ian as well.

She shrugged. “I’m just glad to have a job.”

OUTSIDE OF WORK, AJ’S entire world revolved around the Upright Citizens Brigade Theatre, the grungy enchanted oasis for aspiring comedians founded by Amy Poehler’s improv quartet of the same name. Though housed in a dismal basement in Chelsea, UCB had massive cachet—those on house teams, like AJ, had a shot at making shows like 30 Rock, The Office, and SNL.

From AJ’s spot on the back wall of the black box, she had a clear view of the stage, a central floor surrounded by risers on three sides. As her Maude teammates stepped out to perform her latest sketch, she inhaled the scent of beer and Axe body spray and felt a wave of nausea.

God, she loved sketch writing, but AJ always dreaded her shows—even if the material landed in rehearsal, it could still crash and burn live. It never got easier, standing at the back of the house, waiting to see which jokes would fizzle, which actors would flub their lines, or disregard them entirely.

It mostly came down to Dave Marans, one of AJ’s roommates and her good friend. Dave had always reminded her of Mike—same slight build and dark coloring, same intense nerdiness—but while Mike now lived for his large D&D following on YouTube, Dave lived for a live crowd.

In addition to being on AJ’s sketch-writing team, Dave was also on Harold Night, the house improv show, and was arguably the best improviser at UCB. If he didn’t love one of AJ’s lines, he’d swap it out for one of his own. As he took the stage now, AJ held her breath.

“Is Dave gonna Dave all over this?” Toni O’Brian, the third member of their trio, whispered.

AJ smiled despite her nerves. “Dave wants to Dave so hard right now.”

Toni laughed, revealing deep dimples, her halo of black curls bouncing gently. Toni self-identified as Blewish (Black and Jewish), with light-brown skin, a wide smile, and hazel eyes that looked green or brown depending on her outfit.

Which was, at the moment, a firefighter’s costume.

Tonight, AJ’s sketch hit close to home: a send-up of Turn It or Return It called Turn It or Burn It. Onstage, a couple announced their plans to renovate a crumbling monastery.

“You did not,” said Ian, sandwiching AJ in on the other side.

AJ had once heard New York media described as an incestuous self-cannibalizing octopus, and she was living proof of that. Not only was Ian her boss at HGTV, but he was also a pillar of her life at UCB and a member of a weekend improv team (the Saturday Knights).

AJ felt Toni stiffen at Ian’s arrival. “Age just writes what she knows.”

Ian’s eyebrows flicked up at the obvious challenge in her tone. Toni only had two years on AJ, but the way she talked to Ian always floored her—like Ian was not a full decade older and AJ’s boss. AJ loved them both and couldn’t understand why they had never clicked.

Onstage, a bunch of monks began to chant.

“Ope, that’s my cue,” said Toni, donning her fireman’s helmet.

She strode up the aisle and took center stage. “I’d say it’s time to fight friar…with fire.”

She delivered the line perfectly, and the audience howled.

Toni, AJ, and Dave had intersected in AJ’s first sketch-writing workshop three years prior, bonding over a shared love of Back to the Future III. Theirs was an alliance of ability; they belonged to the same world and understood one another’s ambitions. It was a collegial kind of closeness, which suited AJ. After that summer, she felt safer keeping other people at arm’s length.

Toni served the next joke, and the crowd ate it up. AJ let out a short breath of relief.

“You know, there is a way to ensure your lines are said the way you want,” said Ian, his eyes still on Toni. “And that’s to say them yourself.”

“Thank you, wise one,” said AJ.

AJ had known Ian so long that he had actually seen her perform, albeit drunkenly, with her NYU comedy troupe. That was why he had first encouraged her to get involved at UCB.

But after that first sketch-writing class, AJ never looked back. Okay, she’d occasionally fantasize about being onstage. But Toni was the actor, Dave the improviser, and AJ the writer. They never competed—a rarity in New York comedy, which was as cutthroat as it was thrilling. And while AJ knew she could count on her friends, she saw no point in stressing their ecosystem.

She felt someone’s eyes, and looked up to see her sometimes-hookup “U up?” Jeff approaching along the back wall.

“Hey,” he whispered, passing AJ. “You’re killing it right now.”

“Thanks,” said AJ, smiling quickly, then looking back at the stage.

AJ’s love life was best described as “play on demand.” As someone who worked full-time, spent her nights in a comedy basement, and churned out, minimum, one sketch a week, her baseline level of arousal was tired, and she rarely “met” anyone, which did not concern her.

Yes, her brother Patrick’s wife was pregnant, and her sister Libby was engaged to a lawyer. But in the past year, AJ had written two viral sketches, a spec pilot, and most of an SNL submission packet. The jump to scripted television was in her sights.

And if she got horny, there was always Jeff.

Who, incidentally, was correct: this sketch was on fire. The lines were crisp and good and crackling, and the audience was loving it, right through the final Silly String inferno.

As the lights came up, AJ thought, It’s over and it didn’t bomb.

“Nice one,” said Ian, giving her five. “And here come the other two musketeers,” he added, as Dave and Toni rushed up the aisle.

“Was that not the most faithful delivery you’ve ever heard?” said Dave, clapping AJ’s shoulder.

“Yeah, under threat of fire hose,” said Toni, winking at AJ. “No worries, Age. I got your back.”

AJ grinned at her friends—they all did.

THE NEXT DAY, THE WGA went on strike and Ian mysteriously left work at noon. Around nine that night, he texted AJ and Dave telling them to get to the theater by eleven P.M. for a “surprise.”

“You have no idea what it is?” asked Dave as they stepped onto the Lorimer L platform.

AJ shook her head.

As the train pulled in, Dave watched his reflection, adjusting his new glasses. He telegraphed “nice” enough to play an IT nerd in a string of Best Buy commercials, but Dave got around. AJ was one of the few who got to see him turn off. Under all his charms, Dave felt deeply and was intensely private. He and AJ didn’t confide in each other so much as commune together, which made them excellent roommates.

“Those frames make you look like late-stage-capitalist Harry Potter,” AJ teased him.

“And you look like a house elf on liberation day,” said Dave, eyeing her oversize white T-shirt and holey jeans. AJ laughed and they boarded the train.

The line for the theater stretched back toward Ninth Avenue. Inside, Ian was waiting near the bar.

“There you are,” he said. “Good. I signed you both up. They’re about to open the house.”

“Signed us both—”

“For the jam,” said Ian. “It’s really important you play tonight.”

“What?” said AJ. Jams were a free-for-all, a set of disconnected improv scenes performed by the first twenty-five randos to enlist.

“Okay,” said Dave brightly. “I’ve always wanted to be framed at an improv show.”

As he walked toward the dressing room, Ian turned to AJ. “You too.”

AJ gave a start. “This is cryptic.”

“I’ll explain after,” said Ian, handing her his beer.

AJ glanced warily at the stage. “You know I don’t, like, enjoy performing.”

“You’ll thank me later,” said Ian, nodding toward the dressing room.

AJ downed the rest of the beer, dropped her stuff, and followed Dave out. Toni was already onstage, chatting avidly with an extremely handsome Asian man AJ had never met.

“Age, what are you doing here?” said Toni, beckoning them over.

AJ shook her head. “Ask Ian.”

Toni grimaced, then turned to her friend. “Guys, do you remember me talking about my hot friend Xiaobo from Second City? Look! He’s here!”

“Hi, Xiaobo,” said AJ, grinning. “We’re Toni’s hot friends from UCB—AJ and Dave.”

“AJ, of course! We’ve emailed.” Xiaobo laughed. “I’m still sad I couldn’t make Toni’s birthday party. It would have been my first DeLorean-themed soiree.”

“There’s always next year,” said Dave, drinking Xiaobo in. “Wait, weren’t you on 30 Rock?”

Xiaobo’s nose scrunched. “Only for a few episodes.”

“What brings you to New York?” asked AJ.

“Just this thing tonight,” he said.

Above, the lights flashed. “Come on down for the eleven-thirty jam,” brayed the MC.

Before AJ could ask Xiaobo what he meant, Dave and Toni shuffled her toward the backline, a garland of improvisers standing shoulder to shoulder.

As the audience filled in, more and more players took the stage. And to AJ’s mounting alarm, they weren’t randos at all, but the very best improvisers at UCB.

“This is kind of a stacked lineup,” she whispered to Dave.

“Stacked lineup,” Dave hissed back. “This is murderers’ row!”

AJ laughed, reaching up to redo her ponytail. She had no idea what Ian was up to, but—

The skin at the nape of her neck prickled. Her heart began to pound.

AJ froze, hands caught in her hair.

Her mouth went suddenly dry as every thought eddied from her head but one.

Noah.

A primal awareness clanged through her, reducing her nervous system to something ancient and alert. He was here. AJ didn’t know how, but she knew it as sure as she knew her siblings’ names.

Impossible.

And yet, AJ’s body was reacting as if a homing beacon had been switched on, alien tech encoded in her DNA, lying dormant for years until activated by some long-forgotten trigger.

As a large shadow eclipsed the stage lights, AJ had about half a second to register what it was.

His scent.

After seven years, it was still as familiar to her as the three-note song of her home phone number.

Then the lights hit his silhouette, gilding the six foot three frame, the shaggy black hair, the broad shoulders, and there he was.

Beside AJ, Dave gave a start. “Is that—”

“Noah Drew,” whispered Xiaobo.

A wave of recognition rippled through the theater. AJ distinctly heard the words “HBO” and “Sparta” and “Leonidas” popcorn through the crowd. She hadn’t seen the show, but she had seen the posters of Noah’s shield-compatible, war-splattered eight-pack at her L stop.

AJ didn’t move. She was tucked behind Toni and Dave. Maybe he hadn’t seen her.

Out of the corner of her eye, she clocked the typical dark clothing, the telltale roll of his shoulders, that wild grace. Then Noah stalked toward the other end of the backline.

For a full beat, AJ stayed where she was. Slowly she lowered her hands. The sounds of the black box were gone—all AJ could hear was her pulse in her ears.

What the living fuck was he doing at UCB?

She should leave. But how? If she walked back into the house, he would definitely see her. The backstop had two doors—she could slip through the nearest one. Tell Ian she was feeling sick.

The theater plunged into darkness. The show had begun.

Cold sluiced through AJ as the lights came up and one of their fellow players stepped forward to solicit a suggestion from the crowd. A volley of ideas launched into the air.

Motherfucker. AJ was trapped onstage. With the most brilliant improvisers at UCB.

And Noah Drew.

“The suggestion is ‘waiting,’ thank you.”

AJ watched Toni and Xiaobo begin a scene, half listening as more players jumped in. It was incredible improv, which was no surprise considering this all-star lineup.

AJ wasn’t a star. She was group game material at best. What the fuck was she doing up there?

Ian had lost his mind. Fuck. Okay. She would wait it out on the backline. Hide. Rip Ian a new one after and—

Why was no one editing this scene? The bit had stopped being funny thirty seconds ago. AJ stood inert, silently scripting endings in her head. Wasn’t anyone going to step in?

There was so much talent on this stage. Too much talent.

And that’s when it clicked.

Ian didn’t want her to star in the show. He wanted her to produce it.

Before she could stop herself, AJ moved.

“Order up,” she heard herself say; then she cut in front of the players to end the scene.

As the next one began, she felt Noah go still. His gaze was a physical thing as it swept her face, her throat. Quickly, she tagged out and rejoined the backline, her entire body flushed.

She didn’t need to look to feel Noah take a breath at the other end of the stage.

Now he was out, and the energy in the black box had shifted, and God, his fucking presence.

“This day is prettier than a Windows screen saver,” said his scene partner.

“But those birds can’t hold a candle to NOW That’s What I Call Music! 4,” said Noah.

As the crowd laughed, AJ felt the blood drain from her face.

Hi, he was saying.

Slowly, AJ allowed her eyes to drift toward him. From her position on the backline, she could just make out his sharp, high cheekbones, the long profile, the dark sweep of his brow. He looked so…powerful. The same broad shoulders she remembered, but now with a chest to match. His hands and feet no longer seemed like flippers. He’d grown into them.

Onstage, an imaginary bird attacked. As Noah whirled around, AJ’s gaze dropped to the floor.

The jam progressed, and AJ made a game of helping other people’s scenes. Again and again, she sliced in like a scalpel, never off the backline for more than a beat. Whenever she stepped out, she could feel Noah’s focus engulf her like an old, ironic T-shirt—intent, amused, incredulous.

Noah was playing a game of his own—he seemed to want to be in a scene with everyone. The crowd was in a lather as he darted about, interweaving loose ends into hilarity.

AJ and Noah tagged in and out, black then white, missing each other by seconds.

Then he caught her.

As AJ stepped forward to initiate a callback, Noah met her center stage in two deliberate strides.

He towered above her, his dark, intelligent gaze latching on to hers with such intensity that the air left her lungs.

As their eyes met, time frayed, seven years trying to pass through the span of a single second.

AJ couldn’t help it. She stared at his face. His beautiful face.

Her shadow.

Her friend.

She had missed him so fucking much.

Noah inhaled sharply, his eyes full of unspoken words. AJ’s nostrils flared, throat constricting.

The audience unconsciously hushed, sensing their connection.

No.

AJ widened her stance, the heels of her sneakers digging into the tarry surface of the stage.

He didn’t get to come here, to her place, and look at her like that. Not after what he’d done.

Anger broke over AJ with an explosiveness she couldn’t contain. It was instinct to run at him. AJ took off, charging full force across the stage.

Her hands collided with the thick muscles of his deltoids, and it was a mark of how she had surprised him that she managed to drive him back a couple paces before he caught her.

AJ felt those enormous hands grasp her shoulders, his thumbs hooking her collarbones through the thin fabric of her shirt. They were lunging at each other now, foreheads inches apart, and his warmth, his fucking scent, had AJ baring her teeth, pushing him harder.

But he was too strong. He forced her back until they were center once more. With a small shove, he threw her off, separating them. AJ immediately felt a chill where his hands had been.

Somewhere in the distance, the audience roared with laughter.

AJ and Noah watched each other, breathing hard. She could feel herself trembling, but she refused to be the one to look away. Noah’s expression was unreadable. For a moment, he just took her in.

Then calmly, decisively, he shoved one of the prop chairs toward her. The last of the laughter died as it skittered to a halt at AJ’s feet.

She stared at it wide-eyed. An initiation. A challenge.

You can’t hide from me, he was saying.

As she lifted her gaze to his, she saw the muscle in his jaw tense and she felt it—that energetic thrum in her sternum, an unmistakable tug, as if by a wire.

The ambient sounds in the black box lowered half a decibel.

Your scene partner is your life.

AJ had believed that, once.

And very, very deep down, part of her still did.

In the space of a blink, she felt her conscious self give way.

Now this was AJ, but not AJ. Her energy had risen to meet Noah Drew’s. They stood facing each other, haloed opposites, him dark and her light. The crowd was spellbound. This wasn’t comedy.

It was theater.

As AJ stepped up onto the chair, Noah’s eyes never left hers.

Then the basement was gone, replaced by a moonlit garden. This was no chair; it was a balcony.

And once more, AJ and Noah vanished into those timeless lovers.

FORTY MINUTES LATER, AJ sat crammed in the corner booth at McManus with Dave, Xiaobo, Toni, and Noah Drew, who was somehow here. At this table. On this planet.

She wasn’t quite sure how this had happened. She remembered stepping onto the chair, and she had flashes of the scene that followed as though from outside herself—Noah’s eyes raking up her body as he compared her to the sun, her hand on his cheek as she dismissed talk of the moon. She remembered bowing and Dave saying “The fuck!?” and Ian motioning for her to follow.

Now Ian was at the bar getting a round, and Toni was interrogating AJ about her performance. “I have never seen you act like that.”

Toni hated surprises. Her first reaction to anything new or unexpected was usually alarm, even if she eventually grew to love it. AJ wished the squashy green booth would swallow her whole.

“And how do you two know each other?” Toni pressed, nodding between AJ and Noah.

For a split second, their eyes connected. His were warm and familiar in a way that intensely pissed AJ off. As if they just…lost touch. “We took an improvised Shakespeare class together,” said AJ stiffly. “A long time ago. At the Magnet.”

Noah raised his eyebrows and nodded once, cementing the lie. Good. Why was he even here?

At that moment, Ian returned with a pitcher. As he poured them each a beer, he began his explanation without ceremony.

“You’re here because you’ve just been cast in an unscripted Astronauticals prequel. Congrats.”

AJ, Toni, Dave, and Xiaobo all gaped. Only Noah did not seem surprised.

“I’m sorry, can you repeat that?” said Dave. “Even if I am just a brain in a jar?”

Ian laughed. “Remember how Fox tapped Em Tyner to do an Astronauticals project a while back?” he said. AJ and Dave nodded. Toni shifted in her chair—her interest in sci-fi was limited to the bond she shared with her dad over Back to the Future.

Em Tyner was one of AJ’s favorite show creators. She loved Haunted High; she loved all his WB shows. She couldn’t wait to see how he’d spin Astronauticals into a major network drama. From what she’d read, the prequel was going to be a lot darker than the original.

“Well,” said Ian. “The gist is that Em’s changing his approach to work around the strike.”

Right—no writers. AJ was confused. “Why not just wait until it’s over?”

Ian took a sip of his beer. “They can’t. Fox’s license on Astronauticals expires in February. If they don’t use it before then, they’ll lose the new show and all the residuals revenue.”

“So, wait, they want to make a show during the strike?” said Dave. “How?”

“By using improvisers,” said Ian, looking meaningfully around the table. “A few cast members who signed on for the scripted version are carrying over—Noah, here, for one. But we’re swapping out the majority of the actors for improvisers who can script themselves. The idea is that you’ll all get a role and a backstory, and we’ll set you loose in a—mostly—contained environment.”

“Like a…murder mystery party?” said Xiaobo.

“Exactly,” said Ian.

AJ blinked in disbelief. Shows like The Office incorporated a fair amount of improvisation, but they still had full writers’ rooms working behind the scenes to make everything coalesce. Then again, the original Astronauticals had been improvised. Maybe Ezell’s ghost had intervened.

“We’re going to film it like a docudrama and cut it into an arc after,” said Ian.

He laid out the timeline—a month filming on a soundstage in L.A., with a few other locations sprinkled in. They’d start next week.

“Em’s out there already adjusting the set,” said Ian. “It’s going to be an incredible experience.”

Xiaobo was reeling. “I thought this was an audition for the summer showcase.”

“You could have given us a heads-up,” said Toni archly.

“No one knew—apart from Noah,” said Ian. “I wanted to see who played well to an audience—this seemed like the most expeditious way. With the studios shut down, it’s not like we can do test screenings. Not to mention we have no time.”

AJ sat back, stunned.

An Astronauticals prequel. A month in L.A. A chance to work with Em Tyner.

“I mean, where do I sign?” said Dave, and they all laughed. “This calls for another round.”

As he and Xiaobo headed for the bar, Noah ducked into the restroom, leaving AJ, Ian, and Toni.

“I still don’t understand,” said Toni bluntly. “How did this even happen?”

Ian’s cheeks reddened as she stared him down. “Em was my roommate in college,” he said. “We go way back.”

AJ nodded. “And now he wants your dirty bag of unscripted tricks?”

“Basically,” said Ian, taking off his glasses to clean them.

Just then, Noah reemerged. As AJ watched him accept a drink from Dave, she thought of how promiscuously he’d played tonight. He’d been letting Ian see him with all possible candidates. AJ’s stomach rolled. Was that why he’d followed her out? Was that why Ian had chosen her?

AJ searched Ian. “What am I doing here?”

“Seriously,” said Toni, an edge in her voice. “AJ’s a writer.”

Ian held Toni’s gaze. “I knew she could handle it,” he said firmly. Then he turned to AJ. “We’re going to shoot this whole thing in continuous action—We’re not going to be able to call ‘cut’ when we don’t like something. We need a plant, someone who knows story and the original show, who can edit in real time or who we can send in in a pinch. That’s you.”

“I could see that,” said Toni, giving AJ’s arm a pinch before getting up to join the others at the bar. When she was safely out of earshot, Ian leaned forward. “By the way, NautiGurl, you’ll get a producer credit and a screen credit.”

AJ’s jaw silently dropped. A title with no “associate” in front of it. A role—something her family might actually understand. Both useful in an application packet for SNL or a late show.

Plus, who was she kidding. This was fucking Astronauticals.

“Don’t worry about the acting,” Ian reassured her. “It’s a very, very minor part.”

The next square on AJ’s path flared to life in neon.

A few minutes later, she ducked outside for a bit of fresh air. Alone, she laughed out loud. She thought back to her seventeen-year-old self writing Astronauticals fan fiction. If only she could tell that girl that one day she’d be a part of an Astronauticals prequel…

That girl would have run to the back room to tell Noah.

AJ had thought of him when the Em Tyner show had been announced. Fans loved a cameo, and he was Eudora and Ezell’s nephew—but if his casting had been made public, AJ had missed it.

She had never thought she’d see him again. Seven years without a word, and now they were going to be in a show.

It was too much to take in.

As if on cue, the pub door opened and Noah emerged onto the sidewalk.

“Hey,” he said, his eyes fastening on to her with something akin to relief.

“Hey,” said AJ.

As he stepped forward, his hair fell across his brow in this careless Noah way, and AJ was instantly seventeen again. Suddenly she couldn’t breathe.

“I had no idea you knew Ian,” he said intently. “I can’t believe that we—”

“No,” said AJ, almost inaudibly.

She could still remember the first time he’d called them that—we—at the SFSB meeting, when he’d volunteered them to ask Eudora about the panel. It was infuriating. AJ still knew it all, everything they’d ever done and said.

Even after all these years. Even after he’d discarded her.

Noah’s face paled as he took in her anger.

Because AJ was livid. It wasn’t right. None of it. That she should earn this opportunity only to be faced with him. That after all this time, she could still feel him, still scent him like a dog with its master. That as much as she wanted to, she could not fully despise him.

AJ forced herself to meet his eyes. He might have slipped past her defenses onstage, but out here, in the real world, they were done.

“There is no we,” she said as much to herself as to him. “We are nothing.”

Noah’s eyes glistened. “AJ—” He reached for her.

AJ leveled her gaze at him, and he instantly dropped his hand.

“I’ll see you. I guess.”

She went back into the bar and didn’t look at him again.

SANTA MONICA, CALIFORNIA

Three days later

IT WAS SHOCKING HOW QUICKLY AJ’s life could be collapsed into a suitcase. With just six emails, she had taken leave from Turn It or Return It and found a subletter for her room in Brooklyn.

She, Dave, and Toni had arrived at Em Tyner’s lavish Spanish-style palazzo that morning. They had been promptly turned away from the main house, down a steep stone staircase to the guest terrace, a quadrangle of rooms built off a grove of fig trees with buttressed roots.

This was where AJ would be living for the duration of their shoot.

Each room came equipped with a sliding glass door, a king-size bed, and a copy of the bible, Em Tyner’s one-hundred-six-page treatise on the world of their show.

Too tired to nap, AJ nestled into the base of a shady fig tree and began to read.

Their show’s setup was similar to Astronauticals—the adventures of a space whale and her ragtag crew. But while each episode would have its own arc (to be instigated by the producers), there would also be an overarching story centered around Noah’s character, Rho.

According to Em’s notes, Rho was a crown prince who had traveled back in time in pursuit of a girl, Alara, who was the single greatest threat to his kingdom.

He knew she was part of their crew. The catch? He didn’t know who she was.

Neither, for that matter, did the cast. The bible just said Alara TBA, timing TBD.

AJ heard a glass door slide open and looked up to see Toni striding toward her, bible in hand.

“Sharpen your elbows,” she said, nodding to the entry open in AJ’s lap. “It’s going to be a fucking bloodbath until the producers pick Alara. Ala-ra. A-lara. However you say it.”

Toni sprawled out beside AJ and popped a Diet Coke. She had been cast as the first mate, Zora, to Xiaobo’s Captain Quentin, but that didn’t necessarily equate to screen time. Docudramas filmed first, then shaped the story after. The first mate might be featured heavily or not at all, depending on how the shoot evolved.

Being Alara, however, would guarantee Toni a place in the show’s main arc and a lead role in a network drama. AJ wanted it for her friend almost as much as Toni wanted it for herself.

“You’ve got this,” she said firmly.

“Do I?” Toni’s eyes gleamed gold in the California sun. “I’m twenty-seven years old—”

“Okay, Charlotte Lucas,” AJ teased, hoping to prevent a doom spiral.

Too late. “That is OLD for Hollywood,” she said. “Plus, I know jack all about Astronauticals.”

“Not a prerequisite for playing Alara,” AJ pointed out.

Toni’s eyes narrowed. “And what about Anjalee?”

A product of the Disney machine, Anjalee was a multiplatinum pop star whose house-flavored bop “Jay Jay” was the undisputed anthem of 2007. She was also the most famous carryover from Em Tyner’s original prequel cast and the clear front-runner for Alara.

AJ chewed her cheek. “You never know,” she said. “Isn’t her character a robot?”

“Half robot,” said Toni in agitation. “Fuck. I’ve been on so many auditions, Age. People decide you’re wrong for a role so fucking fast. You have no idea how lucky you are to be a writer.”

“Hey,” said AJ, putting a hand on Toni’s shoulder. “You already got the part. And when they see how great you are as Zora, they’ll want you for Alara too.”

Toni sighed, then shot AJ a crooked smile. “And what about you, Miss Mousy and Unassuming?”

AJ snorted. Most of the characters in the show had been given multipage backstories within Em Tyner’s bible. AJ’s character, Ana Tar, had a single paragraph:

ANA TAR, 17, mousy and unassuming—Ana was raised on crater whale Gilamede by her grandfather; it’s the only life she’s ever known. Ana’s only distinctive features are the red circular markings on the inside of her wrists. She was born with telepathy, but using it causes her chronic pain.

That was it. Her character was the sick waif, a literal nobody—someone whose constant presence would be unremarkable and unobtrusive. The perfect profile for a plant.

“I look forward to invisibly adjusting your scenes,” AJ said.

Now Toni was genuinely smiling. Then her eyes went large. “Age—is that—”

Noah Drew was making his way down the steep stone steps from the main house into their courtyard. He wore black head to toe, a large canvas duffel slung over his shoulder.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

AJ had assumed Noah would be staying at the main house with Ian and Em, if not elsewhere in L.A.—only the poor, working comedians had been lodged on the guest terrace. AJ had known she and Noah would be in close proximity, but she hadn’t realized they’d be living together.

AJ went rigid as his boots landed in the courtyard. She could feel Toni eyeing her as Noah lowered his bag and reached down to pet a chestnut-colored dog at his ankles.

AJ’s heart constricted. Was that Bud?

At that moment, the dog sprinted for her, tugging her leash and owner. AJ’s cheeks warmed as Noah’s pace increased to keep up; he did not let the dog go free.

“Noah, hey,” said Toni, that edge back in her voice. Bud jumped up onto AJ’s shoulders to kiss her ears. She looked just like Hortense. “Aww, what a cutie.”

When Noah didn’t respond, AJ looked up to find him watching her and Bud without expression.

Toni tried again. “You staying down here?”

Noah cleared his throat. “Yep,” he said, glancing at Toni. “It’s better for the character to be away from the house and all of that.”

Away from Em and his celebrity cadre, he meant.

“Right on,” said Toni, and AJ loved her for not fawning.

As Bud trotted back to Noah’s side, Noah’s eyes flicked to AJ’s then dropped.

“I should get her settled,” he said abruptly.

They wished him well and made a show of opening their bibles as he turned to go.

The instant he was out of earshot, Toni said, “Right. I’m taking off my bra. It’s better for the character.”

AJ laughed, pretending not to watch Noah lead Bud to a door on the other side of the quad.

Right across from hers.

THE NEXT DAY, AJ clustered with Toni, Dave, and Xiaobo inside a dimly lit soundstage. It was freezing, cold air blasting in to keep the large three-story metal structure at the center of the room from overheating.

“So this is a space whale,” said Toni, staring at the set.

“Crale,” corrected Dave.

“Her name is Gilamede,” said Ian, stepping forward. “Wait till you see inside.”

As if on cue, a ground-level panel began to lower like a drawbridge. A cloud of steam billowed forth, and the unmistakable form of Em Tyner appeared.

He had earned his nickname: King of the Nerds. The nerd part was covered by the unassuming cargo shorts, polo shirt, and glasses. The king part was evident in the power stance, the eyes that missed nothing, and the Mephistophelian brows, ever arched, waiting to be impressed.

“All aboard,” he said dryly, then turned and walked back into the set.

Toni and AJ exchanged a look, then followed.

Noah had yet to join them. He’d barely left his room the night before, while AJ and her friends had stayed out late under the fig trees. Which somehow made AJ feel like she was winning.

Thoughts of Noah dissipated as AJ stepped into the crale’s mouth—a massive parcel-paper-brown space that doubled as the cargo bay, with metal balconies on three floors.

“Wowza,” said Dave.

AJ followed her castmates down a narrow passage, past a green holding cell, up a spiral staircase into a large golden corridor. All around them, the papery walls emitted a pulsing glow.

“We ran ten thousand Christmas lights through the set to get this effect,” said Ian. “They can do all sorts of things—flash, change color. That’s how the crale will interact with the crew.”

“Look,” Toni breathed, pointing to a small blemish in the fibrous wall—a camera.

“We’ve got over three hundred of these hidden around,” said Ian.

The cameras never turned off, he explained. Each one was synced to a central clock; these, along with their body mics, would allow the cast to move seamlessly between environments.

“This is a panopticon,” muttered AJ.

“Damn straight,” said Ian. “If you so much as sneeze, we’ll get it from four angles.”

The set was a steampunk labyrinth—wooden ladders traversing corrugated steel, equal parts nautical and new age. By the looks of it, this show was going to be Astronauticals’ gritty cousin.

Em was waiting for them in the warm ocher galley.

“Look around you,” he said. Everyone obeyed. “For the next few weeks, and maybe years to come, these are your crewmates and your family.”

He pointed at his own chest. “I am your crewmate and your family. What we’re doing here is new. It’s different. Some people won’t get it. I’m not even sure I get it. But that excites me as much as it terrifies me. Because that’s how legends are made.”

“Wowza,” whispered Dave.

Em looked around the room at each of them, passing over AJ without a glimmer of recognition.

“Am I missing anything?” he asked Ian.

Ian shook his head.

“Okay,” said Em. “Let’s make a show.”

ON THE THIRD DAY of preproduction, Em gathered the full cast in his “Time Pagoda,” a full-scale replica of the three-story octagonal Anraku-ji temple in Ueda, Japan, which Em had reconstructed on the north side of his property for “retreats of the mind.”

Today, the cast were using it for a show bible Q and A. Everyone was there, including the actors AJ hadn’t met yet—Leah Lopez, who played the doctor, Andy Mulligan, aka the killer brute, and Elmore Aldrich, the grandfather to AJ’s character. Even Anjalee had called in. Now and again, one of the interns would interrupt with a question the pop star had put in via text.

Noah had also broken his isolation to attend. As Em fielded a series of increasingly detailed questions, AJ tried not to stare at him across the round cherrywood table.

“There are no aliens,” Em was saying, “but we’re taking the concept of weaving from the original and making it into a foundational part of the world. With actual special effects. No more streamers.”

“Sorry,” said Toni. “Can we back up for those of us who aren’t Nauticals? What’s weaving?”

Em stiffened.

Ian jumped in. “Weavers are mutants, basically—they’re humans who have evolved to manipulate base elements: earth, water, fire, air. Water weavers control the galaxy with their Navy. Fire weavers, like Rho and Bill, are outlaws. Actually, you are all Naval outlaws.”

“So, water weavers: bad,” said Dave.

Toni pursed her lips. “Isn’t Alara a water weaver?”

“Yes,” said Ian. “But she’s from far in the future. She’s actually the last surviving water weaver.”

“Which is why I’m hunting her,” said Noah.

AJ fidgeted. Her body could not metabolize that she was six feet from Noah Drew. Yet there he was, his large hand resting on a dog-eared bible printout.

Even from this distance, his dark, familiar scent lapped at AJ’s consciousness like a subwoofer. And it was making her strange. That scent conjured good things, like safety, and home, and love…

Not love, AJ admonished herself. Sexual attraction. Which was why she could know everything she knew about him and still sit here with her heart rate elevated like a fucking idiot.

It was a little sad how age and experience could at once provide the names for certain feelings and rob them of their poetry. There had been so much about that summer AJ had been too young to understand. Even so, they’d never really crossed the line. That kiss—

AJ blinked.

Right or wrong, she had never wanted anyone to touch her more.

And it had only happened once. Sometimes, AJ wasn’t sure it had happened at all.

They had been friends, though. Even the hardest part of AJ could not deny the sheer number of hours they’d spent together.

Nor could it excuse the way he had left her to wonder. That wasn’t how friends treated each other. That wasn’t how a kind or a respectful person treated any other human being.

AJ could feel Noah studying her from across the table. She refused to look over, though her skin warmed reflexively under his gaze. She knew he could easily ignore her, given that he was a celebrity and she was a normal—and the fact that he didn’t showed a modicum of decency.

But what good was that? It did nothing to change the empty folding chair, or the ten pounds she’d dropped senior year, or the sleepless months she’d spent after September 11, terrified he had been deployed to Afghanistan. Humiliatingly, AJ had wept when she read his name on a Juilliard revue flyer the following fall; then she’d avoided Lincoln Center for three years.

This would be the worst of it, AJ told herself. Noah was going to be one of the show’s principals, and there was no reason for their two characters to ever interact. Once they began filming, they’d hardly see each other and—

“Excuse me,” said a red-faced intern. “Anjalee would like to know if Navi is a weaver.”

“She’s a robot,” muttered Xiaobo.

“Half robot,” added Toni.

All eyes were on Em now, waiting for any hint that Anjalee might be a weaver—or Alara. But Em turned to Ian and asked, “What was the name of the original episode that introduced weaving?”

“ ‘Fire & Water,’ ” said AJ and Noah at once.

Their eyes snapped together, and AJ’s pulse surged at the intensity of his stare. That was the episode they’d been watching when she first admitted her dad had a drinking problem. She had trusted him more than anyone, and he’d fucking vanished—

“You two are nerds,” said Dave, and AJ yanked her eyes back to her own bible printout.

Across the table, Noah’s hand fisted on top of his.

“That’s a good one to watch, if you haven’t seen Astronauticals,” said Em.

He doesn’t know, AJ reminded herself. He doesn’t actually know what you’re thinking.

But just to be safe, she kept her eyes down for the rest of the discussion.

TODD’S COVERAGE, EPISODE 1: “A MAN, A DOG, AND A WORMHOLE”

Gilamede’s crew are scavenging through space debris when a life pod emerges from the Kendar Wormhole; inside, the crew discover a man and a dog. The man is hunting a fugitive, Alara, and claims to have tracked her escape pod to Gilamede. When he falsely accuses the crew of harboring the fugitive, tempers rise and the Captain confines him to the brig. Curious about the stranger, the crew visit him one by one, and learn he is from the future.

TODD GOULD KNEW HE wouldn’t be directing on his first day, but this was super boring, even by unpaid internship standards. He and his fellow interns had been plugged into their editing bays since three P.M., watching footage on Avid Media Composer and logging dialogue…as in, literally writing down every word said on camera like a bunch of low-rent stenographers.

As they worked, Em Tyner and Ian Farnum cycled through like fathers pacing a delivery ward.

Ian seemed more chill—the whole unscripted thing was his wheelhouse. But Em had only ever worked on scripted shows and was deeply out of his comfort zone. Fox had given this property to him. It was his reputation on the line. Every hour or so, he’d storm into the control room and say something like “Do we have anything usable?”

Todd couldn’t wait until the day he got to exclaim pointlessly to some interns.

And the answer was no. So far, none of the interns sifting through the eight hours of source footage destined to become the pilot episode had so much as smiled.

While they’d each been assigned a room to log on the crale, Todd had also been asked to write coverage, summarizing the day’s events for Ian and Em. They had all but named him intern captain.

As intern captain, Todd didn’t want to complain, but he was pretty sure his room was the worst.

Initially, the brig had seemed a promising assignment. Rho—aka Noah fucking Drew—had been confined almost as soon as he boarded Gilamede. Once in holding, he’d thrown a full-blown tantrum. (Todd’s log dutifully read “Crash! (breaks chair)” at the appropriate time stamp.) When Captain Quentin tried to explain that no one named Alara had ever been onboard, Rho had gone apeshit for two solid minutes (“Do not THINK you can fool ME!”).

But ever since, Noah Drew had been lying on his cot facing a wall. Todd had heard he was a Method actor, deeply dedicated to the craft. He could now attest to this firsthand: in four hours, almost every other cast member had come by to try to engage, and Noah had not so much as rolled over.

The only good part of being assigned to this corpse cam was that Todd could get through his footage faster than the other interns because he could watch on 32x speed. When, at 06:24:16:08, AJ Graves appeared in the frame, Todd almost fast-forwarded right by her.

But he didn’t. He paused the footage with a click.

AJ was only a few years older than Todd, but she was Ian’s pet from New York, and as such was both a story producer on this project as well as a minor character, Ana Tar.

She looked surprisingly good on camera. She was hot in person—she had hot teeth, if that was a thing—but that didn’t always translate. For Ana, they’d dressed her in a voluminous white robe, but even in her baggy-ass costume, you could tell she had a bangin’ bod. Her reddish-blondish hair was up in a messy bun, as if she’d just come from the editing bay, which she probably had.

Judging from the plate in her hand, Ian and Em had sent her to bring Noah Drew some food.

How dynamic.

Grudgingly, Todd backed up the footage, logged the time stamp, and turned up the volume.

The first thing he heard was panting. Noah Drew’s dog—which apparently he’d made them write into the show—had hopped off the cot, trotting over to AJ as she knelt by the cell’s bars. She was moving quickly, probably hoping to drop the food before Noah could wake up and yell at her. The dog’s exuberant approach forced her back on her heels.

It took Todd a second to realize that AJ was behaving in character; Ana Tar had never been to the home world and would never have seen a dog.

“She won’t hurt you,” came Noah’s low voice from the back of the cell. Todd was immediately struck by how gentle he sounded in contrast to his other scenes.

Despite this, AJ—Ana—flinched. She kept her focus on the dog, who was looking up at her with adoring eyes, long tail wagging.

Noah rose from the cot and slowly prowled toward the bars. Rho’s wardrobe was far more complex than Ana’s: black leather and armor head to toe. The left side of his face was covered in a swirling tattoo—the mark of his family.

“You don’t need to be afraid,” he said softly.

AJ was still kneeling. She didn’t meet his eyes. “What is that?” she asked.

Noah—Rho—crouched down so that he was at eye level with AJ, placing a large hand on the dog’s back. “Have you never seen a dog?”

AJ’s cheeks colored. She looked down at the tray. “I brought you food,” she said. Noah Drew stood, watching her. Then he brought the dog to the bed so she wouldn’t bother AJ.

As he did, AJ reached out and touched the bars of his cell; three of them lifted just high enough to admit a plate. It was obviously hydraulic, but for the purposes of the show, this was the crale, Gilamede, acting on Ana’s behalf.

Rho took a step toward her. “You know how to control it,” he said, taking this in.

AJ shoved the food under the bars, and they descended again. She stood, rubbing her wrists. “No one can control a crale,” she said, eyes downcast.

Noah stalked closer. They were inches apart, separated only by bars. “You won’t look at me,” he observed. He sounded almost academic, though his gaze had a predatory glint. “I wonder, what is it you think you’ll see?”

There were twelve cameras in the brig, some taking wide-angle shots, others zoomed in at close range. Todd could see every view simultaneously in his editing bay. In the close-up of AJ’s face, he watched unease ripple across her features. Then her jaw set in defiance.

“A big, scary man,” she said slowly, lifting her eyes to his. “In a big, scary cage.”

Something like triumph gleamed in Noah Drew’s gaze. More than that—there was heat. “And here I thought Cralites were supposed to be peaceable.”

AJ’s eyes narrowed. “They say you’re from the future,” she said, baiting him. “We must seem very simple to you.”

Rho looked at her with an intensity that sucked the air out of the room. Like those bars meant nothing. Like he was going to devour her. Todd felt a chill and glanced at his wrist: goose bumps.

Jeez, did AJ Graves and Noah Drew have chemistry.

“Let me out of here,” he said quietly. “You know it’s wrong. I can see that you do.”

Her eyes were furious, but she didn’t look away. “You know nothing about me.”

And with that, she exited the frame.

Todd watched Noah Drew stare after her for a minute. It wasn’t until he retreated to the back of his cell that Todd remembered—this show wasn’t scripted. They’d just…done that.

The next time Em and Ian came into the editing bay, Todd waved them over. The other interns exchanged looks as if he were voluntarily walking into the lions’ den.

“I think I have something,” Todd said anyway.

“What’s this?” said Em impatiently when he saw AJ Graves enter at the time stamp. Ian said nothing. Todd handed them each headphones and watched them watch the footage. Ian was almost…proud; Em was unreadable. When the scene finished, Todd paused the recording.

Ian looked at Em. “Well?”

Em was chewing on his lower lip, deep in thought. After about forty seconds, he glanced at Todd and said, “Thank you.” Then he turned to Ian. “Next time, get her goddamn hair down.”

TODD’S COVERAGE, EPISODE 2: “SCALLYWAGS”

While dropping cargo on Tory II, the Captain picks a fight with a band of Naval officers who are bullying the local villagers. Back on Gilamede, Ana and Rho trade barbs in the brig.

AJ CLUTCHED A VENTI iced chai for dear life as she shuffled toward Ian outside their soundstage.

A bleached sky hung over the Fox Studios lot; elsewhere, the sun was rising. AJ had no idea why Ian had asked to meet here at six-thirty A.M., but she hadn’t changed out of her pajamas in protest.

Ian looked tired. AJ recognized the face of an Ian who had been up all night sifting through footage. She’d seen it often enough on Turn It or Return It.

“Didn’t want to meet in the editing bay?” said AJ, intending to sound light and immediately betraying her confusion.

Ian took a sip of his own coffee. “We want you in full glam today.”

AJ started. “Was I not ‘mousy and unassuming’ enough yesterday?” she asked, pulling the drawstring of her brother Patrick’s purple UMass sweatshirt so that the hood scrunched her face.

Ian gave her a sheepish look. “Em wrote that before he met you.”

“Oh, right.” AJ let go of the strings but kept the hood up. “And now?”

Ian shrugged. “Now he thinks there might be more to her.”

It took AJ a full beat to process what Ian had just said. That after seeing AJ, Em Tyner was reconsidering her role.

This was…unexpected.

And improbable. AJ mentally reviewed her movements the day before. Mostly, she’d been in the control room with Ian and Em, watching the many-framed screens of what was happening on set. During that time, Em had looked at her all of once, maybe twice.

There had been that scene with Noah.

But that was nothing, a less-than-three-minute exchange filmed through prison bars.

Not to a producer, though. To a producer, their size difference, their coloring, even their costumes together were compelling. The sick waif would make quite a reveal as Alara.

AJ searched Ian. “This is routine, right?” she asked. “I mean, she’s just a plant.”

“We want everyone looking their best,” he said in a tone that told AJ not to push.

“Got it,” she said, shoving down the unease in her gut. This was routine. They were filming a network program, and she’d barely been in costume yesterday. Ian probably just didn’t want to tell her she looked like an urchin. “So, what’s the plan for today?” she asked, eager to move on.

“Today we’ll mostly be shooting on the lot,” said Ian. “Sorry—on ‘Tory II.’ ”

“Where I assume my character will receive her makeover?” said AJ. “Could the guy from The Princess Diaries make a cameo?”

Ian smirked—he was known to watch Disney after smoking a bowl. “Paolo from Genovia is unfortunately stuck in another wormhole,” he said, shooing her toward hair and makeup.

AJ entered the long white trailer, eyes spotting at the wall-to-wall brightness. She squinted down a long row of vanities, several with hair and makeup technicians spinning idly at their stations.

The only other cast member inside so far was Noah Drew.

Of fucking course.

He was seated in the chair farthest from the door. A goth technician named Chessie was silently adding texture to his hair. She looked up and smiled at AJ, her teeth shockingly white. “Hi!”

“Hey,” said AJ, blood rushing to her face. Less than three minutes or not, yesterday’s exchange with Noah had kept her up half the night trying to rationalize why he’d engaged with her on camera, and why she had reacted to him so strongly when she knew it meant nothing.

Now she remembered. He was fucking beautiful.

Noah’s gaze lifted to hers in the mirror. He looked tired, but not as tired as he should, considering he was already in full wardrobe, including his intricate whorled facial tattoo—he’d probably been up since four. AJ, meanwhile, looked like the love child of Barney and a dementor. As if reading her thoughts, Noah’s eyes flicked over her purple hood. “Hey,” he said, amused.

What a dick.

A beautiful dick, but a dick. AJ forced her face into a joyless smile, then seated herself at the station closest to the door, that of a plump technician named Jolie.

“Look at that gorgeous HAIR!” Jolie exclaimed, unfurling AJ’s messy bun. “I know just what to do with you.”

“Nothing we can’t…undo, right?” said AJ, her blush deepening. She glanced up to find Noah watching in the mirror. He averted his gaze as Jolie loosed a maniacal laugh.

She orbited AJ’s head, a satellite straightening, curling, and spraying. AJ attempted to focus on a National Enquirer story about Britney Spears’s February meltdown, but her eyes kept glazing.

You don’t need to be afraid.

How fucking dare he?

When Ian had sent her to bring “Rho” food the day before, AJ had been prepared for Noah to ignore her or even yell—that would have at least been consistent with the character. But the way he came at her so…gently, had blindsided her. It was almost like he wasn’t in character at all.

I wonder, what is it you think you’ll see?

She’d had to fight herself from the first word he’d spoken; their training was so deeply ingrained, every syllable a trigger to let him in. The way he’d looked at her…so expectant, like they were still partners.

He’d surprised her at UCB, but this time, AJ had been able to use her anger as a shield. She hadn’t managed to block him out entirely, though. The truth was, part of her didn’t want to. Part of her wanted to know if UCB really had been a fluke, or if they—if she—could still play.

“What a mess,” said Jolie, nodding at Britney as she yanked AJ’s follicles with a rolling brush.

She had just begun AJ’s makeup when the trailer door cracked open and Elmore Aldrich entered, reeking of weed. He removed his tinted aviators and flopped down beside AJ, who felt a small thrill. Elmore had played the cabin boy on Astronauticals, summoned from retirement to help the prequel gain traction with the original base.

“Va-va-voom,” he said, looking at her now-tousled waves. “Why, if you weren’t playing my granddaughter…”

He winked at her suggestively, and AJ laughed because he’d once been on Astronauticals and because she had to. Noah’s expression darkened.

“Look up,” said Jolie.

AJ stared skyward so Jolie could apply mascara. When her eyes returned to the mirror, Noah was making his way toward the exit.

“You’re looking rakish,” Elmore addressed him.

“Thanks,” said Noah in a clipped voice.

“What I wouldn’t give to be twenty-nine again,” said Elmore. “You kids don’t even know—you think you’ll be young and fit forever. I mean this from the bottom of my heart: don’t get old.”

At this remark, Noah paused, the muscle in his jaw working. He was standing between Elmore and AJ, and she could both feel him over her left shoulder and see his face in the mirror.

“I won’t,” he said sardonically.

Jolie finished AJ’s lip tint and stood back. “What do you think?”

AJ looked at her own reflection—it was her, but better, little imperfections smoothed over, small asymmetries concealed. Her eyes were enormous.

“It’s…” AJ paused. “You did a good job. I’m just not used to seeing myself this way.”

“It’s the contouring,” said Jolie sagely. “What do you guys think—does she look seventeen?”

Without turning, Noah’s eyes flicked to AJ’s reflection. He went very still behind her. For a split second, their gazes met, and his expression softened.

“Not really,” he said. And with that, he left the trailer.

“What a dick,” said Jolie.

“Right?” said AJ, though she suspected that he had only meant she looked different than she actually had at seventeen. Why did that make her stupid heart hammer?

“Well, I think you look like peaches and cream,” said Elmore.

There, thought AJ as Jolie applied setting spray to her face. A whole trailer of people had just watched them interact and no one had thought anything of it. Yesterday had been a blip—it was entirely possible Ian and Em hadn’t even seen it. As such, it was very unlikely to be repeated.

GOD FUCKING DAMN IT, they were having her bring him food. Again.

AJ had been so close to clocking out. She had only ducked into the control room to see if Ian needed anything as a courtesy.

“Actually, yes,” he had said, handing her Rho’s dinner and proving all her paranoia correct. The ensemble had spent most of today on location, so there would be very little usable footage of Rho. Ian sending AJ down confirmed that not only had they seen the scene from yesterday, but they were actively following up on the thread.

God fucking damn it.

Of course they’d liked it. These shows lived and died on overreactions, and Noah definitely made AJ…react.

Her task, then, was simple: don’t react.

As AJ reemerged on set, she took a breath to steady herself, plate in hand. She would be calm. She would be boring. And the show would move on.

When she entered the brig, she found Noah standing, eyes fixed on Rho’s green screen window.

As on the previous day, Bud was the first to register her presence. Here we go, thought AJ as the pup leapt down and approached the bars.

Noah turned as well. “You came back.”

AJ’s pulse jumped as their eyes connected. “Not by choice,” she snapped.

Wow. He’d spoken three words, and she was already in a rage.

She took a breath and tried again. “This is for you.” There. Nice and dull.

Noah stepped up to the bars, one foot at a time, his eyes probing. AJ turned her attention to Bud, in heel at his feet. She stared at the pup’s wagging tail.

“Why is it doing that?” she asked.

“She’s happy,” said Noah quietly. “She likes you.”

AJ waited for him to pick up the dog as he’d done the day before, but he didn’t.

This was beyond annoying. “Do you mind—”

A disembodied clank sounded elsewhere on set, and the dog emitted an ungodly howl.

AJ jumped.

“It’s okay,” said Noah, crouching down and gathering Bud to him.

AJ took a step back. “Why do you keep that thing?”

“She’s my pet,” said Noah. He rubbed Bud’s chest, soothing her.

“What’s a pet?” said AJ. This was good. Really scintillating stuff. She hoped Ian was riveted in the control room.

Noah’s eyes crinkled knowingly as he stroked the dog. “She’s a companion, a friend. I take care of her and she keeps me company.” His gaze met AJ’s, unguarded. “She’s all I have left of…home.”

His candor tugged on the cord of their connection, and AJ’s anger rose in response.

Whose fault is that?

Don’t. React. She took another breath and reached for the bars. “Here.”

As Noah held the dog, she pressed the button, activating the hydraulics, and shoved the plate into his cell. As the bars lowered, Bud sniffed the food, then trotted over to the cot.

AJ stood to go, rubbing her wrists. Noah rose to meet her. “What do they call you?”

Why was he prolonging this? AJ hesitated before saying, “Ana.”

“Ana,” he repeated. “I’m Rho.”

AJ looked at him agape. So far as she knew, Noah had yet to reveal his character’s name on the show. What was he playing at, sharing it with her? They stood together in silence, taking each other in. God, his face was familiar.

AJ felt a tug near her sternum.

She took a step back. “I should go.”

Noah looked her dead in the eye. “You felt that. Just now.”

His words had nothing to do with Ana’s telepathy.

AJ’s breath caught. “Don’t.”

The sounds of the set had begun to recede. They were starting to go under.

Walk away, said that hard part of AJ. But she couldn’t. Long hours of muscle memory wound around her ankles like vines.

Noah was scanning her now, his gaze jet-black. As he spoke, his voice dipped low. “I feel you too.”

AJ’s lip trembled as the channel between them opened.

The last time she had gotten a real read on Noah had been backstage at Spring Con, and his emotions had been a turbulent ocean.

The landscape was different now. Rho’s feelings swirled up above, a red cloud, drawing from a darkened expanse below. This was Noah himself.

AJ felt a chill.

The sea was gone, replaced by an endless black sadness, arid as a lake of ash. What little remained was quiet. Tight. Controlled. Manicured beds neatly maintained under a vast shadow.

Such implacable sorrow. As AJ took it in, an image of Noah’s mother flitted through her mind. Perhaps she had passed. But this grief was endless—

Almost. AJ could still feel their connection cutting in at the horizon, a single ray of light.

“What happened to you?” she breathed, and realized too late there were tears in her eyes.

“Don’t worry about that,” he said, distracted. “You…you’ve cut yourself off from act—your abilities?” His eyes were glistening too, and AJ knew he’d sensed something of her pain. It should have made her feel exposed, but it didn’t. She felt weirdly…calm.

“I’m only cut off from what hurts me.”

He considered her. “Is that what they taught you?” he said after a beat. “To keep you from controlling the crale?”

“I told you,” said Ana, placing a hand on the bars. “It’s not possible to control a crale.”

“Ana, you have no idea what’s possible,” he said, eyes glinting. He placed a hand on the bar just above hers, and heat shot up her arm. “Let me out of here. I’ll show you.”

The Black Room was opening before them, the flight path clear: Ana would free Rho, then he’d reveal her to be Alara and show her just how rich the universe could be. Then, he’d crush her.

Just like the real Noah Drew.

What the fuck was she doing?

AJ jerked back from the bars as if they’d scalded her.

No.

She couldn’t fucking do this. She wouldn’t. Her character didn’t belong in this story any more than AJ belonged on this show. She didn’t act, and she especially didn’t act with Noah Drew.

“I’m never letting you out,” she hissed. “Ever.”

She turned and walked out of the brig, giving the nearest camera a death glare for good measure.

TODD’S COVERAGE, EPISODE 3: “STICKS AND STONES”

When the Captain returns injured from an away mission, First Mate Zora takes command. As the suspense mounts, sparks fly between Zora and cyborg Navi in Sickbay. Meanwhile, killer-brute Bill Pyrus recognizes Rho as a fellow fire weaver and outlaw—Bill promises to maintain his silence, for a price.

IN THE LOW LIGHT of the guest terrace’s automated tiki torches, AJ and Toni dragged two Adirondack chairs before a state-of-the-art copper brazier.

“How did we get this job?” muttered Toni, as Dave and Xiaobo sauntered down the stairs from the main house, ferrying a bucket of ice and two six-packs to their courtyard.

“Our superior upper-body strength,” said AJ, winded from the effort. Toni laughed and stooped to key her preferred settings into the firepit, summoning a ring of blue flame. The night air was cool and fragrant; as AJ collapsed into the nearest chair, she drank it in.

“That fire’s nothing compared to you and Anjalee today, T,” said Xiaobo, handing out beers.

Toni’s eyes gleamed. The big news of the day was that, after skipping the entire week of preproduction and the first two days of filming, Anjalee had finally arrived on set.

“For real,” said AJ. “I saw the whole thing from control. Your scene in sickbay? You could cut that tension with a knife.”

Toni smiled. “We shall see.”

Xiaobo snickered. “Oh, right, Toni, like you’re not already plotting your next run-in.”

Toni’s curls bounced as she laughed. “Can you blame me?” It went without saying that whoever paired with Anjalee on camera would feature heavily in the final cut.

“Heads up, Scion of Darkness…” said Dave.

Noah was making his way down the stone steps now. Probably fresh from one of the private dinners Em had been hosting for studio brass at the main house. AJ and the other unknowns had yet to be invited, but according to Ian, they were a real dog and pony show.

Noah looked more tired than usual as he stepped into the courtyard. He nodded to their group but continued toward his room, in keeping with Rho’s isolation.

“Yo, Noah,” Xiaobo called out. “Want a beer?”

Noah paused. His eyes landed on AJ with a hard expression. Like he knew exactly what she’d done today. AJ felt her cheeks color.

She had also had a small scene with Anjalee that afternoon, just after Ian had asked her to bring Noah food—the producers’ third attempt to cross Ana’s path with Rho’s.

“Hey, Navi!” AJ had hailed the cyborg sex worker with a golden heart.

Anjalee had turned slowly, her stunning tigerlike green eyes wide, as if trying to remember her own character’s name. She was one of maybe three people on earth who could pull off Navi’s costume. The lower half included black thigh boots and a candy-apple-red miniskirt; the upper half was basically blue body paint.

“I’m supposed to take this to Rho,” said AJ, holding out the plate, “but Grandpa needs my help.”

“Oh!” said Anjalee. “Sure, yeah.” Anjalee might not have known her own character’s name, but she knew Noah Drew’s. AJ gave her the tray and watched her slink off toward Rho’s cell.

That was it. A tiny, insignificant exchange. But one that had changed the course of the show. From the look Noah was giving AJ now, he knew it too. By avoiding him for a whole day, an entire episode, she’d effectively taken herself out of the running for Alara.

His gaze shifted to Xiaobo. “Nah, man,” he said. “Thanks.”

AJ could hear Bud’s muted yips as Noah entered his room. This was for the best, she told herself as his light switched on. Now he, Anjalee, and Toni could be a love triangle—and even if Anjalee and Noah paired off, Toni could still be Alara. All was well.

So why did AJ feel such…loss?

She watched his shadow move across cream-colored drapes. The most dangerous thing about playing with him was how natural it felt. He made it too easy to forget how all of this could break her.

Standing aside was the correct thing. She’d done the correct thing.

“Dude,” Dave gasped. AJ’s stomach lurched.

Anjalee was now descending the stone steps in six-inch stilettos. Her absurd body was wrapped in a black lamé tube dress, her hair cascading down her back in soft golden waves.

“Damn, girl,” said Xiaobo quietly.

Toni sat up a little and waved, but Anjalee strode by without a glance.

“Dude,” Dave repeated as Anjalee made a beeline for Noah’s door.

Fuck. Anjalee and Noah’s scene must have been a barn burner.

The door slid open, filled by Noah’s imposing figure. Unlike Anjalee, he immediately clocked their group. AJ knew it was too dark for him to see her face, but she lowered her gaze anyway.

“What is it?” said Noah, not bothering to keep the agitation out of his voice.

Anjalee held her ground, her bronze skin aglow in the low light. “Chill,” she said. “It’s just me.”

Noah crossed his arms. “Yes?”

“That dinner was so boring,” she purred. “I don’t know if I can take two more weeks of this.”

When Noah didn’t respond, Anjalee took a power stance. “Get your stuff,” she said. “We’re going out.”

Noah’s weight shifted in the doorframe. “Where?”

Anjalee shrugged. “Anywhere. My friend just opened a place on Sunset. It’s kind of tacky, but anything is better than this.”

AJ held her breath. This was it. Noah would leave with Anjalee tonight, and he wouldn’t sleep in his room again for the rest of the shoot.

“Sorry,” he said. “I have to be up early.” AJ’s heart leapt.

Anjalee cocked her hip, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Okay. Then I’ll come in.”

Noah didn’t move. “It’s not a good time.”

Anjalee laughed. “Are you serious?”

“Yes,” said Noah, and AJ was tempted to laugh at how serious he sounded. As if sensing her, Noah glanced in their direction. The four improvisers quickly turned to the firepit.

It had clearly been years since Anjalee had been told no, and she wasn’t taking it well.

“This is because you’re still in character, right?” She shrugged. “I mean, if you need to throw another tray at me and shout for Ana, go for it.”

AJ froze. Was that what he’d done today when she hadn’t shown?

“I’m going to bed,” said Noah. “I suggest you do the same. Good night.”

AJ, Toni, Xiaobo, and Dave pretended to be deep in conversation as Noah’s door slid shut and Anjalee’s pissed-off stilettos marched back up the staircase.

“Oh, Scion of Darkness,” said Dave, curling up in a ball to contain himself. AJ was trying and failing to quell a shit-eating grin.

“Maybe he’s attached?” said Xiaobo.

“Maybe after filming all that sex on Sparta, he doesn’t get out of bed for less than a threesome,” said Dave, and AJ’s dinner threatened to repeat.

As Dave and Xiaobo continued to banter, AJ found Toni staring deeply into the fire.

“Fuck,” Toni said softly, and AJ’s blood ran cold. Toni was crying.

“Hey,” said AJ quickly. “This changes nothing.”

“I am such an idiot,” said Toni, her eyes bright with tears. “They’re obviously going to pair off, and she’s going to be Alara, and—”

“No,” said AJ. “No. You are going to be Alara. It can’t be Navi—she’s a robot!”

“Half robot,” said Toni in exasperation. “And it doesn’t matter. It’s gonna be them. It always was. They’re about six minutes away from hate-fucking, and once that happens it’s done.”

AJ couldn’t help it—her eyes flew to Noah’s window.

“Shit,” said Toni. “Age, I—”

“No, you’re probably right,” said AJ, but she couldn’t meet Toni’s eyes.

Toni placed a hand on her arm. “What’s the deal with you two?” she asked gently. “I can tell he means something to you. And I know you’ve never set foot in the Magnet.”

AJ felt her throat constrict. “He— I…don’t talk about it much.” She swallowed. “Actually, I’ve never talked about it.” Not their friendship. Or their training. Or their kiss. She’d certainly never talked about it with Toni or Dave.

Maybe that was the problem—Noah was the last person she’d actually trusted. Maybe that’s why all of this felt so…big. Maybe it wouldn’t if she let someone else in. As Toni held her gaze, AJ realized that was exactly what she needed to do. And as Xiaobo and Dave flirted close to the fire, AJ told her everything.

TODD’S COVERAGE, EPISODE 4: “ASLEEP”

When Gilamede flies into a swarm of Endymion gnats, both crale and crew lose consciousness dangerously close to an unstable pulsar.

THAT MORNING, IAN SENT AJ to retrieve a video switcher from across the lot. AJ took the off-camera assignment to mean that he had accepted her rejection of the Ana–Rho pairing, which was a relief, because she had been fairly certain he’d be pissed.

“Just be back by noon,” said Ian. “That’s when shit starts going down.”

With three minutes to spare, AJ entered the set on the third level. It happened right on schedule: Gilamede’s glowing walls changed from yellow to blue.

The crale had gone to sleep.

Like clockwork, a clang hit the right side of the set; that would be the pulsar sucking them in.

AJ listened for signs of commotion, but none came. Strange. Figuring Ana would check on her grandfather, AJ headed down to Jack Tar’s quarters only to find Elmore slumped next to the crale’s temple—the navigation hub, where Jack interfaced with Gilamede.

Shit.

Elmore wasn’t young. Was something wrong? “Er…Grandpa?” asked AJ tentatively.

As she approached to check his vitals, Elmore stirred, emitting a loud, theatrical snore. AJ rolled her eyes. “Grandpa,” she said again, giving him a shake.

But Elmore did not wake.

That was odd—he was clearly acting, but he wasn’t accepting her input. Perhaps Ian and Em had given him a private assignment. AJ glanced at the nearest camera questioningly.

Next, she advanced to the cargo bay: vacant. AJ’s heart plummeted. The quietness was starting to get to her. All she could hear was the mechanical whirring of the set. Where was everyone?

Breathless, she sped toward the captain’s quarters on the second floor. His comfortable red room was a good location for group scenes.

When AJ arrived, she felt another thud of confusion: Captain Quentin, First Mate Zora, and the brute, Bill Pyrus, were all collapsed on the floor, dead asleep.

“Zora,” said AJ, kneeling. She gave Toni a shake, but she didn’t respond. “Captain. Bill.” Likewise, Xiaobo and Andy remained inert.

What the hell was going on?

AJ’s pulse was in her ears as she sped toward sickbay. Dr. Iris would be able to revive everyone else, and then as a group they’d awaken the crale.

The mint-hued infirmary was silent, the racks of obscure medical instruments on the walls sparkling like strange tinsel. AJ felt the hair on the back of her neck rise. She knew before she turned around what she would find: the doctor asleep at her desk.

AJ raked her fingers through her hair.

Navi, she thought. Navi was a cyborg, so maybe whatever was affecting everyone else wasn’t affecting her. Relief flooded AJ. Yes. They were setting up Anjalee as the episode’s lead.

The Tech Lair was at the far end of the galley. AJ’s panic surged as she walked into the gadget-filled workshop to find Dave slumped beside an inert Anjalee; he’d fallen asleep while repairing her.

That left…her. AJ. Ana.

Suddenly, AJ became viscerally aware of every camera in the room.

She gulped. They’d lost their minds. A whole episode of Ana Tar on her own?

AJ closed her eyes.

She wasn’t alone. Noah Drew was awake in his cell. She would bet anything on it.

They were teeing her up as fucking Alara.

AJ’s gaze snapped to the nearest camera. She could easily picture Ian and Em in their editing bay, coldly staring back.

So much for Ian turning the other cheek. He had literally knocked out the entire cast to herd her and Noah together—like this was any old reality show. Like AJ was any old contestant.

Dismay churned through AJ, cold as slush. She hadn’t signed up for this—she had told Ian she didn’t act. And Toni—they’d talked for hours last night. What must she think now?

AJ was within arm’s reach of an exit. She could walk out.

But if she walked off this set, she needed to be prepared to walk away from this show. And how could she do that without fucking up her whole life? Ian wasn’t just her boss here, he was her boss in New York, part of her community at UCB.

And she could kiss off any chance of Em Tyner helping her out of reality TV.

There was no good option. AJ was fully and royally fucked. She took a deep breath and then another. Toni would be pissed at first, but she was already poised to be Anjalee’s love interest. She wouldn’t want AJ to lose her world over this. She would get it eventually. She would.

AJ drew her shoulders back and stalked out of the Tech Lair.

The blue light of the crale’s sleep state lent the brig an eerie glow. As AJ strode in, her suspicions were confirmed: Noah was pacing in front of his green screen window, wide awake.

They locked in the instant their eyes met, and the worst part was, it felt fucking great.

“You’re awake,” said AJ, sensing his readiness. This wasn’t just Ian and Em. Noah had known it was coming. Had been pushing for her from the start.

His eyes shone as he took in her anger. “So are you.”

AJ could barely keep her hands from shaking. “Everyone else is asleep.”

Noah sucked in a breath. “It’s the Endymion gnats—those blips out the window.” He nodded toward the green screen. “The crale’s been bitten. We’ve all been exposed to the sleeping sickness.”

AJ’s eyes flicked past the nearest camera. “So why aren’t we affected?”

Noah gave her an odd look. “We vaccinate for it in my time,” he said, nodding toward Bud, cheerfully swishing her tail on the bed.

AJ blinked. There it was. Alara was also from the future; she’d have the vaccine.

Another loud clang shook the set—the unconscious crale had bumped into some space matter. Bud howled. Noah stepped forward.

“Let me out of here,” he said with gentle urgency. “I can help you.”

AJ could feel the physical world receding, Ian and Em and Toni and the show suspended on the surface as the two of them submerged toward the Black Room.

AJ bowed her head. “I can’t,” she whispered, terrified.

Because beneath it all, it wasn’t Noah she was afraid to face. If AJ let him out, she’d also be releasing that other version of herself—the one beneath the armor, the one who had been so powerful, so…vulnerable. AJ shivered. If she let that self out, if she got hurt again…

Noah placed his large hands on the bars. “I won’t harm you,” he said quietly. “I promise.”

AJ searched his dark, intelligent eyes, imploring. “Why should I believe you?”

Noah gave her a weary smile. “Try me.”

AJ took a sharp breath. She could still walk out of here.

But she wouldn’t.

She had fought so hard to be correct about this. But what was correct wasn’t always right.

Slowly, she reached for the bars.

“I don’t know if this will work,” she said. She closed her eyes and touched the hydraulics until they raised enough for Noah to step through.

As he straightened up beside her, AJ found herself back in the Black Room, and everything was exactly as she had left it—every tool Eudora had ever given her, every trick she’d ever mastered.

That other self was there too, no worse for wear, comfortable as an old sweater. As AJ tried her on, she met Noah’s eye, and a fierce, pure joy spread through her such as she had not experienced since…

Since the last time they’d been here.

For the briefest instant, she smiled at him.

Noah nodded once. I’m with you.

Then they began to play.

“Ana,” said Rho, taking her in up close for the first time.

“Rho,” said Ana, wondering whether she was about to save or kill everyone she cared about.

Another clanging sounded from outside the ship.

“This way,” said Ana, rubbing her aching wrists, the price of using her telepathy. As they raced out of the brig toward sickbay, Rho’s eyes widened at the complex beauty of the crale.

“We need a stimulant,” said Ana, riffling through Dr. Iris’s medical bag. “Hey, what are you doing—” she protested as Rho dumped the bag’s contents onto a gurney.

“I’m breaking space and time,” he drawled.

Triumphantly, Ana plucked out a clear vial. Then Rho forced her to show him the armory.

“I won’t let you hurt Gilamede,” said Ana as Rho took up their largest and scariest gun.

“Would you rather we all die?” asked Rho.

The pulsar was so close now, they had to shield their eyes as they entered Jack Tar’s quarters. Ana knelt and administered the stimulant into Gilamede’s temple.

“It’s not working,” she said, panic in her voice.

An ear-splitting clang sounded from outside—time was almost up.

Rho reached for the gun and took aim at the crale. “Get out of the way,” he growled.

“Wait,” said Ana, holding up a hand, her eyes like ice.

“What are you doing?” demanded Rho.

Ana placed her palm on Gilamede’s temple. She held Rho’s gaze.

“I’m breaking space and time.”

The flight path was unfolding now: Ana would use her telepathy to wake Gilamede. Even if the effort might kill her. Even if Rho might kill her.

AJ felt the crale’s papery wall beneath her fingers. The last thing she saw before closing her eyes was Noah lowering the gun.

TODD’S COVERAGE, EPISODE 5: “17”

To Be Filmed After Strike: Origin story of Naedragon Thorvalt Cal Travva, the crown prince of the Firelands in the year 3527, aka Rho because he’s the seventeenth in his family to bear that title, “rho” being the 17th letter in the Greek alphabet. (The ancient Greeks are still relevant in this version of future space.)

NOAH DREW BEGAN EVERY morning with a five-mile run. His agent had been very aggressive about making Em Tyner agree to this amid their rigorous shooting schedule.

“It’s a nonnegotiable for him,” she said.

Why Em had volunteered to accompany Noah this morning was a mystery that Em himself was still trying to solve. As he ventured toward the guest terrace in the gray light of predawn, he tried to ignore the awkward swishing of his brand-new Adidas exercise pants.

Between the runs and Drew’s insistence on keeping his dog on set, Em had expected Noah to be a diva, much like Daniel Drew. So when, after all this, Em had finally met Noah Drew and found him to be a calm, unapologetic young man of unusual reserve, he’d felt slightly unnerved.

It wasn’t that Noah was disrespectful. It was that he didn’t seem stupid, and on some level that really bothered Em. It wasn’t right for someone to be acting royalty and deeply intelligent.

Most people did not have hidden depths; they had hidden shallows. Perhaps that’s what Em was hoping to confirm as he shuffled over to Noah now.

“Ready?” Noah panted, jogging in place. He was dressed head to toe in black, already drenched in sweat from whatever fitness ritual had preceded this.

“Let’s do it,” said Em, and the two of them set off across the sprawling compound. The way Noah seemed to know Em’s grounds immediately rankled.

“How’re you doing?” Em asked as they jogged down a hill toward the small lagoon at the west end of the estate.

“Good,” said Noah.

“Accommodations to your liking?” said Em, wincing inwardly. Was he a fucking concierge?

“Yeah, everything’s great,” said Noah. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” said Em. “I can see that your workouts are important to you.”

Noah glanced at him, just long enough for Em to feel the full six inches of their height difference. “They’re necessary for my health.”

“Of course,” said Em. What a supercilious prick. “Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about the Rho backstory episode.”

Because he could. Because he was the director.

“Sure,” said Noah.

Em cleared his throat. “I was thinking we’d insert it midway through the series—so that finding out he’s a crale-hunting fire-weaving prince will have more of an impact.”

“I like that,” said Noah. Of course you do, prick.

They turned onto the footpath encircling the lagoon. As his shoes made contact with the pebbles, Em felt some tenderness in his knees but said nothing, determined to keep pace with Noah.

Because Rho was from the future, his world required more of…everything. So this episode would be shot once the strike ended. Em was thrilled about this because it meant he would get to use some of his designs for the original reboot. Now, that would have been a show.

“I was thinking we’d start it on Rho’s home world—film somewhere sunny and dry. Maybe Arizona. Do a banishment scene, you know, How can you think you’re worthy to succeed your father as king? Don’t bother coming home until you kill the last water weaver.”

“And fulfill the prophecy,” Noah added.

Em looked up in surprise. “Exactly,” he said, feeling slightly mollified. Noah had obviously done the reading.

The Book of Rho had been the longest in Em’s bible, the tale of the crown prince of the Firelands. Rho was burdened by family legacy but gifted with unique talents and unbreakable tenacity…not unlike Em, who had gutted out his first years in Hollywood under his dad, a producer of the worst cheesy sitcoms. He’d had to suffer, but eventually Em had broken free with Haunted High.

Rho’s forebears, meanwhile, had hunted water weavers to the point of extinction, but for one last newborn: Alara. The prophecy foretold that Rho would be the one to find her. Which he had, only to have Alara’s parents jettison her into a wormhole. Unable to face dishonor, Rho had followed. His journey had lasted minutes, but by the time he emerged, Alara was fully grown.

Time travel was a cruel mistress.

“Have you spoken to AJ yet or…” Noah asked the question nonchalantly, but Em could tell that he was being careful.

“I wanted to talk to you first,” said Em. “How are you feeling about your scenes together?”

Almost imperceptibly, Noah picked up the pace.

“I think they’re working,” he said with perfect evenness. “What do you think?”

“They are,” Em had to admit. But he also had a reputation to uphold—and a network to please—and AJ Graves couldn’t touch Anjalee’s star power. They’d all but announced AJ as Alara while filming the sleep episode—but it wasn’t official yet.

“I just want to make sure she’s really who you want,” said Em. “After this point, there won’t be any going back.”

Noah stopped abruptly and faced him. Surprised, Em stumbled. For a moment, Noah seemed more beast than man.

“Do you have some objection to her?” he asked.

Em regarded him, both of them breathing heavily. “None in particular,” he said. He shrugged. “It’s just that she’s not…the obvious choice. Next to Anjalee, I mean.”

Noah nodded, placing his hands on his hips. He stared at the ground, then back at Em with eyes like cold fire.

“Anjalee is the obvious choice,” he said, and Em had never felt more like a hack. Like his father. “AJ is—” Noah looked down again and took a deep breath. When he lifted his gaze, his expression was neutral. “AJ will work.”

“Right,” said Em. “Absolutely.”

Noah nodded once. They jogged back up the hill toward the guest terrace in silence.

The way Noah had just spoken to Em would not sit. As if Noah had seen something in AJ Graves that Em had missed. That was absolutely unacceptable. Noah might have selected her as his scene partner, but that wouldn’t have happened without Em’s sign-off. He had given AJ a part, after all.

As the lower courtyard came back into view, Em recalled that he’d seen something in AJ Graves from the start.

TODD’S COVERAGE, EPISODE 6: “MATING SEASON”

Gilamede drops her crew on Endora IV, a peaceful moon colony, to go mate with a nearby crale. But this paradise is not what it seems.

IT HAPPENED IN THE Time Pagoda, just after the morning briefing. As the rest of the cast dispersed to get mic’d, Ian and Em pulled AJ aside and told her that Ana was officially Alara.

“But she’s a plant,” was all AJ could say.

Em nodded, then delved into a detailed explanation of how Jack Tar had found baby Alara in an escape pod while looting the wormhole. He’d repurposed the escape pod’s tech aboard Gilamede and raised the baby as his granddaughter, Ana, for seventeen years. Ana had no idea who she really was or that she was actually from the future. At least, not yet.

AJ fidgeted. What she wanted to say was, I didn’t agree to this.

Instead, she said, “Wait, if Rho only followed her into the wormhole a few minutes after, why have seventeen years passed when he arrives?”

“The space-time continuum isn’t linear,” said Em as Ian said, “Because fictional time travel.”

“Oh, right,” said AJ.

“We’ve had our eye on you for this from the start, AJ,” said Em, giving her a nod that made AJ’s heart skip. Em Tyner knew her name. With that, he left AJ and Ian in the Time Pagoda.

“I know it’s a lot to digest,” said Ian.

AJ blinked. “Thanks for the heads-up yesterday,” she said sarcastically.

Ian shrugged, unapologetic. “You never would have agreed to it if you’d known.”

“Right,” said AJ. “Because I am not an actor. I’m only doing this because I—”

“You what?” Ian squinted at her. “You want to get in with Em? Get in line. You’re not the only one who wants out of unscripted, and I’ve been at this a lot longer than you.”

AJ’s jaw clamped shut. The fuck?

As she gazed at Ian, eyes smarting, an unpleasant thought occurred. In the last five years, they had never really disagreed. Always, what AJ had wanted for herself was what Ian had wanted from her. She had no idea what Ian was actually like when he wasn’t on her side.

Ian wiped his brow, then slowly approached her. Together, they surveyed Em’s koi pond.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Working with someone from your past—it dredges up a lot of shit.”

That AJ understood. She said as much, feeling slightly appeased by his apology.

“I get that you don’t consider yourself an actor,” said Ian. “But I’ve seen what you can do. When you’re with Noah, it’s…good, Age. So I guess I’m wondering…what do you have to lose?”

My pride. My heart.

Toni. She had shut herself in her room straight after the sleeping sickness shoot; AJ’s knocks and texts had gone unanswered.

AJ looked at her feet. “I just want to write,” was all she could think to say.

Ian’s expression was neutral, but his eyes were steely as he said, “If you really want it, then you’ll do whatever it takes to get it. Period.” He clapped a paternal hand on her shoulder. “Even if it means playing a mutant time traveler with chronic pain.”

When AJ left the Time Pagoda a few minutes later, Toni and Dave were waiting outside.

“Well?” said Dave, bouncing in place. Toni stood ramrod beside him, and AJ knew at once that Dave had cajoled her into coming.

AJ forced herself to say it. “I’m Alara.”

“Yay!” said Dave, rushing forward to embrace her. “Of course you are.”

“Not of course,” said AJ, breaking the hug. Her eyes sought Toni’s. “I didn’t want this. They completely blindsided me.”

Toni’s gaze hardened. “Really?” she said with false lightness. “You never had a scene with Rho?” Before AJ could respond, Toni hugged her. “Congrats,” she added, not meeting AJ’s eyes.

Today’s shoot was on Em’s property, whose verdant landscaping and artfully situated detritus matched the vision for Endora IV. When AJ, Dave, and Toni found their castmates gathered by a crumbling stone chimney, Toni headed for Anjalee without a parting nod.

Noah was standing in the shade with Andy, Elmore, and Xiaobo, a camera bobbing before them. This was Rho’s first day out of his cell. Similarly, Noah had actually emerged from his room last night with Bud, but AJ had been too preoccupied with Toni to speak with him.

“Wanna…” Dave cocked his head toward the captain and Rho.

AJ met Noah’s eyes, just long enough to feel a tug near her sternum. “You go on,” she told Dave.

Then she sidestepped a boom and ducked onto a woodland path. She didn’t know where she was heading, only that it was time. She walked until she emerged into a sunlit clearing that overlooked Em’s lagoon.

AJ stared out at her own artificially still reflection and waited.

A few minutes later, a rustle sounded in the woods, and Noah entered the clearing, his eyes already on her. Her heart began to pound—they were actually alone.

No castmates. No cameras. Just them.

AJ had forgotten the way his eyes changed color in the light to almost honey gold. Beautiful. For a moment, he just watched her.

“Did Em talk to you about the part?” he asked curtly.

His tone was all the invitation AJ needed. “Yup,” she snapped. “Congratulations. Your Ana awareness campaign has paid off. I’m Alara. Hope you’re happy.”

“I am,” said Noah hotly. “Sorry to derail your very ambitious plan of hiding in the background.”

AJ laughed in disbelief. “Wow. You’ve really grown into that Drew entitlement.”

Noah took a step toward her, his eyes sparking with irritation and something…else. “Would you prefer I deny that this is what I want?”

AJ’s mouth went dry. “What about what I want?” she shot back. “I have no interest in this.”

A lie. She had loved playing with him. So much it scared the hell out of her.

“Bullshit,” said Noah, moving closer. “You’re just scared.”

God fucking damn it.

“With good reason,” AJ seethed. “Toni’s furious with me because of this.”

Noah’s eyes flashed. “She’s furious because you didn’t stay in your lane,” he said. “Great friend, by the way.”

A dull roar filled AJ’s ears. “That means so much coming from you.”

As she turned to leave, she felt a gloved hand encircle her forearm. The leather of Rho’s gauntlet was bright against the pale of her skin; AJ stared at it in disbelief. Slowly, she lifted her eyes. Noah’s were intent, pleading, the light almost gone. AJ’s breath caught.

“I—” Noah bowed his head. As his hair fell across his brow, AJ felt his hand flex, like he might pull her close, and for a heartbeat that touch was all she knew. Then, “Age, we should talk.”

AJ’s eyes welled instantly. It was the look on his face, and the sound of her nickname on his lips. And it was the exact turn of phrase. “You’ve said that to me before,” she said almost inaudibly.

Noah swallowed hard. “I know,” he said. He glanced over his shoulder. “I can’t—”

A twig snapped as a camera crew crept from the woods. They broke apart, AJ quickly wiping her cheeks. This would be Ana and Rho’s first scene since waking the crale. Seconds passed as she and Noah stood inert, lenses and booms hovering around them. Finally, Noah spoke.

“You did well the other day,” he said roughly. They were filming, but he wasn’t in character yet.

Her cheeks colored. “Surprised?”

Noah shook his head. “Not at all.”

“I was,” said AJ, forcing herself to meet his eyes. She chose her next words with care. “We were completely vulnerable—why not just take your dog and go?”

Noah’s stare went dark in a way it never had before. AJ swore she felt a tectonic rumble beneath that strange black mass inside him as he said, “I didn’t want to leave you like that.”

AJ felt her lip tremble. Fuck.

Noah’s eyes were raw. “You have to know I would never want to hurt you.”

AJ held his gaze. “You have to know you still could.”

His brow furrowed. “If I did,” he said quietly, “that would be very hard for me to live with.”

He glanced at her, then out at the water, and in that split second, AJ felt the ringing edge of her pain ease, just a little. She was still hurt, and she still didn’t understand. But she believed him.

When Noah looked back, he had become Rho. “Our legends of this era tell of water weavers so powerful they could make ocean waves run like horses.”

“What are horses?” asked AJ, stepping into Ana.

He grinned. “You really are a space brat, aren’t you?” He explained what horses were.

Ana searched him. “So, what happened to the water weavers?”

“They died out,” said Rho, a muscle in his jaw tensing. “Although there was a rumor that one had been born. The first in a hundred years.”

TODD’S COVERAGE, EPISODE 7: “PARLAY”

When Captain Quentin is asked to mediate a blockade runner dispute, the crew are forced to host two terrifying profiteers…only to discover that the pirates are after Gilamede herself.

PRODUCTION DIDN’T HALT FOR Thanksgiving—instead, they filmed a raucous episode with Ian and Em guest-starring as two rival buccaneers. The producers seemed thrilled to be participating after a week in the control room. When they wrapped, Em invited everyone over for a feast.

The cast was so ravenous, they didn’t even change out of costume before heading to Em’s palazzo. As AJ stepped into the vaulted entrance, she found a line already snaking into the dining room.

Toni was at the front and did not look up as AJ approached. AJ turned away, dread clotting in her stomach. Then Noah caught her eye. He let her cut in between him and Dave.

“What do you think they’re serving?” he asked quietly.

“The entrails of Em’s rivals,” said AJ without turning around.

“I thought something smelled good.”

Despite her unease, AJ smiled.

Last night, Toni had stationed herself at the firepit, where she’d chatted amicably with Xiaobo and Dave while ignoring AJ. AJ had been determined to draw her out—How was Anjalee today? Is that a new shirt?—but Toni had strictly offered one-word answers before turning back to the boys. They had been at this game for about an hour when Noah shocked everyone by showing up.

AJ hadn’t put a lot of stock in his “we should talk,” but there he was, and suddenly things were…better. He and Dave immediately clicked, their joking a salve on the blistering tension. They were so goofy that despite Toni’s cold shoulder, AJ had found herself laughing.

But when Toni left just after ten claiming a headache, AJ’s own exhaustion had set in. She’d crawled into bed shortly after, where she’d fallen into one of the most intense dreams of her life.

She and Noah were back on her laundry room floor, facing each other on their knees, listening to the drip of the washing machine. Noah was leaning toward her, their foreheads nearly touching. AJ couldn’t take her eyes off the cavity at the base of his neck. She watched him swallow.

Then he was pulling her to her feet and flipping her around. Their clothes were gone. AJ trembled with need as he bent her over the cool enamel of the washer, one of his enormous hands anchoring her hips, the other lining himself up between her legs. Then pressure. AJ’s back arched; Noah’s grip tightened. Water was gushing out of the machine now. Noah groaned as they began to—

“Fuck!” said Dave as the buffet came into view. AJ jumped a foot. “What a spread!”

Em had mounted a Thanksgiving to put the White House’s to shame.

AJ heaped her plate without reserve and walked into the dining room. The tablescape overflowed with wicker sculptures and autumnal candles. Em’s staff had outdone themselves.

AJ glanced up to find Em himself staring at her comically stuffed plate. He laughed a little and gestured to the open seat beside him. Like he’d been waiting for her. Tentatively, AJ joined him.

“Happy Thanksgiving,” he said warmly.

“Same to you,” said AJ. “This is incredible.”

A plate plunked down to AJ’s left, and Noah’s familiar weight sank into the chair beside hers.

“Sorry,” he said, excusing the clatter. Then he turned back to converse with Xiaobo. Em winked. AJ wasn’t sure what to do with the attention she was receiving, so she started on her food.

“That was fun having you guys on set today,” she said when Em continued to watch her. Maybe her makeup had taken a turn for the raccoon.

“Was it?” said Em. “I’m glad you thought so.”

AJ swallowed her bite. “How are you feeling about everything?”

Em considered. “I mean, you would know better, having worked with Ian. What do you think?”

AJ was so stunned that Em Tyner had asked her opinion, she blurted it out in the most inelegant way possible. “I mean it’s a shitshow,” she said. “But it always is at this stage. And we’ve got some really strong threads emerging. The captain and Iris. Navi and Zora.”

“Ana and Rho.”

AJ blushed. “How did you come up with all the world building?” she asked shyly. “The bible is amazing.”

Em gave her a sly grin. “This may shock you, but I was a very nerdy child.”

AJ laughed, and he launched into an explanation of his process, his sources of inspiration, and methodology. He was so articulate and self-effacing and brilliant, AJ privately wished she could have recorded the conversation to study later on.

As Em waxed poetic about Ghostbusters, AJ’s scalp prickled. Toni was glaring at her with such vehemence AJ blanched.

“You should try this salad, it’s really special,” said Em, offering her a wooden bowl.

Flustered, AJ reached for the tongs.

Noah placed a hand on the bowl. He inclined his head toward AJ and spoke in a low voice. “Aren’t those pine nuts?”

Then he turned back to Xiaobo and continued their conversation as if nothing had happened.

Em gave AJ an odd look.

“I’m allergic,” said AJ, blushing. How utterly absurd that Noah remembered.

A pugnacious light shone in Em’s eye. “Fascinating.”

Right then, Dave’s crass, inebriated alter ego, Drunk Dave, joined the party. “Who’s got a limerick? There once was a man they called Huck…”

As the table devolved into cackles, Em rose to his feet. “Excuse me a moment.”

“Of course,” said AJ, distracted by her castmates. Their jocularity brought her own siblings to mind. As Em cleared his plate, she felt a stab of longing for the loud, dysfunctional, overcrowded Graves Thanksgiving.

Beside her, the air stirred. Noah glanced at her. “You missing your family?”

The room faded half a decibel. “Yes.”

He rested his silverware on his plate. “First time away?”

AJ nodded. “It’s weird—Thanksgiving isn’t, like, fun,” she said. “Football. Yelling. My dad’s probably two six-packs in by now. Actually, sorry, forgot the time difference. Make that three.”

Noah snorted. “And mine’s at a strip club. Just texted me.”

As AJ laughed, she stole a peek at the non-tattooed side of his face. So stupidly handsome. He inquired after her siblings, so AJ told him. Babies for Patrick. Marriage for Libby. Gaming stardom for Mike. A job at Big Y for Emily.

“They all still in Gladstone?” he asked.

AJ nodded. “Mike leaves intermittently for esports tournaments and D&D stuff, but he always ends up back at my parents’. What about you? You get back to Drew House much?”

Noah shrugged. “Some. I do try to be there for the holidays. This time of year can be really…quiet.” A tremor of anguish overtook him.

“Your mom,” said AJ softly.

“Three years ago.”

“Noah—”

AJ felt his grief open like a massive fissure. Strange. It bordered that black sadness inside him but wasn’t a part of it. AJ couldn’t fathom what could possibly have happened to Noah that would so vastly outweigh his mother’s death.

“It was honestly a relief,” said Noah, as the quake quieted.

“Still,” said AJ, a little distracted. “I’m sorry. I…liked her.”

“She liked you,” he said. He sighed. “To tell the truth, she was never one for Thanksgiving. Honestly, neither am I. I just feel bad that my aunt’s home alone.”

Ugh, Eudora. “She could always summon the Scottish King,” muttered AJ.

A grin split Noah’s face and he laughed, enjoyment gusting off him like sun-soaked wind. Wow. AJ couldn’t stop her answering smile.

Other people were staring at them now, and the rest of the world returned. Dave still held court; Toni had risen and was now speaking animatedly to Ian and Em near the door.

Noah was still smiling. As AJ refocused on her food, he wiped his eyes, that wild wind dying down. It made no sense, but AJ felt certain it had come from within that large black mass.

They stayed near each other for the rest of the night. Over dessert, they conversed with various castmates while remaining close enough to touch. Em retired around ten; five minutes later Toni left with Ian.

“You don’t think—” whispered Xiaobo. “But she hates him!”

“Enemies to lovers!” cawed Drunk Dave.

AJ shook her head. Ian was her boss. She tried not to think of him as a sexual being. And Toni…Toni had been in a funk ever since AJ had been cast as Alara. Maybe this was what she needed to shake it off. A distraction. A night away from the rest of them. From AJ. Some attention from a producer. At least, if it came up, Ian could tell her how reluctant AJ had been to play Alara.

A few minutes later, AJ, Xiaobo, Dave, and Noah left for the guest terrace, where they gathered around the firepit and drank until midnight. It was by far the latest AJ had been out in L.A. and the drunkest she’d been. She wasn’t falling down, but her inhibitions were low enough to accept Noah’s offer to walk her to her room when Dave and Xiaobo left to hook up.

They ambled through the grove, arms brushing as they spoke. Then at her door, Noah appraised her in such a reserved-but-caring Noah way that AJ almost blurted it out: So what happened?

But she didn’t.

Because they were still in work clothes, and it would be dumb to stir the pot with a coworker. Because Noah suddenly looked so young rubbing his eyes in the moonlight. Because she already knew she wouldn’t like the answer, and she wanted to not be mad at him a little longer.

For a handful of minutes, they stood in her doorway trading jokes under the stars.

Then AJ said good night, slipped into her room, and tried not to think about him as she undressed.

TODD’S COVERAGE, EPISODE 8: “LIFE PRESERVER”

When disease breaks out at a fire weaver refugee camp, Dr. Iris insists their crew stop to offer aid. The Captain, Zora, and Bill risk discovery to scavenge for supplies. Rho battles his growing attraction for Ana as the two help Dr. Iris vaccinate the colony’s children.

IT HAD BEEN A strenuous episode to film. They’d taken a bus out to Oxnard, where a set had been erected to mimic a refugee camp. Having so many children around added to the dystopian atmosphere. Their dirty faces and torn costumes were affecting; the incessant roughhousing between takes was not.

As Ana and Rho helped Dr. Iris administer the vaccine, Noah glanced down the rows of pallid extras. Perhaps he was reminded of Simmons. AJ wondered about the end. His mother’s quality of life had been poor when AJ had met her; another four years of decline seemed unendurable. No wonder Noah had been relieved.

His eyes were on AJ now; she could feel his gaze like a caress. Every time she looked up to find him watching, she’d go a little softer. As if she were the one he was contemplating instead of Ana.

As if this were real.

She’d dreamed of him again last night. They’d been on Eudora’s patio, dancing to NOW 4’s track twelve, “Get It On Tonite,” by Montell Jordan. AJ had been watching from outside herself. Or was she remembering? She knew this day: the only time Eudora had ever left them alone. They were deep under, in a trance, when Eudora had slipped inside. Noah had moved then, his eyes black. AJ was back in her body as he grabbed her, held her, rolled his hips into hers until she ached. Closer. Please. She was hollow, breathless as their brows touched. Please. Her hand found his belt, and as he hauled her up against him, an electric pulse surged between her thighs, and—

A boy ran across their path, chasing after a dusty ball, and AJ almost tripped.

Noah caught her by the arm. “You good?” His eyes danced in the glaring sunlight.

“Fine,” said AJ, glad her cheeks were already red from the heat. It was just a dream, she told herself. Wasn’t it?

A bullhorn sounded in the distance—their cue to run to their marks for the end of the shoot. As Ana, Rho, and Dr. Iris sprinted for Gilamede, Rho paused, looking back at the colony.

“Come on,” said Ana, grabbing his hand. As she dragged him over the line, AJ felt Noah’s large fingers envelop hers.

“That’s a wrap,” called Em, who had been watching with Ian nearby.

As the booms lowered, Noah held on to her hand. He met her eyes, and AJ’s pulse jumped.

“All right, hit the showers,” said Dave, clapping them both on the shoulder. They broke apart and joined the rest of the cast in applauding another marathon day.

In her periphery, AJ saw Em nearing. “Nice work today,” he said to Noah.

Noah nodded his thanks as Em gave AJ a bottle of water and said, “Not used to that California sun, are you?” Noah took the cue to leave.

“No, am I a tomato?” said AJ, cracking open the bottle for a long sip. When she finished, Em was staring at her.

“You’re…rosy,” he said. He cleared his throat. “I think you should spend some time with Pete and Navi in the next episode.”

As they headed for the cast’s unmarked black coach bus, AJ tried not to show how flattered she was to be getting notes from Em Tyner.

“We’ve been seeing a lot of Ana and Rho,” he continued. “I think it’s good to juxtapose that with Ana’s old life, show who she is with people who make her…comfortable. And it will heighten their chemistry by contrast.”

As he said “chemistry,” he glanced at her in a way that caught AJ off guard. Was he being suggestive? Or was this just how directors talked to actors?

“Dave and I go way back,” AJ said. “I’m sure we’ll find stuff to play.”

“Um, Em?” one of their interns—Todd, maybe—called from ten feet behind.

“What now?” grumbled Em, leaning close to AJ. “No need to wait—I’ll see you.”

Once again, this last seemed to hold some added meaning. As AJ climbed back onto the bus, she let the cold blast of air conditioning remove the thought from her mind.

Most of her castmates were already seated. Toni was whispering animatedly with Dave, probably about last night with Ian. She pointedly shut up as AJ neared, averting her eyes. Dave threw AJ an apologetic glance as she passed. Throat stinging, AJ tucked into the row directly behind Noah.

She’s furious because you didn’t stay in your lane.

AJ had never minded having a lane. Good boundaries and shared interests had been the glue in her friendships with Toni and Dave, but apparently that glue had dried to the point of brittleness. AJ had expected some fallout over Alara, but she’d thought Toni would have come around by now. Maybe even supported her, given all AJ had confided. AJ didn’t know where to go from here.

She stared out her window and took a breath to steady herself. Four days ago, she’d known exactly who she was: a background character, but one with a phalanx of friends. She’d been safe. Now she was on track to be a lead in a network drama, and she felt utterly exposed.

In front of her, Noah roused, then stood, glancing at the open seat to her left. AJ nodded, and he slid in, his thigh casually bumping hers. Up a few rows, Toni let out a raucous laugh.

Noah frowned. “Maybe I should talk to her,” he said gruffly. “Try to explain.”

The idea of Noah sitting Toni down was so absurd AJ couldn’t help but smile. Warmth radiated off his torso—he was overheated. “Here,” she said, offering him her mostly finished water.

Noah glanced at it then shook his head. “Thoughts on today?”

AJ sighed. “Good, but long? I’m not really used to being around kids.”

Noah looked surprised. “Really? You seem great with them.”

AJ shrugged, distracted by his obvious physical discomfort. “Here,” she said, forcing the water into his hand. “Don’t be weird.”

Grudgingly, he relented. “You’re giving me your Em water,” he commented, unscrewing the lid.

“My Em water?” said AJ.

“He practically anointed you with it,” said Noah, finishing the bottle in a single swig.

AJ watched him, half amused, half wary. “He was just being nice.”

“And you?” said Noah, hitting her with the full force of his stare.

AJ wasn’t prepared for this and felt immediately taken aback. “What about me?”

He leaned toward her so there was no chance they could be overheard. His eyes were on fire.

“You’re still falling for the same old bullshit you did as a kid,” he said. “When are you going to learn that these people are out for themselves?”

The intimacy of it knocked the wind out of her. The presumption.

Then AJ’s eyes teared in rage.

“You don’t know me,” she said, voice shaking.

“Yes, I do,” he said fiercely. “And you know me. You know I’m just looking out for you.”

He was breathing hard, and for the briefest instant, he glanced down at her lips. He smelled so good—that hadn’t changed. Nothing had. And it made no sense. That despite all her good boundaries and shared interests, no friend, or collaborator, or lover had ever felt as real to her as he did.

Because he wasn’t real. He couldn’t be. She didn’t know the first thing about him. She didn’t know why he’d left, or where he’d been for the past seven years, or even his street address.

But she knew him. And she just…loved him.

No.

“Right,” said AJ. “Then why don’t you do what you did as a kid and kindly fuck off.”

Noah stared at her, his face growing pale. AJ didn’t flinch. She waited for him to rise and return to his seat. She didn’t dare blink. She didn’t dare breathe.

TODD’S COVERAGE, EPISODE 9: “CASTAWAY”

As Gilamede gives birth, thuggish Bill threatens to reveal Rho’s identity unless Rho helps him escape. While watching Ana soothe Gilamede, her grandfather, Jack, admits to finding her as an infant seventeen years ago, and Rho realizes that Ana is Alara.

ALL MORNING, IAN HAD AJ shuttling between the control room and the set. The crale’s walls pulsed with a rosy glow as Gilamede labored and AJ bounced from the infirmary to the navigation hub to the captain’s quarters cueing the cast.

When she arrived back in control, she found Em waiting. He was not pleased.

“I thought we talked about Ana pairing with Pete today,” he said coldly.

Shit. AJ felt the blood drain from her face. “I-I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I totally forgot.”

Ian looked up in alarm. There were rings under his eyes; he’d probably been up again last night with Toni. AJ quickly blocked that mental image as Em blinked his disapproval. “You forgot.”

“Yeah, it’s been crazy,” said AJ, glancing at Ian for support. She’d been following his orders.

Ian crossed his arms. She’d made him look bad. In front of Em. He wasn’t going to intercede.

Fuck. “I’ll go now,” she said.

Em nodded without expression, and AJ swiftly exited the control room.

She felt ill as she hurried down the hall. It was bad enough being on Toni’s shit list. Now she was on Em’s. And Ian—

Ian had just monumentally thrown her under the bus.

Yet, part of AJ knew she deserved it. Because that morning, she hadn’t just been busy with work. She’d been busy avoiding Noah—so busy she’d fucked up.

Shake it off, she told herself as she approached the Tech Lair. The best way to make amends would be to do the scene Em wanted and do it well.

As AJ entered the cobalt gadget-filled workshop, Dave lifted his goggles.

“Ana Tar,” he said as Pete. “What’s the matter, get sick of the brig?”

“I heard you might need some help putting your junk together for market day,” she said.

Dave covered his heart with his hand. “Junk. Junk! For a Cralite, you sure are judgmental.”

“And I feel very bad about that,” said AJ, examining a Twister spinner. “What’s this?”

“That, dear Ana, is an ancient human morality compass, and it is an absolute treasure.” They quickly fell into a game of Pete Explains Wormhole Junk to Ana. Under his guidance, a pool floatie became a disciplinary instrument, a vibrator became an herb grinder, and a jump rope became a tool for predicting how long the winter would last.

Playing with Dave was comfortable and fun, like moving pieces around a game board with a skilled opponent. Every so often, AJ would pause to consider whether she was acting like her character, and if this was what Em had envisioned for Ana and Pete.

They had just begun messing around with a bunch of iPhones when Noah’s unmistakable boot steps sounded in the hall. AJ’s heart rate spiked as he came into view. He looked on edge, like he’d been up half the night. And so goddamn beautiful.

“Hey,” he said, and now they were playing hair dryers. Can I come in?

“Hey,” said AJ. I guess.

Thoughts of Toni, Ian, and Em receded as Noah entered the workshop. Ana and Rho were at a sweet point in their relationship, having just returned from their medical goodwill mission.

The actors, however, were on tenterhooks.

After the bus, AJ had gone straight into her shower to try to calm down. It was the first evening she’d skipped the firepit—she couldn’t spend all night staring at Toni’s and Noah’s empty chairs.

The steaming water had been bliss on her skin, on her nerves. This was what she needed: some time alone. That’s why she was getting so turned around, she reasoned. She hadn’t had a minute to think.

As AJ sat in her towel, watching Noah’s shadow pace across the courtyard, she realized grimly that this was nothing more than a time loop. He was paying attention to her now for the same reason he always had: he was trapped and bored.

These feelings weren’t real; they were an echo from the past. For fuck’s sake, he was a celebrity, and she was a normal. When this shoot wrapped in six days, AJ would go right back to her questionably legal loft, and Noah would go back to being the HBO abs plastered over her L stop.

“Rho,” said Dave, looking up. “Rho, Rho, Rho your b…iceps. What can we do for you?”

At the mention of his arms, AJ’s cheeks colored. Last night, she’d dreamed them back at Reel World Video, in the Genre room, but the only genre had been Astronauticals. The air had been charged as they examined a single empty shelf labeled Prequel.

Then Noah was turning her toward him and kissing her slowly. “You know me,” he whispered. “You know what I want.” She was naked now, and he was lifting her against the stacks, against him. His arms were strong and safe, and he felt so good as he pressed between her legs. “I’m going to fuck you now,” he said.

AJ shook herself as the real Noah strode past her to hand Dave his beat-up ship’s communicator. “I think I might have broken it.”

As Dave lowered his goggles to examine the device, Noah’s eyes sought AJ’s—he was asking about yesterday.

AJ’s breath constricted, but she didn’t look away. “Those things have been through a lot,” she said reluctantly. “Are you sure it wasn’t already broken?”

“Yes,” said Noah, firmly. “I pushed too hard on…that dial.” He searched her. “Can it be fixed?” he asked after a beat.

“I think so,” said Dave without looking up.

AJ bit her lip. The day before had unmoored her, but that hadn’t been Noah’s intention. Seeing him this upset about it now made her thaw. “Most things can be,” she agreed.

Noah nodded, and AJ felt the rush of his relief as their energy locked in.

And now the scene came to life.

“Rho, you’re just in time,” Pete sang out. “Ana and I were just starting to mess around with these light squares. Aren’t they shiny?”

Rho took the iPhone from Pete and examined it. “It’s primitive Earth technology. See the hieroglyphs?” he said, clicking the home button to reveal the apps. “My grandfather had a much larger red one in his study. He used it to prop up his ceremonial furs.”

He said it with such a straight face that both AJ and Dave almost broke.

“Sounds like he had great taste,” said Dave, who then had to duck behind Pete’s shelves to hide his laughter. AJ focused on a nearby bench to keep from corpsing.

“Your grandfather must have been important,” she supplied at last, taking a seat.

“Yes,” said Noah, joining her. With Dave in the mix, they weren’t fully submerged; as their eyes connected, AJ had the strange sense that they were peering out at each other from behind their characters. “They’re all important. It’s kind of in the family.” This was Noah speaking. AJ could tell because at these words, that endless black sadness inside him began to activate.

“That’s a lot of pressure,” said AJ.

“It is,” he said, mulling over his next line. “I’ve been given an incredible gift.” Heat was emanating from that black mass now; it had begun to smoke.

“And a terrible curse.” Ana’s words popped out before AJ could stop them.

Noah’s eyes widened.

AJ swallowed. “That’s why you can’t get close to anyone.”

Noah was gazing at her with debilitating intensity, as if she truly had read his thoughts. AJ would have had to look away, but Ana wasn’t embarrassed by it. “So lonely,” she murmured.

Noah’s eyes were all need. AJ was close enough to see the hazel ring in his irises.

“What about you?” he demanded softly. “No one here knows who you really are.”

AJ’s breath caught. “I—”

Her voice trailed off as she looked down at his hand, resting on his leg. Noah stilled as she took in the long tendons, the wide nail beds. Before she could stop herself, AJ reached for him.

Slowly, so slowly, their fingers met.

And as they touched, a crack of light cleaved that endless darkness, a thin bright ribbon of hope.

Then a tinny sound erupted behind the bookshelf. AJ quickly withdrew her hand as Dave emerged, playing Run-DMC on the iPhone and bouncing in place.

“It sings!” he cried gleefully. He flipped the device to show them the video. “And dances!”

“Let me see that,” said Noah, his leg brushing AJ’s as he stood and crossed to Dave. AJ’s robe was mussed where she had been inadvertently clutching it; she smoothed her skirts.

“Does it sing anything else?” she asked.

An all-too-familiar cowbell rang out from the iPhone. AJ’s eyes flew to Noah’s—it was “(You Drive Me) Crazy,” track two on NOW 4.

Noah frowned, glancing back at the iPhone. “I bet we could learn this.”

Dave almost choked, and AJ grinned. Maybe she was in a time loop.

But maybe Noah was in it, too.

TODD’S COVERAGE, EPISODE 10: “WHOLESALE”

In desperate need of funds, Gilamede’s crew stops at a trading outpost to sell some of their wormhole plunder. Zora and Navi buy each other gifts. The Doctor and Captain debate his prejudice toward fire weavers. Ana discovers Bill and Rho plotting their escape.

THAT NIGHT, TONI REAPPEARED at the firepit as if nothing had happened.

Perhaps she was feeling magnanimous after today’s shoot at the Glendale mall, where she and Anjalee had kissed, firmly cementing their characters as love interests. AJ didn’t care—when Toni flopped into the Adirondack beside hers, all she felt was relief.

“Not climbing Ian tonight?” Drunk Dave purred. Somehow, he had downed three beers in the time the rest of them had imbibed one.

“He and Em had to go downtown for a meeting with the dev team,” said Toni. “Besides, I miss you guys.”

Her eyes slid to AJ’s as she said this, and AJ beamed. It seemed things were looking up. She had barely seen Ian and Em today, but if Toni wasn’t mad anymore, chances were they weren’t either.

“Refill?” asked Noah. AJ and Toni nodded.

He’d showered, trading Rho’s armor for a plain black tee and jeans, and as he got up, AJ caught the rich scent of his soap, his skin. It was nice to see his face without the tattoos. He looked younger, softer; part of that was also his expression. He seemed pleased.

He’d been brilliant today. When AJ had happened upon him and Andy discussing Rho and Bill’s escape, he’d grabbed his own wrists and revealed that Rho had the same circular markings as Ana—that they weren’t a birthmark but shacks, futuristic handcuffs embedded under the skin that suppressed Rho’s ability to weave fire and Ana’s ability to weave water.

He’d given AJ so much to play with—dismay, betrayal. And the way he’d woven such an insignificant detail from her shitty bio into their larger arc…it was just such good improv.

“I can’t believe it’s almost over,” said Xiaobo, shaking his head.

“I know,” said Toni. “I feel like I’ve been Zora my whole life. I actually can’t believe that two weeks ago I didn’t know what a crale was.”

“Mark my words,” said Drunk Dave. “There will be entire corners of the internet devoted to crales and Cralites and water weavers and Firelords.”

“Firelanders,” corrected Toni.

“Them too,” said Dave.

As Noah returned with their beers, AJ’s blue Razr flip phone began to vibrate. Emily.

“Hey, lady,” she said into the receiver, walking away from the group.

“Age,” said Emily. “I miss you, Age.”

“I know,” said AJ, suddenly heartsick at the sound of her twin’s voice. This shoot had gotten so complicated so fast, but here was her sister—comforting, real, the same. “I miss you, too. How’s life?”

Emily launched into an animated description of the Christmas trees for sale at her job at Big Y. She had already put one aside for their family.

“It’s snowing right now, so I’m worried about Santa,” she said.

Right—the Salvation Army sent a volunteer Santa to Big Y every December. “I’m sure he has all-wheel drive,” said AJ.

“That’s what Mom said,” said Emily, the cord of their home phone rasping through the receiver.

AJ returned to the party a few minutes later to find Dave in the middle of an elaborate striptease to “Pour Some Sugar on Me,” which someone evidently had as a ringtone on their phone. As Toni and Xiaobo egged Dave on, AJ took a seat beside Noah.

“Truth or Dare,” he explained. “This is dare.”

“Ah,” said AJ. “And I thought it was just Drunk Dave.”

Noah snorted.

“AJ!” said Xiaobo, brandishing one of Em’s tiki torches in her direction. “Truth…or DARE?”

AJ glanced at Dave, still half naked from his recent dare. Dare seemed like a horrible option.

“Um, truth.”

“The lady hath spoken,” shouted Xiaobo. “And she hath spoken TRUTH.”

“Truth, truth, truth,” chanted Toni and Dave, gathering around.

“Drumroll!” cried Xiaobo.

Everyone clapped against their thighs, then stopped.

“Who was the first guy you ever fucked?” yelled Drunk Dave.

AJ rolled her eyes, but Toni responded faster. “Thanks for that, Dave,” she said. Then she turned to AJ and said with unnerving calm, “How about, who was the first guy you ever kissed?”

The air left AJ’s lungs. She stared at Toni. She had told her about that in the strictest confidence.

“Well?” said Toni, holding AJ’s gaze with a bored, insolent expression.

And that’s when AJ understood: Tonight had been an act. Toni didn’t want to make up at all; she wanted payback.

AJ’s heart was pounding so hard she might have just stepped off the track. She half glanced at Noah, who did not seem at all perturbed by this turn of events. Maybe he didn’t realize. Maybe he didn’t have to. As for Toni…Toni could go to hell.

“He was my friend,” said AJ evenly.

“Aww,” said Toni, unmoved. “How old?”

Fuck.

“Seventeen.” Beside her, Noah stilled.

“Where were you?” asked Toni, eyes gleaming.

AJ’s temples buzzed. “How many questions is this?”

Xiaobo laughed. “Ooo, she’s embarrassed. Let me see. Was it under the bleachers? In the rain?”

AJ snorted, now actively angling away from Noah.

“Oo, I know. At a Ricky Martin concert,” tried Xiaobo.

Lie, AJ commanded herself. Lie, lie—

“Spit it out!” said Drunk Dave.

Toni’s eyes glinted with predatory glee, and AJ thought fuck it.

She straightened up. “It was at a convention.”

For a split second, the only sound was the sputtering of the torches.

“Wait, you mean like…” Xiaobo made a Vulcan salute.

“Yup.”

Noah had to know. There was no way he didn’t know. But AJ couldn’t risk looking at him. Dave and Xiaobo snickered like hyenas.

Toni wasn’t finished yet. “And how was the actual kiss?”

AJ met her eyes with defiance. “Honestly? It was pretty hot.”

“Pretend like you don’t know how to say that in Klingon,” said Xiaobo, and Dave guffawed.

“Okay, who’s next?” said AJ quickly.

“Noah,” said Xiaobo, and they all turned to face him. As AJ slowly pivoted to join, she found Noah’s eyes on her, his expression unreadable, cheeks slightly flushed.

“Dare,” said Noah.

“Ohhhh,” said the group.

“Kiss AJ,” shouted Drunk Dave.

Now everyone froze.

“Shut up, Dave,” said AJ. Then in Noah’s direction, “Sorry, ignore him.”

She looked at her hands, her face burning. She could feel Toni radiating triumph, which just made this so much worse. AJ would have given anything to disappear.

“Yes, Noah,” said Xiaobo, jumping in. “The Dare Gods have spoken, and they want you to go up to Em’s house and retrieve one of his prized—”

“I can do that,” said Noah. He turned to Xiaobo. “Not that. The other thing.”

Then his thumb was sweeping across AJ’s jawbone, drawing her to him before she had time to react. In the split second their eyes connected, AJ saw want darken his gaze, and suddenly nothing else mattered. AJ’s eyes fluttered closed as he kissed her.

Yes.

He felt her quiver and pulled her close, biting down on her lower lip like it had been on his mind, like he’d been thinking about how to do it. AJ knew this kiss like a catechism—she knew the dark salt of his smell, the gorgeous feeling of his fingers threading into her hair, the way that, as he tasted her, a faint groan escaped his throat that only she could hear.

Shit.

Her whole body had gone pliant. His lips were astonishing, warm and firm and entreating, and oh, the rush of his tongue, beer and honey, gold inside her veins, between her thighs.

Noah pulled back gently, his lips hovering an inch from hers. “Age,” he breathed. I didn’t know.

Sorrow pierced his eyes as he read the response in hers. I never got to tell you.

“I’m going to bed,” announced Toni.

Noah dropped his hand, and AJ fell back to reality.

“What?” protested Drunk Dave, but Toni was already walking away.

AJ held Noah’s gaze a second longer. Then she got up and hurried after Toni.

She caught up to her right outside her room. “What the hell was that?”

Toni rounded on her lazily. “Don’t act like you didn’t love it. We all know you’re crazy for Noah’s dick.”

AJ forced herself to laugh. To make a joke. “It’s ‘Noah Daddy,’ actually.”

Toni’s lip curled as she reached for her door.

“Toni, wait,” said AJ. “I know this is about the stupid part. Just—talk to me.”

Toni pivoted slowly, eyes narrowed. “Stupid part, right,” she repeated. “Because you’re just AJ. You would never want a big, juicy part. This all just happened by accident.”

AJ blinked. “It did.”

Toni threw her head back and laughed. “Bullshit,” she said. “Bullshit. You planned this. You’ve been using your relationship with Noah to get in with Em from day one.”

“What?”

“Oh, come on, Age!” said Toni, her eyes gleaming. “Ian told me. He told me Noah specifically asked for you after the jam—that he went to him and said, ‘It’s AJ.’ ”

AJ’s mouth fell open. “I didn’t know that.”

“I watched him go out after you at McManus,” said Toni. “God, how did I not see it?”

“Maybe because I told him to fuck off,” said AJ, voice shaking. “Which you know.”

Toni was half laughing, half crying. “Are you truly going to stand here and pretend you two weren’t fucking that night I cried to you about Alara? Nice cover story, by the way.”

AJ could not believe what she was hearing. “Wait, are you serious?”

“Just own it, AJ,” said Toni. “There’s no way you two could play like that otherwise.”

“I told you how we trained together,” said AJ, aghast. “Is it really so inconceivable that I might just be good?”

“Yes,” said Toni flatly. “According to Ian—”

“Ian doesn’t know shit,” AJ exploded. “About me, or Noah, or, frankly, Em. Honestly, if you want to talk about fucking for favors, T, you might have aimed a bit higher.”

The words were out before AJ could stop them. Toni’s eyes welled, then they sparked at something over AJ’s shoulder. “What, like you?”

Noah had risen to his feet. He was tracking them, his expression lethal in the firelight.

AJ turned back to Toni, nodding to her room. “Can we finish this inside?”

There was nothing of her friend in Toni’s face as she said, “I think we’re already finished.”

For a moment, the words swizzled through the air; then they razed AJ like a stalk of wheat.

This time, when Toni reached for her door, AJ didn’t try to stop her.

TODD’S COVERAGE, EPISODE 11: “HOT WATER”

Gilamede is harpooned by Nero Paul, an infamous bounty hunter in search of Rho. When Paul overpowers the crew, Ana is forced to save them by using her telepathy, which leaves her in mortal peril.

AJ HAD NEVER BEEN more relieved to be in character. As the crew rushed around the galley, orienting themselves in the wake of Nero Paul’s harpoon attack, AJ hid inside Ana’s dismay.

After her blowout with Toni, she’d gone to her room and cried until she passed out. She’d awoken ravenous at two A.M. to find a paper bag outside her door. In it, she found a family-size box of Reese’s Puffs cereal.

Noah must have gone out for it. To cheer her up.

Now, as the group scrambled into battle stations, he approached her, searching.

For a beat, they stood together in the chaos. Then AJ took his hand.

The glowing set throbbed red with Gilamede’s pain. As Dave and Anjalee dashed past, AJ and Noah flattened themselves against a wall, his hand reflexively covering her lower back. He didn’t remove it until they reached the ladder descending into the crew’s quarters.

Sounds exploded throughout the set as AJ led Noah into Ana’s room. Her dressing nook was the obvious hiding place. It was so small AJ wasn’t even sure they’d be able to fit. But then Noah lightly placed a hand on her hip, moving her directly in front of a camera. Gently, he pulled her down onto her knees, guiding her between his legs as he knelt behind her.

AJ raised her chin. Her lips were six inches from the lens. She heard the faint whir of the focus adjusting and pictured Ian and Em staring back from the control room. Noah’s palm was still on her hip. She could feel his breath on her neck, warm, controlled, and a wave of heat surged through her. They’re watching, she thought. Gradually, Noah lowered his hand.

They stayed like that, her body sheathed in his, for an indeterminate length of time. AJ kept her eyes trained on a nonexistent spot beyond the camera, reminding herself with every breath that they weren’t as alone as this felt.

She absolutely could not think about last night, not the way he kissed her, nor the way her body had responded, nor the way she’d dreamed about him after.

But even with the considerable amount of cold air pumping across the set, the space was small and smelled more like Noah with each passing minute. Just as AJ regained control of herself, another wave of lust would course through her like a sickness.

After what felt like hours, Noah’s hands moved to her hips again, lightly holding her in place. As he lowered one knee and lifted the other, AJ felt his lips an inch from her shoulder and was suddenly overtaken by the urge to arch her back against him, to reach around and grab his thigh, to know what it would really feel like to touch his—

We all know you’re crazy for Noah’s dick.

AJ swallowed hard. She was trash. She was actual trash. She’d just broken up with her friend, and all she could think about was the feel of Noah’s hands through her robes.

As he finished adjusting his position, AJ stayed stiff as a board. Ana and Rho were in danger, for fuck’s sake. All of this was being recorded. Ian and Em were right there. Once again, she felt his hands drop.

Her new mission was to not move. If she didn’t move, she wouldn’t be able to feel the heat emanating from his chest, or the way his thigh was straining against his pants, or the fact that if she so chose, she could have run her hand down the bow of his calf…

AJ was concentrating so intently on not moving that when the bounty hunter’s footsteps clanked into Ana’s bedroom, she jumped, gently bumping back against Noah and—

Holy shit, he was hard.

Noah exhaled sharply, and AJ was hit with another wave of desire—his desire.

AJ’s back arched reflexively, her focus going soft as his hand closed around her hip bone.

She breathed, “No—”

Fuck. Her mouth snapped shut on the second syllable of his name. Fuck. Noah was fighting to control his breath; she heard him swallow with difficulty.

They had no choice but to move on as the bounty hunter’s boots stopped outside the nook.

“I can hear you,” he menaced in a singsong voice. “I can smell you.”

What followed was some of the best improv they had ever done. Rho went out first to protect Ana, and though he initially succeeded in driving the bounty hunter back, the bounty hunter produced a gadget that electrified the shacks in Rho’s wrists—within seconds he was prone.

At the sight of Rho writhing on her bedroom floor, Ana unleashed a telekinetic assault on the bounty hunter, weaving the water in his veins until he died. The episode ended with Ana passing out from the effort, on the verge of death herself.

“I’m thinking Gilamede will subsume her into her wall to keep her from exsanguinating,” Em cheerfully told AJ afterward, outside wardrobe.

AJ knew she should be happy he was speaking to her again, but all she could think of was that moment she’d lost control. Had Em seen it? AJ was pretty sure the camera had only captured them from the shoulders up. But she had no idea what their faces might have shown.

No. All she’d said was no. No could mean anything.

But it didn’t.

As AJ nodded at Em’s idea, she felt a tug and glanced up to see Noah walking toward the trailer. He paused by the door, standing calmly, without expression, just looking at her.

“Well, can you?” said Em, stepping between them.

AJ jumped. “Sorry, what?”

“Dinner at seven,” said Em.

“Oh,” said AJ, giving herself a shake. “Yes, of course.” She watched Noah step inside.

After hearing about these dinners from Ian, AJ anticipated a large banquet complete with Em, Noah, Anjalee, and assorted media execs. She donned her nicest jeans and a silk blouse from Ann Taylor Loft and…she looked like she was about to retake her LinkedIn photo.

Oh well.

But when she arrived at Em’s house at seven, she was shown to the patio where a table had been laid for only four—her, Em, Ian, and Toni.

Fuck. This was the double date from hell.

“No pine nuts tonight,” said Em warmly, passing AJ the salad. His eyes lingered on her as she took the platter from him, and AJ did her best to convince herself it had nothing to do with any faces she might or might not have made on camera that day.

“Oh yeah, you’re allergic, right?” said Ian playfully—he also seemed to have moved past the other day. “How does one even discover that?”

“An…allergy test,” said AJ.

“That is so fascinating,” said Toni, checking her phone.

As the main course arrived, the discussion transitioned from pine nuts to postproduction.

“Em, I’d love to pick your brain on some of the deeper themes,” said Ian.

Across the table, Toni perked up. “Seriously, what’s your underlying inspiration?”

“This may shock you,” said Em. “But I was a very nerdy child.”

From there, he launched into the same monologue he’d given AJ at Thanksgiving. Verbatim. AJ listened, aghast. Every witty aside, every self-effacing shrug, it was all a…routine. AJ told herself this didn’t make Em any less brilliant, but with each rehearsed mannerism, his halo seemed to dim.

Ian and Toni were an excellent audience—they oohed and aahed with hearts in their eyes. As AJ watched them nod and smile, she began to understand what the two of them had in common, and she did not like it. One or both of them had probably heard this all before—they simply did not care. They’d laugh at anything, say anything for a kernel of Em’s approval.

Oh, God. Was this how AJ seemed to Noah?

As Em began his rhapsody on Ghostbusters, she refilled her wineglass.

The more Em spoke, the more Ian and Toni fawned, and the more AJ drank. By the time the meal finally ended, AJ was tipsy enough that Em himself offered to walk her back.

“I’m really fine,” said AJ as Ian escorted Toni inside, presumably to his room.

“I don’t mind,” said Em, tucking her arm in his. “I wanted to ask you a few things.”

He had several thoughts about Ana’s arc, which he belabored as they took the stone path from the palazzo to the guest terrace. From the top of the stairs, AJ could see the firepit blazing below.

“Thanks for dinner,” she said. “And for…everything else.”

“Let me get you down these stairs,” said Em.

AJ took one stair to demonstrate her stability. “That’s okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She made it two more steps before he called to her.

“AJ.” She turned, and he gave her a look she couldn’t decipher. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

AJ waved once awkwardly, then descended into the courtyard. Dave and Xiaobo motioned her over. AJ felt a stab of disappointment to see Noah’s light on in his room.

“How’d that go?” asked Xiaobo.

“Did you and Toni kiss and make up?” asked Dave.

AJ laughed, wiping a hand over her face. “No.”

Dave and Xiaobo exchanged pouts.

“I don’t get it,” said Dave. “This wasn’t, like, a surprise. We all saw you and Noah at UCB.”

Xiaobo shook his head. “She’ll get over it.”

AJ doubted it, but she was glad of Dave and Xiaobo’s support, just the same. She chatted with them for five more minutes, then withdrew to her room. By the time she had bathed, Noah’s window had gone dark. Almost like he’d been waiting up for her.

As AJ lay awake in bed, his eyes seared in and out of her thoughts. Alone here in the quiet, she could finally admit that all of her selves, past and present, weak and strong, right and wrong, had aligned on this one point: she would have been willing to live out her entire existence in that fleeting moment between his thighs.

TODD’S COVERAGE, EPISODE 12: “HORSES”

Rho brings an unconscious Ana to the healers on the Naval Capitol planet, sacrificing himself—and his quest for Alara—so that Ana and the crew can escape. When Ana awakens on Gilamede to find that Rho has been captured by the Navy, she learns his true identity and is forced to choose between the world she knows and her own truth.

“TURN AROUND,” SAID ANA.

The lights in the cargo bay flashed once—a warning from Gilamede.

“Ana, stand down,” said the captain.

Ana spoke through gritted teeth. “I will not leave Rho.”

Then she knelt, placing both hands on the the floor of the cargo bay and closing her eyes. The set lights flickered then stilled as Gilamede finally obeyed.

Ana Tar rose and gave the stunned crew one last look. Then she ran off the crale after Rho.

AJ arrived alone in the dim light of the soundstage, breathing hard.

She could hear the cast shuffling toward her. Then the door to the control room opened and Ian and Em appeared, closely followed by Noah. His eyes shone fierce with pride.

“That’s a wrap—well, not for you two,” said Em, nodding to AJ and Noah, who still had to film Ana and Rho’s final stand the next day. “But for the ensemble, that’s it. You did it.”

For a moment, they all stood dazed. It was over.

Then applause and cheers broke out and the entire cast embraced outside the crale set. Amid the huddle, AJ felt a hand on her back and knew without looking that it was Noah’s.

As the hug disbanded, they casually sidled up to each other.

“Wrap party at mine tonight,” said Em magnanimously.

“Woo, party at the big man’s house!” cried Dave. “Time to let loose!”

As the cast headed for wardrobe in ones and twos, Em pulled AJ aside. “You’ll be there, right?” he said, touching her shoulder.

“Of course,” said AJ. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Good,” he said, giving her a squeeze. “We should talk.”

“Sure,” said AJ. She waited for him to remove his hand, aware that Noah was nearby. She didn’t want any more confusion over this. Not now. When Em finally released her, she said a very perfunctory “See ya,” and left.

Getting ready that night, AJ thought only of Noah. She chose an ivory tank top she’d pilfered from Libby in college. It was a rare color that made her look more golden than pink, with lace details revealing just enough cleavage. Her good jeans were a no-brainer. She left her hair down.

She felt almost tired with adrenaline; something was going to happen tonight. She just knew it.

The party was already in full swing by the time AJ arrived. She quickly spotted Ian drinking beside a neon fresco of Our Lady of Mount Carmel. As AJ inched closer, she recognized a few actors from Em’s other shows out on the dance floor, Dave and Toni among them.

“Fancy seeing you at this WB mixer,” said AJ, landing beside Ian.

“A taste of things to come,” he said. “You did good, Age. Really good.” He handed her a ruby cocktail, and it felt like a gold star. Like no matter what else had happened, they were okay.

“What is this?” she asked, sniffing the drink to hide her relief.

“Persephone’s Fall, according to Em’s artisanal bar chalkboard, but I think it’s just vodka and pomegranate juice.” AJ took a sip. The concoction bit back.

At that moment, “Jay Jay” boomed over the DJ’s sound system, which could mean only one thing: Anjalee was in the house. AJ looked up to see her striding in on five-inch stilettos, her immaculate body wrapped in another minute dress. Behind her, Noah reluctantly followed, the long flow of Anjalee’s hair billowing across his dark oxford shirt and jeans.

“She definitely knows how to make an entrance,” said Ian.

Anjalee was now attempting to pull Noah out onto the dance floor, but he was digging in his heels like a dog outside the vet. AJ felt sick as she glanced down at her own ensemble, which, she now recalled, had been entirely purchased from Old Navy.

On the dance floor, Drunk Dave piped up. “Show some gallantry, Noah!”

“Why don’t you?” said Xiaobo, pulling Dave into a full dip. As everyone cheered, Noah relented, taking Anjalee into his arms. They looked good together. Good and famous.

AJ cringed. What the fuck had she been thinking? Noah was a professional actor; he was accustomed to his body reacting during shoots. That moment kneeling together had meant nothing to him. It was just part of the show. Oh fuck. That shot could not end up in the show.

“E,” said AJ quietly. “Can I ask you a favor?”

Ian saw the concern in her eyes and nodded. “Of course.”

AJ’s cheeks burned. “There is one specific thing I…really don’t want in the final.” In a few words, she told him of how she’d broken character.

As she finished, Toni marched off the dance floor, heading straight for them. “Let’s go, Farnum,” she said, reaching right past AJ to give Ian’s collar a tug.

“Leave it with me,” he told AJ. Then he let himself be led away, taking that gold star with him.

AJ watched helplessly from the shadows as Toni claimed Ian for herself. Within minutes, she, Ian, Xiaobo, and Dave were dancing in a group. And AJ—AJ was not missed. She emptied her drink, dropping the used glass on a passing tray. So much for Dave and Xiaobo’s fireside pep talk. Was this a preview of how life would be back in New York?

Fuck. None of this had been remotely worth it.

“Hey.”

Em had appeared at AJ’s side. He hadn’t changed for the party—total power move. This was his house. These were his people. He didn’t need to impress anyone.

“Hey,” said AJ, her gaze automatically returning to the dance floor. Noah was giving in to the music now, Anjalee undulating in his embrace. He was having fun despite himself, and the look on Anjalee’s face was somewhere between triumph and vengeance. AJ felt a fresh pang of jealousy.

“They look great together, don’t they?”

“Definitely,” said AJ, heart thudding. She watched Toni and Dave Eiffel Tower Xiaobo, watched the three of them howl with laughter.

“Dancing’s never really been my thing,” said Em.

“Mine either,” said AJ. Anjalee now had her wrists loosely crossed behind Noah’s neck. AJ couldn’t see his face anymore. She didn’t want to.

“Is now a good time to talk?” said Em. “I figured, if you wanted a break from the party…”

AJ met his keen eyes and realized abruptly that she had become someone Em Tyner knew, someone he was watching over. That maybe all this had been worth it. Very worth it.

AJ smiled shyly. “Sure, yeah. I could use a break.”

Em gave her a quick nod, then he turned into the throng. A pathway appeared as he walked, dozens of eyes taking note as AJ followed him up the stairs. By the time they reached the second floor, her heart had begun to race. Wordlessly, she trailed Em down a dim corridor.

He stopped in front of a thick antique door and showed her into a palatial office the size of AJ’s entire loft. Three archways opened onto a balcony, which AJ assumed overlooked the property, though the view beyond was shrouded in night. A presidential desk had been situated like an altar against the far wall, facing three enormous leather couches on a burgundy hand-knotted rug.

“Can I get you a drink?” asked Em. “Whiskey good?”

“Sure,” said AJ, though she suddenly felt unsure. She took a seat on the leather couch facing the door. Em walked over to a large credenza and uncorked a crystal decanter.

“So, we’re almost wrapped,” he said.

“I know, what a whirlwind,” said AJ.

“It always is,” said Em, walking over to her, two glass tumblers in hand. He held one out to AJ. “Have you thought of how you want your screen credit to appear?”

“I hadn’t,” said AJ, accepting the drink. He stood over her, waiting for her to take a sip. AJ swirled the contents, considering his question, wanting him to step back.

“What about your real name?” Em prompted, taking a seat beside her. “What is it?”

“Oh, I don’t use it,” said AJ, who was never eager to part with this information, and who felt that to do so now would be agreeing to a level of intimacy she wasn’t prepared for.

She had never been alone with Em, and the atmosphere was heady. He was incredibly powerful, and the richly appointed room was silently reminding her of it.

“Why do you ask?”

Em shrugged. “AJ’s a little tomboyish.”

This made AJ laugh. “Well, then it fits.”

Em was not amused. “It’s worth thinking about,” he pressed. “Like, not just for this project, but for where you want to be five years from now.”

“Gainfully employed, with health insurance?”

“That’s funny,” said Em. “You’re funny.”

“You’re not laughing,” said AJ, who had had just enough to drink to talk back. Em’s eyes ignited at this. AJ suddenly found herself wishing she’d worn a less revealing shirt.

“I guess I’m not,” he said. He gave her an intent look, and AJ forced herself to return it. “I don’t think you realize what’s about to happen for you. When people see you in this show, your phone is going to be ringing off the hook.”

“Why?” said AJ.

Em laughed. “Because,” he said. “You’re going to be one of the hottest names in town.”

“You mean, as an actor?” she said. Could he really declare something like that? As if it were a fact?

Em laughed again. “You really are funny.”

AJ tried to picture it, but the image of herself on a red carpet seemed photoshopped even in her own mind. She’d loved playing Ana, but the idea of acting apart from this show, apart from Noah…

“I don’t know,” she said. “I actually always wanted…”

“What?” said Em, and AJ’s stomach twisted. In all their conversations, she’d never worked up the nerve to share her true ambition. She took a breath.

“I want to write.”

Em laughed at her. “No. Sorry. You belong on camera. Such a breath of fresh air.”

His dismissal was so firm AJ went mute. She now found herself somewhere she never meant to be, caught, a fish in a net. Em seemed to be expecting something. AJ heard herself thank him.

“I’ve helped a lot of breakouts through this moment.” Em went right on with the script in his head, director and ingenue. “And I want you to know that whatever comes up, you have my support.”

As his knee inched toward hers, AJ began to float outside of her body. Was this really happening? This scene she had heard about, seen a thousand times. It seemed so cliché, and yet she was still sitting here, letting him tell her who she was, letting him come closer.

“Thanks,” said AJ again. “That means a lot,” she added when he continued to stare.

He nodded. Was he totally oblivious that he had just coerced the response he wanted from her? Was he really unaware of the power imbalance between them?

“It can be hard out there,” he said, “knowing who to trust. You’re really special, AJ. I would never want to see you get hurt.”

Then he placed his hand on her thigh. AJ’s reaction was immediate revulsion, but to her own horror, she didn’t remove it or get up. She just stared at his fingers undulating on her leg, like a fleshy starfish.

She didn’t know what to do. Now she ran the risk of actually rebuffing him, and she had the acute sense that whatever “fresh air” he saw in her would go up in smoke if she wasn’t as receptive as he clearly expected her to be. Had she somehow unwittingly solicited this?

AJ still hadn’t looked up, but Em was getting closer. She could feel his breath on her collarbone. Was he going to try to kiss her? Should she let him? She didn’t know what scared her more—having to receive his advances or fucking herself over by refusing them.

A knock shook the thick antique door.

“Damn,” said Em quietly. “It’s not a good time,” he called.

“Is AJ in there?”

It was Noah. He didn’t wait for a response before barging in. His eyes flew to AJ, rigid on the couch, Em’s hand still on her thigh, and the channel between them roared open.

Noah was furious. AJ had never seen him this mad. He looked wild, but that was nothing to what he felt. His rage was like a black wind howling out from that endless darkness.

“Age,” he said. Come here.

AJ couldn’t move. “Sorry—”

“What is it, Noah?” said Em, fuming.

“This can’t wait,” said Noah, his eyes fixed on hers.

“Hang on just a minute—” said Em.

“AJ,” said Noah. He held out his hand.

The sound of him saying her name unlocked AJ’s legs. As she jolted to her feet, her hip knocked Em’s tumbler askew. Amber liquid sloshed across the leather cushion where she’d been sitting. For a moment, she stared at the darkening stain. “I’m sorry,” she breathed.

Then she crossed the room.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated to Em once she was safely beside Noah.

Em looked livid, his arched eyebrows raised in disdain. He sat motionless, surrounded by his lavish furnishings, and AJ knew as they left that they had angered a wrathful god.

WALKING FROM THE HOUSE, Noah’s hand found hers. He didn’t let go until they’d arrived at her room. Once they stopped in front of her door, AJ understood why. She was shaking uncontrollably. Noah lifted the rattling keys from her fingers and let them inside.

AJ flipped on the light and wished instantly that she hadn’t left every T-shirt she brought to California strewn on the bed. As she gathered up her clothing, she heard Noah close the door behind them. The music from the party thumped metallic in the distance.

Holy shit.

“I think we might have just fucked ourselves,” she said, hugging her clothes.

“I don’t care,” said Noah.

And neither did AJ. All that mattered was that Noah had come for her, and that they were finally alone. She felt his hand touch her arm. Gently, he pried the laundry from her grip.

“You should sit,” he said, and AJ sank onto the bed as he tossed the clothes into her closet. He walked into her bathroom and returned a moment later with a glass of water.

He lowered himself beside her as AJ gulped it down. She could feel the rolling aftershocks of his anger as he took the empty cup from her hand and placed it on the nightstand.

Their eyes connected; his were full of concern. AJ tried to smile reassuringly. “I suppose I should say ‘you were right.’ ” Her voice sounded thinner than usual.

Noah shook his head in exasperation. “Are you okay? Did he—”

AJ shook her head. “Your timing was impeccable,” she said. She caught a trace of something noxious and floral on his shirt—residue of Anjalee. “I’m surprised you knew where I was. You had your hands pretty full.”

Noah looked at her like she was an idiot. “I always know where you are,” he said, and AJ felt electricity surge between them. Her heart began to pound. This was it. He was going to touch her.

But he didn’t. Instead, he stood, taking a few steps toward the door. “We’ve got an early call tomorrow. If you’re good, I should head back to my room.”

Confusion doused AJ like snowmelt. The channel between them was still wide open; Noah absolutely did not want to head back to his room.

“No,” she said quietly. “You should stay.”

Noah looked at her then immediately away. “This can’t happen,” he said at length. “I’m sorry.”

AJ didn’t understand. “Noah—”

His eyes were opaque, resigned. “I only want what’s best for you. Please trust me.”

The air was getting thin now. She could hardly take it in. “Trust you?”

The warring parts of AJ that had lain down in their desire for him violently awoke at his refusal.

First humiliation, stinging her cheeks, her throat, her eyes.

Then anger, ballooning out like an airbag, filling the room, pushing him away.

“You can go fuck yourself,” she said, trying to wrench off the valve between them.

Noah hated that. “Age—” he said, stepping back into the room despite himself.

AJ was on her feet now, all the hurt she’d buried trying to express itself at once. “Trust you?”

“It’s late,” he said gently, his expression pained. “You’ve been drin—”

“You left.” She gasped as the sounds tore from her throat. “You were everything to me and you fucking left.”

The words struck Noah like a blow. AJ felt a lick of heat peel off that dark mass inside him. “I was protecting you,” he said, a warning light in his eye.

“Protecting me?” she said in disbelief. “You fucked me up.”

“No,” Noah exploded. “No. I didn’t. It wasn’t perfect, but I left you unharmed, surrounded by your family. Whatever you define as fucked-up, I guarantee it was a relative breeze compared to what it could have been if we’d—”

He cut himself off, running a hand over his face.

“Wow, great apology,” said AJ. She was getting to him.

“I’m not sorry,” said Noah. “I did the best I could, and I did the right thing.” He plunged his hands into his pockets and walked over to the glass door. He stared at his own reflection then drew the curtain over it. He didn’t turn around.

AJ stood watching his back. Then she asked the question that had festered inside her for seven years. “So what happened?”

For a moment, Noah didn’t respond. “I really don’t want to talk about it.”

But part of him did. Part of him really did.

“Everything was fine and then one day it wasn’t,” said AJ, speaking to that part. “That night—”

“Leave it alone,” he said quietly. “Please.”

“No,” said AJ. “You owe me this much. If you didn’t have a good reason—”

“I had a good reason,” said Noah, turning to face her, his eyes set. “But knowing it won’t make this better.”

“Tell me,” said AJ, her voice trembling.

He sighed in frustration. “This isn’t the conversation you think it is.”

“And what conversation is that?” AJ fired back.

“The one where I eventually confess to some stupid-but-forgivable thing I did when I was twenty-one, and you get to punish me until you can reconcile how much I hurt you with how much we want to fuck each other, and then we get to start over like nothing ever happened.”

AJ glared at him, refusing to show her shock at this outburst. “Okay,” she said defiantly. “So what conversation is this, then?”

Noah paced back toward the glass door. That inner blackness was shaking now, glowing rivers of pain flowing out like lava. He took his hands from his pockets and ran them both over his face. When he turned back to her, his eyes were glistening.

“Damn it, AJ, you don’t know what you’re asking,” he said, his voice breaking. “I can’t. I won’t. You’ll never look at me the same again.”

There was no melodrama in his words, and alarm bells began to chime in AJ’s gut. A few fantastical possibilities flashed through her mind. Had he committed an unforgivable crime?

As she felt that dark wound weep inside him, a white calm overtook AJ, the kind she often felt during Emily’s tantrums. She sat down on the bed and looked at her hands.

“Try me,” she said finally.

Noah inhaled sharply. He was going to leave. AJ couldn’t breathe.

Then his shoulders stooped, and a look of exhaustion passed over his features. He sank down beside her, his enormous hands resting on his thighs. That dark expanse had begun to quiet, ash snowing down to cover the pain. AJ realized she could sense it because they were actually getting closer. As they reached the shadow’s edge, Noah gave her one last look.

Then he took her inside.

“Have you heard of Huntington’s disease?”

Slowly, AJ shook her head.

Noah nodded. “It’s a neurodegenerative disorder,” he said calmly. “It’s very rare—it affects about three in every hundred thousand people. It’s progressive and it’s incurable, a combo of ALS, Alzheimer’s, and Parkinson’s.”

AJ felt a buzzing at her temple. “That sounds…awful.”

Noah nodded. “That’s what my mom had.”

AJ shivered, recalling that blue room at Simmons. “I’m so sorry,” she said. She thought back. “I guess it’s good they eventually figured out what it was.”

Noah blinked uneasily. “They figured it out that summer. I knew that night I came into work. When we played premise lawyers.”

The night he’d cried in her arms. AJ hadn’t been expecting this—she’d thought he would say he’d learned the day of the convention. That he’d been so overwhelmed he’d had to get away.

No one should know how they’re going to die.

Cold dread snaked through AJ’s intestines. “Wait, so you knew that whole last month?”

Noah nodded. They were very near it now, the thing he didn’t want her to see.

“I don’t understand,” said AJ. “Why not tell me?”

Noah was silent. AJ watched the tendons on the backs of his hands flex and then smooth into fists. “Because I didn’t want you to know,” he said at last. “HD is hereditary. Children have a fifty-fifty chance of inheriting the gene.”

A genetic coin toss. AJ felt as though the oxygen had been sucked from the room.

“My mom didn’t know her birth parents, so she never knew there was a family history.” He pushed on. “When we found out about her, I was given the option to test.”

If you’re going to die, it’s better to know.

That night hadn’t been about his mother’s diagnosis at all.

It had been about his.

“So you—do you—”

Noah nodded, eyes fixed on his hands.

AJ’s adrenal glands surged. Her mind snapped back to that blue room, the skeletal creature inside, the one with Noah’s coloring, his cheekbones. That would be Noah. When? His mom hadn’t been that old. No. This wasn’t possible. He was here, and he was beautiful, and—

Oh God.

“It takes about a month to get the results. I found out the day of the convention,” he said. “I don’t even remember driving there. Honestly, I only went to see you. I had to see you.”

Now AJ couldn’t breathe.

Noah was still looking at his fists. “That was such a dark time in my life, then you came out of nowhere like this playful ray of sunshine, and you were just so fucking beautiful. The first time we touched, I was just…gone. I was so unbelievably gone for you, and you had no idea.”

He smiled sadly and met her eyes.

“That summer, I thought my biggest problem was going to be keeping my hands off you. We’re only four years apart, but at that age…it was just wrong. And that wasn’t what I wanted for us.”

He had never looked at her this way before, even in a scene—with such steady, unmasked longing. AJ felt her throat constrict.

“That’s why I left,” he said roughly. “I’d been so careful for so long. But I was twenty-one, and I’d just been handed a death sentence. The first chance I had, I was kissing you, which was all I’d wanted to do for months. After, I couldn’t believe what I’d done. I had to clear my head. I told Eudora about my diagnosis the next morning and left.”

The two of them sat in silence, remembering. Suddenly it all made sense. The volatility of his feelings that night. The way she’d been convinced she could hear him silently screaming.

He must have been so scared. “Where did you go?”

“My dad’s,” said Noah. He turned to her. “You have no idea how bad I wanted to get back to Gladstone. I didn’t want to waste another second of my life. I was going to tell you everything, how I felt, what was happening. And then get my shit together, go back to West Point.”

He paused, biting the inside of his cheek. His eyes were glistening. “I actually called them up to make sure my spot was still good,” he said, his tone stilted. “That’s when I found out that with HD, I’m no longer considered medically fit to serve.”

AJ’s heart broke for him. “Shit.”

Noah nodded. “Yeah. After that, I sort of fell off the wagon for a while.”

Unease crept down AJ’s spine. “Meaning?”

Noah sighed. “Honestly, anything I could get my hands on. And anyone,” he said. “They call it sensation seeking. It’s a pretty common response.”

Her stomach twisted. “So much for not wanting dead-eyed actresses.”

“I wasn’t going to save them,” said Noah bluntly. “But I could save you, or at least keep you the fuck away from me.”

AJ’s eyes welled. “You could have told me,” she said. “We could have handled it together—”

Noah gave her a cold smile. “Oh yeah, nothing says ‘adaptive coping strategy’ like someone barely above legal drinking age going to someone under the legal age of consent with a life-and-death situation. That would have been great.”

“Better than you being a coke whore in the valley for two years.”

“It was eight months,” said Noah quietly. “I had to get it together to go be with my mom. You were gone by then,” he added, before AJ could ask. He rubbed the heel of his hand in his eye.

“Watching her—watching everything that was—is—going to happen to me…Age, it’s so fucking terrifying. But seeing it also got me to focus. I found a good team of doctors and made a plan, like you said. Knowledge is agency. That’s also when I got serious about acting.”

AJ sat stunned. He had based his entire response to this on something she’d made up seven years ago in an improv game. She said the only thing on her mind. “You should have told me.”

Noah took a deep breath and exhaled. “I didn’t know how,” he admitted. “At first I didn’t have the words. Then I didn’t want to. I was mad. Like, really mad.”

AJ gaped at him. “At me?” she asked. Noah nodded. “What for?”

His eyes were full. “For existing,” he said. “For showing me things I wouldn’t have known to want if not for you. For being everything I can never have.”

AJ didn’t know what to say to this; he didn’t seem to expect a response. “After a while, so much time had passed I figured it was better just to let it lie—that by then, it was less selfish just to let you hate me and move on with your life.” He looked pained. “For what it’s worth, Eudora was always appalled by how I handled it.”

AJ bristled. “She’s one to judge.”

Noah gave her an inquiring look.

“You know how she ended things, right?” said AJ, unable to conceal her anger.

“Yes,” said Noah. He frowned. “I asked her not to tell anyone. She was…honoring that. And I think, in her head, she was setting you free.”

Setting her free?

You’re perfectly fine. Average.

A precision strike to make sure AJ left and never looked back. Or asked any questions.

This was too much to absorb. AJ had hated Eudora for the last seven years. To hear now that it had all just been theater…AJ looked at Noah with the full force of her regret.

“It didn’t work,” she said finally. I’m here.

Noah closed his eyes and bowed his head. “AJ, the weight is tremendous,” he said at last. He looked at her. “I could never burden another person with this.”

I can’t be with you was what he meant.

AJ’s mind slowed in response, snagging on an image of Noah at his mother’s bedside, staring down the horrors in his own future…all this ash inside him. That’s what it was—the extinguished hopes for his own possibilities.

But AJ was undaunted.

“You could try,” she said, and felt a distant rumble from deeper within the darkness. There was something in there, beyond what he was showing her, that agreed. She could feel it.

Noah shook his head. “There’s no point,” he said. “Either way, one of us is fucked.”

“You don’t know that,” said AJ. “How could you? We don’t even know what us is.”

Noah gave her a withering look. “I do,” he said. “I’ve always known. And I think you do too, so let’s not insult each other by pretending this would ever be casual.”

AJ’s mouth went dry. “Okay,” she said. “Then wouldn’t the greater insult be not to give it a shot?”

Noah shook his head. “The greater insult would be me getting in the way of you finding someone who can offer you a full life,” he said. “I won’t deprive you of that. You still have time.”

AJ felt queasy. “And what about you?”

“I accepted how things are a long time ago,” said Noah placidly.

“Wow, okay,” said AJ. “So you’re happy with your steady diet of meaningless sex, is what you’re saying.”

Noah threw his head back. “No,” he erupted. “I’m saying that I’ve had years to adjust to the fact that I’m not capable of loving another person the way that I love you.”

AJ’s eyes flew to his face. He was looking at her half in irritation, half in awe, and that was when AJ saw that Noah had also locked away a part of himself. It was as if she’d found a giant glass dome at the heart of that black sadness, and there he was looking out. Behind him stood a village of all the memories he’d made before he knew; at his feet lay two monstrous hounds. One was old and worn—what was left of his hope. The other was healthy and strong—his love for her. When that great darkness smoldered and shook, it was because those dogs were trying to get out.

But he had no intention of freeing them.

“Noah—”

He lifted the fingers of his right hand, and AJ fell silent. “If there’s one thing this disease has taught me, it’s that sometimes it’s better to quit while you’re ahead.”

Stunned, AJ folded her hands. Noah looked at her unguarded, tears welling in his eyes. “I think about you all the time.”

AJ couldn’t speak. Instead, carefully, she reached up and touched his cheek. His eyes drifted closed, and he let his head sink into her palm. Such ferocious beauty. Everything about him screamed vitality and strength.

“You seem so…okay,” she said at last.

“I am,” said Noah, his eyes reopening. Tenderly, he took her hand and held it between his own.

“HD is a ticking time bomb—you’re fine until you’re not,” he said evenly. “I haven’t presented physically yet, and I’m taking every preventative step I can. I exercise around the clock—that’s supposed to help. And having Bud on set is good for my mental health. I don’t normally demand she be made part of the cast, but I’m also not normally locked in a cell for days on end, and it wasn’t worth risking a depressive episode. And there are other precautions I’ve taken to limit…risk.”

AJ listened to this upbeat if detached explanation and understood afresh that Noah allowed nothing beyond this quiet, manicured plan to exist inside himself; everything else, he’d already relinquished to the illness. Control by surrender. All that remained of spontaneity, of play, was the golden cord of their connection, and even that was bound to the confines of a scene.

“With luck, I should have until I’m forty-five or -six,” he was saying.

AJ’s face clouded. “And then what happens?”

Noah looked at her softly. “Then, I gradually lose control of my faculties, and then my limbs, and eventually my ability to swallow. Most Huntington patients choke to death.”

Tears spilled down her cheeks as she remembered what it had been like to sit with his mother as her body betrayed her. AJ had only glimpsed the start of her symptoms.

“I’m not going to let it get that far,” said Noah reassuringly. “The second I can’t drive myself anymore, I’m getting on the next flight to Oregon. It’s all part of the plan.”

This reference AJ understood. Oregon was the only state where physician-assisted suicide was legal.

Sometimes it’s better to quit while you’re ahead.

“Noah,” she gasped. “You can’t. When I said that, I didn’t—”

“I know. But that’s the shape of this.” He reached up and wiped the tears from her cheeks, still calm. “It’s okay. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but apart from this, I lead a very charmed life. I love my work. I do.” His brow furrowed. “I really, really don’t want you to feel sorry for me.”

“I don’t,” said AJ, but was that even true? She would be lying if she said she had a grip on any of what he’d just told her. Part of her was still stuck on his admission that he loved her. Surely that meant there was some way for them to be together…

“So you don’t want a partner? Or a family?”

“I can never have a family,” he said flatly. “I literally can’t. I had a vasectomy when I was twenty-two. When I die, I’m taking this particular strain of the disease with me.”

For some reason, this was the thing that finally made it real for AJ. The prospect of his decline was horrifying, but to a twenty-four-year-old, forty-six was a lifetime away, part of a wide-open future. But this, this precaution, as he’d called it—this was a hard certainty.

And right now, AJ wasn’t certain about anything.

A week ago she would have killed to impress Em Tyner, and tonight she’d walked out on him. A month ago, she had sworn off acting for good, and now she was slated to be the lead in a network drama. She had no idea if she wanted kids. It wasn’t something she actively thought about, but she wasn’t at all prepared to give up the option. Suddenly, AJ felt very tired.

Noah sensed the shift in her but wasn’t surprised by it. After a moment he said, “I don’t think I need to tell you that this stays between us. You’re the only one who knows, apart from my doctors and Eudora.”

AJ opened her mouth to thank him for telling her, but then closed it for the shame of having forced him to do so. He gave her a worn smile. Then he stood.

Her heart clanged in alarm. “Where are you going?”

“I’ve had a lot more time to process this than you,” he said kindly. “I think it’s for the best that I go. But at least now you can see why?”

AJ felt herself nod.

Noah looked at her intently. “I want you to have a full life,” he said. “You deserve a normal life.”

AJ wanted to stop him, she wanted to tell him to stay. But instead, she sat amazed as he crossed the room, drew back the door, and stepped out into the night.

She remained like a sentry, watching his shadow recede. She waited for herself to start crying, but she just continued to stare and stare at the place where he had been.

SOMETIME LATER, AJ AWOKE to find that she had passed out in her clothes. The music up the hill had stopped. The clock read 2:16 A.M.

Then it all came rushing back: the crale and Ian and Toni and Em and Noah.

AJ’s mind was alight. She knew Noah had been right to leave, that she was still reeling. She had heard every word he’d said. He loved her, but he could never be with her.

And yet as AJ got to her feet, she found her body was still where it had been hours before, when she had been getting ready, when she had been sure something was about to happen.

Trust your body, Ezell had written in Laughter & Death. The mind thinks, but the body knows.

AJ got in the shower and rinsed herself off. Then she threw on the shapeless white maxi shift she had packed in case of a beach day and nothing else. She turned out her light.

There was no one in the courtyard as she crossed to Noah’s room, only the faint whisper of the automatic torches. Noah’s curtain was drawn, but AJ could make out the soft glow of his bedside lamp. Tentatively, she opened his door.

As she stepped through, Bud looked up from a pile of Noah’s laundry in the closet and let out a single bark. Then she tucked her head back into one of Noah’s shirts.

Noah was reclining in bed, reading. He wore nothing but glasses and a pair of boxer briefs. AJ had never seen him without his clothes, and her breath caught as she took in the smooth skin of his chest, the long lines of his arms, his abs, his legs. The size of him. She knew his height, his power, but seeing him like this, undressed and reposed, sent every thought from her head.

He looked at her then, surprised perhaps, but not unhappy. He opened his mouth to speak, but AJ gently raised her hand, wait, and he closed it. For a moment, the air filled with the things they might say to each other.

I heard everything you said.

Then why are you here?

But they didn’t need it. The rest of the world had fallen away, and AJ was back outside that glass dome, and he was letting her inside. There was room for one more memory.

Noah knew he’d gotten through to her, that she wasn’t here to fight him. He knew that her grief hadn’t even begun, that in this brief window before it hit, what she needed was to feel. He knew exactly why she’d come. He swallowed, his eyes black in the low light. He closed his book.

AJ watched him sit up, watched his feet land on the floor, right then left, and she knew that it had taken the last of his self-control to walk out of her room. That his careful movements were an attempt to mask a need for her so intense he feared he might frighten her. That she was going to have to be the one to touch him first.

AJ took a step forward, and then another, and switched off his bedside lamp with a click. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she reached up to remove his glasses, and he let her, shivering as her fingertips brushed his cheek. She folded the lenses with care and placed them on the nightstand beside his book.

She stood before him and touched his cheek again, taking the weight of his head in her hand. His fingers encircled her wrist, his eyelids sinking closed.

The skirt of her dress rode up as she slid onto the bed to straddle his lap. He got very still as she ran her fingers through his hair, touseled and silken and so at odds with the visceral strength of his body. AJ tipped his head back, back, until he was looking up at her, helpless, desire pooling in his eyes.

She was dissolving as his hands traveled up her calves and thighs to palm her ass, pulling her into him. He was as hard as he’d been the day before, and AJ arched against his cock as she’d wanted to then, and oh, she was liquid now, her hands slipping down his neck, over the sculpted muscles of his shoulder blades. His skin was warm and supple. She let her lips graze up the column of his neck to the base of his scalp and inhaled deeply. God, his scent. Noah shuddered in response.

What happened next was lightning—erratic, electric. Ancient tension on its fastest path to release. Noah tugged off her shift, his teeth scraping the underside of her breasts as she reached into his boxer briefs, and oh God. She couldn’t help it. She slid against his cock in one lush movement, soft and spilling. Noah throbbed. Wait, he warned, biting down on her nipple. Then those hands, his hands, grasped her hips, guiding her over him, closer, closer, until—AJ gasped. Such exquisite pressure as he filled her. Noah grunted, eyes slamming shut in concentration, and AJ should not be so close yet, not from just this, but oh, his lips were on her neck now, his breath hot and jagged, and fuck, she wasn’t going to last at all. As she clenched, a pathetic, needy noise escaped her, and Noah’s eyes shot open. One look at her and his restraint blew. He grabbed her jaw, pulling her to him, and as their lips met, they both started to come, so hard they both groaned, which only made them come faster.

As AJ went limp over his shoulder, his arms wrapped tight around her waist. She could feel his heart riot the way it had after their first kiss, and she closed her eyes as he held her. Her skin was tingling; her body was speaking to his on a molecular level. I know you, it was saying. I wished for you, hummed each cell, each fiber. They stayed like that for a long time.

Gradually, Noah’s arms loosened. AJ eased off him, and they sat side by side, stunned by the magnitude of what they’d just done. Without looking at her, Noah placed his hand on top of hers, then got up to use the bathroom. When he finished, AJ followed, shocked to see her own face under the vanity’s harsh yellow light. It took her a few minutes to pee, she was still so turned on, and when she finished she was uneven on her feet. She washed her hands for twice as long as usual, letting the water run over her wrists, her mind completely blank.

When she opened the bathroom door, Noah was outside. He was completely naked now, and he was hard again, and wow. This time, he was the one to touch her first, his hands in her hair, his tongue in her mouth, his cock flat against her stomach. Want spasmed between AJ’s legs as he backed her into the bathroom and turned her around, so that her hip bones were flush against the cool Carrara marble of the sink. Without hesitation, he entered her from behind.

Both of them winced at the intensity of it, AJ folding forward, Noah’s face convulsing in an almost agonized expression. Then his hands wrapped around her waist, and he began to fuck her so hard that AJ understood. This wasn’t just what he’d wanted yesterday; this was what he’d always wanted, how he’d always wanted it. He held her gaze in the mirror, and all AJ could do was stare at the hunger in his eyes, until the friction became so consuming her vision blurred.

Here was thunder—outrage, sorrow, possession. Mine, said his hands as they dug into her hips. Mine, mine, mine, said his body as he thrust farther and farther inside her. Mine in his eyes as AJ began to come from that deep, satisfying place, building and building. She gasped, caving forward, dumb with the sensation of him fucking her. Then she lifted her eyes to his, and he lost control. Mine, she thought as his face contorted. Mine, she thought as he came inside her.

Gently, almost apologetically, he pulled back. AJ drew herself up, one vertebra at a time, cold stripes on her skin from the marble. Noah’s breathing was still ragged as he kissed her on the lips, then on the forehead, then on the lips again, her face cupped in his hands.

They cleaned themselves up and fell into his bed. AJ was grateful there didn’t seem to be a question of her staying. Noah just slid his arm beneath her neck like a pillow and engulfed her in his embrace, and AJ thought quite calmly that it would be okay with her if she died. That she would be fine to go to sleep and not wake up from this.

But she did awaken, a few hours later, the night sky a cobalt haze. As she stirred, Noah rolled onto his side, and she realized he was already conscious. Maybe he hadn’t slept. He brushed the hair out of her eyes, his fingers gliding down her neck, over her shoulder. Then his hand was moving down her abdomen, tracing circles around her navel, traveling lower, and lower, until the heel came to rest against her pubic bone, his fingertip delicately probing her entrance. Are you sore? he was asking. Can I touch you? The answers were yes and yes.

AJ reached for his face and brought him close, taking in the pink stain on his cheeks, the way his brow creased as he studied her, then kissed her.

Now the rain—a thousand points of contact, lips and tongues and fingertips and palms. This was what their first time should have been, would have been had things been different. He cradled her, kissing her softly as he coaxed her open, petal by petal. His hands, AJ thought as he slipped a finger inside her; she would lose her mind for love of his hands.

He touched her slowly, deliberately, refusing to alter his careful pace, even when AJ bucked against him. As her head reared back in frustration, he tasted the base of her neck, his tongue hot on her pulse. Then he pressed in with another finger, stretching her, stroking her, drawing her so fucking taut. He was going to make her come, and she told him, and he made a deep noise that sounded a bit like her name, and that was it. He watched her tremble and burst, his pupils enlarged, his dick thick and heavy on her thigh.

As AJ’s breathing slowed, Noah parted her legs so he could rest between them. Yes. She took his weight, reveling in the strength of his arms, in the warm expanse of his back beneath her palms. He trailed reverent, unhurried kisses along her collarbone, her sternum, her breasts, inhaling the scent of her skin as he went, so absorbed and beautiful in the gathering light.

It was getting light.

Oh God. AJ’s fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him up. She had to kiss him. She could still kiss him. As their lips met, Noah’s tongue drove into her mouth, his cock nudging at her entrance.

He’d noticed the light, too.

He made a guttural sound as her fingers grasped his length, lining him up. Their eyes met as he inched into her, just the tip. AJ whimpered, canting her hips. More. Noah kissed her deeply, giving her another inch. It wasn’t nearly enough. AJ held his gaze, panting with need. Do it. A look of sheer arrogance passed over his features. Then he gave her the rest in one ruthless shove, and AJ swore.

Told you so, he laughed into her neck as she adjusted. AJ leaned her head against his temple, eyes closed, and for a moment, their breath was the only sound in the universe.

Then Noah kissed her hard, and they began to fuck in earnest. Their bodies went together, fit together to make something intense and messy and sacred and whole. As AJ shifted to get a better angle, her cells vibrated in tune with his. It’s you, they sang. It was always you, and it always will be. And now white-hot panic seared through AJ because she knew that it was true.

As she started to cry, Noah stilled. His hand took hold of hers. When AJ opened her eyes, she found that his too were glassy with emotion.

His gaze drifted to her lips, and she felt him pulse inside her, and they both smiled a little. Then he kissed her like this was the end, because it was. His fate had been sealed, and she was free, and he didn’t want to take her life.

And just when the sadness threatened to overpower her, Noah moved, and the rush of it halted her tears. AJ closed her eyes as he thrust again, surrendering to the alchemic shift from pain to pleasure.

He rocked them both as she kissed his jaw, his shoulders, anywhere she could reach. She gave herself over to his body, to that dark, salty scent, to the torrential force of him. They were getting close now. AJ felt his lips moving senselessly against her neck.

“Noah,” she said. He groaned. “Noah, I lo—”

“Don’t.” He lifted his eyes to hers, and AJ understood that he couldn’t allow her to say it, that it would shatter the dome. His expression softened as he took her face in his enormous hand, smoothing his thumb across her cheekbone. “Me too,” he whispered. “God, me too.”

And then he was fucking her so deeply, AJ had to bite into his shoulder to keep from yelling out. I need you, his body was saying. Let me need you. Palm to palm, their fingers entwined, his firm and strong, even as his orgasm threatened to pour out. Not yet, AJ begged. But the harder she resisted, the closer she edged, until she convulsed so violently she couldn’t make a sound. Noah grasped her as she came, thrusting once, twice. Then he breathed her name and spent himself.

They lay joined for some time after, until their bodies wilted and their sweat began to cool. Then gradually, Noah roused. He kissed her sweetly, then rose from the bed. Once he shut himself in the bathroom, AJ donned her white dress and slipped out the door. There would be no goodbyes.

Under a clear gray sky, she made her way across the courtyard, hopeful that the hour would enable her to pass unnoticed. As she closed the sliding door to her room, she did feel someone’s gaze and looked up to see that it was Noah, standing behind his own glass door.

For a moment they stared at each other. He held up a hand. AJ forced herself to smile, to return the wave. Then she drew the curtain between them. She did not know how long she remained after, waiting. She did not know what she was waiting for.

TODD GOULD STOOD ALONE in the editing bay holding twelve shipping labels and a roll of packing tape. On the floor sat a fleet of white boxes, one for each episode.

As he prepared to ship them to New York, he thought of the last episode, of Ana Tar steering the crale back to the Naval Capitol planet to rescue Rho. They’d filmed the resolution the day after on location—Todd supposed he’d have to wait to see it with everyone else.

Or not.

Gingerly, he removed the lid of box twelve, revealing toothlike rows of cassette spines, all marked by date and time. It wasn’t hard to find the final installment.

Todd loaded the tape into the editing bay—his editing bay—one last time. A still of Ana Tar appeared onscreen. She stood on a gray windswept beach—Malibu, if Todd was not mistaken.

He plugged in his headphones and hit play.

The elements rustled the camera’s microphone as Ana sprinted down the shoreline. The shot just kept going. And going. Todd hit fast-forward until a handful of bodies entered the frame.

They lay face down in the sand—Naval guards.

And Rho. Inert near the water.

Ana ran into the shot and attempted to drag Rho from the sea. There was real panic on AJ Graves’s face as she tried to and failed to move Noah Drew—he was so much bigger. Even with the sound distortion, Todd could hear her struggling.

At last, she flipped him over, but it was too late. His face was inanimate, pale. Her features began to tremble as she listened for his breath. Now she was crying, pushing on his chest. She covered his lips in hers, attempting to revive him—nothing.

Then her head reared back, and she howled in agony, her torment drowning out the wind and water. Todd felt so disturbed by the noise, he almost removed his headphones. He knew this sound from his grandpa’s funeral, the only time his father had ever truly lost it.

It was primal, bone-chilling grief.

As her wailing subsided, Ana turned back toward the ocean. Todd’s heart was racing.

Then Rho sat up. When Ana saw him, she sobbed.

The camera approached them as they held each other, tears in both their eyes. He was whispering to her, soothing her, but she could not be consoled. She just kept crying and crying as she looked into his face. His eyes were full as his thumb traced her jawbone. Then he pulled her close.

Her neck curved as he kissed her, and a single kiss should not have been this erotic, but it was. The actors melted for each other, as if that kiss were both destroying them and giving them life.

When they broke apart, she took a shallow breath, but her crying had stopped. He smiled at her, as if to tell her it would all be all right.

The rest of the scene played out in stops and starts as the camera positioned and repositioned itself. The soldiers revived and surrounded Ana and Rho, who fought back, presumably using their powers, which would be added in postproduction. The tape ended with a close-up of Noah Drew looking right into the lens.

Small smirk is how Todd would have logged it. Then, fade to black.

Todd sighed. He rewound the tape and replaced it in its box. As he reached for the bubble wrap, he felt a chill. The studio was frigid, but that wasn’t it.

He couldn’t shake the echo of AJ Graves’s cries on the wind.

PART III

Blue Coats

There are no mistakes. The mistake is thinking we know more than the Cosmic Consciousness. We cannot see all the pieces at play. We cannot even see the board.

—Laughter & Death, by EZELL FARR

NEW YORK, NEW YORK

December 12, 2011

AJ WAS IN HER THIRD SEASON writing for SNL when the green notecard with Noah Drew’s name appeared on the bulletin board. He was set to host the last episode before Christmas, capping off the media for his first Oscar bid, a period epic called The Contract.

She had known this day would come since the ink had dried on her own contract. It felt inescapable, like the earth coming full circle in its orbit.

The night before his arrival, she dealt with her dread by watching Center Stage and getting plastered. She arrived at work the next morning plagued by a pounding headache and the song “I Wanna Be with You,” by Mandy Moore.

As AJ dropped her backpack in the office she shared with Dave on the seventeenth floor of 30 Rockefeller Plaza, she felt a traitorous tremor of excitement. She hadn’t laid eyes on Noah since their brief publicity tour. Well, not in person anyway.

Over the past three years, Noah’s star had continued its unstoppable upward trajectory, from another season of Sparta, into an edgy indie film, then a blockbuster comedy.

And now The Contract. It was a good old-fashioned gangster flick, the story of a 1950s Murder, Inc. hit man caught between loyalty to his boss and the girl of his dreams—a mob daughter who had inherited Vegas’s largest casino. Noah’s performance had been exquisite.

AJ was also doing fine. In fact, she had done her high school self proud. She was a staff writer on Saturday Night Live. She lived in New York City. She had an apartment with a dishwasher and a nice boyfriend who emptied it. Yes, these days, life was pretty great.

Yet, all it took was one look at Noah’s shape across a crowded Monday pitch meeting to turn back the clock.

THE WEEKS AFTER FILMING had been a blur. AJ found herself back in New York, having been gone for such an inconsequential amount of time that none of her snake plants had died. But she had never felt more like a stranger in her own life.

She and Noah had never officially agreed not to speak—they hadn’t needed to. L.A. had been a fever dream, and they would now resume their resting state of not speaking. Easy enough.

But it wasn’t easy.

After AJ called in sick for the full first week of postproduction, Ian tactfully suggested she recuse herself. “Maybe you should step back as a producer,” he’d said. “You’ve done enough.”

AJ had wanted to fight him on it—this was a huge opportunity. But her relationship with Em was already over; if she kept flaking on Ian, she’d lose him, too.

And she could not face all that footage of her and Noah.

AJ LIVED THE NEXT four months with her heart outside her body. It hardly made a dent that Toni had turned UCB into a battleground—it was all AJ could do to hand in her sketches and drag herself to HGTV each day. Even as she filled her hours, the space between them was shapeless, a dark unlived expanse lit only by Noah’s distant star.

Then, in February, their show was given a name, Into the Blue—a nod to the Astronauticals intro—and suddenly AJ existed again. She’d found a portal back. They’d have to see each other during promotion. And if the show took off, if they filmed another season…

AJ would face Em, and Toni, and all of it again, if it meant they could have more time.

While AJ had been sobered and frightened by the things Noah had confided in her, it was hard to stay terrified of something she couldn’t see. As their silence stretched on, hope began to creep back in. This couldn’t really be the end, could it?

As if to answer her question, Fox slapped a large, powerful image of Ana and Rho on a BQE billboard visible from AJ’s bedroom window.

AJ FINALLY SAW HIM at Good Morning America, the day of the show’s premiere. She had been chatting backstage with Dave, avoiding Toni’s glares, when a press liaison led Xiaobo and Noah to their group.

He was in a charcoal gray suit with a black T-shirt, his hair a little longer, no doubt for Sparta. As their gazes connected, AJ’s heart actually tried to vault toward him. Perhaps he could sense it. His eyes shone as he lifted his hand in a silent wave. AJ lifted hers in a silent wave back.

Then the cast was brought to three risers on set. AJ was placed in the front row. Noah gave her a quick nod, then folded his large frame into the chair beside hers. As he sought a comfortable position, AJ caught his scent, and there was not one inch of her body that didn’t ache to feel him.

But here were the presenters, all pomp and sunshine smiles. They tossed questions to the cast like flowers from a float, but the parade itself was for Noah. He was the true star, the one they really wanted to hear from. That’s what AJ wanted too. She kept her eyes ahead, her expression neutral as she silently worshipped the low notes of his voice.

It’s you.

Then the segment ended, and Noah was summoned for photos. He stood, without sparing AJ a glance. She watched him shake hands with their hosts, the press liaison hovering nearby to extract him.

He was leaving. He was leaving, and they weren’t even going to speak—

Dazed, AJ rose, pins and needles gnashing her leg. Goddamn it, her foot had fallen asleep. As her heels teetered, a large hand reached out to steady her. AJ’s heart seized as Noah grasped her wrist, never pausing his conversation with the anchors.

He held on to her until AJ regained her balance. Then their eyes met, and it was all still there, as if not a day had passed. The moment lasted long enough for his thumb to caress her pulse.

Then the liaison led Noah away, leaving AJ behind with the rest.

THE NETWORK HELD THE premiere that night at New World Stages. It was AJ’s first red carpet, and no one had prepared her for the way people just…shrieked.

“WHO ARE YOU?”

“SMILE!”

“ARE YOU IN THE SHOW?”

This last had been belted at AJ while she stood in front of a giant poster of herself. AJ wasn’t offended. This didn’t feel real—the show, the attention, any of it.

Since Anjalee had blown off all of the promotion, Noah’s arrival was the most anticipated. As AJ neared the theater’s entrance, she heard the crowd’s pitch geyser.

He was all in black now, and somehow looked both warm and like he couldn’t give two shits about this pageantry. Their eyes connected as he paused in front of a wall papered in the Fox logo, and he gave her a small smile. Then AJ stepped into the theater.

She would soon learn that Noah famously avoided his own performances. But she didn’t know that then. She waited patiently for him to join the rest of the cast in the front row.

But he appeared only onscreen…in a bright, sand-swept, futuristic palace.

“What is this?” whispered Dave on AJ’s left.

After, Ian explained that the network had opted to launch the show with “17,” the action-packed Rho backstory episode—the only one filmed traditionally, after the strike.

The only one filmed without the rest of the ensemble.

Fox, it seemed, had already lost faith in Into the Blue.

AFTER THE PREMIERE, THERE was some confusion over the show’s title—“Into the Blue sounds like a C-list movie about surfers”—but most of the internet agreed that forty-five minutes of Noah Drew marauding through space was good TV.

The second episode bombed.

Compared to high-octane “17,” “A Man, a Dog, and a Wormhole” crawled. It was badly lit and full of clanking, and such a drastic departure from the pilot, that over half of their viewers changed the channel and never changed it back. To add insult to injury, the Astronauticals fan base loudly rejected the reboot online, denouncing its drama and lack of slapstick.

As the show’s ratings continued to plummet with each passing week, the network’s misgivings proved correct: Into the Blue was a total bust.

This was when AJ took refuge in the message boards.

Contrary to the general audience, a core viewership latched on to the show with the ferocity of a suckling crale calf. They called themselves the Blue Coats, and they saw themselves as keepers of the show’s flame, lighting up the web with theories, trivia, and, of course, shipping.

The biggest ship by far was Ana and Rho: Arho.

INTO THE BLUE: Arho subreddit

BlueFlower96: I’M BREAKING SPACE AND TIME let’s go.

EarlGreyHot: I love the way she throws it back in his face.

$ailorJupit3R<3: So does he, he’s actually undressing her with his eyes LOLcats

The fans’ excitement was addictive and bottomless, and it gave AJ a place to hide as their ratings continued to crash and burn.

Unfortunately, nothing could block out the air-raid siren of Fox releasing the last three episodes in one night. They were officially washing their hands of the show. Into the Blue was dead.

That Friday, AJ huddled on her couch with a tub of Cheetos and a handle of vodka. Toni was throwing a “funeral watch party” at a bar in an old casket factory; Ian was going, which AJ supposed meant he and Toni were still a thing. Xiaobo had flown in, presumably for a night of no-strings-attached-RIP-our-show sex with Dave.

But to AJ’s surprise, Dave plunked down beside her. “I’m good here,” he said simply. Whether he found it too difficult to see Xiaobo or he was quietly looking out for her, AJ couldn’t say. But as he poured them shots, she felt grateful.

They were both in a drunken morass by the time “Hot Water” aired. AJ hardly knew what she was watching as Ana and Rho knelt in a secluded spot, the camera tight on their faces.

Then it happened.

AJ arched into Noah, who bit down hard on his lower lip as if to keep from swearing. Her eyes widened as she felt him, her head dipping back in unmistakable pleasure as she sighed, “No.”

Dave sat bolt upright. “What the fuck was that?”

AJ was too dumbstruck to formulate a response. That had just been on TV. Her parents had seen it. Oh. God.

She dialed Ian. No answer. Again. No answer. She threw her phone aside and took a shot.

Ian had told her he would take care of it. This was a mistake. It had to be a mistake.

AJ could think nothing else. Even as Ana took control of the crale. Even as she sprinted across the sand to save Rho, the water rising higher and higher. Even as the camera pulled back to reveal four aqueous figures shimmering on the shore.

Horses. Like in the legend.

The music swelled as Ana dropped to her knees and launched the horses after Rho at a gallop.

“Holy shit,” said Dave. “You made this up?”

AJ didn’t stay to see what followed. She couldn’t bear to watch Noah kiss her for the last time.

AT WORK ON MONDAY, AJ expected Ian to make excuses, to grovel. Instead, he faced her as he would any unhappy reality TV participant: superficially interested, but totally without remorse.

“Age, I saw you called,” he said, that steely glint in his eye. “Did you have a question?”

With a thud, AJ realized she had stopped knowing Ian months ago. He’d been up-front that Em was his endgame, and he wasn’t going to apologize for it. For any of it: pushing her into a larger role, shuffling her off during post, using the “No” clip against her express wishes. In his view, she should have known he’d do whatever it took to succeed, and if she didn’t like it, that was just too bad.

AJ held his gaze, as the last of their trust withered. “No,” was all she could say.

“Okay,” he said without batting an eye. Then they were done.

After that, work became a dark place for AJ. She continued to be professional, but all warmth between her and Ian had turned to rage, resentment, and dread. Ian wasn’t happy either, but that was because he was still there. Because after everything, the show had failed.

AS ANY HOPE OF a second season disintegrated, the full weight of AJ’s grief set in.

The first time she had lost Noah, it had been a private tragedy, hers alone. Now, her sadness was echoed by thousands.

INTO THE BLUE: Arho subreddit

BlueFlower96: I can’t stop crying over Ana and Rho.

$ailorJupit3R<3: Let’s go back to the beach. That kiss!

EarlGreyHot: Holy shit that kiss!

$ailorJupit3R<3: It annihilated him. It’s the only time he smiles in the show.

EarlGreyHot: I just want them to live happily ever after :(

But they wouldn’t.

I miss you, AJ typed into the white space beneath Noah’s email address.

She stared at the note until it autosaved to her drafts folder, along with a hundred others like it. Every time she was about to hit send, the same thought always stopped her: If Noah wanted to talk to her, he would. He had the upper hand; he was fucking famous. And AJ would rather hold on to the possibility of him missing her than find out that these drafts were just fan fiction.

On nights like this, AJ would have given anything for Toni’s advice. Yes, they had their issues. But she had trusted Toni to tell her what to think, who to be.

So, when Dave mentioned that Toni and Ian had officially reverted from lovers to enemies over Labor Day, AJ took the opening. She texted Toni, and they went back and forth for a bit, riffing on the debasing acts Ian was probably performing for Em, whom Toni now referred to as King of the Turds. It was heartening, if brief.

Then, a week later, AJ ran into Dave on his way out…to Toni’s birthday party.

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “She’s just…not in a good place about you.”

AJ nodded; fair enough. Then Dave left, and AJ had a beer. Then she had another. Then she took three shots and decided to stop by Toni’s birthday, just to say hi.

Xiaobo intercepted her outside Capri Social Club. “Age, you need to go home.”

“What the fuck is this?” said Toni, appearing in a light-up crown.

“Toni,” said AJ, as the ground spun. “Where’s the DeLorean? Oh shit, you don’t have one—”

Toni leapt aside as AJ’s stomach contents splashed onto the pavement.

AJ didn’t remember Dave taking her home. Her last snippet was seeing the graffitied Ana and Rho billboard from the BQE and bawling.

At least, she told herself, she’d finally hit rock bottom.

Then “No” went viral.

IT HAPPENED THE MONDAY before Thanksgiving. What began as a single “hot Black Friday markdowns” tweet featuring her orgasmic “No” GIF germinated into three million hits overnight.

By Tuesday, “No” had ten million views and was being plastered across the internet, from business accounts to personal Twitters, as the cool new way of saying “These sales/boots/grills are so good, you’re going to want to fuck them.”

By Wednesday, the clip had twenty million views, and the guys in AJ’s bodega had started staring at her. At the checkout, she caught a glimpse of her grungy self on the security monitor. Between the show’s paltry reach and Ana’s daily blowout, AJ was rarely recognized.

But now the entire world was staring at her “No” face.

That night, AJ called home and told her mom she could no longer make Thanksgiving. She couldn’t face her family. Particularly her dad. You do paint quite a picture. What would he say now?

Instead, she stayed in her apartment all day listening to Dave (also skipping the holiday) play World of Warcraft through their shared wall, mired in regret.

Into the Blue had been a ruinous mistake. Knowing Em Tyner hadn’t launched her career, it had imploded it. Knowing Noah’s story hadn’t healed her heart, it had broken it.

All AJ wanted was to write jokes, and instead she had become one.

Someone had left an entire case of Mike’s Hard Lemonade in their fridge. AJ downed each sticky bottle at her computer, staring at Noah’s email address.

Hey, so we’re a GIF now…that old chestnut! And now I can’t escape the image of how much I want to bone you…but who can! Also, I still want to bone you. Anyway, happy Thanksgiving!

Delete. Delete. Delete.

She was still in her PJs when the doorbell rang at eight-thirty P.M.

AJ’s big brother, Patrick, stood outside, rosy cheeked, snowflakes in his hair. “Say it’s carol singers,” he said with a smile.

At this well-meaning quote from Love Actually, AJ promptly burst into tears.

IT WAS STILL SNOWING as Patrick marched her up the block to Jimmy’s Diner, where he watched her house an entire Williamsburger before leaning in. “Look, I’m not going to pretend to know what you’re going through. The scale is…But I want you to know that you have nothing to be embarrassed of.”

AJ put her forehead on the table.

“It’s not that bad,” he said, nudging her arm.

AJ sat up. “It is so incredibly bad,” she said. “And the worst part is, I can’t laugh at it. I’m supposed to be able to take a joke, and I don’t think I’ve ever thought anything was less funny.”

Patrick’s eyebrows creased as if the answer were obvious. “So make fun of it.”

“What?” said AJ, pilfering one of his fries.

“Clap back,” said Patrick. “Get your Irish up. Turn your disadvantage into an advantage.”

AJ looked at him, startled.

Patrick shrugged. “I’m working on my dadisms for Charlie and Claire.” As he expanded on this, a quote from Laughter & Death called to AJ like a horn through the fog.

It should be noted that a player’s role does not necessarily dictate their status in a given scene. A plumber can make a CEO grovel, should they choose.

AJ might be a joke, but she didn’t have to be a victim. She still had a move. Outside the window, the next square on her path was lighting up in bright white.

“SNOW” WAS A THIRTY-SECOND parody of the original “No” clip; it opened with AJ and Dave in an exact imitation of the “No” pose—only instead of “No,” this time AJ said “Snow,” and the camera cut to an erotic shot of flurries out the window. Cut to AJ and Dave playing in the snow, licking the snow, snorting the snow, and getting frisky in a threesome with a snowman.

They shot the video in two hours and edited it in another two.

Then AJ called up her little brother, Mike, who was always awake, live gaming on his YouTube channel. When AJ asked him to share the video with his three hundred thousand followers, he agreed.

It worked because it was up first thing on Black Friday, and because it was them, Ana and Pete from the original show, and because it was incredibly dumb, but also incredibly funny.

By the end of Black Friday, “Snow” had a million views.

By Saturday morning, it had three.

By Monday, AJ and Dave had been called in to meet Dani Chan, one of the head writers at SNL.

“You scooped us,” said Dani, pulling her straight black hair into a butterfly clip. “I like ‘Snow.’ It’s wholesome, family friendly.”

“What were you going to do?” asked AJ.

Dani smirked. “ ‘Flow,’ ” she said. “They’d be in the pose, and then she’d look down and see she’d gotten her period. I can see why you chose ‘Snow’ though, considering it’s you.”

AJ had been pulling together an application packet for SNL for three years; she was speechless to now find herself summoned here for something she’d done on a whim.

Dani crossed her arms. “You made up all that shit in Into the Blue, right? Like with the horses?”

AJ nodded.

Dani gave her a long look. “Damn,” she said. She walked behind her desk and began to rummage in one of the drawers. “Damn. Are you an idiot?”

“What?” said AJ.

“You just let them have that?”

AJ stared at her, agape.

Dani rolled her eyes. “Get an agent,” she said, pulling out a business card and handing it to AJ. “Like now. And then have them call me and tell them I want to hire you as a mid-season replacement.”

She handed the card to AJ and opened the door for her to leave. AJ didn’t know whether to be elated or terrified, a feeling that she would soon learn went hand in hand with this job.

AJ KNEW SHE SHOULD be upset by the things her new agent, Molly Magnusson of WMA, was telling her about Into the Blue. Like how she should have gotten a higher episodic fee and the producer thing in writing. But it was hard to be bitter when she was about to start her dream job.

Ian was so unsurprised when AJ gave notice, it almost took the fun out of it. Almost.

During her first season, AJ worked mostly on digital shorts—that was why she and Dave had been hired, to help SNL bridge the gap to a younger demographic with original online content. Using their signing bonuses and savings from Into the Blue, the two of them bought neighboring units in the same Midtown building, at which point work truly became the center of AJ’s life.

She didn’t think about Into the Blue or Noah simply because there wasn’t time. Okay, she thought of Noah, but mostly when she wrote—wondering if he would like what she was doing, whether it would make his eyes crinkle or tear with laughter.

Slowly, as AJ adjusted to the chaotic weeks and massive output required, she began to pitch more of her own sketches. She got shot down a lot, which she did not enjoy, but she kept honing her pitches, and little by little she improved. Then midway through her second season, she wrote a sketch about a psychic hotline for world leaders, “1-800-Amethyst,” that blew up.

That was when she broke. She was happy and a little drunk, and something about having a viral sketch made it somehow acceptable to reach out to Noah.

The email started innocuously enough. Hey, can you believe this? along with a link to a BuzzFeed listicle ranking NOW 4 fifth of all NOWs. Then she added If you’re ever in the city let me know. I still think about that night. She sent it so fast, it almost felt like she hadn’t.

A day went by. Then two. Even after a week, it felt impossible that he wouldn’t respond.

Then Us Weekly published a photo of Noah walking Bud in Central Park…with Lucy Parker, his fellow HBO starlet and PETA ambassador. They looked so cute together it lit AJ’s body on fire.

And that’s when she realized: Noah had been letting her down gently. He wasn’t even to blame. He’d confided in her as a friend, then turned her down multiple times. She was the one who had forced them to go further. Just look at his hand in Lucy Parker’s.

It wasn’t a relationship Noah didn’t want; it was AJ.

You deserve a normal life, that’s what he’d told her. Well, it was time she fucking got one.

BRIAN MCKENZIE WAS TWENTY-EIGHT, a fellow middle child, and a sports reporter for ESPN who traveled regularly for work. He was an exemplary physical specimen, a former minor league baseball player who still had the body, tall and built, with kind blue eyes.

Apart from a small romantic streak about the Brooklyn Dodgers, he harbored no poetic tendencies. He was smart, and dear, and laughed easily, and AJ just knew he was the one—or, he would have been in a world where Noah didn’t exist.

They had met at the Stag’s Head on the Fourth of July. Brian approached AJ at the bar. He didn’t recognize her, which for AJ was a plus, though he would later shyly admit to seeing “No.”

He quickly identified her as a former athlete, and AJ identified him as what her brother Patrick would call “a good guy.” After talking about the Brooklyn Dodgers in earnest for twenty minutes, he invited her back to his apartment to watch the fireworks from his roof.

AJ was the one to initiate and found Brian to be a willing and enthusiastic sexual partner who did not make repulsive noises, sweat too much, or stare needlessly into her eyes.

“That was…wow,” he said after. AJ let him hold her until their hearts slowed.

Then she got up, slipped into the bathroom, and cried. Her body had done everything it was supposed to, but it was all wrong. Noah knew her by heart. He felt what she felt. Anybody else was just a…surface. Fuck. AJ had to get out of here. She couldn’t do that again. Ever.

But when she returned, Brian looked up from the bed, and he seemed so…light. Hopeful. He was made of possibility, and it showed in every toned plane of his body. There were no ticking time bombs here. There were no clocks at all. And as their eyes met, AJ saw how easy it would be with someone like Brian. So easy to hit every normal benchmark of a good and happy life.

Maybe she was being too hasty, she told herself. Maybe she should stay the night. Maybe she could get used to Brian McKenzie.

Maybe she just needed a drink.

IN COMEDY, IT WAS common knowledge that two beers was the ideal level for a set; you were still sharp enough to make connections while reaping the benefits of lower inhibitions and higher confidence. AJ had always participated out of a sense of camaraderie, not necessity.

That was different now. The pressures of her job were so high, she did need a drink or two at the end of the day in a way that sometimes left her wondering if she had misjudged her father.

Alcohol dulled out inconvenient feelings. Her nerves about her sketches, for one. The regretful twinge she felt whenever someone else got a big laugh from a line she’d written, for another. Then there was trying to forget Noah—alcohol really helped with that.

And AJ did like Brian. There was something about him that felt like home. Perhaps it was that he drank while watching sports, which was most nights. When he was in town, the two of them often drank companionably at his apartment or hers. Unlike most, AJ actually lost weight when drinking, which only reinforced that she wasn’t doing anything all that unhealthy.

If AJ ever scared herself, say, by racing home to crack a beer or occasionally browning out, she was able to stand on the knowledge that she never drank during the day. Did she sometimes get the urge to shotgun a Bud in the toilet stall during dress rehearsals? You betcha. But that expressed itself through obsessive counting down, i.e., One more hour, then I can have one.

For example, in AJ’s third season at SNL, when she saw that Noah Drew was slated to be their next celebrity host, she comforted herself with the thought of her next drink.

MONDAY PITCH MEETINGS WERE a crowded affair, anointed by body odor and competitive spirit. There were no assigned seats. Everyone crammed into Lorne Michaels’s office and found a perch.

When AJ slid in a little after nine A.M., Noah was already in the room; her body flushed instantly, recognizing his presence before her eyes confirmed it. AJ hid behind her large iced coffee as she sidled up to Dave, who had saved her a spot leaning against the window.

“All right, everyone, good to see you,” said Dani. “Noah, great to have you.”

“Great to be here,” said Noah. AJ squirmed. That voice should come with a warning label.

They hadn’t interacted in three years. Not counting AJ’s unanswered email, which…ugh. Still, she couldn’t stop herself from scanning him for signs of change.

He was seated beside Lorne’s currently vacant desk in a black sweater, jeans, and tennis shoes, seemingly healthy as ever. He’d regained most of the weight he’d dropped to play the gaunt hit man, Nathan Mercer, in The Contract; his biceps looked amazing. AJ lowered her gaze before it reached his face, suddenly aware of how many people were watching her watch him.

Dave noticed it, too. “Just to acknowledge the elephant in the room,” he said, “Noah and I were once in a cult show together and things were a bit steamy.”

Everyone cracked up including AJ, who flashed Dave a grateful smile, then glanced at Noah. God fucking damn it, no one should be that handsome. He was looking at her already, eyes glinting, and AJ felt a faint energetic hum, like an old favorite song playing in another room.

Shyly, she smiled at him, and he grinned. Her cheeks warmed, both because she’d always loved that dimple and because she knew she was visibly hungover. Not that she cared what he thought.

“Right,” said Dani. “Let’s get the ball rolling. Who wants to jump in? Noah, you’re welcome to share any thoughts.”

Then they were off. Pitch meetings were a lot like dodgeball; the writers unleashed a torrent of sketch ideas, and sooner or later every pitch either got shot down or pinned to the wall.

Each writer was allowed to bring two pitches, maximum. AJ usually brought two, but today she only had one—enough to show her colleagues she was making an effort while significantly lowering her chances of having to work closely with Noah all week.

“I mean, I’m just going to say it,” said Grady, one of the most senior writers. He had been on the show longer than Dani and thought he should be in charge. “We’ve got three cast members from Into the Blue in this room. I feel like we should do something with that. Maybe ‘No’?”

Dani shook her head. “It’s played out.”

She didn’t look at AJ as she said it, but AJ knew she was protecting her. Dani wasn’t warm and fuzzy; she didn’t use terms like “work wife” or celebrate Galentine’s Day. But AJ had never seen her pass up an opportunity, large or small, to help another woman in comedy.

“Something else, then,” Grady pushed. “Something with the horses. You could do the horses, but with sheep.”

Dani frowned. “That’s pretty undercooked.”

One of the reasons Grady wasn’t in charge was that he liked to leave a lot of room in his sketches, which the cast loved but the producers hated. Every second of SNL was scripted and the script was law. Hosts and actors had been banned from the show for so much as ad-libbing.

Grady didn’t like being told no. “These things always work themselves out.”

Dani looked at him over her glasses. “Right. Because we stay here until three A.M. all week…working them out.” She pivoted to AJ. “Age, what’ve you got?”

“Now I kind of wish we’d done sheep in the original,” AJ muttered. She got a few laughs and noted the usual bristle among her mostly male senior colleagues. She was also aware of Noah sitting up when she spoke, and of feeling that, with him present, she had another ally in the room.

“I did have one idea: ‘The Club.’ You know how in The Contract, Nathan is always reading in his room…what if we did a book club with a bunch of other hit men?”

This got a few twitters and a bunch of nods. Noah chuckled.

“What would they be reading? Hunger Games?” asked another senior writer, Sebastian, adjusting his glasses.

“It’s played out,” said Dani. “Also anachronistic.”

“I was thinking Jane Austen,” said AJ. “They all show up in some back room with their weapons, and you think they’re going to play poker, then they whip out Pride and Prejudice.”

“Yes,” said Dave. “And every time Mr. Collins does something, they start swearing in Italian.”

“Or when Wickham is revealed, one of them shoots a hole through the ceiling,” said Noah.

“Exactly,” said AJ. “I was thinking they could all stare out the window when they talk about Darcy’s letter, and we could play that pensive piano theme from the movie…”

“Great,” said Dani. “Run with it. Dave?”

As Dave pitched his idea about Noah being a judge at the Westminster dog show, AJ began to mentally outline her sketch. Despite her self-consciousness, she wanted to do her best for Noah. It meant something to her, getting to collaborate with him again. Even from offstage.

Noah’s voice pulled her from her thoughts.

“This isn’t an idea per se,” he was saying, “but I’d be open to doing something about my family.”

“ ‘Scrooge McDrew’—your ghost ancestors teach you the meaning of Oscar season,” said Dave.

“Wow, you had that ready to go,” said AJ, and she got a laugh from the room.

“That sounds like it could be fun,” said Dani. “Noah and Dave, why don’t you team up?”

“What up, Scion of Darkness,” said Dave, sending Noah a long-distance fist bump, which Noah reciprocated. As the conversation moved on, his eyes darted to AJ, who realized she was staring at him and looked away. She gave herself a shake.

This was going to be a long week.

AJ CAME IN THE next day around five P.M. The sketch lineup still hadn’t been posted, but AJ had gotten a decent enough response in the pitch meeting to justify starting on “The Club.”

She nestled into the coffee-stained couch in her and Dave’s office, donned her headphones, and began to google famous hit men. Then she searched “noah drew girlfriend.”

This wasn’t AJ’s first rodeo. Lucy Parker had turned out to be the first in a line of short-term girlfriends, ranging from models to Oscar nominees. Never anyone shorter than five foot eight. Never anyone longer than three months. Interesting. Noah did not currently appear to be attached.

Innocently, AJ cleared her browser history. Noah and Dave were scheduled to brainstorm further on the “Scrooge McDrew” sketch—they might turn up any minute.

Consequently, AJ had put more effort into her appearance today; she’d showered and even run a brush through her hair. She also hadn’t drunk as much last night—she hadn’t felt the urge. She might not look like a celebrity, but it was encouraging what a little rest and hydration could do.

She didn’t get much work done, apart from falling into a wiki tunnel about Bugsy Siegel. Despite her noise-blocking accoutrement, she was aware the second Noah’s footsteps began stomping down the hall.

A moment later, he and Dave appeared. AJ looked up and smiled, removing her headphones. Noah stilled in the doorway.

“Aww, look, guys, we’ve got the band back together,” said Dave. “Should we do the ‘Drive Me Crazy’ dance for old times’ sake?”

They all laughed, and AJ glanced at Noah. “Noah definitely still knows it.”

“Like you couldn’t do it in your sleep,” he said, an edge in his voice. Was he thinking about sleeping with her?

Do not go there, AJ told herself.

“Seriously, guys,” said Dave. “We could do it at the cons this summer…”

By the “cons,” Dave meant the fan convention circuit, where apparently Into the Blue had some sort of presence. A bunch of their old castmates made a summer of it—notably Xiaobo, whom Dave hooked up with each year (but they “weren’t in love”), and Toni, who still hated AJ.

“I’m serious, you two,” said Dave. “They’re magic. And the more cast members, the better the fees…there’s serious money to be made!”

“Define ‘serious’ ‘money,’ ” said AJ, who couldn’t imagine anything more torturous than traveling the country chasing the memory of Into the Blue.

“For four cons? Like, two hundred grand,” said Dave.

AJ almost dropped her MacBook on the ground but was determined not to look overly impressed in front of Noah, who, according to Perez, had been paid fourteen million dollars for The Contract. She doubted he’d be caught dead at a convention these days. Unlike backstage at Spring Con—

AJ cleared her throat. “Dave, I say this with all the love in my heart: I would rather die.”

“Same,” said Noah.

“Well, you are both snobs,” said Dave.

AJ laughed, pulling on her headphones. Dave dragged his chair out from behind his desk as Noah sat down on the couch beside AJ. She tried not to stare at his long legs unfolding. Even though she knew what they felt like, their shape, their toned strength, and—

No. Nope. You’re done.

As Noah and Dave began to laugh and ideate in hushed tones, AJ felt a deep, somnolent calm claim her. She’d read once that guilty suspects slept in jail because they knew that’s where they belonged. Perhaps this was similar. Perhaps being next to Noah was where AJ felt she belonged.

And it focused her. When she next looked up from her computer, it was past nine P.M.

Dave had stepped out without her noticing; Noah hadn’t moved. He was reclining with Dave’s computer closed on his lap, one of his enormous hands on top, his gaze adrift. When AJ reached up to take off her headphones, he blinked a few times and stirred. He had almost been asleep.

“Did Dave go out to get food?” asked AJ.

Noah nodded. “Have I ever told you how much he reminds me of your brother Mike?”

AJ laughed to hide her surprise. “They are a breed.” Noah yawned, and even that was dear to her. “You don’t have to stay here all night,” she said quickly. “I can get Valerie—” Valerie was the head of their talent department. She normally didn’t let hosts out of her sight.

“She came by an hour ago,” said Noah. “I sent her away.”

“Oh,” said AJ, blushing. It was so intimate, how easily they could sit together for hours without speaking. “Why? What have you been up to?”

Noah shrugged. “Resting,” he said. He glanced at her. “I feel like one of those guilty prisoners, the ones that sleep when they get caught.”

For a second, all AJ could do was stare into his dark eyes. Could he tell, the way she could, that their subconsciouses were still at play?

Don’t.

AJ’s gaze fell to her lap. Noah had made his feelings known. He couldn’t even be bothered to send her one email. Thinking like this would only get her hurt.

This isn’t real.

The person beside her was just an afterimage. He had appeared through a wormhole, and when the week was out, he’d disappear back through.

What was real was that after, AJ would be left to face another week, another host. They still had several days of close quarters ahead. She needed to keep things pleasant, surface level.

AJ stood. “Come on,” she said. “You must be starving.”

They grabbed their coats, and AJ took Noah out the back way to avoid the Christmas Spectacular crowd at Radio City. They turned up their collars as they passed the giant tree. The night was cold, but not too cold for two kids from New England. AJ bought Noah dinner from her favorite halal cart, and they ate out of plastic containers under the statue of Atlas holding up the sky.

“So this is where you spend your days,” said Noah between enormous bites.

“And nights,” said AJ.

Noah seemed to take something from this. AJ wondered fleetingly if she should mention Brian McKenzie, who was in California this week covering basketball. Then Noah continued, “Is it everything you dreamed?”

AJ shrugged. Aspects of it were. But these days, she was increasingly aware that SNL wasn’t the forever home she’d imagined. The most successful writers made their mark in five or six seasons, then moved on. “It’s not all big celebrity hijinks, but I like it.”

Noah smirked. “Even SNL has too many emails, is what I’m hearing.”

“Only if you respond to them,” said AJ dryly.

Noah’s eyes snapped to hers. Neither spoke. Then the distant jingle of the carols rushed in, softening the moment. “Why didn’t you want to be a cast member?” he asked.

AJ laughed. “Smooth subject change,” she said, but she didn’t push. She’d made her point—for the show’s sake, that would have to be enough. “I think my performing days are over.”

“They weren’t in ‘Snow,’ ” he said holding her gaze.

AJ rolled her eyes. “You always gave my acting more credit than it deserved,” she said, blushing.

Noah frowned. “I don’t think that’s true at all.”

“What about your acting?” said AJ. She wanted to tell him she’d loved him in The Contract, but somehow felt that would be oversharing. Maybe because she had lied to Brian and her family over Thanksgiving about “a work emergency,” then gone to see it alone so she could openly weep. Or maybe she was just afraid she’d slip and tell him she loved him.

“You’re obviously going to be nominated,” she supplied.

Noah shrugged. “I don’t know about that.” AJ suppressed a smile. He was still at his old game, fishing for compliments. He noticed her laughing at him and got adorably defensive. “Honestly. I haven’t even seen it.”

“Oh, right. You don’t watch your performances.”

“It makes me self-conscious,” he said. “How am I supposed to deliver if I’m thinking about how I look? I mean, do you enjoy watching yourself?”

Why did he insist on treating her like a fellow actor? “Not really. But I still watched Into the Blue when it aired.”

“So did I,” he admitted, and AJ smiled. “Well, most of it.”

“Oh?” asked AJ, biting into her pita.

He examined his knuckles. “I couldn’t get through the last one.”

AJ swallowed. “Same.”

They stood listening to the skaters cut across the Rink at Rockefeller Center.

“So, how are you?” AJ asked.

Noah shrugged. “Can’t complain,” he said. “Right now the big drama is figuring out my next project. I’m reading a really strange script about General Custer.”

AJ shook her head. “Nope, no thank you.”

Noah laughed. “Not even if he had secret homosexual yearnings?”

“That’s not a get out of jail free card,” said AJ.

Noah snorted. “What do you think I should do?”

AJ considered. “Something that shows how bright you are. Oscar Wilde or Lord Byron.”

Noah looked intensely amused by this suggestion.

“What?” said AJ.

Noah shrugged. “Byron was only five-nine.”

AJ burst out laughing. “Noah, do you have the heights of the romantic poets memorized?”

“And the more atrocious Civil War generals,” said Noah. “An actor’s work is never done.”

The way he said it reminded AJ of Eudora. AJ’s feelings on her former mentor had undergone a transformation since their last conversation. She wanted to ask after her. There was so much she wanted to ask, to say—none of it appropriate. So instead she went with “How’s your health?”

He gave her a sad smile. “Everything is stable for the moment, thanks for asking.”

“Well, you look…good,” she said and immediately regretted it.

Noah’s expression was unreadable. “So do you,” he said finally.

AJ was shivering; she crossed her arms. Noah raised his hand, and for an instant, AJ thought he might touch her. Then he seemed to think better of it and closed his food container instead.

“We better get back,” said AJ, disappointed. “Dave will think I kidnapped you.”

“Dave wouldn’t think that,” said Noah, taking her trash and stacking it on top of his. “He knows I’d follow you anywhere.”

He said it easily, and AJ pretended that it hadn’t stopped her heart, and they turned away, leaving Atlas to contend with heavier things.

IT WASN’T UNTIL NOAH strode onto home base to deliver his opening monologue on Saturday night that the tension began to lift.

AJ had made it. Barely. The effort it took to be around Noah and not stare or cry or reveal that her mind had become a never-ending sizzle reel of everything he’d ever done to her was beyond the scope of her paid time off. This was how women wound up sequestered in the Swiss Alps in the care of Freud’s lesser-known relatives.

But it was done. The table reads and fittings and rehearsals were behind them, and as AJ watched Noah launch into his cold open, she initiated her own final countdown. Just ninety more minutes, a quick after-party, and the agonizing Band-Aid rip of his departure, and then AJ could exhale.

With one possible cashmere-clad caveat: Noah had invited Eudora as his guest. She was seated primly in the second row. She looked smaller than AJ remembered her, cheeks sunken, but she still knew how to dress. Tonight’s caramel-colored turtleneck-and-slacks combo was a classic.

As AJ stood off camera near Stage 5 with the rest of the writers, she couldn’t help feeling that old thrill at Glimmette’s presence. She doubted Eudora was aware of her, which was fine. AJ had no idea what she’d even say if given the chance.

She watched Eudora smirk as Noah got his first laugh on a line about how seriously he took his roles.

AJ smiled too. Noah was such a natural. A lot of screen actors didn’t know the first thing about performing in front of a live audience, more intimidated by the three hundred people in this theater than the millions watching from home. AJ could relate. But Noah came from a long line of stage actors, and he spoke seamlessly into the camera while engaging the room.

And he looked incredible doing it. As he gestured, AJ could see the sculpting of his muscles beneath his black long-sleeved shirt. Heat flashed through her as she remembered collapsing onto his shoulder, the way his arms had wrapped around her after they’d both—

Just then, Noah glanced at her. AJ hadn’t been prepared, and he caught her staring at him in unselfconscious adoration.

Shit.

He did a double take, his eyes locking onto hers, and now time was slowing down. The studio lights had begun to dim, the ambient noise lowering half a decibel.

SHIT.

Quickly, decisively, Noah turned away from the cue cards.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Ana?” said Noah.

AJ felt the eyes of her colleagues like searchlights. Her heartbeat was on blast in her own ears.

Improvisation was forbidden on SNL—Noah was going to get himself banned.

AJ looked around for Dani—she must still be backstage. What was AJ supposed to do? She would stay put. Noah would see she wasn’t coming and fold this back into the monologue, and—

“Ana Tar?”

God, their training was something else. His voice was like a hypnotic trigger; every muscle in AJ’s body clenched, willing her to join him onstage. More than that, she could feel him urging her—for the first time in years, he’d initiated a scene and the channel between them was opening. AJ should fight this. She needed to fight this.

Think. The producers would be furious. But this could be ratings gold. They were the duo from “No,” which pretty much guaranteed this would go viral. Plus, Arho was a monster ship and Ana and Rho hadn’t been together publicly since Into the Blue.

Wait. Dani would be incensed—but Noah was the one going rogue. AJ was just responding.

Shit. The last thing AJ needed was more online attention. Or any attention. Especially when she was wearing a green T-shirt and glasses, with her hair in a messy bun.

“Ana, is that you?”

Your scene partner is your life, Ezell had written in Laughter & Death. If this is to work, you must follow them wherever they go. You must follow them to the end, into death if necessary.

AJ couldn’t leave her scene partner hanging.

As she made her way to the platform, Noah’s eyes never left her face. She stepped into the light, distantly aware of sporadic applause. Warily, she surveyed him.

“Rho, you made it through the wormhole,” she said.

But Rho was barely there, a passing shade, a suggestion. It was Noah who stepped toward AJ now, grasping her shoulders, all traces of politeness gone. AJ swayed under his touch, but he held her firm, eyes burning as he said, more quietly than he should have, “I was so scared I lost you.”

The words wrecked AJ. For a split second, she thought she heard a howl pierce that vast darkness inside him. Noah’s gaze was blackening with need. AJ felt the last of her resistance give way.

“You didn’t,” she said. “I’m here.”

Noah inhaled sharply. “You have no idea how much I missed you,” he said, his voice breaking.

And then he kissed her. AJ’s eyes slammed shut as she felt their tongues collide. She wrapped her arms around his neck as his hands engulfed her back. Yes. The audience’s ruckus shook the lighting rig, but AJ didn’t care. She was kissing Noah, and he was kissing her, nothing else in her life was real compared to this, and fuck, it felt so good, they had to stop, they really had to stop—

He pulled back at the last possible second. “I almost didn’t recognize you,” he said, catching his breath as he gestured to her hair and her glasses.

“I know,” said AJ, peeling them off. “I’ve had to adapt.” This got a laugh. “Life in the year 3500 is a little different.”

Noah offered her his hand. “Yeah, now that you mention it, this crale seems…off.”

As the flight path glimmered to life before them, AJ placed her hand in his.

“Oh, this isn’t a space whale,” she said. “It’s a radioactive Super Rat. Welcome to New York!”

There was nothing in existence like playing with Noah. He seemed incapable of dropping her hand, so they walked together around the set, building out a world in which humans were forced to live inside giant rats after the Fire Siege at Ikea, Red Hook, rendered the city uninhabitable.

“It’s not so bad,” AJ said, gesturing to the iconic SNL clock. “She swallowed that last year, so now we know what time it is.”

They were not standing amid the best comedians in the business for nothing. Within a minute, Dave was walking on. “Guys, you made it!” he said, giving them both massive kisses on the lips and joining hands with AJ.

Now, like an amoeba, the three of them walked across the set until they were joined by Katie Jaffe, one of their star cast members, who had somehow gotten her hands on a Star Trek costume in the last ninety seconds. “Captain’s log,” she said, joining the amoeba. “I’m no longer alone.”

As they made their way back center stage, the crane camera operator motioned to wrap it up. Noah looked at AJ. “Ana, are you getting a telepathic message—”

“Yes,” she said. “It’s the Super Rat. She says we’ve got a great show for you this evening, with musical guest Léa de Lonval and—”

“Live from New York, it’s Saturday Night!”

“WHAT THE FUCK WAS that?” said Dani the second AJ stepped off camera. Noah was already changing for his next sketch.

AJ bowed her head, ashen. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I had no idea that was coming.”

Dani shook her head. “That nepotistic chode,” she said. “He’s lucky you went up there. And you’re lucky he didn’t do anything super problematic.”

The rest of the show passed in a blur. Noah was in the zone. After the cold open, he stayed strictly on book and delivered a bravura performance in every sketch. “The Club” was third in the lineup and got a decent response from the crowd, but “Scrooge McDrew” stole the show.

As the audience roared at joke after joke about the Drew legacy, AJ watched Dani’s expression darken. Nepotistic chode. That was how Noah’s behavior appeared: Noah, the dauphin of America’s greatest acting dynasty, had gone on SNL and, in the height of privileged arrogance, decided the rules didn’t apply to him.

But what if he hadn’t done it out of arrogance? What if he hadn’t done it on purpose?

Some nights when AJ missed Noah, like really missed him, she would go online and surf the forums for Huntington’s patients and their caregivers. Which is how she knew that impulsivity was one of the most prevalent early changes in HD patients.

Noah had always had an impulsive streak—the fire he’d set when he was a teenager, kissing AJ when he’d gotten his diagnosis. But those had been reactions to extreme situations. Tonight was different. It was like he had seen AJ, and his self-control had just…vanished.

I was so scared I lost you.

AJ didn’t know what to think. Was this normal, or was this the disease? Was it hot or was it sad?

Possibly both.

She looked to Eudora to gauge her response. The grande dame seemed amused enough at “Scrooge McDrew,” but AJ could detect an air of unease. What must she think of all this?

You have no idea how much I missed you.

At that moment, Eudora caught AJ’s eye and winked. AJ’s mouth went dry.

After the show ended and the houselights rose, AJ gathered her courage and made her way over to her old mentor. Eudora stood on the riser to greet her.

“AJ,” she said, her voice reedier than AJ remembered. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too,” said AJ, the scent of Eudora’s rich floral perfume unsealing a cache of memory.

She was looking past AJ at the stage, watching the NBCU interns strike the sets. “Noah did well tonight, didn’t he?”

“Very well.”

“And you were excellent, my dear,” said Eudora. “Not that you should set store by what I say. I’m often…in the wrong.” She took AJ’s hand in both of hers and bowed her head in contrition.

AJ felt a lump in her throat. “I’m here because of you.”

Tears glinted in Eudora’s eyes, so like Noah’s. She squeezed AJ’s fingers, her expression grave. “He shouldn’t have gone off script like that,” she murmured.

She was speaking to AJ now as the only other person who knew Noah’s diagnosis. AJ nodded in response, astonished by the immediacy of this understanding. Such was the depth of both of their love for Noah.

AJ felt a large hand on her shoulder and looked up to see him, fresh from backstage, sweat at his temples. He seemed perfectly in command of himself as he placed his other hand on Eudora’s shoulder and smiled.

A weighty moment passed as the three of them stood together amid the celebratory atmosphere from a very good show. Noah closed his eyes, and AJ could see that he was enjoying the pleasure of having them both in one place.

“It’s tremendous to see you two playing together after all these years,” said Eudora, placing her hand on his arm.

His eyes opened. “Shall I get you back to your hotel?”

Eudora nodded. “Please.”

As she gathered her things, Noah turned to AJ and grasped her shoulder. “I’ll see you at the after-party.”

Noah looked like he could walk through fire. AJ supposed he already had. She wouldn’t be surprised if this turned out to be their best show of the season. She felt her earlier concern melt away, replaced by annoyance. He was fine. Fucking up with NBC, and totally, irritatingly fine.

But where did that leave her?

THE AFTER-PARTY WAS HELD on the rooftop of a boutique downtown hotel. After such an exhilarating show, everyone was in a festive mood.

AJ watched the cast members commandeer a heated outdoor living room as she took a seat at the bar and ordered a scotch neat. She figured it would take Noah about an hour to see Eudora back, then another half hour to get down here. By her calculation, he should arrive any minute.

AJ downed her drink and then ordered another, trying to get a handle on herself. In under three hours, she’d gone from dreading Noah’s departure to kissing him, and her thoughts were making about as much sense as a slot machine that spoke in fruits.

“Have you looked at the message boards?” said Dave, plunking onto the barstool beside AJ. He shoved his Android in her face, scrolling demonstratively. “Arho, Arho, Arho, reboot…”

AJ laughed. “No, I haven’t looked.” AJ had gone cold turkey off all Into the Blue–related web content when the show ended. “No” had made this resolution very easy to uphold.

Dave clicked the home screen of his phone closed. “Just saying, for two individuals with no interest in the fandom, you guys just served them one hell of a teaser…”

“We aim to please,” said a low voice behind AJ. Noah had appeared, having changed into a fresh sweater and jeans. She had always loved the way he smelled just out of the shower. The energy between them was still charged from being onstage; they weren’t fully synced, but she could sense enough to know he was feeling relaxed.

“Well, if it isn’t the newest celeb on SNL’s blacklist,” said Dave.

“Great show to you, too, Dave,” said Noah, placing his foot on the ring of AJ’s stool.

Dave shook his head disbelievingly. “It was a great show, man,” he said. “Here, let me get you a drink before you’re officially banned.”

Dave flagged down the bartender. As he did, AJ turned to Noah. “What were you thinking?”

His eyes shone black in the dim glow of the bistro lights. “I was thinking you should be with me,” he said finally. “Onstage. And I was right—you were good.”

AJ’s cheeks warmed. “Well, I hope it was worth it.”

Noah glanced at her lips, then toward the bar. “It was worth it.”

AJ’s insides turned to goo.

It would be so easy to sleep with Noah. Nothing would feel more natural. Perhaps that’s why she hadn’t told him about Brian; some unconscious part of her was hoping Noah would try. Which was totally and completely fucked-up. Brian was a good guy.

But Noah was…Noah. Fuck. Why did he have to kiss her?

“As I was saying,” said Dave, handing AJ a scotch, “this is one of those things that could totally go viral, and when it does…we could have a film adaptation on our hands. I would do a film.”

Noah laughed and took his drink, casually resting his elbow on the back of AJ’s stool. The warmth of his chest radiated through her shirt, but she kept her eyes forward.

“I hate to bring this up,” said Noah playfully, “but the series kind of left off with Ana and Rho striking out on their own. Would Pete even be in the movie?”

Dave scoffed. “Of course he would. Who else would show up to bail out Ana and Rho after they get caught because he happened to be monitoring all the Naval communiqués?”

“Out of curiosity, how much time are you spending on the message boards?” said AJ. As she downed her whiskey, she could feel Noah’s eyes on her throat.

“Enough,” said Dave.

AJ laughed, and she heard Noah’s breath hitch. She glanced up at him over her shoulder and saw heat in his eyes. Fuck. Almost imperceptibly the hand that was resting on the back of her chair brushed against her shoulder blade. AJ had to suppress a chill.

“Heads up, Age,” said Dave. “There’s your boy.”

“What?” said AJ, looking away from Noah.

Brian McKenzie had just stepped off the elevator and was heading right for them.

AJ felt as if she’d plunged into the Hudson.

He must have arrived back early and come to surprise her. As he approached the bar, several cast members flagged him down for high fives. Everybody loved Brian.

“Hey, Dave,” he said, joining them. He beamed at AJ. “There she is.” Numbly, AJ hopped off the stool for a hug, squeezing her eyes shut as he planted a kiss on her cheek.

Now Brian turned to Noah, who sheathed his confusion behind a mask of geniality. “I’m Noah,” he said, offering Brian his hand.

Brian shook it heartily. “I know who you are, man.” Clearly, he had missed tonight’s show. “I loved you in The Contract. I’m Brian, AJ’s boyfriend.”

Noah stilled, and AJ watched him take in this information, watched him take in Brian, and what a viscerally good guy he was.

“AJ’s boyfriend,” Noah repeated, the muscle in his jaw working. AJ felt searing shame, swiftly followed by indignation. Yes, she could have mentioned it. But it wasn’t like Noah had asked if she was seeing anyone. He’d just assumed she hadn’t been.

“Brian works for ESPN,” said Dave, performing AJ’s part of the conversation. “He loves baseball. Like, really loves baseball.”

Noah straightened. At his full height, he was a hair taller than Brian. “Brian McKenzie?” he said. Brian nodded. “I loved that piece you wrote about the Brooklyn Dodgers last year.”

Of course you did, thought AJ, as Noah now extended himself to Brian. AJ could sense no hostility as the two of them began to ardently shoot the shit about this long-dead baseball team. She did notice that Noah was no longer looking at her. After Brian’s favorite story about Jackie Robinson, he surveyed the group.

“I’m gonna grab a whiskey. Can I get you guys anything?”

Noah shook his head. “I should go over there and apologize to Dani.”

“Better you than me,” said Dave.

Noah downed the rest of his drink. “I got nothing to lose.” He clapped Brian on the shoulder. “I’m really glad I got to meet you,” he said, looking him square in the eye.

“Same,” said Brian, giving Noah a nod.

“I’ll see you, Dave,” said Noah. He turned his head toward AJ, but didn’t meet her eyes. “Age.”

He crossed the room in a few strides. AJ resumed her seat at the bar and let Brian get her a drink. She did her best to follow the conversation between Brian and Dave while clocking Noah’s movements around the party. He went over to Dani, and then to the outdoor lounge for at least one round of drinks with the cast.

As each second ticked by, AJ could feel the wormhole reopening. Soon, Noah would be gone. Maybe for good, if he truly had gotten himself banned from SNL. He had blazed through and, in a matter of days, reduced any chance she had of forgetting him to cinders.

As AJ threw back a series of scotch neats, it dawned on her that Dani had been right. Noah was a nepotistic, privileged asshole who never gave a thought to how his whims affected her life. This was no different from when he’d trapped her into playing Alara. You should be with me. Onstage. Nice for him to get to decide that. He who, in his own words, had nothing to lose.

How dare Noah ignore her email then impulsively kiss her. How dare he be hurt she had a boyfriend. He was the one who didn’t want a relationship. He was the one who had rejected her.

You have no idea how much I missed you.

As if he hadn’t known exactly where to find her this entire time. He was just fucking around. Him leaving—that was real life.

When Noah rose to go to the after-after-party with the rest of the cast, AJ stood, tumbler in hand. She intercepted him before he reached the elevator.

“Not saying goodbye? How unlike you,” she said, and felt the energy linking them crackle.

Noah’s eyes gleamed as he motioned for the rest of the cast to go on without him. Slowly, he stepped toward her, sliding his hands into his pockets. In a low voice he said, “I like Brian.”

AJ swirled her drink. “Do you?”

Noah looked right at her and said, “I do. He’s exactly who you should be with.”

The floor had begun to tilt—either that or AJ was listing. “So glad you approve.”

Noah gave her the once-over. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” he asked, concern flitting across his face.

The words sent a vile substance swirling in AJ’s gut. Maybe she had, but fuck him. “I’ve had just enough,” she said, “of you. You could have gotten me in real trouble tonight.”

Noah leveled his stare at her. “I didn’t think, I’m sorry.”

AJ smiled at him derisively. “Yeah, you say that, but all I hear is fuck you.”

Noah took another step toward her. “Well, you didn’t seem that upset about it earlier,” he said softly, and for an instant, the ghost of their kiss hovered between them. He swallowed hard. “Then again, you’re not exactly communicative these days, are you?”

“I’m not communicative. Really, Noah?” said AJ, her eyes burning. “I wrote you.” I needed you.

He said nothing, his expression drawn. AJ wasn’t having it. “What, too deep in character to type a response? Or too deep in PETA’s hottest spokeswoman?”

Noah flinched. “You know why I didn’t—”

“You always do this,” she interrupted. “You appear out of nowhere and pull me into this fantasy performance piece you live in, which is fine for you, because all the world’s a stage when you’re a Drew. But, in case you haven’t noticed, we can’t all be Drews.”

Noah was livid. “There she is,” he said, his gaze scalding. “Still playing it safe. Don’t blame me because you didn’t have the guts to go for what you really want in life.”

“What are you talking about?” said AJ, her cheeks coloring.

“Acting,” said Noah. “You love it.”

AJ laughed. “I really don’t.”

As she lifted her drink for a sip, his hand enveloped hers. “Tonight, on that stage, you were loving it,” he said, his eyes lethal. “I could feel you.”

AJ tried and failed to shake him off. “Right,” she seethed. “That’s because I was—”

With you.

AJ’s jaw clamped down as the horrible truth washed over her. She did love acting…with Noah.

She only loved acting with Noah.

And while she might have prevailed on herself to move on in every other aspect of her life, the part of her that played was still seventeen and unbroken and his. Even if he didn’t know it. Even if he didn’t want it. Even if he didn’t want her. It had been done long ago, and AJ was powerless to undo it.

This wasn’t anger AJ felt now. It was wrath. The air around them was warping with it. His touch was iron on her skin. AJ could not stand to be powerless for another second.

“What would you know about guts?” AJ sneered. “Your entire life’s been handed to you.”

Noah wrested the glass from her. “At least I’m not hiding in a bottle, pissing away my talents.”

Just like your old man. The words were implicit.

AJ’s teeth were actually bared. “No, you just piss off anyone you can. Does it work? Does it make you feel alive, daring everyone to fight the great Noah Drew?”

He advanced on her, so close their noses were almost touching. “You could have been great,” he said viciously. “But you’re too much of a coward. You were too scared of being seen when you had it, and too scared of looking stupid to get it back.”

AJ glared at him, alcohol rising in her gullet. “You know what, you fucking deserve to be sick.”

The energy between them surged.

Noah blinked rapidly. “I’m not the only one who’s sick,” he said, his voice shaking.

Their connection blared then cut out.

AJ’s eyes stung. “You can stay the fuck away from me.”

“Done,” said Noah. He continued to watch her, breathing hard. AJ stared back. She sensed nothing. She felt nothing. Noah’s lips parted, and he took a breath.

Then he finished her drink and stalked off toward the elevator.

AJ waited for it to ping, gathering herself as it carried him away. Then she walked back to the bar, bid Dave good night, and went home to fuck Brian McKenzie.

NEW YORK, NEW YORK

January 9, 2012

THE SNL WRITERS WERE PITCHING Daniel Radcliffe when AJ’s phone rang, then rang, then rang.

“It’s Pat,” said Libby, in a voice so dull it chilled AJ’s blood.

He’d been driving his three-year-old son, Charlie, on the Mass Pike, when a rockslide sent a truck bed of utility poles barreling toward their Subaru. Patrick made the split-second decision to turn the wheel so the loose telephone poles would hit his side of the car instead of Charlie’s.

The Subaru and Patrick had both done their jobs. When the EMTs arrived, they found Charlie in a nest of broken glass, otherwise unharmed.

But the car was ruined. And so was Patrick, whose entire upper body had been crushed by a pole that had rebounded through the windshield. According to one EMT, his head had ricocheted between his seat and the window and the incoming log, “like a pinball in a pop bumper.”

Apparently, Charlie didn’t cry when they loaded him into the helicopter. Apparently, he’d always wanted to ride in one.

WHEN AJ ARRIVED AT Simmons, it was nearly eight P.M., and Patrick had already been in surgery for several hours. Libby was the first to greet her.

“The whole left side of his body was pulverized.” As she spoke, she continued to furiously text her husband, Lucas, who was the general counsel at another hospital. “The real issue is his brain.”

A craniectomy involved removing a piece of the skull to relieve brain swelling, which was currently the biggest threat to Patrick’s life. For some reason, AJ became instantly fixated on whether or not they were going to reattach the missing piece of skull and what the time frame was for that—something to do with the phrase “couldn’t put Humpty together again.”

“They will in a few days,” said Libby. “Assuming all goes well.”

Assuming Pat lived.

Libby showed AJ to a waiting area blatantly intended for several families that the Graveses had claimed for themselves like a pride of lions. The trash was piled high with pizza boxes and soda cans. AJ’s family even knew how to turn waiting into a tailgate.

AJ’s mother silently hugged her as she entered the room. Then her father slowly rose from his chair. AJ’s heart sank as she smelled the beer on his breath; sure enough, he squeezed her shoulder, then walked toward the exit, probably to down another. AJ had half a mind to follow.

Mike, seated in the corner with his head against the wall, glanced up from his phone with a tremulous nod.

Then, three-year-old Charlie ran over to give AJ a hug. He didn’t seem to understand why his aunts and uncles kept appearing, but he wasn’t fighting it.

AJ squeezed her nephew and let him lead her to Emily, noting the single SpongeBob Band-Aid on his right hand. AJ pretzeled herself onto the floor where they were playing, letting herself be enfolded in her twin’s familiar smell, in the unassailable rightness of her embrace.

Beneath the clock, Patrick’s petite blond wife, Elle, vacantly cradled AJ’s six-month-old niece, Claire. As the hours bled together, her hand stroked the child’s head in one continuous motion.

If Patrick was a normal born of normals, then Elle was a normal born of weirds. Raised by an astrologer-medium mother and a medieval-weapon-forging father, Esmerelda Nimue Mabon-Fay had grown up dreaming of the minivans and mom haircuts she saw on Saved by the Bell.

At eighteen, she shed several name syllables and fourteen inches of hair to reinvent herself as hyper-normal Elle Fay of UMass Amherst; she and Pat had fallen in love across a maroon-emblazoned quad. They’d married quickly, bought a split-level in Gladstone, and Elle had received the mom haircut and minivan of her dreams. She never mentioned her mystical upbringing, except to laugh at it.

But tonight, the clocks had forsaken them. The thin tick of the second hand would stop for nothing, not even Patrick’s life. More than once, AJ caught Elle looking out the window at the blackened sky, beseeching the planets and the forces that moved them. AJ wasn’t one for prayer, she recalled as she silently chanted Help us, help them, help him in an unbroken mantra.

When the surgeon emerged at 4:28 A.M. to tell them the procedure had concluded, and that the swelling in Patrick’s brain was starting to stabilize, the Graveses huddled, as was their custom. And amid their hugs and high fives, AJ saw Elle genuflect her tear-lined face and thank the Goddess.

WHEN PAT AWOKE AFTER his first round of corrective surgeries, the doctors found his limbs unresponsive.

The Graveses were on edge as they waited for further developments, but none more than Libby. Almost losing Patrick had tripled her need to lash out, and in Pat’s absence, AJ saw it as her duty to run interference, to placate their dad, to zamboni the damage.

The days crawled by, leaving AJ exhausted to the point of jet lag. On the bright side, the doctors now felt confident enough to reattach the missing piece of Patrick’s skull.

His rehabilitation would be a multiphase disaster recovery program. The power lines from Pat’s brain to his limbs were still down, and his skeleton had lost its structure. The left side of his head had been marred, his ear macerated, his neck badly scarred. But by the end of the second week, some of the swelling had gone down and he was starting to look more like himself.

And he was increasingly awake. The first time AJ walked in to find him propped up, gazing at her, she almost choked on her own tears.

“I’m not that ugly,” said Patrick, his voice still hoarse from being intubated.

ONE OF THE BEST aspects of Brian McKenzie growing up between two sisters was that he had been raised to lend a hand, and over that first month, he made himself damn useful. He had always been treated as a guest on previous visits to AJ’s family, but no one had the bandwidth for that now. In response, Brian stepped up, seamlessly pitching in wherever he could.

When he saw that AJ needed a break, he gently suggested they head back to the house. There, AJ got in the shower for the first time in days. She emerged to find that Brian had stripped all the beds and begun washing the sheets in her mother’s newly renovated laundry room.

Together, they cleaned the fridge and took the trash out to the garage, where AJ discovered six open cases of Bud, their contents drained and neatly replaced. AJ emptied each box into the recycling until it was so full, Brian had to use one of the flattened cartons to compress the cans.

“He missed one,” said Brian cheerfully, holding up a lone undrunk beer.

AJ frowned. “Aren’t we cutting back?”

She had really frightened herself after the SNL holiday party. She couldn’t remember going home that night, or fucking Brian, or throwing up in her bed, all of which she’d apparently done. She’d awoken the next day in her bathtub, upper body clothed, lower body ass naked, pieces of her fight with Noah lodged in her mind like shrapnel. When Brian had found her he’d thought it was hilarious, but he’d readily agreed to Dry January once he realized how upset she’d been.

Now, he shrugged. “It’s just Bud.” He popped the lid, downed half, and offered it to AJ, who threw back the rest mostly to drown out her own revulsion.

Then they headed over to Patrick and Elle’s split-level and stripped their beds, emptied their trash. When AJ wept over Pat’s inanimate running shoes, Brian held her.

Brian was easy in the waiting room. He sat equidistant from Mike and AJ’s dad and watched the silent television with an unobtrusive expression on his face. If anyone spoke to him, he responded kindly, then went right back to occupying himself. AJ, who felt like she had enough to juggle with her family, appreciated that Brian did not make himself one more person to appease.

Libby, of course, felt like AJ had brought Brian to show her up. The main downside of being fully supported by Lucas was that he worked long hours, so while Libby could (and did!) frequently mention that he was “upholding the Constitution,” she was also mostly alone.

Whatever dissatisfaction Libby felt on this score was now being redirected at AJ and Brian through a number of choice comments about how AJ should lock him down—presumably as a reminder that she, Libby, had successfully done so.

“Such a help,” said Libby after Brian had brought their mother a cup of water. “Age, you should really lock him down.”

AJ found these remarks extremely irritating, but Brian wasn’t fazed. He would turn to Libby and ask her about her own life with such earnest ESPN-journalist interest, he could mollify her for up to an hour at a time.

“You really should lock him down,” whispered Mike after one such intervention.

“Because he has a way with huge egos?” said AJ.

Mike shook his head, getting shy. “Because he’s a good guy.”

The only person who didn’t seem particularly keen on Brian was Emily. At first, AJ assumed she was preoccupied with Patrick. Of all of them, Emily was spending the most time in his room, wordlessly communing with him while he slept. But one Sunday night, Brian brought dinner to the hospital, and AJ got to observe them together.

It wasn’t that Emily disliked Brian so much as she didn’t really take to him. She was friendly enough, and AJ doubted whether Brian knew the difference, but when Emily loved you, like really loved you, it beamed out of her. With Brian, Emily’s smile was this side of dim.

“Don’t you like him?” AJ asked later as the two of them said goodbye outside Patrick’s room. She hated to go, but she had to be back in the city for work the next day.

“Yes, I like him,” said Emily. “I like him just as much as you like him.”

AJ laughed to hide her dismay.

AJ AND BRIAN HIT the road right after the February 18 episode of SNL wrapped so they could be at the hospital first thing Sunday morning. Brian was unusually quiet on the drive up. In fact, AJ realized as she caught him glancing at her for the dozenth time, he’d been tense all week.

AJ chalked it up to stress at work. Brian had been traveling as much as ever without any real rest since all their spare time was being siphoned into AJ’s family.

It wasn’t until the next day, when AJ caught sight of the Simmons receptionists’ heart-filled candy bowl and lacy pink calendar, that she remembered Tuesday had been Valentine’s Day.

It felt so far away now. AJ had canceled their plans last-minute for work. It suddenly occurred to her that Brian might have had more than dinner in mind. Automatically, she glanced at his pockets. When she looked up, Brian was watching her.

Before AJ could so much as open her mouth, Elle appeared, baby Claire strapped to her chest. With an apologetic smile to Brian, she grabbed AJ’s arm and whisked her off toward Patrick’s room.

“What is it?” said AJ.

“You’ll see,” said Elle conspiratorially.

Inside, Pat was propped up in bed, looking as energized as AJ had seen him since the accident.

“Age, look!” he said, and raised his right hand a few inches above his tray table.

“And he’s feeling some tingling in his right leg,” said Elle, bouncing Claire.

This, they explained, boded well for further recovery, at least on that side of his body. AJ grinned, feeling the vise on her heart ease.

“I asked Mom not to say anything, so I could give you the full demonstration,” said Patrick.

AJ’s relief was short-lived. When she returned to the waiting area, she found her family stooped and daunted. The glimmer of this news was already a few days old for them, and they were back to staring down the long, dark road of Patrick’s recovery.

In that moment, AJ would have done anything to bring some light to her loved ones, to take away their pain. She could feel Brian’s eyes across the room. When she looked at him, he stood.

They drove into town, bought coffee, and meandered toward the Housatonic River Walk. The forest was covered in snow, but the footpath was clear.

When Brian told AJ there was something he’d been wanting to ask her but he wasn’t sure if the timing was right, she said it was. When he told her that the last two years had been his happiest, and that he always wanted to be there for her, she said he could. And when he took out a small black box and asked her to marry him, she said she would.

AJ’S PARENTS CELEBRATED THE news with a massive dinner at home. AJ might never have fantasized about being a bride, but like all women, she knew what was expected on this occasion and tried her best to act the part. She posed for photos with Brian and allowed her sisters and Elle to gawk at the ring, a square-cut solitaire in a platinum Elsa Peretti setting, according to Libby.

“That’s at least two carats,” she said knowledgeably. “He did good.”

When the meal had ended and the plates had been cleared, the Graves family settled in front of the television for a basketball game.

AJ watched from outside her body as Brian and her father shook their heads then tipped back their beers in perfect synchronization. When Brian caught her staring, he got up and gave her a one-armed hug. “I know we’re cutting back,” he said. “But beer doesn’t count, right?”

“Right,” AJ heard herself say. Then she volunteered to go for a supply run.

Ten minutes later, she found herself on the sidewalk outside Reel World Video.

Thanks to a robust senior community who still thought DVDs were cutting-edge, the store was hanging on. AJ greeted Storm, then went into the Directors room and stood still between the shelves, letting the shop’s musty, familiar smell envelop her. She took a breath, and then another.

She would be happy with Brian. She would. He was a catch. And he wanted to be with her. And they got along. And he’d been really amazing during this crisis. And her family liked him. This was what normal people did, the next step on the path to a good life.

At length, AJ walked back into the front room of the store. Storm was decorating for the Oscars, affixing DVD cases to an enormous gold display.

“Big week ahead for your boyfriend,” said Storm, adding The Contract.

“Right,” said AJ, feeling giddy for the first time that day.

NOAH DIDN’T WIN. THE consensus was largely that he had been snubbed. AJ agreed.

She had returned from Gladstone that Sunday too late to meet up with Brian. Instead, she sat in her apartment, eating Pringles and waiting for Noah to walk the red carpet.

His memory hung around Simmons, a phantom presence appearing to her in quiet moments, reminding her of New York, of what she had said, of who she had become. This week, he had also literally appeared in Us Weekly with his latest girlfriend, Allison Seabring.

Allison was an indie darling, a serious actor on Noah’s level. She was lively, and interesting, and interesting looking—lithe, with a dirty-blond chop and a cobalt stare. When they arrived at the Oscars, Noah took such care helping her from a shiny black limousine it made AJ’s skull hurt.

He looked incredible, dressed in a classic peak lapel tuxedo. He had gotten some sun, no doubt from his and Allison’s recent—and heavily photographed—Bermudan getaway. Despite AJ’s best intentions, she put aside the Pringles and grabbed the vodka from the freezer.

By the time they were playing the Best Actor clips, AJ was pleasantly buzzed. From The Contract, they showed the speech in which Nathan Mercer sort-of-confessed to killing his best friend, a fellow contract killer sent to bump off the woman he’d loved since childhood.

“They called him a wise guy, but he was a wise man,” the speech began. By the end, AJ was in tears. The camera found Noah in the audience, Allison’s hand reaching inside the frame to grasp his forearm. His face was impassive as he nodded in acknowledgment.

You fucking deserve to be sick.

AJ had been through so much since December, but the remorse she felt over these words was a glowing red brand across her chest. Of all the ways it could have ended between them, she had never envisioned it ending in cruelty.

When the presenter crowned another actor, the camera went to the victor, then immediately back to Noah. His smile was genuine as he stood, heartily applauding the winner.

I’m not the only one who’s sick.

AJ looked at the vodka in her hand, immolated by shame. I don’t need this, she told herself. Then she walked to the kitchen and poured it down the sink. She grabbed the bottle and did the same.

She watched until the end of the ceremony, hoping for another glimpse of him that did not come.

AJ’S NEXT TRIP HOME coincided with the arrival of spring and Elle’s parents, Raven and Gawain Mabon-Fay, who descended on Gladstone in an Airstream full of suncatchers and essential oils.

As they swept into the waiting area that Saturday, Raven in lilac robes, Gawain in forest green, AJ felt oddly subdued. Their presence was yet another indicator of Patrick’s long recovery.

“Katie, there you are,” boomed Raven, unveiling a bouquet of white crystal rods from inside her cloak. “We can all relax—I found the selenite for Patrick’s room.”

“Are you sure that’s necessary?” said AJ’s mom, looking up from Women’s Health magazine.

“Of course,” said Raven. “Goddess only knows who else died in there. And AJ! I hear the hand-fasting rites will soon be upon you, young lady.” She winked audaciously, and AJ grinned.

It was hard to say who loved whom more. AJ loved Raven for inspiring her breakout run of sketches, “1-800-Amethyst.” Raven loved AJ for making her “immortal through art.”

“Where is the young galante?” asked Raven, her pale blue eyes boring into AJ’s.

“He’s covering spring training,” said AJ. Raven blinked. “For baseball,” AJ clarified.

“Ah well, I’m sure we’ll meet him soon,” said Raven. She turned to AJ’s mother with a severe look. “Did you get the email I sent you about the Reiki attunements over in Great Barrington?”

Katie Graves blanched. “I, uh—”

“It’s very important that everyone handling the baby has first degree,” she said emphatically. “It’s crucial.”

AJ’s mother dropped the magazine on her lap. “I did raise five kids, Raven.”

“Yes, and I’m sorry to say that not one of them—sorry, AJ—is in real alignment. Speaking of, there isn’t a moment to waste—the moon is almost at its zenith!”

“Optimal for healing,” explained Gawain as Raven billowed down the hall toward Patrick’s room. AJ’s mom waited for about five seconds, then threw Women’s Health onto an empty chair and strode after Raven, muttering, “I’ll show you alignment.”

Gawain gave AJ a cheery smile, then took a seat, producing a crochet needle and a hat he was making for baby Claire. Under his breath, he hummed “Moonshadow,” by Cat Stevens.

THAT SPRING, AJ PITCHED sketches about the whimsical sadists who made candy-colored scrubs, a woman who descended into madness trying to get healthcare to cover her vending machine tab, and grief as a competitive sport. Her own grief was sharpening her work, and everyone noticed.

“Age, you’re really heating up,” said Grady, after the table read for her “Grief Bowl” sketch. Once, this praise would have made AJ’s year, but it now felt empty. Instead, AJ looked at forty-three-year-old Grady, who did nothing but chug Red Bull and talk out of his ass, and wondered why the fuck he got to have two working legs while Pat had to shit into a bag.

For Easter, AJ sent Brian ahead to his folks in Connecticut, while she stopped over in Gladstone. She arrived at Simmons on Saturday morning to discover a strange, upsetting scene: her mother outside Patrick’s room, crying into the arms of Raven Mabon-Fay.

AJ automatically backtracked around the corner, but not before she heard her mother say, “It’s so much. How are they ever going to manage?”

“I don’t know,” said Raven soothingly. “I’m putting all the energy on it that I can—”

“Seven hundred and thirty thousand dollars,” gasped Katie Graves. “Our house isn’t even worth that—”

“It’s staggering,” said Raven. “And that’s after the insurance.”

“He still has more surgeries,” said AJ’s mom. “And all the physical therapy…”

“Trust the Universe,” chanted Raven, and AJ heard her mom sob.

Numbly, AJ retraced her steps to the waiting room. Over the past month, Patrick had continued to progress. The spinal fusions seemed to be mending without complications, and he was now able to grip things with his right hand and wiggle the toes on his right foot.

The left side of his body, however, remained inert. He was still bedridden.

AJ had known that it must be costing a fair amount for Patrick to be in treatment at Simmons, but three-quarters of a million dollars was a sum AJ couldn’t even conceptualize. The most money she had ever seen at once was the $72,826 she had made for her work on Into the Blue, which, like a good Irish girl, she’d converted into the down payment for her apartment.

Elle and Patrick owned their home, but other than that they had no assets. They didn’t lead a lavish lifestyle, but Elle didn’t work, so they were basically subsisting on Patrick’s disability from his job managing a local car dealership.

Seven hundred thirty thousand dollars. A bill half that much would ruin them.

What were they going to do?

When AJ entered the waiting room, she found Libby chatting with her brother’s nurse, Melissa. AJ did a double take—Libby’s smile looked brighter than it had since Pat’s accident. Like she was actually…enjoying herself.

This day just kept getting weirder.

“Oh, Age, I didn’t know you were up, I would have brought you a coffee,” said Libby, swigging her extra-large Dunkin’ Donuts iced. She offered it to AJ as Melissa waved goodbye.

AJ took Melissa’s seat, accepted the coffee, then told her big sister what she’d overheard. Libby seemed mildly annoyed by this, but she did not seem surprised.

“You knew?” said AJ. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Libby tilted her head and blinked once. “It was need to know,” she said with a condescending simper that turned AJ’s blood to napalm. “Lucas knows the system, so we’ve been advising them on how to deal with the insurance carriers.”

“So what do we do now?” said AJ impatiently.

“Nothing,” snapped Libby, taking back her coffee and swirling it. “This isn’t your problem, AJ.”

“Of course it is,” said AJ. If it were AJ in that bed, Patrick wouldn’t rest until he had figured out a way to help. There was no way AJ was going to sit on her hands just because Libby had declared herself Patrick’s health proxy.

Libby’s eyes narrowed. “Oh. I get it,” she said. “AJ saves the day with all her big TV money, is that it?”

“That’s not—”

“Hate to break it to you, Age, but this situation is fucked beyond what you—or any of us—can do,” she said. “You can’t always play the hero.”

Libby took another long sip of her iced coffee and went back to scrolling on her phone. AJ gaped at her, then stalked out of the waiting room.

Without knowing how she got there, she emerged in the hospital’s main entrance, an atrium with a tacky if calming water feature. AJ paused in front of the trapezoidal fountain, watching the pennies ripple at the bottom.

There was no “big TV money.” Like most glamour jobs, SNL paid in prestige. AJ was compensated per episode, amounting to $82,967.23 annually, which basically covered food and her mortgage.

With fresh regret, AJ thought of Molly Magnusson chiding her for giving up her producer credit on Into the Blue. The show’s cultish fan base had given the series a life on DVD, and the Science channel sometimes ran marathons. AJ might have made a decent sum in residuals.

Why hadn’t she known better? Why didn’t people tell her things? Why did someone so beautiful, so bright have to be struck down? Were good people’s lives really so easily destroyed? Or had the wide-open future always been a myth?

AJ covered her eyes with her hand as hot tears soaked her face.

“AJ?”

At the sound of her name, AJ whirled around. Noah Drew stood ten feet behind her, bathed in the muted white light of the atrium. AJ quickly wiped her cheeks.

This was a mirage. The hideous fountain was obviously cursed. Yet those were his hands. Those were his eyes. As AJ’s brain continued to paw at his image, her only thought was It’s you.

He was dressed more formally than he had been at SNL, in black slacks, a black cashmere sweater, and a long wool coat. AJ was more casual, in leggings, a sweatshirt, and sneakers.

The muscle in his jaw tensed as he took in her face. “Are you okay?” he asked, stepping forward.

I really have been through something, AJ thought vaguely as she registered how grief had cowed her body since their last encounter. It had hunched her, made her heavy and sore. Was this how Noah had felt that whole summer, when it had been his mom?

You fucking deserve to be sick.

Shame bore down on AJ like a lodestone, followed by a flicker of panic. What was Noah doing at Simmons?

“Are you okay?” she asked back.

Noah’s dark eyes probed hers. AJ waited for the energetic thrum that normally accompanied this and felt…nothing. Shit. Their connection was rooted in trust, and she had taken a hatchet to that during their last interaction. They both had.

I’m not the only one who’s sick.

Noah was still searching her. As he took another step closer, AJ’s instinct was to cover herself, but she held her hands at her sides.

“Eudora’s getting some blood work done. Nothing to worry about,” he said at last.

He looked like he had been carved from metamorphic rock, a touch paler than he had been at the Oscars, but strong and whole. And cold. AJ cringed at how she must appear to him.

“This is a far cry from Hollywood,” she said, glancing around the atrium.

“It’s a far cry from New York,” he said warily.

AJ suddenly felt the need to justify her presence. “My brother had an accident.” Tears filled her eyes as soon as she spoke the words.

Noah’s brow creased. “I’m so sorry,” he said in a low voice. “Mike?”

“Pat,” said AJ, tears gushing down her face. Fuck. “Sorry, it happened in January, I don’t know why I’m crying. He’ll be okay, there have just been a lot of surgeries, and he still can’t walk—”

Shut up, shut up. AJ crossed her arms and looked at her feet. She watched Noah’s shoes take another step toward her.

“AJ, there you are!”

AJ’s head whipped up. Raven Mabon-Fay was marching toward them, her eyes glinting at the sight of Noah. “And you must be AJ’s fiancé!”

Noah glared at Raven. “Absolutely not,” he said vehemently.

AJ felt so cut by this she couldn’t breathe. “Raven, no,” she managed. “This is Noah Drew.”

She waited for recognition to dawn, but Raven wasn’t listening. “I can always tell when a couple is in love,” she crowed.

“Noah.”

Eudora had entered the atrium from the other side, a bright-orange Band-Aid visible below her cuffed cashmere sleeve. Her eyes went directly to the two-carat Elsa Peretti on AJ’s left hand.

“Your aura is usually green,” Raven was saying, “but it’s lavender right now, my dear, positively radiant. As is yours,” she said to Noah.

“Noah,” said Eudora, more forcefully this time. “It’s time to leave, dear.”

Noah was still looking at Raven with intense revulsion. Eudora reached him and took his arm in hers. “Nice to see you, AJ,” Eudora said, formally. “And congratulations.”

“Yes,” said Noah, now glancing down at AJ’s ring and back up. “Congratulations.”

With that, Eudora led Noah from the entryway. Raven turned toward AJ, confused. “So that…wasn’t your fiancé?”

AJ stared after Noah, her heart pounding. “No,” she said finally. “It wasn’t.”

THAT AFTERNOON, AJ COULD barely contain herself. She had half a mind to get in the car and drive to Brian’s, but the idea of seeing Brian in this agitated state wasn’t at all comforting. At least here, no one was really paying attention to her.

Noah must have come home for Easter. That wasn’t a crime. Technically. But why, of all places, did he have to be at Simmons?

Their entire exchange made AJ want to apply for foreign citizenship. The way she’d blubbered up her guts…then Raven, accusing him of being her fiancé…

Absolutely not.

AJ shuddered. Clearly, his feelings for her were long gone. Of course they were. He was an Academy Award–nominated movie star, and she was a mean drunk.

Mike, who was usually good for a distraction, was up in his room broadcasting a game of Super Smash Bros. to his fans. When Libby’s car pulled in, AJ took that as her cue to leave the house. She grabbed Emily, and the two of them headed downtown to Reel World Video.

“Emily, hi, sweetie!” said Storm, winking at AJ from behind the register.

Emily was mostly into romantic comedies these days. As the twins perused the shelves for one she hadn’t seen, AJ felt the musty scent of the store easing her nerves.

“The Proposal?” AJ ventured.

“I don’t like that one,” said Emily. “The dog gets stolen.”

“Gross,” said AJ, who hadn’t seen it. “Two Weeks Notice?”

“That one has strip poker,” said Emily. She began to giggle uproariously.

“What about Miss Congeniality?” said AJ.

“You seem really determined to watch something with Sandra Bullock,” said a low voice.

Noah was standing in the doorframe. AJ’s brain just gave up.

He had changed into jeans and a plain black T-shirt. Distantly, AJ noticed how well he filled it out. Jeez. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a sexual thought—ever since Patrick’s accident, her body had been running on cortisol.

Noah wore a relaxed expression, his eyes playful, the polar opposite of the austere man who couldn’t wait to get away from her a few hours earlier. AJ tried in vain to sense what it meant.

Beside her, Emily began to bounce. “Hey, I know you!”

A genuine smile creased Noah’s face. “Emily, hi,” he said. “It’s good to see you.”

“Noah,” said Emily. “Noah and the puppies.”

“That’s right,” said Noah. He looked from AJ to Emily back to AJ. “I was on my way to the diner, and I saw you two come in here. Are you hungry?”

“Yes,” said Emily, immediately.

“Okay, great,” said Noah. He glanced at AJ. “You?”

AJ shuffled in place. She didn’t know what to say. Absolutely not, came to mind. But he was looking at her in that Noah way, and of course AJ wanted to go.

“You know your mood swings are kind of giving me whiplash,” she muttered.

Noah stared at her incredulously. “Did you just quote Twilight at me?”

AJ couldn’t hide her delight. “Did you just recognize a quote from Twilight?”

“I read for Edward Cullen, back in the day,” said Noah stoutly. “Sadly, I had to stand aside…”

“And you wonder why you haven’t won an Oscar,” said AJ.

Noah grinned.

THEY SAT ON SPINNING stools at the counter at Rob’s Country Diner, AJ between Noah and Emily. Burgers and fries were an easy call; when Noah put in for a beer, AJ very deliberately seconded Emily’s order for a milkshake. As they ate, Noah confirmed that he was in town for Easter. From there, he would be heading back to the U.K. to wrap up a shoot.

“We’ve got about a month left on location,” he said.

“What’s the project?” AJ asked, struggling to coax ketchup from a glass bottle.

Noah took the bottle from her. “It’s a surprise.” He gave the bottle one shake and handed it back to AJ. Annoyingly, it now produced a dollop of ketchup on her plate.

“That’s nice of you to come home for Easter,” said AJ conversationally.

Noah shrugged. “It’s a big house,” he said. “And the holidays are quiet as it is.”

Their gazes connected, and AJ was prepared to bet he was also recalling their conversation at Em Tyner’s Thanksgiving. This whole day felt like a hallucination. That morning, she’d never expected to see him again, and now she was listening to Noah ask Emily about her job at Big Y. “Emily, are you selling Peeps to nice people?”

Emily grinned at him mischievously. “Maybe.”

There was a pinball machine in the corner of the diner; once they finished eating, AJ got change so Emily could play. As she monitored her sister in the bar mirror, AJ noticed a group of her mother’s colleagues hawkishly staring at them. She waved, then turned to Noah.

“Congrats,” she said, catching his eye. “You’re officially famous enough that the teachers at Gladstone Elementary have heard of you.”

Noah smirked. “That’s not because I’m famous,” he said, amused. “That’s because they’re wondering what you’re doing out with a known troublemaker.”

AJ smiled because he was probably right, and he smiled back. Her heart rate climbed.

Should she mention SNL?

The way he was looking at her now, so unguarded—AJ wanted to deserve that again. She cleared her throat. “Do you remember that time we watched ‘Fire & Water’ at the store?”

It was the night they’d talked about their dads. Noah wasn’t smiling now.

AJ reached for the mauve napkin ring that had come with his flatware. “I-I think you were right. We do say the worst things to the people we care about,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”

“Age.” Noah’s expression was unreadable. “I am too. For what I said. And…for not writing you back. I wanted to. I-I had your note open for like a week. But in the end, it just…seemed like it would complicate things.”

“Yeah, no, that makes sense,” said AJ quickly. She let her eyes drift from his napkin ring to her engagement ring. “And hey, it all worked out, right? In the end.”

Noah let out a breath. “Right,” he said matter-of-factly. “So, when’s the wedding?”

AJ dropped the paper band. “Next year sometime. We don’t have a date yet.”

“You and Brian, I assume?”

AJ nodded. Noah’s long fingers picked up a fry and swirled the ketchup around his plate.

“Is he working this weekend or…”

“He’s at his parents’,” said AJ. “He’s had to be here way too much the past few months.”

She wanted to ask if Allison Seabring was working this weekend, but the impulse faded as Noah began to inscribe her name in the ketchup, hooking the J under the A, just as he’d done inside Laughter & Death. A bandage covered his knuckles that AJ hadn’t noticed before. He dropped the fry when he saw her looking.

“I was really sorry to hear about Pat,” he said, tucking his hand under the counter.

AJ looked up at his handsome profile. This was his serious side; his mouth sloped down slightly on the left, making his face appear longer from this angle. “Thanks. Yeah, it’s brutal.”

“It’s devastating,” said Noah, turning toward her. “Does he have kids?”

AJ told him about Patrick’s family, about the emotional strain on Elle and on their parents; Noah’s head inclined in absorption, his eyes bright. As he listened, AJ felt an old certainty lap her anxiety: that nothing she could tell him would be wrong or unwelcome.

More than that—she felt warmth. It was crude, and it was simple, but it was coming from him, and it told her that some form of their bond had survived.

“Time has lost all meaning,” she was saying. “It feels like this happened three days ago, but when I look up it’s already April. The weeks just keep stacking up.”

Noah nodded slowly. “And so do the bills, right?”

A sickening hotness swept over AJ. She hadn’t been consciously thinking about the conversation she had overheard that morning, but she’d inadvertently led them to it. Now it all came flooding back—the number, the panic, the sinking stone of an unsolvable problem.

“We’ve got it covered,” she mumbled.

“I’m sure you do,” said Noah. Something in his tone immediately got under her skin.

“We do,” she said.

“I know,” said Noah. “And if for whatever reason you end up needing help—”

“We don’t need help,” said AJ, heat rising to her face. “I have a plan.”

“Oh yeah?” said Noah, eyes glinting.

It was as if Noah questioning her produced the answer, as if a lifetime of jumping into scenes with him had conditioned her brain to expand at his suggestion. AJ met his eyes with resolve as her next step illuminated with stark clarity.

“I’m doing the cons,” she announced, to herself as well as to him. “This summer.”

Noah’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “Didn’t you say you would rather die—”

“They pay well,” said AJ. “And if I’m there, they’ll pay even better. Apparently the more cast members, the higher the fees. Dave made two hundred grand last year. I’m not going to pass that up just because it looks stupid.”

The slightest tinge of color crept into Noah’s cheeks, and AJ grabbed a fry off his plate, feeling weirdly exhilarated. Maybe it was getting to throw his words back in his face, or maybe it was realizing that, despite the horrors of Patrick’s predicament, they weren’t out of moves yet.

Noah was reading their bill now, brow furrowed as if he were skimming over a new scene. His expression was so familiar, AJ’s heart stuttered.

She could not watch another person she loved be struck down.

“Well, it’s interesting you say that,” said Noah grimly. “Because as it turns out, I’m also doing ‘the cons’ this summer.”

AJ’s mouth fell open. “You are not.”

Noah nodded, tucking the bill and four twenties under the napkin dispenser. “Yup,” he said. “My publicist thinks it will be good for my image—help me connect to a more grassroots audience.”

“Your publicist thinks hanging out in a showroom full of Trekkies will be good for your image?”

“Apparently some people think I’m pretentious and out of touch, can you believe it?”

Now it was AJ’s turn to blush. “Since when do you care what people think?”

Noah shrugged. “Since I gave up Edward Cullen and thus my best shot at an Academy Award.”

He said it lightly, but AJ detected a faint edge in his voice. She didn’t know the first thing about the backroom dealings of Hollywood, but she did know the Oscars were political. Noah had been snubbed last year. Maybe he really did need to go out and kiss babies in order to win.

She grimaced. “You shouldn’t have to do that.”

Noah gave her an incalculable look. “I don’t know why you’re fighting this, it’s good for you. The more cast members, the higher the fees, right?”

“Right,” said AJ.

“Noah!” Emily called from the pinball machine. Noah ate two more fries then put his hand on AJ’s shoulder as he got to his feet.

“It’ll be fun,” he said.

AJ watched in awe as he crossed the room to Emily. He bent his head toward her attentively and asked to have a turn on the machine. When Emily smiled up at him, it beamed out of her.

ALBUQUERQUE COMIC EXPO

June 9, 2012

THE BOOTH FOR INTO THE BLUE was in the remotest crevasse of the Albuquerque Convention Center, so far from a natural light source it was oddly reminiscent of the crale set itself.

Apparently, in the hierarchy of the autograph section, “Into the Blue: Assorted Crew” ranked below a lesser-known Ferengi DaiMon, the star of a nineties monster-of-the-week drama, and a child actor who was now so unrecognizable he had to wear a T-shirt depicting his nine-year-old self.

Dave, Toni, and Xiaobo were already seated at a long table bedecked in a metallic-blue foil cloth, autographing photographs for a small queue. They were all mid-signing as AJ approached, but Dave and Xiaobo winked at her; Toni did not look up from her conversation.

AJ and Toni had carefully steered around each other for about a year after AJ’s humiliating exhibition at Capri Social Club; then Toni had moved to L.A., and AJ hadn’t seen her since. According to Dave and IMDB, Toni and Xiaobo had walked on and off various network shows for the past few seasons. Neither had yet done anything as significant as Into the Blue.

“Age, you made it!” called Dave. He had offered to meet up with her beforehand, but she hadn’t wanted to intrude on his weekend with Toni and Xiaobo. Judging from Toni’s glacial vibe, AJ had chosen wisely.

“Look, everyone,” Dave exclaimed louder. “It’s Ana Tar!”

AJ waved to the handful of fans, most of whom seemed confused by her, which was fine. AJ didn’t need to be recognized for Ana. Or for “No.”

What she needed was ten thousand dollars, which was technically the floor of what she would earn today, her appearance fee. She would also get a cut of whatever autographs she signed. So, in AJ’s estimation, she was hopefully looking at fifteen thousand dollars for Patrick and his family.

“You can throw your backpack over here,” said Dave, showing AJ a small nook behind life-size cardboard cutouts of Navi, Captain Quentin, and Rho.

“How’s it going?” she asked.

“Great,” said Dave, and AJ instantly knew that Toni had been shit talking her.

She didn’t have to wait long to confirm her suspicion. When AJ approached the booth, Xiaobo stood to give her a hug, but Toni held her seat.

She gave an artificially apologetic shrug. “Yikes. I don’t think we can all fit.”

AJ gave an equally artificial shrug in return. “Weird.”

Dave glanced outside the booth. “Harumph. I told our row staff that we were expecting you, Age. We’ll remind him when he loops back. In the meantime, why don’t you share with me?”

Toni sniffed at this suggestion. While not in costume, she was in full glam and sporting what Zora would have worn if she had existed in 2012: a blue leather jacket over a black bodysuit.

AJ considered her own T-shirt, jeans, and messy bun; she definitely had missed the memo.

“That’s okay,” she said. “I’ll just stand until the staffer comes back.”

Xiaobo and Dave exchanged looks. “Are you sure?” said Xiaobo.

“Absolutely,” said AJ.

Dave produced a box of headshots AJ didn’t even remember taking: a breathless image of her twenty-four-year-old self in Ana’s white robes. Molly Magnusson of WME must have sent them.

“I guess you can just hold a couple and get more when you need?” said Dave.

“Sounds good,” said AJ, situating herself a few feet from the table.

Toni winced. “You’re kind of blocking us.”

“Oh, sorry,” said AJ, taking a big step back.

For the next hour and a half, she lurked a short distance from the others, clutching three of her own headshots against her chest like flyers for the most unpopular club in high school. Most of the fans who came by were enthused to see the captain, Zora, and Pete, and puzzled by the strange woman skulking behind them.

But this wasn’t high school, and AJ wasn’t here to fix her relationship with Toni or anyone else from the show. This was about ten thousand dollars minimum.

At least Noah wasn’t here to see this. They hadn’t spoken since their April run-in, which AJ took to mean he had reconsidered. She did not blame him. Frankly, she was just grateful that SNL hadn’t been their last goodbye.

AJ’s right foot had just fallen asleep for a second time when a preteen girl dressed as Navi appeared at the booth. Her cosplay was so precise it made AJ smile, a perfect replica down to the blue body armor, face paint, and candy-apple-red miniskirt. When the girl finished at the table, she glanced nervously at AJ.

“Excuse me,” she said, approaching. “Aren’t you Ana Tar?”

AJ nodded. “I love your outfit.”

“I l-love you,” stammered the girl. “I usually come as Ana, but I’ve been working on this Navi costume for two months…oh my God, in ‘Horses’…my parents have shared custody, and they were doing this thing last year where they had me and my brother on different nights, and watching you stand up for Rho helped me talk to them. They’re not doing that anymore.”

“That’s great,” said AJ, stunned by this intimate deluge from a stranger.

“Do you have a picture?” asked the girl.

“Yes,” said AJ. She glanced down at the photos she’d inadvertently molded to her chest. “Er, let me get you a new one.”

As AJ dug in the box, she asked the girl her name.

“M-E-A-G-A-N.”

“All right, Meagan,” said AJ. She looked down at the image of her own face and uncapped a Sharpie. She deliberated, then wrote To Meagan, from AJ Graves.

“Thanks,” said Meagan, taking the photo and looking up at AJ brightly.

“Thank you,” said AJ. “You’re my first autograph.”

“Wow, really?” Meagan handed back the photo. “Could you write that on here?”

As AJ added the words my first autograph awkwardly above her name, she felt rather than heard Meagan’s earsplitting squeal of astonishment.

“Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh. My. God,” she said. “You’re Rho!”

Noah had arrived at the booth.

He wore a black Henley and jeans and looked every bit the star he was. He was flanked by an attractive, no-nonsense woman in her mid-thirties—probably his publicist.

Their absentee row staffer had also appeared. He was beet red, sweating profusely in his Comic Expo tee, and visibly awestruck by Noah. Noah glanced at the table, where Dave, Toni, and Xiaobo sat equally agog, then to Meagan, then AJ.

AJ held his gaze. He’d actually come. Heart pounding, she broke into a disbelieving smile. Noah’s eyes lit.

“Wow, Ana and Rho,” Meagan said, looking between them. “Did you two, like, plan this?”

AJ and Noah answered at once.

“No,” said AJ.

“Yes,” said Noah.

Meagan stomped her feet in excitement. “Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. I have to tell Oona and Otto—they’re going to flip.”

With that, she sprinted away from the booth, body armor clanging joyously.

“Hey!” AJ called after her. “You forgot your—” She looked down at the photo in her hands and sighed. Noah reached for it, and AJ quickly pulled it away. He grinned at her.

“We’ll need another table, of course,” his publicist was saying to the staffer.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Drew,” sputtered the staffer. “I-I don’t know if we have any more—if only we’d known you were coming…”

“We can make room here,” said Toni.

Noah took the measure of the situation in a blink. “Nice of you to offer,” he said coldly.

Then he put his hand on AJ’s shoulder and turned his back to them. AJ enjoyed this way too much—both the look she imagined on Toni’s face and the very real feel of Noah’s touch through her shirt. AJ had to fight the urge to rub up against him. Stupid big hands. Stupid delicious smell.

“I’m sure you can find something,” Noah said to the staffer. “We’re not picky.”

“Yes, of course, Mr. Drew,” stammered the staffer. “Right away, Mr. Drew.”

He backed out of the booth, head bobbing.

“Did he just…bow to you?” said AJ.

Noah laughed, taking his hand from her shoulder and running it over his face. His publicist stepped forward and showed Noah her phone.

“Now, I’m not suggesting you start doing social media, but if you were to consider it, this would make a hell of a kickoff post.”

It was a photo of the moment AJ had seen Noah arrive; the juxtaposition of the way Noah towered above her and the tenderness in his eyes was compelling. AJ’s cheeks warmed as she took in her own face, so obviously affected by him. She might have been any lovestruck fan.

“Well, it’s good you’re not suggesting I do social media,” said Noah firmly. “AJ, this is Risa, my publicist.”

“Nice to meet you,” said Risa, her eyes sweeping over AJ, lingering on her flyaway hair and glasses. Then her expression changed. She grabbed AJ’s left hand.

“Oh my God, that’s gorgeous,” she said effusively.

“Thanks,” said AJ, her cheeks scalding.

“When’s the big day?” she asked. Now they were best friends.

“We haven’t set a date yet,” said AJ, taking her hand back. With AJ doing the cons and Brian crisscrossing the country for baseball all summer, they had tabled the conversation until the fall. She glanced at Noah, who was watching this exchange with detached interest. As far as AJ knew, he was still seeing Allison Seabring.

The staffer reappeared with two folding chairs.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Drew,” he said, dusting off the seats. “I still have feelers out about a table.” He made a squeezing motion with his fingers.

“Great,” said Noah.

They situated themselves a little way from the others. Toni did not renew her complaint about being blocked.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” said Noah, nodding toward AJ’s headshots.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Drew. I don’t know if we have any more…”

Noah smirked. “I’m going to see it eventually.”

AJ felt a tremor of warmth—a fresh green shoot in the scorched ley line of their bond. Noah didn’t seem to think Comic Expo was beneath him at all. In fact, he was in a very good mood, as if there were no place he would rather be than sitting beside AJ on a folding chair.

AJ grimaced and handed him the photo she’d signed for Meagan.

Noah covered his mouth, his eyes softening as he took in her face. Then he burst out laughing.

“From AJ Graves?” he read. “Are you writing to her from your oak desk?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said AJ. “What’s yours, xoxo Rho?”

“I was just going to let the Sharpie burn through the paper, but that’s a good idea.”

AJ cackled, and Noah looked extremely pleased.

“Heads up,” called Xiaobo. They looked away from each other to find a mob of cosplayers rushing their row.

Word was out: Noah Drew was in the house.

At the sight of the stampede, AJ’s stomach lurched. One fan had felt…manageable. Nice, even. And more to the point, in line with AJ’s perception of the show’s reach. This crowd—it had to be Noah. Had this many people even heard of Into the Blue?

“Single file, please single file!” their row staffer wheezed.

Meagan had pushed her way to the front of the pack, closely trailed by a duo in full Arho getups—an enormous, bald man dressed in Ana Tar’s flowing white robes and a slight woman with a black pixie haircut, Rho’s leather armor, and a swirling facial tattoo.

They sidestepped the staffer and the signing table, arriving breathless before AJ and Noah.

“What did I tell you?” said Meagan, elbowing between them.

“I just,” breathed giant Ana, his eyes brimming. “I can’t believe it’s you!” He reached out his hands, and AJ automatically gave him hers. Noah sat forward, alert.

“So protective!” said giant Ana approvingly. “Don’t you just love her?”

AJ’s heart stopped. She didn’t dare look at Noah.

“I’m Otto,” the cosplayer continued blithely. “Obviously, I’m an Ana. This is Oona, she’s my Rho.”

“We are the co-chairs of the Blue Coats Society,” said Oona in a scratchy, meaningful voice.

The Blue Coats Society. AJ knew there were fan forums, but a whole society?

“Meagan here’s the head of our local chapter,” Oona was saying.

“We’re also the co-authors of the most-read Arho fic on Fandom, no big deal,” said Otto.

He and Oona exchanged proud smiles. “We just…love you guys, man,” said Oona.

“Can I have my picture, by the way?” Meagan piped up.

Noah was still holding AJ’s headshot. Reluctantly, he handed it to Meagan. He was taking this all in stride. Of course he was—this wasn’t his first fan experience. It was definitely AJ’s, and she could feel the foreignness of it activating her adrenal glands.

“Ooo, we’ll take pictures as well,” said Otto eagerly.

“That scene when the two of you wake up the crale in ‘Asleep’—” said Oona, as AJ and Noah uncapped their markers.

“Ooo, or the one when you’re at the lake in ‘Mating Season’!” said Otto.

“Don’t even get me started on ‘Castaway’—”

“Or ‘Wholesale’!”

AJ gulped.

“There’s too much to get into it now,” said Oona, conspiratorially. “You guys doing other signings this summer?”

AJ and Noah exchanged looks. “A few,” said AJ tentatively.

“Ah, great,” said Oona. “We’ll be there. We go to all the Into the Blue events.”

“Your love…shaped me,” said Otto, once again on the verge of tears.

“Thank you,” said Noah, as he and AJ handed over their autographs.

“Xoxo Rho,” read Oona. “Nice.”

“From AJ Graves,” read Otto. He seemed mildly disappointed.

“What time is your panel today?” asked Oona.

Noah turned to Risa. “No panel,” she said without looking up from her phone.

“What?” said Oona. Her eyes blazed, and AJ suddenly understood why she identified with Rho. “We’ll just see about that.”

She marched off, leaving Otto and Meagan to chase after her.

AJ and Noah were signing for a duo dressed as Loki and Thor when Oona returned ten minutes later, now accompanied by a violet-haired woman, who introduced herself as the Comic Expo program director.

“I’m so sorry about the mix-up,” she said as Oona looked on, arms crossed. “I know the Arho fandom is a huge community—I’ve been able to do some reshuffling, and I think we can squeeze in a panel for you two.”

Noah glanced at AJ—before either could answer, Risa stepped off the wall to inquire about the details. The staffer had paused the fan line. At the table, Dave, Xiaobo, and Toni craned their necks to see what was going on, the last wearing an expression of extreme perturbation.

“Hey,” said Noah, touching AJ’s arm. As he leaned over to speak directly into her ear, AJ had to concentrate to keep her breath even.

“We don’t have to do this,” he said quietly. “I know it wasn’t part of the plan—I don’t want you to feel like I’m pulling you into some kind of performance piece.”

AJ pulled back to meet his eyes. She wanted to tell him that performing together had been the greatest honor of her life. That she’d only said those things because she’d been so scared it would never happen again.

Instead she said, “I want to do this.”

Noah didn’t smile, but his entire face lit up, and AJ knew she’d made him happy.

“And we should ask them to join,” she said, nodding toward their castmates.

Noah glared. “Why?”

AJ gave him a small smile. “It’s what Ana Tar would do.”

That weekend, after the panel and another signing, AJ walked away with twenty-seven thousand dollars.

FLORIDA SUPERCON

June 30, 2012

THEY WERE THE HOT NEW act on the convention circuit, and Florida Supercon rolled out the red carpet accordingly. When AJ arrived at the Miami Airport Convention Center roughly an hour before their panel, a staff member was waiting to greet her. “Ms. Graves,” he said, escorting her into a labyrinth of industrial corridors away from the crowd.

Noah’s presence had elevated the Into the Blue events to the point of a sensation. Rarely did an actor at the top of their Hollywood game make themselves available on behalf of a long-dead show, and the Blue Coats were accordingly stoked.

Blue Coats Society: Arho\\Summer Cons\\2012

CraleQuest314: Mom and Dad are back, y’all!!

SpaceNTimer87: VINDICATION. SNL was a hint.

AnaTardis9!: There’s no way this would be happening if they weren’t talking reboot.

AJ knew it was lucky that Noah’s PR efforts were overlapping with her familial fundraising drive. Molly Magnusson had already leveraged his presence, raising AJ’s fee for Supercon by 150 percent.

On a personal level, though, it was hell.

For three days after Albuquerque, AJ had felt lifeless. She and Noah had sat together for only a few hours, but they had been the best few hours of AJ’s entire year.

On the fourth day, she began to reason with herself. These events were necessary, and Noah’s attendance was a boon. If she had to budget for an emotional hangover after each one, so be it.

Honestly, she was golden as long as they didn’t touch.

Noah had barely grasped her shoulder in New Mexico, but it hadn’t mattered. AJ had thought of it for days. Which wasn’t fair—to her or Brian. They were engaged now. AJ wanted to be good.

So moving forward, no touching.

AJ reminded herself of this as the staffer showed her into a spacious greenroom, where she was immediately assaulted by the sight of Noah’s sculpted shoulder blades in a black long-sleeved shirt. He was standing in the far corner, speaking with Risa and a man AJ didn’t know.

“Age,” called Dave, always the statesman. He motioned for her to join him, Xiaobo, and Toni in the other corner, where his Android was in a cup playing “Hold It Against Me.”

AJ felt Noah tracking her as she hugged Dave and Xiaobo, and then, very stiffly, Toni.

“Come here often?” said Toni.

“Right? Of all the gin joints,” said AJ, nervously overdoing it.

Toni gave her a small smile. After AJ insisted they all be included in the Comic Expo panel, Toni was making more of an effort to be cordial.

Truly, Toni and the others had done AJ and Noah the favor. Neither she nor Noah would have made it through a single question on their own. Meanwhile, their castmates were fully steeped in the show’s lore, easily fielding topics from episode-by-episode trivia to fan conspiracy theories.

“Did you hear we’re completely sold out?” asked Dave excitedly.

“I heard we outsold the event for The Hobbit,” said Xiaobo. Toni raised an eyebrow. “What? The staff guy is cute and loves to gossip.”

Dave turned an ill shade at this, but AJ felt sicker. She knew she should be happy—more ticket sales meant more money. But having to walk onstage in front of all those people was terrifying.

AJ’s skin flushed; Noah was still eyeing her. She smiled at him, and he motioned for her to cross the room.

“How’s the bride-to-be?” said Risa, embracing AJ like a sorority sister. “You guys set a date yet?”

“Not yet,” said AJ.

Noah’s torso angled toward her, as if he were about to reach out.

No. Touching.

Quickly, AJ turned to the new man. He was in his late forties and stood about five foot ten, wearing an expensive blue suit that accentuated his very blue eyes. His tan was an accomplishment.

“AJ, this is Ned, my manager,” said Noah.

“Nice to meet you, AJ,” said Ned, extending his hand. AJ shook it; it was a good handshake. “I was sorry not to be there in Albuquerque, but my nephew was getting married.”

“I guess we’ll have to forgive you then,” said AJ. Ned laughed harder than the joke deserved, which made AJ warm to him probably more than he deserved. He glanced from AJ to Noah. “Why don’t we give you kids a minute to catch up?”

Ned pulled Risa aside, and they began flipping through photos on her phone.

AJ looked up into Noah’s face. He was studying her, a little shyly. AJ’s cheeks colored; he was the only cast member she hadn’t hugged in greeting.

He’s not keeping track, she reminded herself. He stepped toward her, placing his hands on his hips. As he did, Ned glanced over like a chaperone.

“I’ve been brushing up,” said Noah. “I think I could actually answer that question about Rho’s patrilineage if it came up today. I had no idea how…academic these things would be.”

AJ laughed. “How have you been studying?”

“The woman who runs rhorhorhoyourbiceps.com is actually a pretty good writer,” he said, bashfully rubbing his bangs. “And I watched a couple episodes.”

AJ’s eyebrows shot up. “You must be really feeling the pressure,” she said, smiling teasingly into his dark eyes. Then she admitted, “I did too.”

She’d watched the first three to see if she could stand it. Every time she walked onscreen, it came as a shock. But as the episodes progressed, AJ found herself pleasantly surprised by her own choices. Ana came across as vulnerable but quietly strong.

Noah gave her a knowing smirk. “I thought you were good, too,” he said, and AJ felt a tug. So faint. Not at all like it had been while filming. That was in the footage too, how intensely they felt each other, how that had meant more than what was or wasn’t being said. Now, all they had were words.

A staffer appeared with a five-minute warning. Risa came forward to spruce Noah.

AJ glanced at her own reflection. She had actually applied mascara today and swapped out her usual tee for an Ana-adjacent white blouse. The glasses and bun were all AJ, though.

Risa caught AJ’s eye. “Come here.”

“Why,” said AJ suspiciously, but she obeyed.

Noah rejoined them as Risa considered AJ with a beautician’s eye. “You have the best hair,” she cooed. “What do you think, Noah? Up or down?”

“Oh, I’m the wrong person to ask,” said Noah lightly. In the mirror, AJ thought she saw his hand tense.

“Okay great, down it is,” said Risa. She reached over and in two twists, removed the elastic from AJ’s hair, shaking it out with her fingers.

“Glasses,” she said, opening her palm. Reluctantly, AJ handed over her spectacles. She was nearsighted without them; maybe that would help. Maybe she wouldn’t be able to see the crowd. Risa positioned AJ in front of the mirror. For the first time in forever, Ana Tar stared back.

“Better,” said Risa.

“If you say so,” said AJ. She glanced over her shoulder and caught Noah watching. He blinked a few times as the staffer returned to bring them out.

Now they were lining up: Xiaobo, then Toni, then Dave, then AJ, then Noah.

As they processed backstage single file, the crowd’s chanting exploded into earshot. Up ahead in the wing, Toni, Dave, and Xiaobo stretched and shook themselves to expel the adrenaline. Noah, meanwhile, stood calmly behind. AJ crossed her arms and squeezed her ribs.

Fuck. It sounded like a football stadium out there.

Their moderator today was Wystan Ruiz, a decorated playwright with a deep passion for the show. His intros for the cast were so twee, AJ would have laughed if she hadn’t felt so sick.

“Xiaobo Lee, aka Captain Quentin Chan, disaffected leader!”

“Break a leg!” Xiaobo whispered over his shoulder.

He walked onstage to deafening shrieks, a stunned grin spreading across his face. Whoa, he mouthed offstage, before taking one of six tall black director’s chairs.

As AJ advanced, she caught her first glimpse of the audience. Suddenly she wasn’t getting enough air.

Ballroom A was a cavernous carpeted conference room the size of a large car dealership. SNL’s studio capacity was three hundred seats; this venue looked at least five times that.

The crowd was on their feet cheering for Xiaobo, fathoms of fans in Blue Coat blue, peppered with makeshift Petes, and Navis, and Zoras, and Irises, and Anas, and Rhos. Once again, AJ felt staggered that this many people had seen the show. That this many people were…here.

Now her lungs weren’t filling at all.

Her mind was skipping backward, past SNL and UCB Chelsea, to her high school cafetorium, where she’d hyperventilated while auditioning for Uncle Vanya. Fuck. It was happening again. She couldn’t get air. There wasn’t enough air.

“Toni O’Brian, aka First Mate Zora Ganz, wounded warrior!”

Toni walked on to a tidal wave of applause, and Dave took another step down the gangplank.

AJ willed her legs to follow, but they wouldn’t carry her forward.

Instead, they turned toward the exit, bringing her face-to-face with Noah. AJ couldn’t see the door past his irritatingly large frame. His expression became serious the moment he saw hers.

“I don’t think I can do this,” whispered AJ.

Noah looked around, probably for someone to intervene. He didn’t want to deal with her acting out, or acting like Eudora, and AJ didn’t even care, she just wanted to get to the exit and—

Noah stepped toward her. “Breathe,” he said in a low voice.

AJ shook her head furiously. “You were right,” she gasped. “I hate this. I don’t want to be seen. I don’t belong here.”

“Dave Marans, aka Peter Hobbes, technological trickster!”

Now Dave was onstage, and they were alone in the wing. As the crowd erupted again, AJ was pitched into another wave of panic. She was next. They would call her name, and she would still be frozen, and the room would go silent, and they’d all know she’d imploded and—

“Oh God—”

Noah caught her by the shoulder and pressed his other hand to her sternum. “Breathe.”

The heat of his palm felt like sun pouring directly into her lungs. Every fiber of her being now focused on the part where it was connected to his. For a second, his nearness fixed her in place.

Then, shit. This was bad. AJ wasn’t supposed to have this. She was fucking up again and—

Noah must have felt her heart rate spike. He bowed so their foreheads touched; his eyes were closed, long lashes fanned out across his cheekbones. AJ felt his bangs brush her brow, felt his energy surround her like a moat. Her eyes sank shut. She took one breath, then another.

When her eyes reopened, the world had receded, and it was just them. Noah’s eyes were still closed, and he was breathing deeply, pouring his warmth into her. AJ stilled in his grasp, her body yielding to its mate. She breathed. She breathed again. Her eyelids shut once more.

When they reopened, they were back in the wing. Gently, Noah lifted his head, his eyes soft on hers. He did not remove his hands. They stood together like that for one breath, then another.

“AJ Graves, aka Ana Tar, seeker.”

Noah still hadn’t let go, those dark eyes of his inked in memory, and now AJ was seventeen again, in another wing, at another convention. “Hi,” he said roughly.

Despite everything, AJ smiled. “Hi.”

Noah’s gaze shone. Slowly, his hand lifted off her chest. He swept her hair over her shoulder, away from her face. Then he nodded toward the stage. He let her go.

As she turned to face the lights, AJ’s terror began to recrystallize like frost.

In ten seconds, she would walk out and all anyone would think was “No.”

It’s a terrible thing to stand in the wings, haunted by the specter of your younger self.

Onstage, Toni was staring at AJ with a fascinated expression, but beyond her, AJ could see Dave’s encouraging smile. Shuddering, AJ stepped out from the shadows.

The heat of the spotlights hit her face, followed a nanosecond later by the roar of the crowd. What came next was such an intense wave of love, it drove the sound out of the room.

As AJ looked out into the sea of blue, she collided with an alternate reality.

She had been in a show. A real one.

All those commenters on the boards…they weren’t just usernames.

They were real people who had watched the show and loved it. Who had made it their own. Who had drawn strength from it, who had written fan fiction about it. Just as AJ once had.

“We love you, Ana!” Even without her glasses, AJ could see Otto’s bald head in the front row, Oona right beside him. They waved, holding up a poster that read I’m Breaking Space and Time.

As AJ looked out at their faces, she felt something unlock inside her. She remembered what it was to love a stupid television show so much it became your world.

In this room, Into the Blue had been real, and these people, the Blue Coats, had all gathered to collectively steal an extra moment inside that universe.

A universe AJ had helped create.

Her hand found its way to her heart as the tremendous honor of it hit her. She smiled out at the crowd and bowed to them, and the sound of their applause was so thunderous she had to laugh.

As AJ took her seat, she glanced into the wings and saw Noah standing poised on the edge between darkness and light.

Yes, she knew what it was to suspend your entire reality for just a little more time.

She nodded to him. Thank you. Noah returned her nod as the moderator called Rho, shadow.

They stayed the full afternoon for another signing. When AJ boarded the red-eye home from Miami, she had made forty-one thousand dollars.

SAN DIEGO COMIC-CON

July 13, 2012

INSPIRED BY AJ’S FUNDRAISING QUEST, Mike had arranged to join her for Comic-Con. Frankly, the rates he could command as a Dungeon Master put AJ’s appearance fees to shame.

They flew out together on Thursday afternoon. Later that night, he sat AJ down for “the talk.”

“Age, the people who go to the panels at Comic-Con stay all day,” he warned her. “I’m sure there will be some Blue Coats, but…I wouldn’t expect, you know, a lot.”

Clearly, Mike wasn’t familiar with the likes of Oona and Otto. AJ awakened the next morning to a photo collage on the Blue Coats site of fans camping out to get seats.

Indeed, AJ arrived in the greenroom to find a tan, svelte Em Tyner regaling the rest of the cast with tales of his visit to that very fan line the previous evening.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Em said, shaking his head. “Not even for Haunted High.”

In the far corner of the room, Noah whispered in AJ’s ear, “A real man of the people.”

AJ soaked in his scent, keeping her eyes on Em. “You’re one to talk, Byron.”

Noah made a disgruntled noise at the back of his throat. Standing beside him now, it was impossible not to relive the way he’d held her backstage in Miami. But on the whole, AJ had taken the most recent Noah hangover in stride. She’d barely thought of him over the past month.

Unless you counted repeatedly watching the trailer for his newest release.

AJ had first encountered it while taking Emily to see Ted. She’d been searching her bag for their contraband Sour Patch Kids when Noah’s voice murmured over the speakers in a British accent.

“She walks in beauty, like the night, of cloudless climes and starry skies.”

AJ sat bolt upright. No wonder he’d looked so entertained when she’d floated a Lord Byron biopic; he was already doing one.

It was painful how good he looked onscreen. In The Contract he’d been emaciated, but this film had made a meal of his body. As AJ watched the trailer, she felt like she was submerging in ice.

Byron flashed across the screen, followed by Noah’s name and the names of a dozen other A-list actors…including Allison Seabring.

By AJ’s calculations, Allison was due for Noah’s three-month relationship cutoff, but a quick google revealed they were still an item. Knowing they were working together hurt almost as badly as knowing they were sleeping together. AJ’s only defense had been an aggressive offensive: that night, she’d all but tackled Brian.

Had that stopped AJ from occasionally rewatching the Byron trailer and judiciously checking the Blue Coats fan forums? It had not.

Blue Coats Society: Arho\\Summer Cons\\2012

BadRhomance33: That Byron trailer makes me so excited for the reboot.

MadameRho<I>: Noah Drew is

CurvyArho122: It’s never as good as it is with AJ.

BadRhomance33: It’s true #Arho are #fatedmates.

Right now, though, Noah was the least of AJ’s concerns.

Em Tyner was approaching them, his eyes trained on Noah. AJ realized too late he hadn’t seen her—she veered out of his path just as he was about to step on her foot.

He blinked at her, surprised. “Age—sorry. Didn’t see you there. You’re looking well.”

“Em, hi,” said AJ, her voice shooting up an octave.

Em had already refocused on Noah. “Tough break last year on The Contract,” he said, unable to keep the smugness from his voice. “I’m sure you’ll get another shot with Byron.”

“Thanks,” said Noah, casually shifting his weight so that his left shoulder was now directly behind AJ’s back. “What’s next for you?”

“Oh, me? You know, this and that,” said Em with false modesty. “E—get over here, will you?”

Ian was currently employing a defense AJ knew well: chatting with Dave to shield oneself from Toni’s death glares. He looked unchanged, despite his recent move to L.A.—California had done nothing to diminish his trademark pastiness. As he shuffled over, AJ felt a strange mix of nostalgia and contempt.

Ian’s fawning over Em had eventually paid off; according to LinkedIn, he now worked for him full-time. AJ wondered if it had been worth it.

“Age,” Ian said with a small smile. “You look well.” He even spoke like Em now.

“Hey, E,” said AJ.

“I was just about to tell Noah about the Hydraulics franchise,” Em prompted him.

Ian looked a little startled. “Oh sure, right on.”

Then, the two of them began to pitch Noah as if AJ weren’t there.

“It’s just a cameo in the first one, but he’ll have a much bigger part in the second,” said Em, his back now fully to AJ.

Noah was visibly uncomfortable. “I don’t know the property. Age, do you?”

As AJ responded, she watched Ian and Em tune her out, already thinking of their next remarks.

AJ couldn’t believe how rude they were being. She was a staff writer for SNL for fuck’s sake.

But as they resumed speaking over her head, it began to sink in. Her accomplishments didn’t matter. To Em, she would always be a depthless twenty-four-year-old girl. A pawn.

And to Ian, she was just a show pony. He’d been willing to champion her so long as she made him look good. But the second she stopped jumping through hoops, he’d cut her loose.

By the time a staff member came to line them up, AJ felt about as valuable as a pressed penny.

“I’m sorry about that,” said Noah quietly as they stood together offstage.

“Don’t be,” said AJ. She forced a smile when she saw the concern in his eyes. “I’m just sad I didn’t get to pitch you my diabolical Hess Truck movie.”

As Noah laughed, the room beyond erupted in welcome.

Ballroom 20 at the San Diego Convention Center was ten times the size of their venue at Florida Supercon. And Mike had been wrong. This place was packed with Blue Coat blue.

From the stage, AJ spotted Otto’s bald head a few rows back and assumed that Oona was wedged in beside him. Today, their sign read You Have No Idea What’s Possible. Two rows behind them, Mike gave AJ a double thumbs-up.

She waved as she took her seat beside Noah at a long table dotted with mics.

Their moderator today was Vice journalist Geoff Chandler, a tall hipster who was deeply in Em’s thrall. His long introduction lauded not only Into The Blue but the whole Tyner-verse. From there, his questions were a vehicle for his own pretentious, worshipful commentary.

“For those of us who know your full oeuvre, Em, Rho falls somewhere between the loveable-but-sophomoric Baron on Haunted High and James Dean–esque Dante in Ninth Circle on the antihero scale—how intentional was that?”

His questions about the female characters were misogyny masquerading as cultural critique.

To Toni: “Zora and Navi were the original space dykes—it’s all good, guys, my sister’s gay. Level with me—was there a real attraction or were you two just doing it for the attention?”

To Dave: “You can’t tell me there was nothing going on with Pete and Navi. I mean, he’s basically her gynecologist. He must have looked under that body armor during routine maintenance…or is Pete not an advocate for women’s health?”

Then Geoff turned to AJ. “So. You write for SNL.”

No name. No apparent question attached. Just a fact he felt she should explain to him.

“Yes,” said AJ, her voice unnaturally high. Beside her, Noah tensed.

Geoff was eyeing her now, sizing up his prey. AJ didn’t need to look at Toni to know she was cringing; being a woman in comedy had a way of triggering fragile male egos.

AJ’s heart was racing when Geoff finally said, “I wanted to ask you about ‘No.’ ”

The sound in the room rocketed to a fever pitch. Blood rushed to AJ’s cheeks, her mind suddenly gluey. Holy shit. He didn’t think she deserved her job, and to show it, he was going to put her on trial for “No” in front of five thousand people. Including her little brother.

Geoff Chandler could scent her fear. His eyes glinted as he said, “It’s such a strange moment.”

So many eyes. AJ cleared her throat, attempting to shrug it off. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

Another whoop from the crowd.

“What was going through your head?” asked Geoff with fake interest. “Forgive me for saying this, but it’s so out of left field—the show is so cerebral, and that shot is just so…base.”

AJ blinked.

She had heard him word for word, but all she could think was, You do paint quite a picture.

And she was tired. She was tired of feeling judged. She was tired of judging herself.

Noah was sitting forward now. He was going to tell Geoff Chandler to fuck off.

To AJ’s surprise, Ian also looked like he was about to interject.

And that’s when she realized: she no longer needed a champion.

AJ’s heels dug into the stage as she said, “Geoff, can art not be cerebral and hot?”

A frisson traveled down the table. AJ looked up to see Toni giving her a small nod.

Geoff Chandler sniffed. “There is a line between sexy and sexual. Art is on one side. Sensationalism is on the other,” he drawled. “That clip went viral for a reason. Ana is an archetypal virgin—‘No’ completely taints the character.”

AJ chewed her lip. “No” sure had tainted Ana for AJ. She hadn’t been able to take an ounce of pride in the character because of it.

Which was a real shame.

“I don’t think Ana can be reduced to a single moment,” said AJ evenly. “I mean, I assume that clip was included to empower women, not objectify them. Right?”

She stared down the table, and Ian and Em both jumped.

“Yes. Right,” said Ian quickly.

“I love girl power,” said Em. “It’s in all my shows.”

AJ leaned forward, speaking to the audience directly. “Any of you have a problem with ‘No’?”

Giggles rang around the auditorium. It took AJ a moment to realize that it was because Noah had placed his arm on the back of her chair.

AJ laughed softly. “Oh, right, you guys just want me to mount him.”

A deafening silence fell.

Then came the biggest laugh of AJ’s life. The room detonated like a frenzied, shrieking warhead.

Nothing is funnier than the truth, Ezell had written in Laughter & Death.

AJ’s castmates were wheezing. Ian and Em guffawed as if their lives depended on it. The sour look on Geoff Chandler’s face was sublime. AJ shrugged at him innocently.

Then she glanced at Noah, who looked so handsome and irritated and…smitten. He was probably just playing along, but AJ couldn’t look away. She held his gaze and said shyly, “Gotta save something for the reboot, right?”

If she’d wanted to shut down the panel in one line, that was it.

It took ten minutes for the hysteria to ebb, after which Geoff Chandler fired off a few more self-serious questions in Em’s direction. Then the panelists stood for three ovations, and it was over.

As they trooped off, AJ felt Noah’s hand at her elbow. “That,” he said low, “was so fucking—”

“AJ Graves,” said Dave, jumping between them. “Way. To. Go. That guy was a fucking troll.”

Noah’s hand dropped to his side as Xiaobo chimed in from behind. “The worst.”

AJ laughed, mostly to hide that she was about to murder Dave for talking over Noah.

“Seriously, though, you really were good out there,” said Toni, taking Dave’s spot beside her. Then she added quietly, “You always were. I never should have said otherwise.”

AJ’s eyes instantly filled. “Water under the bridge.”

Toni gave AJ’s arm a squeeze, then headed to the rear of the pack. AJ exhaled, blinking rapidly.

Dave nudged her arm. “See?” he whispered. “The cons really are magic.”

As a staffer shuffled them toward their signing, AJ found herself back in step with Noah. She glanced up at him. “What were you saying before?”

Noah shrugged as if he couldn’t remember. Whatever impulse he’d had, he’d shelved it. Were his symptoms increasing? AJ pushed the thought aside as he said, “Looks like Ian and Em took off.”

AJ checked over her shoulder. “No rest for team Hydraulics.”

Noah caught her eye. His whole face shone with pride. “I loved watching that.”

AJ beamed at him. This was happiness. Them, together, in an industrial hallway. As they walked side by side, her entire being flowed with sunshine.

When they arrived at the signing, Risa was also in a good mood.

“Last signing!” she said brightly, as she hauled a copy crate of Rho headshots to their table.

The room tipped, and AJ’s glowing triumph slid into cold horror. “Right,” she managed.

She had been so focused on getting through the panel, it hadn’t fully hit her.

This was their last stop on the circuit.

Her eyes flew to Noah’s face. This was the last time she was sure to see him.

“You good?” he asked, studying her.

AJ nodded, wrenching her gaze away and busying herself with her headshots. Noah did the same, then excused himself to use the restroom before the signing began.

In his absence, AJ felt hollow. It’s okay, she told herself. It’s good. She’d dreaded the cons. Soon she’d be free, and she and Brian would set a date and move in and start their life. Her real life.

So why did she feel so sick?

Risa plunked down in Noah’s empty seat, scrolling her phone. “I cannot wait for this to be over.”

“Seriously,” said AJ automatically.

“You must be so excited,” said Risa. “Remind me, what’s your sweetie’s name again?”

“Brian,” said AJ.

“Ha!” said Risa. “You’ve got Brian and Byron. Say that ten times fast.”

AJ did not find this amusing. Risa did not notice.

“I have to hand it to Lord Byron,” she said, still skimming her email. “He does great at these things, and they haven’t been nearly as catastrophic for his appeal as I thought.”

AJ looked at Risa in confusion. “I thought that was why he was doing this,” said AJ, fighting to keep her voice even. “You know…connect with the fans. Get grassroots support.”

Risa glanced up at AJ like she was out of her gourd. “Hell no,” she said. “The last thing he needs is more fringe. His biggest fans are coastal elites and complete weirdos. I was totally against this, but he insisted.”

She scooted forward. AJ wasn’t sure what she had done to encourage Risa’s confidence, but she wasn’t fighting it. “He would have passed up a GQ cover to attend Comic-Con if I hadn’t been able to move it.”

“Really,” said AJ.

Risa nodded, sitting back. “For some reason, he was really passionate about doing this.”

“Right,” said AJ, heart hammering.

Risa sighed. “That said, I’ll be glad to see the end of these. I’ve put away my weight in Auntie Anne’s this summer. At least when the Byron promo kicks in, I’ll be back in the land of Chopt.”

AJ was spared having to fake an interest in Chopt by Noah’s return. Risa slid off his chair, giving AJ a wink. “Good talk.” Risa retreated to the back of the booth.

Noah placed a water in front of AJ and took the seat beside her. “Hey.”

“Hey,” said AJ too quickly.

For some reason, he was really passionate about doing this.

AJ didn’t dare think—but it had to be said: none of these events would have been half as high profile—or as lucrative—if Noah hadn’t been present. And if these appearances had not, in fact, been his publicist’s suggestion, then…

Slowly, AJ looked up at his face, pulse in her ears. When he saw the intensity of her expression, he smiled tentatively.

“You okay?” he asked.

AJ searched his brilliant eyes, trying to read him. “Why are you doing this?”

He gave her an odd look. “Doing what?”

“The cons.”

Noah drummed his long fingers on the table. “I told you, grassroots support.”

AJ’s eyes bored into his. “No other reason?”

Noah swallowed. “And because I want to.” He looked at her cautiously. “Why?”

AJ shrugged, her heart pounding. “Just curious,” she said, leveling her eyes at him. “Figured I’d ask, since it’s the last one.”

“What if this didn’t have to be your last one?”

AJ and Noah jumped.

Oona and Otto had somehow slipped past security and were now before them in full Arho gear.

The muscle in Noah’s jaw worked as he turned from AJ. “Come again?” he said gruffly.

Oona matched his surliness. “What Otto means to say is that folks are thrilled that you two are back, and there is massive interest in a potential Blue Con later this year.”

“A Blue Con?” said Noah more genially.

“Yep,” said Oona—they were now speaking Rho to Rho. “A con purely devoted to Into the Blue. I guess if you wanted to invite your aunt for an Astronauticals crossover chat, that would be okay.”

AJ suppressed a smile at this. “Good to know,” said Noah.

“You wouldn’t have to do anything except show up,” said Oona. “And we know you guys don’t, like, do this out of the kindness of your heart, so, FYI, the money in private cons is, like, good.”

Like how good, AJ wanted to ask.

“Please say yes!” said Otto.

“I’m sorry,” said Risa, emerging from the back of the booth. “But that won’t be possible. Noah’s fully booked this entire fall.”

“I can make it work,” said Noah with a swift glance at Risa. “Unless—Age, can you?”

AJ’s heart flipped. “Yes,” she said, before she could stop herself.

“Great,” said Risa in a voice that sounded like death as she trudged to the back of the booth.

“S-so you’ll consider it?” stammered Oona, whom AJ had never seen look uncool.

Noah nodded. By now, their castmates had taken notice. As Otto and Oona pitched the idea to Xiaobo, Dave, and Toni, Noah flipped over his headshot and scribbled his agent’s email on the back, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Relief coursed through AJ. It wasn’t over yet.

So much for getting on with her real life.

This wasn’t sustainable, she knew. She knew it couldn’t last.

But in the grand scheme, what was one more con?

When all was said and done, AJ left San Diego with $210,000, and considerable upsides.

BLUE CON

September 2, 2012

THE DAY BEFORE BLUE CON, AJ visited Patrick at Simmons to remind herself why she was doing this. It was not to see Noah. It was to help her brother.

While he was now able to lift small objects with his right hand and move his right foot, his left side remained inert. As Patrick spoke of his physical therapy, AJ sprawled on the white epoxy floor with Charlie, playing with a Boba Fett action figure she had brought him from Comic-Con.

“That toy is perfect,” said Elle, passing through. “Aww, you’re going to be such a great mom.”

AJ looked from the action figure to Charlie’s tiny body and thought, Me?

As she watched Elle shuttle an armful of trash into the hall, AJ tried to picture herself in Elle’s place. If Brian had to travel for work, the household drudgery would inevitably fall to her. Maybe one day she’d be ready for it. She’d heard most women had a timer that went off, making them baby crazy. Maybe hers just hadn’t popped yet.

“Last con tomorrow, right?” Patrick asked from the bed.

AJ nodded, stifling a yawn. It was exhausting to affect cheer, to not look on Patrick’s unmoving, propped-up form and scream This is a lie.

Her brother’s body was one-armed hugs and reaches for the top shelf. It was sweat and freckles and high fives and farts. It was the unbeatable stride, it was tag, you’re it. It was protection and strength and vigor and youth. This was not her brother’s body. This was a broken promise.

“Seriously, Age, I don’t know how to thank you,” Patrick was saying. “It’s really too much. You should be off planning your wedding or something.”

“I’d rather be trapped in a convention center for the next month,” said AJ, distracted.

Patrick laughed. “And how has it been seeing everyone?” he asked. “Seeing Noah?”

Her cheeks colored. “It’s all good.”

At dusk, AJ returned to her car and checked her phone. She had a text from Brian, who was covering the US Open in Queens. AJ sent him an emoji, then refreshed the Blue Coats URL.

Blue Coats Society: Arho\\Summer Cons\\2012

BustASpAceTIme: Cannot wait to see Mom and Dad at #Bluecon tomorrow.

BlueFlower96: I just checked in—this place is gorgeous.

BadRhomance33: Make sure to ask about the reboot at the Q&A.

AJ had been checking the boards with obsessive regularity since Comic-Con. It wasn’t great.

But it helped her feel less…bad. About missing Noah. And about the second Byron trailer.

It came down to one specific clip, really, an intimate over-the-shoulder shot of Noah looking searingly at Allison Seabring, who played Mary Shelley.

“There’s only one person he’s ever really given a damn about,” said the voice-over.

The second AJ saw Noah gazing at Allison—like she was a brand-new day—she could sense on a gut level that he wasn’t acting. There would be no three-month cutoff this time. This was real.

The internet agreed. It turned out the mainstream media had spent the summer taking bets on when Noah would pop the question. In between the cons, several high-profile events had come and gone without a ring, ratcheting up the conviction that a ring was imminent. And inevitable.

This had sent AJ running headlong into Brian’s embrace and the warm bubble of Arho fan gossip. The dopamine hit she received every time a photo of her and Noah reposted was almost enough to fool her brain into thinking that her pining for him was somehow not totally insane.

Almost.

AJ knew she was addicted. But there was no point in getting clean before Blue Con. So, this weekend, she would get whatever unresolved teenage bullshit out of her system. Then she’d stop.

Blue Coats Society: Arho\\Summer Cons\\2012

ANABonANzA4: Make sure to ask if she’s going to #mounthim.

Navi:<Gator: Make sure to ask if she already did.

Good plan. Great plan.

THE EMPYREAN CONFERENCE CENTER was a thirty-minute drive from Providence, Rhode Island. The instant AJ’s Uber pulled in, she knew Blue Con was going to be special. The tree-filled campus and wooden architecture felt more spiritual retreat than corporate trade show. Otto and Oona must have called in a lot of favors; AJ couldn’t believe they had pulled this together in six weeks.

“We sold out completely,” said a very businesslike Oona as AJ stepped from her Uber just after noon. Oona was in her usual Rho outfit, with the addition of a black headset. “Wow, you look—”

“You look smokin’!” said Otto, in his Ana robes and a white headset. He gave AJ a kiss on each cheek. “Come on, we can’t wait to give you the tour.”

“You go,” said Oona stoically. “Rho and Glimmette—I mean, Noah and Eudora—should be arriving in the next ten minutes, and I don’t want to miss them.”

As AJ’s Uber pulled away, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the car’s veneer.

It wasn’t like she had tried that hard. She’d just blow-dried her hair to resemble Ana’s style. And okay fine, she’d splurged on a white cashmere sweater and white leather skirt. It was very little effort in view of all Otto and Oona had done.

“So how many people are here?” asked AJ as Otto led her toward an enormous tabernacle. A group of Navis craned their necks at her as they passed.

“We’ve got just under a thousand staying the entire weekend,” he said. “And then another eleven hundred here today. Ooo, this is the most exciting!”

He opened the doors to the hall.

“Holy sh—”

AJ was standing inside a full-scale replica of the crale.

As Otto walked AJ through a re-creation of the captain’s quarters, he explained how he and Oona were installation artists who both adjunct taught at RISD. “Our grad students were super into this, so they helped us design and plan the whole thing. Wait till you see Rho’s cell!”

From there, Otto led AJ to the main chapel, where the panels were being held—a huge wooden venue with a vaulted ceiling reminiscent of a ship’s prow.

He deposited AJ with security in a row near the back. As she watched Dave and Xiaobo discussing disenfranchised war heroes onstage, her phone vibrated.

Brian. good luck today <3

AJ looked up to find Oona approaching with Eudora and Noah. Her heart did a somersault as security stood to let them pass. She shoved her phone into her pocket and followed suit.

Eudora, outfitted in a stunning beige camel hair coat, gave AJ’s arm an affectionate squeeze before continuing down the row, muttering “damn Nauticals” under her breath.

Noah looked incredible in a black sweater and matching jeans. His hair had been cut since Comic-Con, and he was tan again—perhaps he and Allison had gone on vacation before the publicity for Byron took over their lives. Risa, AJ noted, was not with him.

Their eyes connected, and Noah touched her arm just as Eudora had. Then he took the seat beside AJ’s, and her body reacted as if she’d been shot out of a cannon.

They sat side by side without exchanging a word. As the minutes ticked by, AJ could feel her entire frame of reference contracting into the one inch of space currently separating their knees.

God fucking damn it.

Eudora’s crossover chat with Elmore was next, and it was adorable. They greeted each other onstage as old friends, casually flirting as they settled in. Much theatrical glasses adjusting was involved.

“She’s such a ham,” Noah whispered as Eudora got a huge laugh. Above her, a clip of Astronauticals played on the projector screen.

AJ smiled, not looking at him. “I can’t believe she wanted to do this.”

Noah nodded. “As she’s gotten older, her stage fright has sort of faded,” he said. “Fair warning—so has her filter.”

“You mean she might call me a stewed prune?” said AJ.

Noah snickered. “That or she might comment on your hair. Which looks great, by the way.”

He said it casually, without so much as a glance in her direction, but AJ heard a slight tightness in his voice that made her smile.

Step off, Allison Seabring.

Five minutes before the Arho discussion, Oona and Otto came to collect them.

“We’re having you enter from opposite sides of the stage,” said Oona.

“See you up there,” said Noah.

He and Oona disappeared toward stage left, while Otto dropped AJ at the foot of stage right. The crowd before them was a chessboard of white and black clad Anas and Rhos.

Amid their applause, Eudora was carefully picking her way off the stage. She stalled at the far stairs, and AJ felt a pang. Eudora must be well past eighty. Noah was there now, taking her arm in his. When they reached the landing, he bent down to kiss her cheek.

“Our next duo needs no introduction.” Otto’s voice trilled over the loudspeaker. Excitement rippled through the audience.

As he expounded on the significance of Arho, AJ placed one foot on her own stairs. Across the platform, Noah did the same. She gripped the banister, and so did he. As Otto called their names, they took the steps, eyes on each other, striding into the light.

The crowd burst into cheers as they crossed the stage. Noah’s gaze was fierce on hers. As they arrived at center, he drank her in.

It must have been the act of walking out. For the first time since SNL, AJ felt the channel between them blip on. Then, she felt him—a burst of intense relief, like August rain.

As a disbelieving smile spread across her face, Noah pulled her into his arms, crushing her to his chest. For an instant, their bodies were flush against each other’s. Then, quickly, he released her.

The crowd was still screaming as AJ and Noah greeted Otto and took their seats on either side of him. AJ could feel ten small points on her back where Noah’s fingers had just been.

“Okay, AJ,” said Otto, shuffling the questions. “In your opinion, why is Ana Tar drawn to Rho?”

“It’s the face tats,” said AJ, speaking into her mic.

The crowd laughed. AJ took a breath. These people were giving them so much love and so much money, she owed it to them to try.

“I think it’s a few things. Externally, Rho represents life beyond the crale—he’s different from everything she knows. And internally, he sees her power before she does, and that’s…appealing. When she meets Rho, she really begins to meet herself. He’s the conduit for her awakening.”

“And Noah?” said Otto. “Same question: why is Rho drawn to Ana?”

Noah was looking at AJ thoughtfully. “Also a few things,” he said. “At first, he’s intrigued by Ana’s abilities and her…upbringing. She places a lot of trust in him, and that kind of gets under his skin. He’s grown up in this privileged environment, but his life is sort of…meaningless. When he realizes he wants to protect Ana, he learns how much value there is in self-sacrifice.”

“And what about you, Noah?” asked Otto, with a tremor of excitement. “What drew you to AJ as a scene partner when she was basically an extra?”

What a question. Their eyes met, and Noah flashed her a grin. AJ felt the cord between them thrum. Then his face became impassive. “My dog liked her.”

The crowd laughed as a clip of Ana and Rho’s first interaction rolled above their heads.

The questions were thoughtful and fun and largely about their characters. Speaking with Noah about the show was a pleasure, and somehow, being onstage made their conversation feel less artificial, not more. AJ couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen Noah smile this much.

The hour flew.

“Okay, final question. I know, boooo,” said Otto, echoing the crowd. “This one has multiple parts. Part one: AJ, in ‘Horses,’ how did you come up with the climactic sequence?”

“I didn’t,” said AJ. She backtracked. “I mean…Noah had introduced this really beautiful idea a few days before—I think it was during ‘Mating Season’—about the water weavers being able to draw horses out of the waves, so I was just playing that.”

Noah shifted in his chair. “Right,” he said. “But you had been playing this game from the start of the show—the Ana Tar Doesn’t Know What Animals Are game. So I was just building off something you had done.”

Before AJ could object, Otto returned to the question. “Second part: how did you and Em coordinate on the effects if it was all improvised?”

Above, the clip of Ana running off the crale began to play. AJ felt the blood drain from her face. She still had never watched the full scene. One look at Noah confirmed he hadn’t either. Were they going to have to watch it now? In front of all these people? In front of each other?

AJ started to babble. “Em had told me Rho was up the beach about to drown, and I just…ran. There was a camera ready on a dune buggy, and Em caught the whole thing. I could picture what was happening in my mind, and I knew I wouldn’t make it, and it came to me as I knelt—right there. After, I told Em what I’d been picturing, and I marked the place in the sand where I thought the horses should appear, and he had them added in post.”

Otto nodded. “Third part: the scene where Ana finds Rho is one of the most underrated performances on television. What was going through your head as an actor?”

“That’s very high praise,” said AJ, as an image of her younger self arrived at Noah’s inert figure, soaking wet in the sand. The sound cut out, replaced with desolate strings. Ana lunged forward, her face raw with anguish as she attempted to drag Rho from the water’s edge.

AJ watched herself kneel down and collapse, bawling on Noah’s chest. She felt disembodied, as if encountering a very real part of herself that was still living inexorably in that moment.

She glanced at Noah. He was watching their performance, his lips pressed tight against the index finger of his right hand.

Otto leaned forward expectantly. “And what were you thinking?” he prompted.

In a flash, AJ was back there, soaked, on her knees. The sand was grainy, raised like braille messages from the brine. Eyes, look your last, they said. Noah in her hands, in her lungs, the moment of their separation bearing down with a tidal force. If it had been AJ, she would have choked on it. But as Ana, such sounds broke from her as to burn the land and boil the sea.

Onscreen, AJ watched herself howl.

“Stay with me,” she whispered. She cleared her throat. “That’s what I was thinking.”

Up above, Ana turned from Rho, crying into the ocean.

“And what do you remember about this sequence?” said Otto. “Noah?”

Noah had gone rigid, transfixed by AJ’s bereft form onscreen. He lowered his hand, flexing his fingers wide. “I remember everything.”

The room was silent as Rho revived, and Ana realized, and then he kissed her. As AJ watched Noah’s thumb press against her jaw, she could feel the sensation as if it were still happening. It was one kiss, but it wasn’t chaste; it was a kiss between two people who had had sex three times in the last twelve hours and would have gone for a fourth if not for the camera crew.

The crowd emitted an excited “Aww.”

As the clip ended, AJ looked over to find Noah staring at her with a haunted expression, and she felt their energies grasp for each other, trying desperately to connect. For an instant, AJ thought she could sense that large black mass in the throes of a terrible tremor.

Then it was gone, leaving AJ to wonder if she’d felt something or if she just wanted to so badly she was inventing things.

“It’s just so real,” said Otto, tears streaming down his face. “Thank you both so much for doing this. Your love…shaped me.”

The room shook with applause.

Dazed, AJ got to her feet, and she and Noah embraced Otto. As they turned to face the crowd, Noah’s hand found hers. Warmth surged through AJ’s body as they took a bow. When they straightened up, their hands stayed clasped. AJ looked up into his eyes.

It’s you.

Then Otto was stepping forward, inserting himself between them, and now they were each holding hands with Otto, taking another bow, while Oona aggressively snapped photos from the front row. As the episode played out on the projector screen, Otto indicated for them both to exit the way they’d entered. Reluctantly, AJ left Noah and retreated down her assigned stairs.

As the darkness engulfed her, all AJ could see was a ghost image of his eyes.

Holy fucking shit.

She needed air. As she made her way to the back of the auditorium, thousands of upturned faces devoured Ana and Rho’s final stand on the projector screen.

It’s just so…real.

The exit was in sight now. AJ had almost reached it when she heard someone call her name. She turned to find herself face-to-face with Eudora.

“My dear, you did a fine job,” she said, offering AJ her hands.

“You did too,” said AJ, pulling her old mentor out of the aisle. On the projector, the pilot episode of Into the Blue was kicking off an all-night marathon.

Eudora looked down at the ring on AJ’s finger. “When’s the big day?”

AJ shook her head, taking in Eudora’s familiar floral perfume. “There isn’t one yet.”

Eudora gripped her hands tightly, looking deep into her eyes. “May I ask you something?”

AJ swallowed, suddenly nervous. “Okay.”

“Is it like that?” Eudora asked, cocking her head toward the projector screen. AJ flinched.

Eudora smiled ruefully. “I didn’t think so,” she said, stepping closer. AJ could smell the Earl Grey on her breath. “You get one. One.”

The convention blurred around them. “I’m engaged,” AJ heard herself say.

Eudora shrugged. “You’re not married.”

AJ felt queasy. “What about Noah?” she managed. “Why not say this to him?”

Eudora shook her head. “I can’t get through to him. But you can. You always could.” She was squeezing AJ’s fingers now, desperate, talon-like. “It’s not too late.”

“Dorie.” Noah’s voice cut across the episode’s theme song as he caught up to them. He placed his large hand on Eudora’s shoulder. Her eyes were still boring into AJ’s. Then the old woman released her. AJ looked up at Noah.

It was always you, and it always will be.

AJ couldn’t breathe.

“I was just stepping out,” she said. “I’ll see you. Both.”

She managed a smile, then booked it out of the chapel. Outside, she gulped in the clear night air.

It’s not real, AJ told herself. Eudora was wrong. There was no one right person for anyone. The fans were wrong. Ana and Rho were fictional characters. And the sooner AJ got out of here, the sooner she’d remember that.

It was too early for stars, but a large moon hung low in the sky. AJ stepped under the nearest streetlamp and took out her phone. The closest Uber was twenty minutes away. Her thumb hovered over the request button. She was supposed to stay for a reception to mingle with the Blue Coats.

The door to the tabernacle swung open, and Noah walked out, car keys in hand. When he saw AJ, his pace slowed.

“Eudora’s getting pretty tired,” he explained. “I’m gonna drive her home.” He stepped into the pool of the lamplight where AJ stood, his height blocking the glare. As he surveyed her, his bangs swept sensuously across his brow. “Eudora didn’t say anything to upset you, did she?”

AJ waited for a tug. Nothing. Of course—they were no longer onstage. Noah was studying her with such intensity she felt almost giddy. They had arrived again at a parting of the ways. If AJ wanted to, she could end this conversation in three moves.

But she didn’t want to.

“Eudora asked about my wedding.”

“Oh?” said Noah. He swallowed. “I’d actually been meaning to ask myself—”

Her pulse was in her ears. “She asked if what I have with Brian is like what I have with you.”

Noah stilled. “She gets confused,” he said quietly. “I’m sure it was just the film.”

It’s not too late.

Noah and Allison weren’t engaged yet. And AJ…AJ wasn’t married.

“She wasn’t confused,” she said.

Eudora was right. Maybe not everyone had one person, but AJ did. The fans were right. Everything between Ana and Rho was real. And this—this was right.

This was her chance.

Noah wiped his hand across his mouth. “Look, Age—”

“You said it yourself,” said AJ, toeing the edge of the streetlamp’s halo. “I never had the guts to go for what I want. What I really want.”

Noah’s eyes were full. “Maybe you’re feeling confused,” he said calmly. “There’s a lot of history, and that last question was…And the footage. Brian is—”

“He’s not you,” said AJ. The words were out in one nauseating surge of heat.

Noah’s face went blank. A long moment passed. Then his hands balled into fists at his sides. “AJ,” he said softly. “Please don’t do this.”

“Why not?” said AJ, peering up at him.

Noah blinked. “You know why.”

AJ’s heart clanged in alarm. “Because of Allison?” she asked before she could stop herself.

At that moment, AJ realized she had never truly disappointed Noah before. The way his whole forehead shifted back, his jaw clenched. It made her feel about a foot tall.

“You just couldn’t do it, could you?” he said reproachfully.

AJ blinked. “Do what?” He was avoiding the question. “That’s not an answer.”

Noah’s eyes were joyless. “Please don’t make me hurt you.” His voice was a hush.

AJ felt ill. “Do you love her?” she asked bluntly.

Noah didn’t respond right away. He glanced toward the chapel, where Eudora was waiting. AJ watched him take a deep breath. At length, he said, “Very much.”

Pain clean as a pen line slashed across AJ’s abdomen, efflorescing through her chest like ink.

AJ nodded numbly. Yes. It had happened. He’d truly fallen for someone else, someone who had made him forget everything he thought his life had to be. Someone he was willing to try for.

No. A latent rush of disbelief welled up. “So all this,” she said. “All the cons—Risa told me they were your idea.”

Noah stared at his feet, his cheeks coloring slightly. “Fine.” He looked up. “I felt sorry for you. I know how mercenary Simmons is and…I wanted to help. As a friend. And if I’m being honest, part of me felt like this might…I don’t know. Make up for leaving all those years ago.”

AJ could not have felt more exposed if she had actually been standing before him naked.

“I can see now I confused things,” he went on. “I’m sorry. I’ll steer clear moving forward.”

AJ held his gaze, not because she was brave, but because she was afraid that if she looked down, she would not be able to keep the tears in her eyes.

“It’s my fault,” she said, marshaling the remaining scraps of her dignity. “You did help, and I’m…Thank you. And I’m—I’m glad for you. To have someone. You deserve to be happy.”

Noah nodded, glancing past her to the parking area. “Same,” he said. He clutched the car keys. “I should—”

“Yes, absolutely,” said AJ. She gave him a quick smile and took out her phone. She held her breath as he left, staring at the shape of Brian’s good luck text through a lens of tears. Then she blinked them back.

Grief could be a nebulous abyss or a hand through a glass door. This would not be an abyss. AJ would not cry. She returned Brian’s text with three of her own and joined the reception.

A week later, AJ’s payment for Blue Con arrived, for $240,000, twice the amount Molly Magnusson had negotiated. When AJ called Otto, he confirmed that Noah had asked that his fee be sent to her. AJ thanked him and hung up the phone.

In the end, she didn’t fight it. She needed the money, and Noah didn’t. Arguing would only serve to make Noah think she was trying to prolong contact with him. And she wasn’t.

For the first time in twelve years, when AJ looked down the dark, unlived expanse of her life, she did not see his star on the horizon.

PART IV

Fire & Water

Seeds contain cyanide. Laughter is a gasp. Beginnings and endings are born at once.

—Laughter & Death, by EZELL FARR

GLADSTONE, MASSACHUSETTS

November 2012

THE GOVERNMENT KEPT HALF, OF course, and Molly Magnuson another 10 percent. But Noah’s cut helped soften the taxes, and when all was said and done, AJ had raised just under three hundred thousand dollars.

Meanwhile, in addition to Comic-Con, Mike had attended Gen Con, the Indianapolis gaming convention, where he had raked in a total of $124,398.87 in competitive video game winnings, dungeon mastering fees, and the sale of several rare Magic: The Gathering cards.

Byron opened the week of Thanksgiving. Instead of going to see it, AJ took Brian and Mike to see Patrick, who had finally moved home. As baby Claire crawled around the living room, AJ and Mike informed their brother that they had managed to pull together four hundred thousand dollars. Patrick covered his face with both hands and burst into tears. At the sight of his improved mobility, so did AJ and Mike.

Patrick was rapidly regaining strength in his right leg; his left leg was still immobile, the muscles atrophied to the point of unrecognizability. But he wasn’t focused on that. With the amazing recovery of his left arm, he felt confident that walking with leg braces was in his near future.

In the meantime, Gawain Mabon-Fay had outfitted their home with ramps and handrails, and Elle had relocated the primary bedroom to the first floor. Patrick’s world now largely consisted of the downstairs area of his house, but after nearly a year abed at Simmons, it felt expansive.

“I’m so f-u-c-k-i-n-g happy to be home,” said Patrick over supper. “I can actually feel my energy returning, being around the kids again.”

As if on cue, baby Claire gurgled from her high chair and threw a grilled pepper at her brother.

AJ laughed, though she felt subdued. After the meal, she volunteered to clean the grill. Evening had fallen on Pat and Elle’s small back porch. As she scraped the char off the cooking grid, moths flitted toward the glow of Raven and Gawain’s Airstream in the driveway. AJ took a breath; the mild mountain air was freedom in her lungs.

The glass door slid open, and Elle approached her with two LaCroix. Together, they threw the black polyester cover over the grill, then popped the aluminum tabs.

“Hey, thanks for dinner,” said AJ, as they touched cans.

“Hey, thanks for getting us four hundred grand,” said Elle.

They both drank deeply, looking out across the yard. A light came on in a neighboring house—a portal into other lives, other problems.

“How are you doing?” Elle asked, nudging AJ’s arm. AJ leaned back against the railing and contemplated the moths.

“Honestly, I thought I would feel happier,” she said, glancing at Elle. Her hair was longer and wavier than AJ had ever seen it—shades of Esmerelda breaking through the suburban patina. “I know it’s just a dent. Maybe once the whole thing is paid off—”

Elle shook her head. “What you did is incredible,” she said. “Truly, Age. You should feel proud. We’re so grateful.” She leaned on the rail beside AJ, sipping her seltzer. “It’s just that nothing can ever…undo the accident. Not even this. That’s why you’re bummed.”

A lump formed in AJ’s throat. Elle was right. Deep down, AJ had convinced herself that if she could erase this awful debt, it would all be okay. But the truth was, eradicating Patrick’s bills wouldn’t fix his legs. Now, the filter between AJ and the reality of Patrick’s situation had been removed, and she felt disconsolate.

“For me, it was getting him home,” said Elle gently. “It’s bargaining—If I can just get him home, then this will be better. When he got here, he was so happy, and I felt as down as you look.”

AJ swallowed. “How are you doing?”

As she heard herself ask the question, she realized that she really meant “How are you doing this?” Elle had signed up for a young, vibrant, able-bodied person whose very essence was promise and potential. Someone who had offered her a full life. A normal life.

Now Elle was running an entire household and rearing two kids with a single working pair of hands. And what of their marriage? AJ had never spoken to Patrick or Elle about their sex life and didn’t know how to begin, when it had so obviously been impacted.

Elle looked up at the stars, then smiled sleepily over at AJ. “Not gonna lie, I’m tired,” she said. “But I’m okay. I don’t know how people do this without help. Your parents. My parents. You and all your siblings. The way everyone’s stepped up is just beyond—”

She reached over and squeezed AJ’s arm, and the two of them shared a comfortable silence.

“Pat is amazing,” Elle said after an interval. “Every ounce of progress is like a drug to him. It makes it so much easier that he’s not bitter. I think it’s a gift of growing up with Emily—he’s not ashamed of needing help. He feels bad when he can’t pitch in, but he doesn’t make himself a problem, you know? It’s a lot of actual labor, but very little emotional labor, which I appreciate.”

AJ considered Elle’s interpretation. AJ’s own response to Emily had been the opposite, always striving to be independent enough for them both.

“Do you ever think things will get back to normal?” asked AJ. It was a young question, and she regretted it instantly.

Elle didn’t seem fazed; she was used to speaking with small children. She took a sip of her LaCroix and gestured toward the Mabon-Fay Airstream.

“It’s funny—for so long all I wanted was to be normal. But then something like this happens…” She shook her head. “Like, thank God my parents are such freaks. Thank God they could just pick up and come here and not bat an eye about living in a trailer for eight months. Thank God for my insane mother. She may not believe in deodorant, but she believes there’s more to this life than what you can see with your eyes. And because of her, so do I.”

Elle gave her shoulders a shake, lifting her chin. “The truth is, there’s no such thing as a normal life. There’s just the time you get and how you spend it.” She looked at AJ, eyes brimming, and placed a hand on her arm. “Love is always a risk,” she said quietly, in answer to the questions AJ hadn’t asked.

AJ nodded, tearing up herself. “I’m glad he has you.”

Elle smiled wearily. “In sickness and in health, right?” she said, looking inside toward Brian. “You get it.” AJ chewed her lip, watching Brian through the glass, trying to imagine if he were the one who’d been wounded. If she were to end up a caregiver, but for the wrong man…

AJ gave herself a shake. There was no other man.

“How’s the planning going, by the way?” asked Elle.

AJ and Brian were supposed to sit down to pick a wedding date this weekend. They would sit down this weekend. “I was actually thinking of asking your mom what’s involved in a full moon circle.”

“You know those are nude, right?” said Elle.

AJ cackled. “For some reason, I can’t see Brian going for that.”

Elle laughed. “Well, then maybe he’s not the guy,” she joked, taking the now-empty can from AJ’s hand. “Shall we go back in?”

AJ smiled to camouflage the way Elle’s joke had turned her stomach.

NEW YORK, NEW YORK

February 24, 2013

BRIAN LIVED AT FIFTY-SECOND AND Ninth, a half-hour walk from AJ’s apartment. It was well below freezing as she set out for the appointment he’d made with her earlier that week.

AJ—I’ve been thinking, he’d texted. It’s been over a year since we got engaged. Shouldn’t we pick a date? Sunday at 8, my place.

It was frigid as she hiked past gyms and rental studios and bars she’d loved in her early twenties. She could say that now, she was twenty-nine. The age her mother had been when she had AJ and Emily, which seemed like a joke. It was a perfect age to get married, not too old, not too young.

So why did AJ feel like she was being rushed?

AJ had twelve minutes to spare when she passed Hibernia, a Steelers pub two blocks from Brian’s. The TV above the bar was showing the Oscars. That had been her last drink, the Oscars.

AJ toyed with her scarf. She had a pitch meeting in the morning—she should at least see the opening monologue. Casually, AJ stepped inside.

She had not been surprised to see Noah’s name on the list of Best Actor nominees for the second year running. The New York Times had likened his Byron performance to the majesty of a polar iceberg: Drew is both the bright brilliance dazzling above the surface and the precipitous devastation lurking just below.

“Can I get you anything?” asked the bartender.

AJ checked the time. She could be a little late. It wasn’t like she was keeping Brian from what he was surely doing: watching sports and drinking.

Beer doesn’t count, right?

“Allagash White,” said AJ, placing her money on the counter.

After Blue Con, AJ had done a full #Arho detox, blocking the forums and unfollowing the hashtags. But there was no avoiding Byron. Noah’s face had been everywhere—bus wraps, subway tunnels, taxi tops, magazine stands—always with the same knowing, brooding expression.

So when the camera found him in the crowd, AJ was surprised by how intimate it felt. The tuxedo was back. He looked good, he always did. And there was Allison Seabring’s dirty-blond bob on his right and Eudora’s frosted French twist on his left. Noah’s eyes shone as he inclined his head toward his aunt. Risa had earned her Chopt tonight; seeing them together was adorable.

Now Allison was leaning in to join their conversation, Eudora smiling at her in welcome. You only get one. AJ cringed. Eudora probably didn’t even remember saying that to her. Allison had also been nominated tonight. Maybe AJ would just stay until Best Supporting Actress.

Have you eaten? Brian texted.

Eating now, AJ texted back. Be there soon.

The Allagash was light and soothing, exactly how AJ remembered. She nursed one for the first three awards. But when Allison won, she chugged a second through her acceptance speech (“Noah, you are my rock”), then a third for good measure.

Then, she ordered a deep-dish pizza.

Food’s taking forever, sorry, read her next text.

The pizza soaked up some of the alcohol, enough for AJ to realize that it was after nine-thirty, and she was officially being a dick.

She should want to plan her wedding, to discuss it with Brian, to forge a life with him. She should not be sitting in a Hell’s Kitchen sports bar, mouthing a pizza that could double as a hockey puck, longing for a movie star who did not want her.

And yet she could not move herself off the barstool.

She powered off her phone and downed three more beers as she waited for Noah’s category. AJ hadn’t marked time like this since the night of Patrick’s accident. Because she knew the stakes and they were huge. Noah couldn’t have kids. This was his legacy. And no matter how she tried to reason with herself, she could not turn away.

It was after eleven P.M. when Best Actor was finally presented. AJ tilted forward on her stool as a clip from Byron filled the screen.

She had wanted to see the film, but she hadn’t dared; so many images of Noah would inevitably take on a life inside her head. Perhaps, a long time from now, that would no longer be a danger.

But even based on this small sample, she knew instinctively Noah had it. And she was right.

“The Oscar goes to…Noah Drew.”

He didn’t stand at first, reaching around and hugging Eudora. Then he kissed Allison’s cheek and rose to congratulate their director. With a tug on his jacket, he strode toward the stage.

The creepiest aspect of fame was how it gave away a person’s physicality. AJ knew Noah. She knew him by his movements, the long gait, the gliding hands.

And so did every other person in the world.

Noah dwarfed the podium. His face was serious, but as he felt around for his speech, he cracked a smile that changed the temperature of the dive bar where AJ was sitting.

He thanked his colleagues and team. AJ wasn’t listening to their names so much as the low, musical quality of his voice. He was everything he ought to be—humble and handsome and quietly triumphant.

“I think it goes without saying that I had a leg up in this business,” he said. “To my uncle Ezell and my aunt Dorie, for teaching me to play and for your fierce, unwavering support.” He looked up from the podium and smiled at Eudora. “Thank you.”

The camera panned to the grande dame. What a face. Her eyes glistened as she blew Noah two kisses from the audience. Back onstage, Noah folded the paper and looked into the camera.

“And to the woman in my life—you know who you are. Hopefully.” The crowd laughed. “I love you. Thank you.”

The camera cut to Allison, radiant with pride. AJ reached for her beer.

As Noah left the stage, hot tears filled her eyes, making the bottles behind the bar crinkle and fold into a skyline. She sat in suspension, awash in grief. Then she blinked and looked down at the dark polished surface of her phone screen.

Not everyone found happiness in love. This wasn’t news. Life wasn’t fair.

Even if two people did, by some miracle, reciprocate each other’s feelings—look what had happened to Patrick and Elle. Life was cruel, and random, and why should AJ expect more?

Brian was good for her. He was. Wasn’t he? AJ felt the drink grow heavy in her hand, suddenly aware that she was heading for a blackout.

Lock him down, Libby had said. She had been so sure. But did AJ want her sister’s life?

Look at Emily. Emily might never know this particular kind of closeness. AJ should be grateful.

But in that moment, AJ saw that it was Emily she most envied. Emily didn’t know what it was to deny herself. When she was sad, she cried. When she was happy, she smiled. If Emily wanted to sit in a bar and weep over someone she’d loved since she was seventeen, she damn well would.

Maybe it wasn’t even Noah AJ was crying over, but that unbroken seventeen-year-old who refused to open herself to anyone other than the person she most loved and trusted.

AJ had been coercing herself to do just that ever since, out of a desire to keep up with societal expectations and the half-articulated awareness that if she didn’t force herself to move on, she never would—because as long as there was a chance Noah might return, she would wait for him. Brian was nothing if not a wall between her and that sad fate.

But now Noah was gone. He wasn’t coming back.

Leaving AJ truly alone with Brian. There were no clocks here, but that no longer felt hopeful. It felt empty, endless, a lifetime made of other people’s benchmarks, stretching on and on and on.

As AJ stared into her blackened phone screen, an image of her seventeen-year-old self stared back. All at once, AJ knew that if she switched on the device, that girl would vanish forever.

It was just before midnight when she let herself into Brian’s apartment. He’d cleaned up, washed-out cans lining the sink. AJ woke him.

He looked at her with tired blue eyes as she stepped forward and opened her palm. Her voice trembled as she spoke. “I tried so hard to want this,” she said, and placed the two-carat Elsa Peretti in his hand.

For a moment, Brian stared at it. Then he closed his fingers. “I know,” he said.

And he stood and held her in his arms as she cried, because he really was a good guy.

NEW YORK, NEW YORK

May 21, 2013

AS OF LAST MONTH, AJ was thirty, which called for some baseline recognition of the march of time and what it did to a person’s metabolism. And so AJ had taken her first brave steps away from Reese’s Puffs into the adult world of Special K Red Berries.

That was what she was doing when she saw the Apple News Top Stories alert—eating Special K Red Berries.

Tony Award winner and comedy pioneer Eudora Drew has died at 84.

It was a Tuesday morning, the week after SNL had wrapped for the summer, and AJ’s one-bedroom was bright with spotless sunshine. In the months since her split from Brian, she had gotten into cleaning.

She had never really cared before—she’d always treated her apartment as a crash pad, a way station between her childhood home and the one she’d share with her own family. But ever since ending her engagement, she’d started to see her space differently.

Maybe she already had a home. Maybe she should take care of it.

AJ was also taking better care of herself. The therapist she’d been working with since the split classified her drinking as “more of a chemical crutch than full-blown alcoholism,” but AJ wasn’t taking any chances. Hibernia had been her last drink, and she was sticking to it.

Now when she felt stress, even work stress, she ran. Ran and swiffered.

AJ felt oddly frantic as she clicked on an Associated Press story about Eudora’s multiyear struggle with congestive heart failure. She had died last night at home surrounded by family.

That meant Noah. AJ’s mind returned to their encounter at Simmons a little over a year before, when he’d been taking Eudora for her blood work. She would have already been sick. AJ couldn’t picture Drew House without Eudora sailing through its rooms.

She wondered if Noah was there now, alone or with Allison. The latest gossip was that Allison had walked out after he’d failed to propose during award season. Not that it mattered.

AJ and Noah still had not exchanged a word since Blue Con. AJ had considered congratulating him after the Oscars, but the idea of smooshing into his inbox between every other person he’d ever given his email address to felt too cloying.

Should she reach out to him now?

Only if you’re okay not getting a response.

Instead, AJ deposited her bowl in the dishwasher, laced her sneakers, and headed to Central Park. Spring was an almost nonexistent season in New York, but today was dappled and glorious. AJ walked to the corner of Fifty-fourth and Sixth, then jogged toward the park’s south entrance.

Her favorite loop girdled the Mall and Bethesda Terrace, an ideal route for not thinking. AJ switched to airplane mode, cued up her Spotify, and let the rhythm of her steps do the rest.

When she returned home an hour later, she discovered that Libby had texted her a Berkshire Eagle article about Eudora’s memorial service: Wanna go?

AJ stiffened. The last time they’d spoken, Libby had utterly reamed her out for ending her engagement. “You’re too old to start over” had been her exact words. AJ sighed. This was Libby’s version of an apology.

As her fingers paused over the phone screen, she stared across her clean, sunlit kitchen, and felt the silence of the room press against her, pregnant as the breath before curtain up.

GROVELAWN MANOR WAS GLADSTONE’S historic stone mansion-for-rent. AJ hadn’t visited since her senior prom, which she’d spent avoiding Nick Davies and wishing Noah would miraculously appear. To return thirteen years later with the certainty of seeing Noah felt uncanny.

As AJ and Libby merged into a flock of mourners, AJ reassured herself that while she would see Noah, it was extremely unlikely that he would see her. Not in this crowd.

Eudora’s local popularity had skyrocketed in death; the brick path from the parking lot to Grovelawn Manor was teeming. There had to be at least five hundred people here.

AJ almost hadn’t come. She had hemmed and hawed for most of Wednesday, citing a range of hypothetically pressing conflicts, from being on a writing deadline to not wanting to seem like a stalker.

Then that night, she had started flipping channels only to find herself watching a rerun of Astronauticals, the one where the crew landed on a planet of love children who made nightly sacrifices to a vicious space monster in order to stay young and beautiful forever.

AJ still knew every line, and as she watched Glimmette stand up to the space monster in her rocking mod outfit, she began to bawl uncontrollably.

She had driven up to Gladstone the next day. She didn’t own funeral attire, so Libby had brought her a simple black wrap dress to try on. It fell below Libby’s knees but floated just above AJ’s.

“Age,” said Libby, meeting her eyes in the mirror. To AJ’s surprise, her sister seemed nervous.

“What’s up?” said AJ, turning to face her.

Libby smirked. “You brought a thong, right?” she said, all traces of vulnerability gone. “Those briefs are giving you sausage thighs.”

After Libby left, AJ watched half an episode of Jeopardy! with Emily, then holed up in their childhood bedroom, attempting to work.

Rather than hit the convention circuit that summer, she had taken a gig adapting a bestselling novel into a screenplay. AJ was starting to think about what would come after SNL, and Molly Magnusson had assured her that this was an excellent step toward selling a screenplay of her own. AJ spent two hours staring blankly at her document in Final Draft, then passed out.

Now, as AJ and Libby entered Grovelawn Manor, AJ nervously smoothed her hands over the wrap dress. The great hall was packed, but they found seats in the second-to-last row.

Up front, a stately portrait of Eudora had been mounted behind a podium—and there beside it stood Noah, unmistakable in a dark suit, his broad back to the room.

AJ squirmed. Why was he so fucking tall? She scanned the front row and tasted bile as she recognized Allison’s tousled bob beside Risa and Ned.

God fucking damn it. The internet knew jack all.

With an officious creak, the doors closed and the proceedings began. First, the head of the town’s council on culture enumerated Eudora’s many contributions to the local art scene. He was followed by the mayor, who thanked the family by presenting Noah a key to the city.

Next, the chair of the Gladstone Theater Company gave an emotional speech, waxing poetic about Eudora’s “thespian star” and referring to her as a beacon four times. She had worked herself into such a state that she left without introducing the next speaker.

Noah stood then. He took the podium in three strides and calmly raised the mic. God, his face—so handsome, so…sad. The crowd solemnized as his dark, expressive eyes swept the room.

AJ felt a tremor of sorrow; Eudora’s eyes had been so similar.

“My aunt would never admit it, but this was her favorite speech,” said Noah with a small smile. One of his enormous hands came to rest over his diaphragm, and he began to recite the lines.

“What light is light if Sylvia be not seen? What joy is joy if Sylvia be not by?”

AJ could still picture Eudora leaping onto her ottoman to show them how it should be done.

She closed her eyes, listening to the deep melody of Noah’s voice, and felt such fierce pride in him, it overwhelmed her. In Noah, AJ could find all Eudora held dear. She bowed her head.

“She is my essence, and I leave to be if I be not by her fair influence fostered, illumined, cherished, kept alive.”

When Noah finished, the room was silent. Then spontaneous applause broke out. As AJ opened her eyes, tears rushed down her cheeks. She gave a start.

Noah was looking directly at her.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

And now they were all rising to give him an ovation, and the mayor was taking back the mic and dismissing the assembly. As AJ stood to go, Noah dropped out of view. Probably to embrace Allison, which AJ definitely did not need to see.

As the ballroom doors reopened, AJ followed Libby into the slow-moving throng. She was in agony. This crowd could not be more glacial if they tried.

Fuck.

Fine. He’d seen her. So be it. She would not be caught hanging around, as if she were seeking some sort of audience with him.

“I thought Daniel Drew would be there.” Libby pouted as they finally descended the front steps of Grovelawn Manor and began the trek back to her car.

Noah’s dad had given a very teary press conference that morning from the comfort of his home in L.A. AJ was about to respond when she heard hurried footsteps on the path behind them.

“AJ.”

She spun around in time to see Noah sidestep an elderly couple in order to reach her. Her heart took off as she and Libby exited the walkway.

He was there in a few strides, and it happened to AJ all over again, the span of his shoulders, the breadth of his thighs, the bow of his lips, the way his eyes lit as he looked at her.

“Hi,” he said, breathless. Then, “Hi, Libby.”

“Hi,” chirped Libby.

AJ swallowed. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“You too,” he said sincerely. “It’s good of you to be here.” He put a hand on her shoulder. AJ’s chest tightened.

Noah cleared his throat. “We’re having some people back to the house, and I wanted to ask if you would come.” He looked at AJ intently. “Eudora made me the executor of her will, and she left you a few bequests. Maybe once all of this is over, we can go over them? Since you’re here.”

“Sure,” said AJ, who was pretty sure she’d just entered a fugue state. “Yeah, whatever’s easy.”

“Great,” said Noah. He removed his hand. “I’ll see you there, then.”

“See you there,” said AJ.

With a nod, Noah walked back toward Grovelawn Manor.

Fuck.

AJ was in a fog as she followed Libby to her Lexus. Somehow, she was now going to Drew House, where she would have to meet Allison—have to act normal and nice.

In the driver’s seat, Libby fidgeted with her keys. She didn’t start the car.

“Do you have any idea how you look at him?”

AJ clenched her jaw, waiting for the punch line ending in Jayde. When it didn’t come, she glanced over to find Libby’s eyes swimming.

“What’s it like?” her sister asked almost inaudibly. AJ had never seen Libby so exposed.

“I—” AJ’s comeback died on her tongue. Instead, she thought of the improbability of having just had Noah’s hand on her for thirty seconds. “I don’t know. A fucked-up miracle, maybe.”

Libby’s chin trembled, and AJ was hit with the sudden awareness that everything was about to change.

Then Libby said in a rush, “I need to leave Lucas. I-I want a divorce.”

THE SUN WAS SETTING as Libby’s Lexus pulled into the driveway at Drew House. AJ could tell from the patchwork of remaining cars that most of the guests had already gone.

They had talked in the parking lot for two hours, then transitioned to Libby’s trusty Dunkin’ for another two. And it had all tumbled out. How something had always felt off, but Libby had stuck with it because “my marriage was the only thing I ever did that impressed Dad.” How she’d come to admit that the rare days Lucas was around were her worst. How she’d realized she wanted more watching Pat and Elle. How she’d learned she could ask for it watching AJ.

“I’m sorry for how I acted when you left Brian,” Libby said. “I was trying so hard to convince myself to stay, I don’t think I could bear to watch you go.”

Libby had a tough path ahead, but as they waved goodbye, AJ had never seen her sister look so…right. As Libby’s headlights swung into the dusk, AJ had to laugh—only Libby could make someone else’s funeral about herself.

AJ’s smile faded as she slowly turned to face Drew House. She had walked here so often in her mind—it hadn’t changed one iota. As she approached the oak door, she marveled at the familiar cast of evening through the trees.

The party was indeed breaking up. As AJ stepped inside, she held the door for several elderly guests on the way home. She entered the vestibule to a familiar sight: Mrs. Gilroy, fussing over a pile of silver terrines. Several caterers watched nearby, powerless to stop her.

“Real service anticipates,” she was saying. Then she spied AJ. “AJ? My my, if this isn’t a surprise.”

“Hi, Mrs. Gilroy,” said AJ, as the elderly Irishwoman gave her the once-over. The caterers took the opening to pack up their wares.

“I’m retired now, you know.” She sniffed loudly. “I’m living in the house down the hill, the one where Noah grew up. He was so attentive to his aunt. I was still here most days…right up until…” She looked around the room. “I suppose I shall miss this place.”

As she sighed, Noah emerged from the formal dining room to the left, accompanied by several mourners. His eyes caught on AJ as he bid them farewell.

“You came,” he said, offering Mrs. Gilroy his arm.

“I—” AJ swallowed. “Sorry, Libby was, um, Libby.” Articulate. Brilliant. Great.

Just then, Allison Seabring swept into the vestibule. She wore a floral gown that flowed off her as if specifically designed for her willowy shape. There was such crispness to her beauty as she grasped Mrs. Gilroy’s other arm, her eyes twinkling like fresh-cut sapphires.

“You heading home, Mrs. G?” she asked. “I’ll walk out with you—I want to try to get to Big Y before they close.”

Mrs. Gilroy smiled approvingly. Allison was probably nipping out to get something AJ would never buy, like arrowroot starch. She and Noah probably ate like hunter-gatherers. AJ felt the strawberry Coolatta she’d split with Libby turn to lead in her stomach.

Now Allison’s eyes were on AJ. “You look so familiar,” she said, squinting. “Have we met?” AJ shook her manicured hand and introduced herself. “Oh, of course,” said Allison with genuine warmth. “Noah’s told me so much about you. I love ‘1-800-Amethyst.’ ”

As they traded compliments, AJ was forced to conclude that Allison was fucking lovely. The rumor mill had one thing right, though: no ring.

Now Allison was turning to Noah. “Did you take Bud out or should I?”

“I got it,” he said.

AJ averted her gaze to the drawing room, immediately locking eyes with Risa.

“AJ!” she cried, beckoning AJ toward the sofa where she and Ned were ensconced.

“Go ahead,” said Noah. “I’ll be right there.”

As AJ made her way to the space where she, Noah, and Eudora had spent so many afternoons, she could still detect Eudora’s floral perfume clinging to the drapery. In the mirror above the mantel, she glimpsed Allison and Noah helping Mrs. Gilroy to the door.

“AJ—it’s so nice of you to come to this,” said Ned, taking an embroidered antique chair as AJ joined Risa on the sofa. AJ smiled back, reflexively sliding her left hand under her thigh. If anyone would notice her own absent ring, it was Risa.

“How are you two liking the Berkshires?” she asked.

“There’s no service up here!” said Risa in horror. “We got so lost on the way to the memorial, I thought Ned’s Garmin was going to drive us off a cliff.”

As she and Ned recounted their travails up the “scenic post road,” AJ watched Noah in the mirror. He held the door for Mrs. Gilroy, but Allison lingered with him to farewell the last few guests. When he bowed his head in exhaustion, she went up onto her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. Then the caterers took their leave, and Allison ducked out with them.

Noah closed the door behind her with a weary click, as if the only good thing in his life had just gone. He took a moment, gathering himself, then headed for the drawing room. AJ averted her gaze before he could catch her watching.

“There he is,” said Ned.

Noah gave him a tired smile. “You two should head out,” he said. “I’m sure you’re tired.”

Ned shrugged and glanced at Risa. “Are you sure?” said Risa tentatively.

“Yeah,” said Noah. He gave them a small, mischievous smile. “The post road’s even dicier at night.”

As they rose to go, Noah turned to AJ. “Do you mind if I just take Bud out? It’ll be about five minutes.”

“Not at all,” said AJ, her heart pounding.

She said goodbye to Risa and Ned and watched in the mirror as Noah led them to the front door. As it closed, she sank back into the couch, listening to Noah’s footsteps recede into the kitchen.

Then all was silent, except for the ticking of the grandfather clock in the front hall.

Slowly AJ turned around and looked across the entryway. The dining room was empty. The vestibule was empty. The whole house was empty. She sat back and stared at the piano, her pulse keeping time with the second hand.

AJ was at Drew House, alone with Noah Drew.

As she listened for his footsteps, she wondered for the first time what Eudora possibly could have left her. Her personal volume of NOW That’s What I Call Music! 4? One of her illustrious cashmere pieces?

She could hear Noah and Bud in the kitchen now; the dog barked happily as Noah fed her. Presently, the door swung open, and the familiar thud of Noah’s steps filled the vestibule.

AJ looked up as he entered the drawing room. Noah was wiped. He’d removed his suit jacket and was now in a plain white oxford shirt. As he reached up to loosen his tie, AJ noticed a legal-size manila folder tucked under his arm.

“Sorry about that,” he said, dropping the tie over the couch back and seating himself beside AJ.

He placed the folder on the coffee table in front of them and began undoing the buttons at his cuffs, rolling up his sleeves. He was obviously hot from rushing around, his cheeks flushed. As he ran a hand over his face, his hair fell across his eyebrows in this Noah way that was so carelessly handsome, AJ suddenly couldn’t breathe.

She forced herself to look at the folder. “What’s this?”

Noah’s face was somber. “Handbook for the Recently Deceased.”

AJ gave a start. Then she burst out laughing.

Noah shot her a sidelong glance. “I’ve been holding on to that one for thirteen years.”

AJ wiped her eyes. “That was perfect.”

He grinned, gazing at her. In that moment, AJ would have given anything to touch him.

Which was insane. His gorgeous girlfriend would be back any minute. AJ cleared her throat, folding her hands in her lap and returning studiously to the folder.

Noah placed a finger on the front flap. “I figured since you’re here, it makes sense to go over this in person,” he said. “Less jarring that way than in an email.”

“Jarring?” said AJ.

Noah nodded. “I know you and Eudora had a complicated history, but I don’t think there can be any doubt that you were important to her.” He pushed the folder toward AJ on the table. “Especially when you see this.”

Heart pounding, AJ took the file into her lap. Inside she found a portion of a will. She felt Noah lean closer to read over her shoulder. Ah—his weight, his warmth. AJ kept her eyes forward, trying not to react to his sudden nearness and the dark, salty smell of his body.

“It’s clauses 6a to c,” he said, his voice low in her ear.

AJ commanded herself to focus on the page. This section of the will pertained to Eudora and Ezell’s intellectual estate. Clauses 6a and b bequeathed all of Eudora and Ezell’s personal papers and the rights to their collected works to two people, jointly: AJ Graves and Noah Drew.

“Holy shit,” she whispered.

Clause 6c referred to Ezell Farr’s unfinished play, Fire & Water, and came with a proviso—AJ flipped the page and began to read item iii: “The text or any dramatic rendition of Fire & Water may be read or performed only with the joint approval of the beneficiaries outlined in section 6b.”

“Whoa,” said AJ, running her index finger down the paragraph, double-checking it. “So, we could potentially stage Fire & Water? Or someone else could with our permission?”

When Noah didn’t respond, AJ looked up at him. He had gone very still, an odd expression on his face. He was staring at her hand on the page.

“Hey,” said AJ, tentatively.

Noah’s expression didn’t change. “You’re not wearing your ring.”

“Oh,” said AJ, heat rushing to her cheeks. “I don’t have it anymore,” she mumbled, balling her fist to hide the exposed knuckle.

“What?” said Noah, his tone deadly quiet. “Why?”

AJ wished then that she hadn’t come. She wished she had left her stupid hand out of sight. And she wished she weren’t suddenly on the verge of tears. This was an actual horror show.

“I gave it back,” she said finally.

Noah’s eyes went round. “You’re not—”

AJ’s cheeks burned but she forced herself to look at him. She shook her head. And in that instant, the air between them electrified. Noah was gazing at her as though she’d only just appeared, as if her face had suddenly come into focus. Slowly he reached for her, opening her fist to examine the bare knuckle. At the brush of his fingers AJ’s heart clutched.

“Did he hurt you?” Noah’s eyes were on their hands, his long lashes shading his cheekbones.

“No, Brian—Brian’s a good guy,” AJ heard herself say. “He deserves someone who actually loves him, and he was never going to have that with me. It just wasn’t fair.”

Noah’s face was unreadable. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out,” he said carefully. “I’m…sure they will next time.”

The words felt like a cold snap. AJ laughed a little.

Noah frowned. “What?”

There isn’t going to be a next time. “Nothing.”

As their eyes locked, their hands automatically opened against each other’s. Noah’s touch was familiar and shocking and AJ was a heartbeat from doing something truly reckless.

She willed herself to stand, to cross the room. She stared at her own silhouette in the French doors. Outside of Noah’s warmth, she felt a draft and folded her arms across her chest.

“Allison will be back soon.” She forced herself to speak her name.

For a beat, Noah didn’t respond. Then, “No, she won’t.”

AJ must have misheard him. “Sorry, what?”

“She’s on her way to the airport.”

Slowly AJ turned around. Noah had risen to his feet.

“I don’t understand,” she said.

Noah’s hands slid into his pockets. “We’re not together.”

Every muscle in AJ’s body went rigid. Slowly, Noah stepped from behind the table.

“We had a brief thing, years ago,” he said evenly. “Allison was getting over her first girlfriend, and I needed to…This was right after Into the Blue. It was super casual, and we wound up staying friends. Then eventually, we were cast together, and the media got so hooked on the idea of us being a couple we just…let them run with it. We sold a lot of Byron tickets that way.”

AJ’s temples were buzzing. “But you said—”

“I know.”

AJ shook her head. “No. She was here. She knows Mrs. Gilroy.”

Noah shrugged. “We’re friends.”

There were tears in AJ’s eyes now. “At the Oscars,” she bit out. “You thanked the woman in your life. Said you loved her.”

Noah fixed her with his stare. “I wasn’t talking about Allison.”

For a second, all was still except the ticking of the grandfather clock.

“Are you kidding?” said AJ quietly.

Noah swallowed. He shook his head.

AJ’s hands fisted, anger blistering through her. “Are you fucking kidding?”

He took another step forward. “Age—”

“You humiliated me,” shouted AJ, her eyes stinging. “You told me you felt sorry for me.”

“I was trying to do the right thing,” said Noah hotly, his cheekbones and neck flushed. “What was I supposed to say? ‘I rearranged my entire year to spend a few hours looking at you, but you’re better off with Brian’? ‘I put my hand through a wall the day I saw that ring, but hang on to it because I have nothing better to offer you’? For fuck’s sake.”

A vision of his bandaged knuckles surfaced in AJ’s mind, but she shoved it aside. “You lied to me,” she said, advancing on him. He towered over her, but she was too livid to care.

Noah glared at her. “I had to,” he fumed. “You’re in complete fucking denial that I’m sick. You won’t hear a word about it. That night, you practically begged me to tell you it was all because of Allison. So I did. I couldn’t let you throw away your future.”

AJ’s entire body was vibrating. “I am not in denial.”

“Oh yeah?” said Noah, stepping forward. “How will you feel when I’m not big and strong anymore? When I’m not smart or capable?” His eyes were intent on hers, his mouth a rueful curve. “You haven’t thought about it, Age. I told you everything and you just…buried it.”

AJ gaped at him.

In a flash, she remembered the look on his face outside Blue Con, how disappointed he’d been. You just couldn’t do it, could you? She’d been eager, she realized. So very eager to believe it was anything else. Because if Noah did love her, and they still weren’t together, he truly was…sick.

She felt him watch her admit this to herself now.

Noah ran his hand over his face. “It’s a pretty standard response.”

His tone cut through AJ’s anger. She had hurt him, and she understood why. She was now the only living person who knew his reality, and she had made him feel erased. AJ covered her mouth to think. When she looked up, Noah was staring at a bleach spot on the rug.

“I’m sorry,” she said, lowering her hand. “I know you have HD. I…I read about it sometimes when I miss you. I’m always on alert. Whenever you do anything impulsive, it’s…on my mind.”

Hearing this seemed to get his attention. He looked up. “I miss you too,” he said with difficulty. “Sometimes, I—” He closed his mouth, and AJ watched his nostrils flare as he bit back whatever he’d been about to say. The clock ticked almost a full minute as he mastered himself.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said at length, his tone reserved. “You deserve someone who can give you children. Grandchildren. Someone you can grow old with.”

AJ thought of Libby’s crumbling marriage, of Patrick and Elle. Love is always a risk.

“Noah,” she said gently. “None of us are guaranteed old age, or any of that.”

“Yes,” said Noah, his voice breaking. “But with me you won’t even have a shot at it.”

AJ couldn’t breathe. “But I’d have you.”

Noah’s eyes welled instantly. “You’ll change your mind. You will. When you see what’s going to happen, you’ll—”

AJ shook her head. “This isn’t some decision I’m making,” she said. “It’s who I am. I’ve tried to want other things. I literally tried to marry myself off. But I couldn’t do it.”

Noah flinched. “You still might—”

AJ closed her eyes. “Stop, please,” she said. She peered into his dear, dear face. “You are it for me. It is what it is. You don’t have to like it, but just…lay off, okay?”

Noah took a fast breath, his eyes brimming. He looked down at the carpet again, wrestling with himself. When he spoke, his expression was severe.

“What about kids?”

AJ’s mouth went dry. “I don’t want kids,” she said, admitting it out loud for the first time.

Noah tilted his head as if he hadn’t quite heard her. “When did that happen?”

AJ tried to swallow. “I think I started to realize watching my sister-in-law last year,” she said. “But honestly, if opting out was more the norm, it probably never would have occurred to me to have them. I’ve thought about it a lot and the responsibility is really real to me. Maybe too real. I just…don’t want it. I didn’t have a super-joyful bond with my own parents, so I’m sure that’s in the mix. But yeah. Whatever that thing is that makes other people want kids…it’s not in me.”

Noah’s brow creased as he absorbed this information. AJ searched him, trying to get any read at all on his energy—nothing. He swallowed. “I didn’t know that.”

Her eyes filled. “Does it matter?”

Noah lifted his gaze, and for a brief instant, his face shone wild with possibility.

“If you really don’t want to be a mom, then maybe we could—” he started, and AJ’s heart seized.

Then a shadow fell across his features. His expression went blank.

“No,” he said, shaking himself. “No. This isn’t the plan.”

AJ blinked, disoriented. “The plan?” With a start, she realized he was referring to the same plan he’d outlined in L.A.—the one that precluded long-term relationships, children, and advanced HD symptoms.

The one that resulted in him killing himself.

AJ’s heart rate surged, blood rising to her face. “Is Oregon still part of the plan?”

Noah’s eyes were burning. “Yes,” he said finally.

AJ shook her head. “No,” she said, and immediately felt a sob gather in her chest. She forced it back down. “For fuck’s sake,” she whispered.

Noah glared at her. “This isn’t up for debate.”

Cold fury detonated through AJ like a blast of liquid nitrogen, and in that instant, time slowed.

Even if she couldn’t sense him minute by minute, she knew what was inside. That black mass, yes—and caged deep within it, his love and his hope. AJ would have bet her life that those hounds were raising hell right now, whaling on the inside of that great glass dome.

And she was going to break them out, whatever it took.

“There it is,” she said, stepping toward him.

Noah gave her a forbidding look. “What?”

AJ held his gaze. “Your game,” she said. “The Noah Drew Dies Alone game.”

Noah’s eyes widened. “Hey, Age,” he said. “You might want to be careful. You’re starting to talk out of your ass.”

“Am I?” she said, inching forward. “We once sat together, not a mile from here, and you told me that having closeness didn’t feel like your life. That you were always waiting for the other shoe to drop. That having to leave felt inevitable.”

This enraged him. AJ could see his temple throb. “AJ,” he said warningly.

“Noah,” she retorted, stepping closer. “Be honest. When you were diagnosed, was a little part of you secretly vindicated? Like, yeah, it’s devastating, but it must have felt a little good to be so right. To have your proof. To be able to say, definitively, you’d be alone for the rest of your life.”

Noah seethed, his massive shoulders heaving, his cheeks redder than AJ had ever seen them. His eyes were on fire. “Stop talking now.”

AJ smiled. “Oh, right, it’s ‘not up for debate,’ ” she said blithely. “My bad. I mean, why would anyone give up all that yummy certainty? Seems like a fair trade for your entire life.”

She was close enough to breathe him in. His jaw was clenched, and he was inhaling hard through his nose. Heat cycled off his chest like a reactor. As AJ looked up into his incensed eyes, she felt the tiniest pulse from the depths of that shadowy mass, a distant flare, the spark of a fuse.

“Fuck the plan. Noah,” she said softly. “What do you want?”

In an instant, his hands were on her waist, pulling her flush against his groin. AJ felt hunger pang between her legs. She gasped as his left arm encircled her back, his right hand whisking aside the front flap of her dress. His face was an inch from hers, his pupils so dilated his eyes were black.

He went straight to her senses, his scent, the heat of his hand smoothing over her hip to the small of her back, then over her bare ass. He was checking whether she was wearing underwear, which she wasn’t, thanks to Libby’s snark. His eyelids sank as he confirmed this for himself.

“I knew it,” he muttered. He was looking at her lips now, and AJ was glad he was holding her; her legs were about to give. He inclined his face toward hers, scanning.

“Was that…okay?” he asked, suddenly shy. AJ could feel his heart through their clothing. The anger was gone from his eyes. Instead he looked…starved. He looked like how she felt.

AJ held his gaze. She nodded. Noah swallowed, momentarily stunned.

Then he was walking her backward toward the couch. AJ heard a scraping sound as he shoved the coffee table out of the way with his knee. She fell onto the cushions, and he knelt down, his hands running up her calves then catching the back of her knees and pulling her forward so her ass was on the edge of the seat.

AJ felt a thrum of anticipation as he stared at the place where her wrap dress now dangled between her legs, two limp black corners. Slowly, he ran his hands over her knees and up the inside of her thighs, stopping right at the flaps.

“Is this okay?” he asked, glancing up at her. AJ nodded again.

The dress fell open at the push of his fingers, and his hands roved over her hips and down her back, grasping her buttocks, pulling her close. AJ felt him shudder as his lips pressed into her pubic bone. He lifted her toward him and inhaled.

Holy shit.

Then he tasted her, and AJ felt the waters of her body stir. Oh. Noah tasted her again, more fully this time, and groaned like he had craved this, like he had dreamed of her swelling and rising on his tongue.

AJ had never particularly enjoyed this act, mostly because she felt too exposed—it left too little to do and too much to worry about.

She should have known it would be different with Noah. He was curious and thorough and so unbelievably intense. Slowly, methodically, he caressed her, noting every flutter, every sigh. He was figuring her out—of course he was, he always had before. With one long, calculated stroke, he sent a lick of heat straight through her core. “Fuck,” she gasped, and felt his concentration deepen.

AJ couldn’t take her eyes off him. He was beautiful, but it was her disbelief that held her captive. How was this even happening? She couldn’t catch her breath. Each flick of his tongue wound her tighter and tighter.

He met her eyes, and AJ felt his hand trace the slick of her seam, heard him exhale as she ripened at his touch. As he slipped a finger inside her, she shook.

“Oh my God,” he breathed.

AJ was making sounds she didn’t recognize—she was mewing, and Noah was sipping at her like she was his first drink in days, and AJ had never ached like this for anyone.

Her muscles were starting to clench now. Noah felt it too, and he swore under his breath, then gave her another finger.

But she could not let go. She had spent so long tamping down her desire for him that now, on the verge of release, she found herself panicked by how badly she wanted him and how easily this could slip away.

Noah felt her struggling. “AJ,” he said. His other hand found hers. He held her gaze. “Trust me.”

His voice. Within seconds, her thighs began to shake. Noah was ready; he slowed his movements, steadily bringing her closer, and closer, until—

“I’m gonna come,” she whispered, and she heard him moan from deep in his throat, and a brilliant sensation chimed through her, a startling, breathless pleasure.

Noah’s hands wrapped around her hips, soothing her. AJ was gone. She was nothing but the feel of him gently lowering her back onto the couch, then pressing his lips into her upper thigh.

“Ah,” she shivered.

Noah seemed surprised. He did it again. Again, AJ vibrated. He was tuning her like a crystal now, making her nerves sing at the slightest brush of his fingers, of his lips. AJ reached down to touch his cheek, and his hand closed around hers as he took her back into his mouth.

His eyes were closed, his brow furrowed in devotion. He was kneeling before her, a pilgrim at the source, confessing it all, his longing and his terror, and AJ’s body was listening, opening, giving. As he parted her, searching for the rhythm she wanted, she arched against him in answer.

His hands were grasping her now, holding her open as he pressed his tongue inside her. AJ was close again, so close that every stroke was painful. She writhed, bending, his breath hot along her center. She felt him groan, and she flitted, flickered, and for an instant, she burned bright.

As she faded back into herself, she became aware of him, of his body, of his arousal, a heavy bulge against her right shin. She sat up slow, her dress drooping closed, to find Noah in a state between her legs. He was murmuring incoherently into her right thigh. She lifted his face and found his eyes ablaze. He took her hand and pressed his lips to the tender part of her wrist.

Then AJ slid off the couch, onto her knees, so she was between his legs. He leaned forward, gripping the cushion behind her for support, his erection tenting his pants. As AJ reached for him, he closed a warning hand around her wrist.

“I’m not in control.”

AJ could see the strain in his neck, the way he was panting, his lips parted, and she looked into his beautiful dark eyes and thought, Good.

Maybe she even said it out loud because his grip loosened long enough for her to find him, to feel him twitch beneath her palm. As she closed her hand, Noah convulsed.

There wasn’t time to even unbutton his pants, he was already coming. He swore, burying his face in her neck, his whole body trembling into her as a warm spot bloomed beneath her fingers.

They stayed that way for a long moment, entwined like a pair of inosculated trees. AJ memorized the weight of his head on her shoulder, the softness of his hair against her cheek, the wordless vulnerability of his hand tentatively tracing her hip, as though unsure of his welcome.

When Noah pulled back from her, there were tears in his eyes. “I never thought I’d get to—” He cut himself off.

AJ took his hand in both of hers. She wanted to tell him that seeing him unravel like that had been the most erotic experience of her life. Instead she said, “I hope you like your dry cleaner.”

A laugh escaped his lips like air from a tire, and he bent forward, enfolding her in his arms. Yes. Even worn and spent he was so strong. AJ could feel his breath in her hair, and she closed her eyes. His heartbeat was a homecoming.

“Want to shower?” he asked, and AJ nodded.

Together they turned off the lamps and Noah led her to the second floor. She followed him past older residential rooms to a new wing at the end of the hall. Noah pushed into a large steel gray bedroom with a king bed and modern light fixtures. This was his.

He led her into an impressive marble bathroom that had both a soaking tub and a standing glass shower and turned on the water. AJ didn’t understand how tired she was until she realized that he was helping her out of her dress and easing the barrette out of her hair. He stripped naked and opened the door, and the two of them got in.

Carefully, he positioned her beneath the shower head so his back wouldn’t block the water from reaching her. As he lathered shampoo into her hair then his, she watched droplets bead along his collarbone. He was less beefy than he’d been six years ago, but just as broad and well toned. As his hands rinsed out her hair, AJ melted into his chest, warmth pouring down her back.

She might have nodded off standing right there, because the next thing she remembered was him helping her on with one of his T-shirts and a pair of his boxer briefs and crawling into his bed. Her eyes were already shut when the bedside lamp clicked off, and the last thing she remembered was his arm closing around her middle and drawing her body into his.

THE NEXT MORNING, WHEN Noah nuzzled her cheek and whispered that he needed to let the dog out, AJ actually felt annoyed. She thought she was being woken from a dream.

It wasn’t until a few minutes later, when she opened her eyes and saw sunlight filtering into the soft gray room, that she remembered. She was at Drew House, and that hadn’t been a dream.

It was the real Noah Drew.

AJ was still in his clothes as she crept barefoot down the hall. She had never been at Drew House so early in the day, and the sunlight painted the entryway like a chapel. The grandfather clock had stopped during the night; as AJ descended the grand staircase, its unwound hands stood fixed at 12:13.

Noah was still out when AJ entered the kitchen. She helped herself to a glass from the cabinet, filled it with water from the pitcher in the fridge, took a seat at the quartz-topped island, and felt her heart rate spike at the intense strangeness of this situation.

So much had been said last night, but nothing had been resolved. They’d fallen on each other like animals, but they hadn’t even kissed. AJ looked around the palatial yellow kitchen and realized abruptly that she knew what lay behind every cabinet door, but not whether Noah drank coffee.

As the countless unknowns swirled up around her, the meanest parts of her brain descended like wolves through a fog.

What if this thing she had yearned for her entire life couldn’t survive the light of day?

AJ suddenly felt sure it could not. She couldn’t name one thing Noah liked to do in his spare time. And their bond hadn’t been the same since SNL. The idea of them hanging out felt utterly absurd.

Fuck. He hadn’t seen her yet. AJ would call Libby and slip out.

As she rose to flee the kitchen, the screen door whinnied and Noah’s head and shoulders came into view. Her adrenaline surged. Fuck. This would be awkward. It would be awkward and awful, and they’d realize this connection they’d cherished was nothing more than a projection and—

Bud was sprinting across the tile floor, so overjoyed to see AJ that her ass was actually wiggling. She was thirteen now, a dowager with tearstains in her pretty eyes, but she moved well for an old lady.

“Aw, what a good girl,” said AJ, stiffly squatting to pet her. Bud playfully swiped her hand away, slowly wagging her tail as if to say Just try. AJ burst out laughing.

“That’s how you know she remembers you,” said Noah, grabbing Bud’s water bowl off the floor and walking it over to the sink. “She’s only a ‘good girl’ with people she doesn’t know.”

Bud trotted away from AJ and began to drink as soon as Noah replaced the dish. He straightened up as AJ stood, and the two of them looked at each other.

Holy shit, he was beautiful, his eyes sleepy but bright, his shoulders making the white Hanes T-shirt he was wearing look indecent. AJ froze. Then she felt it—the faintest energetic tug: warmth. She smiled at him shyly. Noah’s eyes creased at the corners.

“You like coffee, right?” he asked.

AJ swallowed. “Yes,” she said. “Do you? I thought you were a health nut.”

“I don’t,” said Noah. “And I am. But every time I’ve seen you over the last six years you’ve been holding a coffee the size of your torso, and I don’t want you to go into some kind of withdrawal.”

AJ smiled. She took a seat at the island and watched Noah reach into the far depths of a corner cabinet to extract a zany geometric metal pitcher.

AJ stared at it. “Is that from Sputnik?”

Noah gave her a miffed look. “This is an Italian espresso pot,” he said, twisting it in half.

“Oh, well then.”

Noah filled the contraption and set it to boil on the stove. As it heated, he began to prepare some extravagant concoction of his own. There was a lot of chopping of onions and tomatoes and cracking of eggs. “What do you like for breakfast these days?”

AJ sat up proudly. “Special K,” she declared, “with Red Berries.”

Noah gave her a disgusted look as he dumped his ingredients into a cast-iron skillet. “No wonder you’re thinking about Sputnik,” he said. “That stuff is dehydrated space food.”

“Actually, it’s a good source of eleven vitamins and minerals,” said AJ tartly. “It’s made with real berries.”

“It’s shlock,” said Noah, who then had the audacity to peel open a can of sardines and add it to his cauldron.

AJ thought she was going to yak. “You’re one to talk,” she said. “What’s that—Voldemort’s resurrection soup? The witches’ brew from Macb—”

Noah’s jaw dropped in a look of sheer delight, and AJ covered her mouth with her hand.

“I didn’t say it,” she muttered.

Noah shook his head, laughing silently. “She’s not even in her urn yet.”

He washed his hands and placed a mug of fresh coffee in front of AJ. He watched her pick it up and tentatively take a sip. “Well?”

“That’s annoyingly good,” she said.

Noah looked pleased. “You need to eat something.”

“Why?”

Noah shrugged. “What if we want to go on a run later?”

AJ could tell instantly he’d been working up to this and was so happy he wanted to spend more time with her, she would probably have tried his appalling sardine dish. “Toast?” she offered.

Noah grinned and threw a couple pieces of bread in the toaster. AJ sipped her coffee and nibbled her toast as Noah pulled out the stool beside her and housed his aggressive omega-3 concoction in under three minutes. As they finished, AJ frowned.

“Yes?” he asked, wiping his mouth on a piece of paper towel. AJ hadn’t even seen him look up.

“I don’t have anything with me.”

Technically, she had one change of clothes at her parents’ house. AJ felt her face color when she recalled that they had all been expecting her home at some point last night.

Noah met her eyes. He tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “That’s fixable.”

They headed up to his room and AJ donned her dress from the day before while Noah pulled on a gray T-shirt and jeans. As they changed, they joked about this and that—Noah’s collection of incognito-wear, AJ’s post-funeral walk of shame. Neither of them touched the unmade bed.

Evidently Noah still drove his red Camaro when he was home. As they sped down the mountain, he filled AJ in on Drew House’s slow remodel. Apparently, he’d done a lot of the work himself.

“I did notice your room makes an abrupt departure in sconce style,” she said.

Noah checked the rearview. “The plan was for Eudora to take that room so she could be more comfortable, but when the time came, she naturally refused.” He shook his head. “I might have gone on a rewiring bender.”

AJ smiled. The more they talked, the less anxious she felt. This was a new kind of scene, one where she truly didn’t know her next line until it was her turn to speak. But he was in it with her.

The turn signal clicked on, and they pulled into a strip mall.

“I figured we’ll try T.J.’s first and go from there,” said Noah lightly.

AJ’s eyes swiveled toward him as he parked; his cheeks were tinged with pink. “Oh my God,” she said. “You love T.J. Maxx.”

“Stop,” he said, his cheeks now fully red.

AJ was beside herself. “You want to marry T.J. Maxx.”

“It’s called T.J.’s,” he said, tugging on a baseball cap and getting out of the car.

They found a cart and began to roam the aisles. As they walked, Noah made little knowing comments like “Twenty-five percent off cowls…not bad” and “This used to be in aisle seven.”

“How often do you come here?” asked AJ as they turned into the women’s clothing section.

Noah shrugged. “Pretty often,” he said. “I used to work here when I was in high school, back when it was Caldor. And then being home so much…it’s a nice place to take a break. No one here gives a flying fuck who I am—they’re all stoned. Sometimes I just come by and walk around. The guy who does the outdoor goods section has a real artistic flair.”

He tossed a sports bra to AJ—it was her exact size. She raised a brow, and he winked almost imperceptibly. Then he threw in a seven-pack of underwear for good measure.

They entered the shoe section, and AJ selected a pair of sneakers.

“Are you going to try those on?” asked Noah sternly as she placed the box into the cart.

AJ shrugged. “I’ve been the same size since I was thirteen, so no.”

Noah rolled his eyes and stalked off into a different aisle. He returned presently with a metal shoe bench and placed it down with a clang beside AJ.

“Sit.” AJ sat. He took the right shoe out of the box, removed the cardboard stuffing, and began to lace it up with practiced alacrity.

“Let me guess—your next role is a cobbler with a dark past,” said AJ, as Noah knelt before her.

“I just think something worth doing is worth doing well,” he said, pulling back the shoe’s tongue so she could slide her foot inside, pushing against his thigh. As she did, the skirt of the black wrap dress parted slightly. Noah’s eyes darted toward the opening and for a split second, his face went slack.

Then he grabbed the other shoe and busied himself with the laces. AJ could detect a slight flush on his cheeks and neck as he helped her on with the left shoe. This time he kept his eyes down, but AJ felt his thumb linger an extra second on her ankle.

She walked the short distance to the end of the aisle. “These feel…excellent,” she reported over her shoulder. “Your cobbler character’s going to be very convincing.”

She pivoted around in time to see his eyes intensely focused on the spot where her ass had been a second before. This time, AJ blushed. They stared at each other for a moment, then Noah cleared his throat. “You’re welcome for the extra five years on your knees.”

Methodically, they canvassed each section of the store. Noah slowed again as they passed the swimwear. He nodded toward the rack.

“You guys got a pool?” asked AJ, looking for her size.

“After my mom died,” said Noah. “It’s where the rose garden used to be.”

“Eudora allowed that?” asked AJ, rejecting a periwinkle two-piece.

“She liked to pretend she cared about that garden, but she never actually did anything with it,” said Noah in an irritated tone that told AJ she had just raked up one of their old arguments. She pulled out a navy blue one-piece. This time Noah didn’t insist she try it on.

Instead, he brought her to the outdoor goods section, which lived up to the hype. They stood before a floor-to-ceiling rainbow constructed out of pool toys as a Muzak version of “Hold Me Now,” by the Thompson Twins, played in the background.

“This is…everything,” said AJ in hushed reverence.

“You should see toboggan season,” said Noah. AJ laughed, eyeing the boxes of neon floaties.

Noah grabbed two.

By the time they reached the checkout counter, AJ couldn’t remember how half of what they were buying had made it into the cart. She felt as if she were preparing for the world’s weirdest summer camp.

“This was very successful,” said Noah, as they got in line behind an oblivious older woman buying two cat toys and roughly eighty pairs of socks. “I’m getting this, by the way.”

AJ looked up at him, uncomfortable. “Are you sure?” she asked. “I already owe you for Blue Con…which, thank you, by the way.” Her face burned.

Noah waved it aside. “It’s my pleasure,” he said quietly. “Seriously.”

They checked out and loaded their purchases into the car. Then Noah turned toward the Big Y at the other end of the parking lot. This was the grocery store where Emily worked, although not on Sundays. “Should we pick up stuff for dinner while we’re here?”

Again, AJ’s heart leapt. “Okay,” she said. “But I’m getting this.”

Noah held up his hands.

They did a second shop aisle by aisle. AJ, who generally used lists, found this extremely inefficient, but she didn’t want to disrupt whatever was happening between them. It was all so sudden and unexpected, yet totally familiar and just…nice.

So nice it felt dangerous to read into anything they were doing or even buying. At any point Noah might ask if she needed a lift back to her parents’ house. In a way that would be the most normal thing he could do. All AJ knew was that she wasn’t going to be the one to suggest it.

If Noah noticed her go quiet, he said nothing. But when they got to the breakfast cereals, he slowed the cart. Shaking his head, he reached for a box of Special K Red Berries.

“Absolute shlock,” he said, and placed it in the cart.

THEY RETURNED TO DREW HOUSE, unloaded the car, then set out on a run down the tree-lined ridge, quickly crossing town lines. Noah kept pace beside her, giving AJ the skinny on the other mansions on his street, jogging ahead when a car passed or if they came to a blind curve.

He had good form, AJ noticed, probably a vestige of his stint at West Point. As they ran, she watched a dark spot on his trapezius expand until his entire shirt clung to him, which was not at all a bad look.

There was something deeply grounding about breathing together, sweating together—it hearkened back to the comfort they’d once shared as the two greatest living experts on NOW 4. Some version of those people was still inside them; as they moved together, AJ could feel them stir.

When they arrived back at Drew House, the sun was at its highest point. The endorphins from the run carried them into their bathing suits and out to the pool, where they proceeded to try to blow up the pool toys, which was a mistake because they were both extremely winded.

“I think I might actually pass out,” gasped AJ, whose orange plastic donut had barely changed shape since she’d unfurled it from the box.

“Push through,” wheezed Noah, whose blue donut was further along, but only just.

AJ could tell that Noah wasn’t going to give up until they finished at least one, so she abandoned the orange float and they focused on the blue, exchanging the pool toy in silence, listening to each other breathe. Finally, Noah declared it done and tossed it into the pool.

They watched it drift forlornly in the water until AJ started laughing. Noah stood, tugging his shirt off, then jumped into the water to retrieve it for her. She floated on her back, feet dangling over the side; he treaded beside her, occasionally spinning her with his hand.

“It’s a nice pool,” said AJ, and it was. Definitely another Noah-driven project by the look of the dark flagstone, sleek lines, and general severeness. “You’re really going to town on this place.”

Noah was submerged up to his eyes. He smiled at her, and for an instant AJ thought he might pull her in. Then he surfaced enough to speak. “I figure I might as well do it now while I have the energy,” he said. “Swimming will be especially beneficial as I…get older.”

AJ nodded. She didn’t want to rupture the pristine bell jar of this day, but she didn’t want him to feel like she was ignoring his implication either. “That makes sense,” she said after a beat.

Noah splashed her foot lightly, then dove under, reemerging at the other end of the pool. Water cascaded down the muscles of his back as he stood and surveyed the lawn.

They swam until their hands and feet were pruney, then Noah brought Bud out and the two of them air-dried, watching the dog chase white butterflies through the grass.

At sunset, they prepared dinner: grilled chicken with a panoply of vegetables. As Noah enumerated his very specific views on how this should be executed, AJ was finally forced to admit that he was actually a suburban dad. A super-hot, very famous, child-free suburban dad.

“What can I do?” she asked, as he lovingly applied marinade to the meat.

“You know where the plates are, right?”

AJ set the patio table as Noah fired up the grill and engaged in a complicated flamenco dance of timers and tongs.

“Can I get you anything?” he asked when he came up for air. “Water? Wine?”

“I’m okay with water,” said AJ. She swallowed. “Actually, I don’t drink anymore.”

Noah’s eyes shone. “I was thinking water as well.” He squinted. “Is it too dark out here?”

He checked his timers and took her inside, through the kitchen, past the formal dining room, to a butler’s pantry AJ had never seen. He flung open a wood-paneled door revealing a series of increasingly ornate candelabras, including the silver pair from Eudora’s gazpacho banquet.

“Pick one,” he said, then dashed off to minister to his chicken. AJ selected an ornate glass piece whose five arms had been sculpted to look like dolphins, the candles rising up out of their mouths. It was just this side of obscene, and AJ instantly loved it.

They ate by the light of the candle-fellating dolphins, moths fluttering nearby as the stars began to peek out. “So, how did Eudora come by this?” AJ nodded to the dolphins.

Noah squinted. “I believe this one was a gift from the Venetian consulate while she was touring Italy with ETT. As You Like It.”

AJ smiled. “Must have been quite a production.”

Noah gave her a wolfish grin. “You should see the one she got for Cymbeline.”

AJ laughed, and he gave her a long look she couldn’t decipher. Just when she thought he wouldn’t speak, he said, “It’s strange. All these people I knew…they’re just stories now.”

AJ’s heart constricted. If she hadn’t been here, he would have spent the day after Eudora’s memorial completely alone. AJ held his gaze. “Not to me.”

He looked at her fiercely, then turned back to his plate.

The conversation wended on, but for the first time in many hours, their ease began to feel artificial. They had spent the day at a respectful distance, avoiding the hard parts of last night, avoiding the bedroom, each trying not to spook the other.

But now they’d run through almost every diversion and a fresh tension had set in. AJ wanted to face it, but she also didn’t. When Noah began to clear, she stopped him.

“I can handle this,” she said. “Why don’t you go shower?”

Noah gave her an appraising look. “All right,” he said.

He helped AJ bring the plates in then disappeared into the enormous darkened house. Alone, AJ moved to calm herself. She did the dishes, then cleaned and covered the grill.

Noah reappeared ten minutes later in a fresh charcoal-colored T-shirt and sweatpants, his hair damp from bathing. AJ was retrieving the dolphin candelabra as he and Bud emerged on the patio for the dog’s nighttime outing.

“Hey,” he said, an unmistakable edge in his voice.

“Hey,” said AJ. She watched him follow Bud to a low hedge, her heart loud in her ears.

There was something comfortingly ridiculous about the dolphins; AJ didn’t want to blow them out. So instead, with great care and a feeling of being one with the Brontë sisters, she carried the lit candelabra upstairs. The bedroom was spartan—Noah had tidied up, sheets tucked in with military precision.

AJ entered the bathroom and started the tap on the soak tub. She placed the candelabra beside the sink, its flames twinning in the mirror, and turned out the overhead lights. Then she stripped out of her swimsuit, topknotted her hair, and stepped into the tub. She waited.

A short time later, Noah’s footsteps padded across the bedroom carpet. As he knocked on the bathroom door, AJ could see him in the mirror, his head inclined, eyes downcast. “You good?” he asked gruffly.

“Come in,” said AJ, trying to keep her own voice even.

She watched him hesitate then enter. He had removed his shirt. AJ had spent half the day with him like this, but it didn’t matter; her mouth went dry as she took in the expanse of his bare shoulders, the powerful chest, the dark trail leading from his navel into his sweatpants. Slowly, Noah approached the tub. His face was serious as he took in her shape, soft in the low light.

“Hey there,” she said quietly.

His eyebrows lifted once. “Hey.” He lowered himself onto the floor beside her and rested his arm on the tub’s rim. The smooth skin of his bicep looked amber in the candle’s glow.

The water splashed softly as AJ sat forward. She lathered a washcloth with Noah’s honey-scented soap and ran it over her neck, her shoulders, her breasts.

“I like this tub,” she said, as suds coalesced on the water’s surface.

“It suits you,” said Noah.

Tentatively, he took the washcloth from her hands. He added more soap then dipped it in the water and placed the warm compress on her back; as he did, he caught her sternum with his other hand, the way he had backstage in Miami.

AJ closed her eyes, letting him hold her. She heard his breath hitch, and then she felt it—a fervent heat, like sun on sand, so intense she felt almost faint.

Her eyes opened wide. “Was that…you?”

His gaze was feverish. He nodded.

Her hand was on top of his now. She didn’t remember putting it there. “How?”

Noah took a breath. “Exercise, I’m guessing,” he said. “Breathing together. Those old neural pathways are pretty deeply ingrained.”

He rinsed the washcloth and began rubbing circles into her back.

“I thought it was broken.”

Noah shook his head. “I doubt it will fully come back unless we start acting again. But I think probably when we have sex—”

His hands stopped moving, and he cleared his throat. “If we have sex,” he amended, and AJ felt another surge of intense lust, this time coupled with his embarrassment.

She lifted her gaze and felt the ambient sound in the room go down half a decibel. She watched his Adam’s apple throb as he read her.

“Hand me a towel?” she asked.

Her skin tingled as he dropped his hands and pulled himself to his feet. As he crossed the bathroom, AJ rose out of the water using the sides of the tub for support.

The bathroom air was cool by comparison, and AJ felt her nipples harden. Feet still submerged, she watched Noah grab a towel off the rack and walk back to her.

Even with the added height of the tub, he was considerably taller. His eyes grew large as he took in the glaze on her skin. Then he opened the towel and wrapped it around her tight. He didn’t let go, and for a moment they both stood mesmerized by the tendons on the back of his hand, holding the towel in place. When he lifted his eyes to hers, they were burning.

“Are we doing this?” he asked calmly. AJ felt a tug; after last night, he wanted to prove he could control himself.

And another swell of heat, this time her own. “Yes.”

Noah let go of the towel and took her face in both his hands. AJ shivered as she felt the rush of his emotions: a bounding feeling, a boundless one. This was something new. This was hope.

AJ held her breath as his thumbs traced her cheekbones, his fingertips combing into her hair. His eyes were black, unguarded, his need so palpable AJ felt almost weak from it. As his hand swept the column of her spine, the towel hit the water with a billowy puff.

The air between them was giving now. Their next inhalation would belong to them both. AJ was still breathing it in as Noah’s lips tenderly brushed across hers.

And then he was kissing her as if he’d never stopped, as if the year and a half that had passed since they’d kissed at SNL had been a thirty-second delay, and everything that had transpired between then and now had been an illusion. AJ was up on her tiptoes in an instant, pressing herself into the warm expanse of his chest, feeling the hard bulge in his pants as his enormous hands slid lower to cup her backside, pulling her into him. AJ gasped.

He helped her from the tub and led her from the bathroom to the bed, pushing her down with one hand, reaching for the light with the other. AJ was glad for the darkness. She felt his legs, now bare, swing onto the mattress, felt his mouth hot on her breast. He groaned, his body shaking with anticipation. AJ carded her fingers through his hair, pulling him up to her. She brought his lips to hers. She closed her eyes.

The force of him; the way he ground into her, the way his thighs felt pressing between her own. It wasn’t their first time doing this, but it was their first time that didn’t feel like their last time, and AJ didn’t want to savor it, she didn’t want to wait. She reached for him under the covers, helping him inside of her, and yes, this. Noah moaned as he filled her.

Then he began to move, his lips on hers, and now AJ understood why they had waited to kiss. Because this was what kissing was supposed to be, ease and urgency, conflagration and communion, and through it, their joining was transcending flesh and bone. This was luminosity, and in a flash, the radiance of it exposed the rest of AJ’s experience as a wasteland.

Now she was feeling things she didn’t want to feel, bitter things, like how it hadn’t been thirty seconds since they’d done this, but six years; six years of forcing herself through endless encounters that could never be right because they weren’t with him.

Noah sensed the shift in her immediately. Above her, he stilled.

“Age?”

Fuck.

They were connected, and he was examining her, and there was no way to hide. So long a drought had left its mark. He could sense the wasteland now; he knew how dead she was inside.

“Sorry.” AJ turned her head away as hot tears ran down her cheeks, into her ears, into her hair.

Noah reached for her face, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“It’s okay,” he said quietly. “You can say it.”

The grief that she’d pushed down for so long was overwhelming every other sense.

“It was so many nights—” she sobbed. So many nights not with him, each as empty and long as the last. And the days. How many days could have been like this one?

“I know,” he said softly. “I know.”

AJ could hardly speak, her breaths were coming so fast. “This can’t be real.”

“It is,” said Noah urgently. “Look at me.”

AJ shook her head. She felt strangled by sorrow. “I’m all fucked-up.”

Noah’s forehead pressed into her temple. “So am I,” he said. “Please. Look at me.”

But she couldn’t. Her eyes jammed shut as uncontrollable anguish opened inside her, a fissure cracking every arid surface. This pain was all she was. It was all she would ever be. It was going to consume her, then it was going to void her entirely.

But Noah would not let her go. Through the breach, he stayed present, witnessing it all. Gradually, her cries began to ebb. She felt his lips brush her tears. AJ took one uneven breath, and then another. Noah shifted slightly; somehow, he was still hard inside her.

“Look at me,” he said quietly. There was something raw in the quality of his voice that reached her. Slowly, AJ met his gaze.

In the light of the moonlit window, his brow furrowed, a jagged edge to his cheek. His lips were swollen and sensual, but in his eyes AJ saw the haunted look she’d glimpsed onstage at Blue Con. His thumb swept her cheekbone, grasping her face.

“I’m here,” he said.

And he was. At last, AJ could sense him. Noah. AJ could hardly get her bearings. The lake of ash had been churned up, as if by a tornado. There was no order now, the plan lay in disarray. The dome was gone, its inhabitants loose in the miasma. He didn’t know which way was up.

She had done this. She gazed up at him in remorse.

He bent forward and kissed her gently, telling her it was okay.

“I’ve been living this way for so long, I don’t know anything else. I can’t promise this will work. But I’ll give it my best shot,” he said. “This is real. It was from the start.”

He pressed his lips to hers, and AJ felt a feeling as big as the sky. It had been there from the very first day they had connected, so much a part of him AJ had taken it for his essential self. She could feel it bright now, as if a current had been switched on. This feeling was woven into everything he was. This feeling was what made him.

And he told her, “I love you.”

AJ pulled back and looked into his eyes. They were wet with emotion.

“I love you,” he repeated. He drew breath, tears rolling down his cheeks. “I always have.”

AJ was crying now too. She touched his face. “I love you so fucking much.”

They both laughed at the visceral relief of getting to say it. It had been on the tip of AJ’s tongue every time she’d looked at him for the last thirteen years. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe.

Then, he kissed her, this time in hunger, and AJ was watching him do it, watching his shoulders curve above her, watching the moonlight on his clavicle. He thrust once into her, and AJ felt a tremor of pleasure that arched her back. His lips caressed her neck as he thrust again, this time deeper, and both of them gasped. AJ leaned forward so that their noses were touching.

“Noah.”

“I’m here,” he whispered.

AJ took the expanse of his shoulders in her hands. As she arched against him again, she caught a draft of his energy, violent and deep as the ocean. There was no end to what he wanted from her, no way to slake his need. The longer he had suppressed it, the more powerful it had grown, and it was free now, and he could not put it back.

AJ wanted all of it. Here was the rain, here was the flood. She kissed him hard until he gasped.

He eased her back down, one of his arms curving under her back, the other taking her hand in his. Then he began to move inside her, masterfully, then wantonly, and AJ’s cells cried out It’s you as her body fused with his. His breath was labored now, his features transmuting into something so beautiful it was almost inhuman. AJ trembled.

“Noah—”

He kissed her, and she convulsed around him. He groaned from deep in his throat.

“I’m here.”

Their eyes met, and there he was, the boy with whom she’d danced a thousand dances, and here she was, the girl who had loved him so purely. For just a brief moment, they were back in each other’s arms, whole and intact and perfect. Then pleasure sent them into oblivion.

After, they lay peaceful by the light of the sconces, AJ’s head on his chest. She loved the sound of his heart. Its rhythm was slow now, calm. Gradually, Noah’s hand grasped her shoulder blade.

“Question for you,” he said.

“Shoot,” said AJ, not lifting her head.

Noah cleared his throat. “What are you doing this summer?”

AJ stilled. “I was thinking about making a few lanyards.”

“Mm-hmm, mm-hmm,” said Noah. Then, “Can you do that from here?”

A warm light flooded AJ. She nodded into his chest. She was too happy to speak.

THE NEXT DAY, THEY drove into the city to collect some of her belongings. Noah was eager to see her space, so they left the car parked in a loading zone and went up to her apartment together.

As AJ threw a pile of T-shirts into a duffel, Noah perused the spare, sunny one-bedroom with a critical eye. When AJ emerged with her bag, she found him assessing the kitchen cabinets.

“This is a bachelor pad,” he announced, holding up her single mug.

“I know, right?” said AJ. “Did you see my decorative plants? They’re to make the opposite gender feel at home.”

Noah replaced the mug and walked over to her Billy bookcase. “I can’t believe you still have this,” he said, tapping the cracked spine of Laughter & Death.

“Oh wow, I forgot,” AJ lied. She really, really did not want to give it back.

Noah surveyed her living room. “Aren’t Tauruses supposed to be domestic?”

AJ shrugged. “According to my sister-in-law, I’m on the cusp with Aries, if that helps you.”

Noah squinted. “I don’t know if anything can help that couch.”

AJ’s jaw dropped. “That is a standard-issue Ektorp,” she said, then proceeded to fuck him on it.

They arrived, flushed, at his car twenty minutes later, Noah carrying the duffel bag, AJ shuttling her snake plants, to two hundred sixty dollars in parking fines.

“Maybe I’ll get an Ektorp,” said Noah, popping the trunk.

“They cost about as much as those tickets,” said AJ.

THE NEXT FEW WEEKS transformed AJ into someone she didn’t recognize. Overnight, she had gone from being a person with a very perfunctory sexual appetite to being one who was always a little bit turned on, and the effects were filthy and mind melting and disruptive and exhilarating and explicit and sweet.

She and Noah both wished to make up for lost time, and this, along with their heightened sense of each other, meant that even the slightest look could turn into a one-way ticket to bone town.

One morning about a week into her stay, AJ put on one of Noah’s giant sweatshirts and traipsed downstairs to do her laundry. She had never been inside this room before and as she sorted her clothes, she wondered idly how many hours Mrs. Gilroy had devoted to the space.

The housekeeper’s reign had indeed ended. AJ opened the cabinet to find that the fancy lavender detergent she associated with this house had been replaced by off-brand soap from Costco.

Behind her, Noah’s footsteps sounded in the hall. She turned to find him dressed for a run.

“Need a hand?” he asked, pausing on his way out. There was a note in his voice that made AJ’s entire body flush.

“Nope, I’m good,” she said, reaching for the detergent. The sweatshirt she was wearing rode up slightly, as she knew it would.

He was there before she could turn around, his hands on her hips, lifting up the sweatshirt to expose her bare lower half. AJ gasped as his hand slipped between her legs. She was already wet.

Noah groaned.

“Do you remember that day?” he said low, in her ear. The timbre of his voice sent a chill through AJ, who wasn’t sure how much longer her legs would hold her. It was all she could do to nod.

“So do I,” he said, and pressed her against the washing machine so she could feel his erection. AJ gasped; as her knees began to give, he spun her around and lifted her onto the washer. His hands were in her hair, his mouth demanding on hers as AJ fumbled with his shorts.

AJ moaned as he pushed into her. Noah hissed, his teeth grazing her neck as he thrust again.

“Can I tell you something?” she said, wrapping her legs around his hips, her hands sweeping up his chest to grab his shoulders. “That day. Your shirt was completely see-through—”

“Can I tell you something?” He palmed her right ass cheek, gripping her hard. “So was yours.”

AJ stared at him. “I wasn’t wearing a bra.”

“I know,” said Noah. He was really fucking her now.

“I didn’t even see you look—” said AJ, panting as he piled into her. She leaned back onto her elbows, taking him deeper.

Noah winced as a wave of pleasure surged through him. “I was hard as a fucking rock.”

He was actually going to destroy her. “I had no idea,” AJ managed.

The friction was almost blinding now. She was barely hanging on.

“Well, you were distracted,” said Noah, closing his eyes in concentration. He almost couldn’t get the words out. “And then you told me to take a shower, so I just…took care of it.”

“Shut the fuck up, Noah,” said AJ, her muscles tightening around him, starting to spasm.

“Why do you think I slept so well after?” he said, then he met her eyes, and AJ lost it. Her neck rolled back as pleasure spilled from both of them like so many broken washing machines.

After, they sat pants-less on the tile floor watching AJ’s clothes blur through the porthole.

“That’s the same detergent my mom uses,” said AJ.

Noah stilled. “I know.”

AJ leaned her head on his shoulder.

NOAH WAS A NIGHT owl. AJ often awoke after midnight to find that he had wandered off in pursuit of some nerdy activity or other in various corners of the house.

One night, she saw a light on under a door down the hall. AJ pushed in to find Noah inside a time capsule from a Humphrey Bogart film—his grandfather Elijah Drew’s teenage bedroom.

Noah sat hunched over Elijah’s drop-leaf desk, constructing a model plane. In fact, the room was full of model planes, some hanging, others perched. Noah was mounting a balsa-wood invasion.

He looked up when he noticed her, his eyes red behind wire-rimmed glasses.

“What time is it?” he asked, clearing his throat.

“Two-thirty,” said AJ. She was wearing one of his T-shirts and nothing else. “Can I see?”

Noah stood stiffly as AJ approached the desk, littered with glue and splinters. Carefully, AJ bent down to get a better look at the intricate tail lattice he was constructing. When she straightened up, she caught Noah shifting his pants, trying to hide that her movement had aroused him.

“Ignore me,” he said.

He had been chewing on his lower lip in concentration as he worked. AJ pressed up onto her toes and kissed it, running her tongue across its plump contour.

Noah exhaled in frustration and pulled back. “My hands are covered in glue.”

AJ could feel his cock straining against his pajamas. “Then I guess you can’t use them.”

He protested as she laid him on the twin bed and slid off his pants. AJ held his gaze as she knelt between his legs. His tip was already wet; her thumb circled it, teasing.

“Age,” he breathed. “Come here.”

AJ felt her own excitement slick between her thighs; she was easily as turned on as he was.

But this wasn’t about that.

“Oh, do you not enjoy being at someone else’s mercy?” she said, running a finger along his shaft.

Noah exhaled sharply. “When have you ever been at my mercy?”

AJ rolled her eyes. “At the conventions.” She’d had to sit beside him for hours, unable to touch him. Unlike now. She kissed the skin beneath his navel, trailing her tongue down his lower abdomen. Noah groaned, his cock straining as she drew near.

“In L.A.,” she murmured. She’d wanted him so badly, she’d been afraid to even look. Unlike now. She lifted her eyes, resting her chin on his upper thigh as she met his gaze. Noah was panting.

“When we were kids,” she said softly. He’d seemed so worldly, so beautiful, so out of reach. Unlike now. Tension coiled through Noah’s legs as she grazed his full length with her lips, taunting.

“AJ. Fuck me,” he commanded. “Please.”

AJ smiled at that. But she did not relent. Instead, she lowered her mouth and tasted salt.

NOAH’S OFFICE WAS AN enormous oak room that had once belonged to his great-grandfather Erroll Drew. During the day, it got a lot of light through a wall of French doors facing the garden, but at night it became a full-on lair, complete with tapestries, an executive desk, a marble hearth, and a bearskin rug in front of it. The room also had a Noah-size leather couch and a projector screen that lowered over Errol’s mantel portrait, so this was mainly where they watched TV.

One coolish night, Noah made a fire, put on To Have and Have Not, then languorously made out with AJ through the opening sequence. He wasn’t being particularly provocative, but he was so big and sexy and present, and he brought his whole body into it when he kissed, and AJ really liked being near him, that when he lightly rested his hand over her zipper, she inadvertently came through her jeans.

One.

AJ tried to hide it, but Noah heard her breath hitch and pulled back. “Did you just—”

“That was an accident.” AJ had never been so embarrassed, but Noah was riveted. For a moment, he just stared at her. Then he grabbed her hand and pulled her onto the bearskin rug.

“Do you know how much I think about making you come?” he said as he tugged off her shirt. AJ reached for his, but he gently pushed her hand away. Instead, he laid her down and began to undo her pants. A fresh wave of embarrassment swept over AJ as he tugged off her jeans to reveal her underwear, which were completely and visibly soaked.

“You are so wet,” he breathed.

AJ considered rolling into the fireplace. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

Noah brushed the back of his hand against her panties, and she shivered. Then he lowered himself beside her, slipping one arm beneath her head and leaving the other over her crotch. He kissed her, and AJ could feel his fingers tighten against the warm, damp fabric. Slowly, she moved against his hand.

“All right,” he murmured. “I can smell you, do you know that? It doesn’t matter how many other people are around or where we are, you’re all I can focus on.” AJ caught his eye, and he gave her a harsh look. “If you make a joke about Edward Cullen right now, I swear I will stop.”

AJ bit back a smile. “I can smell you, too,” she admitted. “It’s very…annoying.” She closed her eyes and felt his hand press against her. His lips were hot on her neck.

“You have no idea,” said Noah. “At your job? I hadn’t seen or touched you in three years, but the second you walked in that pitch room I was done—just instantly hard. Then the next day we were alone together for almost two hours, and you smelled like fucking dessert—I was basically just sitting there inhaling you. Your concentration is insane. You didn’t look at me once.”

“That can’t be true.”

“It is,” he said. He put his mouth directly beside her ear. “If you had, I would have locked the door and made you come harder than I did in my bathroom in L.A.”

AJ gasped.

Two.

He pulled back, meeting her eyes as his hand slipped into her panties.

“Miami almost broke me.”

He drew in a sharp breath as he felt her contract, and once more, his lips were on hers.

“You looked so pretty,” he muttered, delicately teasing her with his fingertip. “Then I watched you hug everyone but me, and I figured I’d done something to make you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t,” said AJ. “I was trying to not be a dick.” She bit her lip at the stroke of his thumb.

“So was I,” said Noah. “I felt like such a fucking creep show, Age. We’re standing there talking about fan blogs as if I didn’t wake up that morning thinking about exactly how you feel.”

He kissed her, his free hand gripping her scalp. AJ arched against him, panting.

“I was doing okay until Risa took down your hair.” He groaned. “Your hair is mine, and I am an absolute caveman about it. I am. I hate that it’s down in the show. I hated watching it go down backstage for all those people to see. I really hated not being able to touch it.”

He broke off, burrowing into her now extremely staticky hair. That was his problem. AJ was maintaining normal brain activity while his other hand was actively setting her on fire.

“Backstage, we were two feet apart, and I was just staring at you, wanting to die. Then you turned to me, and suddenly I had you, I fucking had you in my hands.”

As his tongue swept into her mouth, he slipped two fingers inside her. She moaned, and Noah broke away, kissing her neck.

“You were a wreck and there were fifteen hundred people on the other side of that curtain, and all I could think was There’s no one here to stop me. Like a full-on creep show caveman.”

“You were not a creep show caveman.” AJ would have laughed, but she could barely speak for the pleasure of his touch. “You really helped me that day.”

Noah did laugh. “I helped myself,” he said. “You just didn’t notice. That whole time, my hands were in your hair. I almost didn’t let you go. I really, really didn’t want to.”

“But you did.”

“Yes, I did,” he said. “You smiled at me, and I remembered I fucking love you more than life.”

He kissed her hard, and AJ tightened around his fingers.

Three.

He stood, stripping out of his own clothes in the firelight, his skin golden and black with shadow. He was fully aroused, and for a moment all AJ could think was that this room had no drapes and the walls were made of windows.

Then he knelt down between her legs, nudging them open with his knees, and she didn’t care anymore. He pulled into her slowly, but he didn’t move. His hand swept over her face, then settled on the rug beside her. He was holding himself at bay.

“When we were younger,” he said. To test his resolve, AJ moved against him and watched. His eyes sank closed, but he didn’t budge.

“When we used to dance together,” he said, strain in his voice as AJ ground against him in frustration. She felt him pulse, but he held his hips steady.

“It would have been easy. Sometimes, I actually felt you go limp in my arms. I still dream about this one time—we were alone, and you got this look like you were close. Like if I just held on to you a little longer, let you feel me—”

AJ groaned, squeezing against him. “Why didn’t you?”

Noah closed his eyes. “Because you trusted me, and I didn’t want to mess with that,” he said. His eyes opened, bleary. “And I thought we had all the time in the world.”

He gasped as AJ increased her speed, fucking him from beneath, but still he didn’t move. “I’ve never understood it,” he said. “I’ve always liked you so much, but the way I want you isn’t nice at all. It’s brutal and relentless, and you were so young. I didn’t want to scare you—”

“Because you’re a good guy,” said AJ, panting.

“I was a goddamn saint,” said Noah, and finally he moved in her, just once, and—

Four.

AJ was lava as he began to roll his hips into hers. He pushed one of her knees back so that he could get closer, and AJ raked her fingers through his hair. He groaned as their lips met, and AJ could feel him slowing down to get ahold of himself. AJ couldn’t have that.

“You were right,” she whispered. “That time we were alone, I was close.”

“How close?” he said, his voice tight.

AJ raised herself up to his ear. “This wasn’t my first accident.”

“Oh fuck—”

Five.

THEY WERE RARELY APART for more than an hour; when one was doing something, the other inevitably joined. Taking out the trash, changing sheets, and retrieving mail all became two-person jobs. Even the most mundane chore felt like a party when they were doing it together.

One night, when AJ volunteered to walk Bud, Noah somehow wound up with them. They strolled through the garden slowly because Bud was old, and because she had a lot of important things to sniff. When the dog looked up at Noah as if to say Carry me, he squatted to retrieve her.

As Bud curled up in his arms, Noah threw AJ an amused look. “You are staring at my legs.”

AJ blushed in the twilight. “I am not.” She absolutely was. She loved them—and beyond that, she loved that she had landed in a version of existence where she got to see them in gym shorts.

“It’s okay to like a bit of exposed leg,” Noah teased. “You’re like a horny Victorian. It’s cute.”

AJ wanted to crawl inside her hope chest. “I was looking at Bud,” she said defiantly. “How long have you been her royal palanquin bearer?”

Noah petted the dog tenderly. “Forever,” he said. “Of course, she does tire more easily, now that she’s ancient. Thirteen.”

“Remember how you almost didn’t keep her,” AJ mused.

Noah looked up, his eyes suddenly serious. “I think about that at least once a day.”

His intensity took AJ’s breath away. “You’ve given her a great life,” she finally managed.

Noah considered her. “You’re just saying that because she has an unrestricted view of my ankles.”

AJ punched him in the arm, and they started walking back.

“It’s okay to have a favorite body part,” he said conversationally. “I have several.”

As Bud slept in his arms, he bent down and whispered them in her ear.

NOAH HAD ORIGINALLY SIGNED on to shoot a film that July but had backed out of all commitments until the fall in view of Eudora’s illness. Even so, he was extremely in demand following his Oscar win. Several times a week, scripts arrived from Ned for him to read.

Noah would review them on the patio in an hour or two, and most of the time, AJ would find them in the recycling or in Errol’s office, stacked next to the fireplace for kindling. Occasionally, he would ask her to read one for her opinion, and AJ actually thought a few were pretty good. But Noah didn’t seem overly eager to jump into his next project, and AJ couldn’t blame him.

He had been pushing himself nonstop for the past decade to reach this point in his career, and just as he had grasped it, he’d lost Eudora, his last close family member and main support.

Mostly, he seemed distracted by the obvious upside of this, which was that Eudora’s death had miraculously returned AJ to him, but occasionally, AJ would catch him looking pensive or standing near her preferred spot in the drawing room.

“I don’t know if it just hasn’t hit me yet or what,” he said to AJ after one such occasion. “It still feels like she’s here—like she might walk through the door any minute.”

He hadn’t spoken much about the end, but it couldn’t have been easy. AJ had concluded this mostly because Noah wouldn’t go near Eudora’s room. From the outside, it looked tidy enough, and AJ knew it was immaculate, because once a week a crew of cleaners descended on Drew House to combat entropy, but whatever had happened in there, Noah wished to avoid it.

Which was how Eudora’s room became AJ’s office.

NOAH HAD AN IMPISH streak as a lover, and nothing brought this out more than AJ trying to concentrate. The first time she brought her computer to the drawing room to work on the novel adaptation, he turned up innocently with one of his model kits. Within twenty minutes, the screen on AJ’s laptop had gone dark as Noah went down on her, the model kit forgotten nearby.

The second time this happened, AJ was in the kitchen working at the island. He sauntered in, fresh from a run, and poured himself a water from the fridge.

“What’s that?” He nodded to her laptop, still panting slightly.

“The screenplay that’s due in twelve days,” she said without looking up.

“Oh, right,” he said. AJ could hear that telltale note in his voice.

“I have to do this,” she said, still avoiding his gaze.

“I know,” he said respectfully.

Within five minutes, he was fucking her against the island.

AJ’s third attempt was on the patio, which was where Noah himself preferred to work. This time, he called her inside for “help taking a leaf out of the dining room table,” and AJ wound up fucking him herself in one of the dining room chairs because it was so pathetically transparent, and because he smelled amazing, and because she could.

You couldn’t succeed at SNL and not work well under a deadline, but this was AJ’s first draft for these particular producers, and she needed to nail it. A week before it was due, AJ awoke at four A.M. in a blind panic; she was only halfway through the script. It was time to buckle down.

Eudora’s soft pink room was a mix of a Tudor royal’s bedchamber and Barbara Eden’s lamp from I Dream of Jeannie. It was also the one place Noah would not follow. As AJ stepped inside, she waited to feel fear or dread or ghoulishness; instead, she settled in and got right to work.

She progressed quickly over the next couple days, taking occasional breaks to poke around Eudora’s effects. She discovered that the floral perfume she favored was Red Door, by Elizabeth Arden, from the bottles on both her nightstand and vanity.

One attempt at child’s pose revealed a stash of Eudora’s final Home Shopping Network purchases beneath her majestic canopy bed. By the looks of it, she’d gone in big on Snuggies and the collected works of Kenny G.

Then, one day, as AJ began the final build of the screenplay, she found herself looking directly at a file box labeled Summer 2000. It had been there the whole time, as if waiting for her to spot it among Eudora’s papers. Startled, AJ roused herself from the chaise and lifted the lid.

Her breath caught as she took in the CD case for NOW 4, the Gelly Roll pen with the fake flower attached, and the clipboard. She extracted these treasures from the box to reveal a loose collection of notes below, meticulously dated beginning in June 2000.

AJ bit her lip. Eudora had left these papers to her and Noah. Heart pounding, she began to read.

June 8, 2000

Ezell—

Today something remarkable happened. A girl came to the house—with Noah. The moment they walked in, I could tell there was a bond between them. Noah’s been like a caged animal for weeks, snarling and irascible, but in her presence he is soothed.

I don’t know what possessed me. All right, fine, I’m a twisted old thing. But I had them read.

Ezell, it was extraordinary. Watching them together…it was like seeing two people switched on from the inside. Noah’s been resisting his birthright for years, but with this girl he just…gave in. He trusts no one but himself, but he seems to trust her.

From what I can discern she is totally untested, a complete tabula rasa. But she’s responsive and open and bright, and she’s a fellow twin…so, primed for higher levels of psychic connectivity. I think she might just have the makings of a born actress.

If they agree to work with me, this may be the opportunity I’ve been hoping for, to push our work on phasing beyond Laughter & Death. What a grand experiment that would be.

It was unreal to have this unfiltered look into Eudora’s brain—and to that end, Eudora’s unvarnished perspective on her own younger self. Later, as Noah unloaded the dishwasher, AJ asked if he’d read the papers.

“No. I have my own memories of that time,” he said irritably. “I don’t want Eudora in my head overwriting them. You shouldn’t either.” He closed the dishwasher a little too hard.

WITH ONE DAY TO spare, AJ turned in the screenplay, and as June gave way to July, her grip on time started to slide. It was all the same sets as it had been thirteen years ago, and many of the same players, albeit some in altered states: as AJ perused Eudora’s papers, the distance between the summers of 2000 and 2013 began to collapse.

One surreal Friday, AJ and Noah went to retrieve Eudora’s ashes from the crematorium and spent a pleasant if macabre afternoon selecting an urn they felt would be up to her standards.

“I wonder if they have anything in cashmere,” said AJ.

Noah snorted and picked up a sleek blue-and-white number marked down for Fourth of July. “Classic adult urn. This weekend only, twenty-five percent off,” he read from the label. “I think this works. She loved a limited-time offer.”

From there, they went directly to a cookout at AJ’s parents’ house.

AJ tried not to think about cremation as she watched Noah and her dad fervently agree that ceramic briquettes were superior to lava rocks a foot from a flaming meat cooker.

As her dad clapped Noah on the shoulder, he tipped back a Diet Coke, and AJ’s heart swelled. In the year since Patrick’s accident, he had made a concerted effort to cut back. So far, it seemed to be sticking. It made AJ feel almost…hopeful.

She heard a crunch and looked up to find Mike chomping on a pickle beside her. “This is unexpected,” he said, nodding to Noah. “But also not.”

AJ blushed. It was the first time anyone in her family had directly addressed Noah’s presence. News of Libby’s split from Lucas earlier this month had eclipsed even Noah’s celebrity. In fact, Libby was holding forth on her divorce right now, Noah listening attentively.

“I mean, he’s no Brian,” said Mike, with his shy smile. “But he’s a good guy, too.”

Too good, an unpleasant voice interjected. All of this is too good to be true.

That voice seemed prescient when, around four, the group realized that no one had seen Emily in two hours. When she wasn’t inside the house, the Graveses began to panic.

“I’ll try Mrs. Chin,” said AJ’s mom, hands shaking. “Maybe she wandered off to see Agnes.”

AJ disagreed. “She’s here,” she whispered to Noah as Libby tried to establish a timeline.

Noah nodded, and the two of them began to hunt around the yard. AJ was convinced on a marrow level that Emily was nearby. When they arrived at the garage, AJ stopped walking.

Without a word, Noah bent down and hauled up the door. And there, passed out in the front seat of Katie Graves’s Toyota Camry, was Emily.

“Oh my God, guys,” said Emily as AJ and Noah returned her to the cookout. “Why so serious?”

On the ride back to Drew House, Noah was contemplative. “How did you know she was there?”

AJ shrugged. “Coincidence.” Noah glanced over at her. “What?”

He deliberated, then said, “You are twins.”

AJ laughed. “I don’t believe in that stuff.”

“Why not? You two have been bonded since birth,” he said forcefully. His tone made AJ look up. He was squinting down the road, his face like stone. “I have to believe that if two people are that close, some part of it can survive, no matter what.”

He was thinking about them.

A long moment passed as AJ struggled for words. “We will always be close,” she said at last.

THEY BROUGHT EUDORA HOME a week later. Noah set her up on the table in the front hall beside a vase of fresh flowers from the garden. He was starting to say his goodbyes.

AJ, meanwhile, felt as though she was meeting Eudora all over again through her papers. She would sit in the drawing room for hours poring over her director’s notes.

Noah did not approve. Often, he would come read nearby to register his displeasure through a series of heavy sighs and askance looks. Once, AJ actually heard him tsk.

“Yes?” she said without looking up.

“Oh, don’t mind me,” he said, nose in his biography of Jane Quinn. Then, “Learning anything?”

“Your love…shaped me.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him suppress a smile.

To be fair, Noah’s wariness was not unfounded. Eudora had been scheming that whole summer.

“Phasing” was the term she and Ezell had used for that near-telepathic state of play they’d once achieved. Ezell had passed before they had figured out how to replicate it—work Eudora would then attempt with AJ and Noah, in hopes of publishing a follow-up to Laughter & Death.

July 13, 2000

E—

Morning: Much Ado About Nothing

10 minutes repetitions

10 minutes hair dryers

2 hrs. three-line scenes

Notes: Music seems to be the key. This is our second week on NOW 4—it’s so god-awful it might drive me crazy, but it’s bringing them closer to phasing than ever before. The more time they spend in a nonverbal capacity, the more in tune they get with each other. Each day, they surrender a little of the awkwardness a little sooner. Which is no small feat for two adolescents.

They’re both clearly taken with each other but are sublimating it into their scene work. Noah in particular is showing great restraint. He knows something of women by his age, but she is entirely unspoiled—I can tell by how she walks. She has no idea the effect she’s having on him, and he is doing everything he can to keep her from realizing.

In return, AJ is showing remarkable trust in Noah—it’s almost like she’s imprinted on him, using him as her safety net as she begins to test her abilities. It’s a very tender phase in her development as a performer. If all goes well, she should be able to replicate this trust with other players. At this point, though, she only has it with Noah.

AJ heard a jingle and looked up as the dog trotted in.

“Hey, Hortense,” she said without thinking.

Noah’s gaze lifted from his book.

AJ blushed. “I don’t know why I just said that.”

“I believe it’s called ‘revertigo,’ ” he said, eyes crinkling.

“I’m sorry, Bud,” said AJ, as the dog wagged up at her cluelessly. “I didn’t mean it. You absolutely do not look like you’ve had twelve children.” Then to Noah, “She hasn’t, has she?”

Noah shook his head. “She is fixed, like her dad,” he said, then turned back to his book. AJ felt a queasy jolt in her sternum as she realized he was referring to himself.

In the wake of their reunion, they hadn’t discussed Huntington’s disease once. If it came up, Noah referred to it obliquely. “As I get older” was a favorite euphemism of his, as in, “I’ll have to give that up as I get older.”

AJ knew it was on his mind significantly more than he let on. She continually tried to gauge his emotional landscape, but their channel was far from clear.

Noah had been right that sex did come with some transparency, but the kind of sex they were having mostly gave vent to intense bursts of excitement: highly erotic, but not all that informative. Outside the bedroom, AJ’s read on him was crude—at most, she could sense the temperature of his moods.

But AJ didn’t need to phase with him to understand that for the past thirteen years, he had dealt with his prognosis by scripting his life in tight increments, and that what they were doing now was strictly off book. AJ also understood that despite this, Noah was sticking with her.

Still, there was a part of him that was desperate to shut this down. As these sultry weeks stretched on, open-ended, AJ could sense it growing restless—a shadow in conversation, a pall encroaching on their felicity.

ONE COOL NIGHT IN mid-July, they cuddled together in Errol’s office watching Center Stage, which, to AJ’s supreme delight, Noah had never seen. As AJ explained the finer points, Noah wrapped his arm around her, and Bud rested her soft head on his lap.

“That’s Cooper Nielson,” AJ informed him. “He drinks like a fish and screws every girl in tights.”

“So, he’s a predator,” said Noah.

“No, that’s a direct quote from the movie.” AJ nestled into his chest. “Sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself.”

It was a lighthearted watch that brought AJ tremendous, unfettered joy, which was perhaps why she failed to sense Noah’s distress. As his knee began to vibrate to Jody Sawyer letting loose in a Midtown dance loft, AJ assumed it was because he too was very into the “Higher Ground” choreography. But when the music stopped and Noah’s knee didn’t, she touched him.

“Your motor’s going,” she said. He didn’t respond. She looked up and was shocked to find him fighting back tears.

He tried to hide it. “Sorry,” he said, taking his arm from around her and pushing his palms into his eyes.

“What is it?” said AJ, sitting up. His energy was ringing and cold, like metal on a freezing morning. He tensed as she rubbed his thigh.

“Agh,” he said, and forced a laugh, lowering his hands. “Nothing. This is just really perfect and…I don’t know. I’m going to get some water. I’ll get you some too, you should hydrate.”

He scooched Bud’s head off his knee and left the room. AJ sat stricken, bereft of his warmth. Bud curled up to her in solidarity.

Noah returned ten minutes later carrying two glasses.

“You okay?” asked AJ.

“Totally,” he said with ease.

AJ eyed him. He was playing a part right now, sealing himself off from her. But what was she supposed to do, force him to talk when he didn’t want to? Make him cry? Uneasily, she snuggled back into the crook of his arm and let the scene he’d initiated play out.

THE NEXT MORNING, AJ awoke to the high-pitched buzzing of a screwdriver. She entered the kitchen to find the cupboards emptied onto the island, dishes and glasses stacked into a cityscape. Noah was in the process of detaching the cabinet doors from their hinges, a sledgehammer and demolition bar leaning apocalyptically nearby.

“Um, hi?” said AJ. Bud, who had been hiding under the counter, trotted toward AJ and nuzzled her shins as if to say, Help.

Noah pivoted, yellow cabinet door in hand. He raised his goggles. “Hi,” he said. There was sweat around the collar and armpits of his gray T-shirt. His eyes were bright.

“We’re redoing the kitchen,” he announced. His energy was a white wall.

“Since…when?” asked AJ tentatively.

Noah shrugged. “Last night.”

AJ nodded. She bit her lip. “Do you want to tal—”

“I figure I’ll just demo these cabinets,” he said, turning from her. “We don’t need them anymore.”

You are freaking out, AJ wanted to say. Instead, she surprised herself with, “Have you gotten a structural engineer in here?”

Noah lowered the screwdriver ten degrees in the air. He looked at her. “No. Why?”

Over the next ten minutes, AJ pulled out the worst renovation horror stories she had encountered in her four seasons at Turn It or Return It. Had he heard of termites? Termites! Rotten joists. Faulty wiring. Old houses could get nasty. And had he ordered a dumpster?

“A job worth doing is worth doing well, right?” said AJ, reshelving a stack of dishes.

“Right,” said Noah. He shifted his weight. “So, I’ll call Davis. And order a dumpster.”

Slowly, he set down the screwdriver. The cabinet door remained detached.

AJ HAD HOPED THAT taking a beat would slow Noah’s roll on the kitchen. But he was back at it the next day, this time with Davis, his soft-spoken architect, whose judgment Noah seemed to trust implicitly, probably because Davis also dressed like a supervillain.

AJ stayed for the first quarter of their meeting and watched the two of them walk around together in matching charcoal outfits, muttering indecipherably and pointing.

After twenty minutes, she excused herself to work on the revisions of the screenplay adaptation, for which she’d just received notes. When she emerged from Eudora’s room a few hours later, she found Noah at the counter surrounded by catalogs. He was in an excellent mood.

“What do you think of this?” he asked, opening one to a full page of gray cabinets.

“I like it,” said AJ.

Noah frowned. “But do you like it better than this?” he said, shoving a second catalog in her face with a photo of cabinets that were objectively identical.

AJ shrugged. “I like the ones you have.”

Noah shook his head. “Those are dated,” he said sternly. “These come with soft-close hinges.”

“I’m sure whatever you choose will be fine,” said AJ.

Noah gave her a severe look. “It’s important you like them as well,” he said. “They’ll be yours one day.”

AJ laughed, then realized he was serious. “I think you just accidentally bumped off your father,” she said. “Isn’t this his house?”

“He doesn’t care about this place,” said Noah dismissively. “Besides, it’s not like he’s going to have anyone to leave it to.”

AJ’s stomach rolled. “Noah, is there anything you want to talk about?” she ventured delicately.

“No, AJ, I don’t want to talk about things I can’t change,” he said without looking up. “Things I can change, however, are these cabinets.”

He flipped the catalog to a new page and began listing the pros and cons of frameless versus inset doors as AJ did her best to keep the horror off her face.

WHILE AJ APPRECIATED THAT this new project gave Noah a place to channel his anxiety, she couldn’t muster any enthusiasm for it. No matter how many samples he showed her, how many times he dragged her to Home Depot to look at light fixtures, or how many issues of Architectural Digest he left open on her nightstand, AJ could not get herself excited.

This kitchen felt like home to her, and she did not want to change a single outlet.

“I would really like your support on this,” Noah said again and again.

AJ told him he had it, then continued her campaign of passive resistance.

She didn’t realize how much her apathy was bothering him until he started leaking one night while they were at Patrick and Elle’s for dinner.

“So, how’s it going, you two?” asked Elle warmly, placing chips and salsa on the table.

“Great,” said Noah sardonically. “Except that AJ is a terrible Taurus.”

AJ glanced at him. He was “just kidding,” but he was clearly pissed.

Patrick burst out laughing. Over the past year, his physical therapy had continued to progress, and he now had full use of both arms. His triceps were ripped from wheeling himself around and using his leg braces. He had returned to work, so Elle’s parents were off dispersing crystals to some lucky ren fair. Unfortunately. AJ would have loved a diversion from Raven Mabon-Fay right about now.

Elle’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “What makes you say that?”

Noah blinked accusingly at AJ.

“I like dated cabinets,” AJ mumbled.

Elle cocked her head to the side. “AJ’s just this side of Aries,” she said. “Are you into that stuff?”

Noah’s manner softened. “I like anything that helps explain why things are the way they are,” he said. “Tell me what you mean.”

As Elle stepped into the side of her personality she normally pretended didn’t exist, Patrick caught AJ’s eye. “Is he having his Tom Cruise moment?” he whispered. “Is he going clear?”

AJ grinned. “More like his HGTV moment.” She explained about the kitchen.

Patrick shook his head at her. “You know, you’re the only girl in the world who’s not ecstatic that her movie star boyfriend wants to buddy up on a kitchen reno.”

The kitchen is a cry for help, AJ wanted to say but she couldn’t, so she laughed.

AJ would have gladly let her brother in. She could have used the support, to say nothing of Noah, whose retinue of doctors notably did not include a therapist. But Noah’s diagnosis was his secret, and she could not breach his trust; so as long as he was alone with it, so was she.

Patrick reached for his braces and heaved himself out of the chair to go check on dinner. Noah tracked his movements, his jaw tight. Then Charlie popped up before him.

“Look,” he said, waving a red Hot Wheels car in Noah’s face.

Noah’s enormous hand opened to receive the toy. He smiled. “This looks just like my car.”

He let Charlie lead him onto the floor, and the two of them began to play. AJ didn’t normally have swoony feelings watching men entertain kids—she never had with Brian. But she had to admit, Noah looked pretty natural at it. Within a few minutes, Charlie was climbing all over him.

As he lifted Charlie onto his shoulders, Noah’s gaze tripped lovingly over AJ, and he sent the red toy car zooming toward her feet. AJ felt a swell of warmth as she reached for it.

From the kitchen door, Elle caught AJ’s eye. Full. Moon. Circle, she mouthed, and winked.

AJ hadn’t seen Patrick and Noah interact since the night Pat had played the protective-older-brother card at Reel World Video, and apparently nothing had changed. Her brother’s continued attempts to vet Noah were anything but subtle.

“You working right now, man?” Patrick inquired over dinner.

Noah’s eyes creased. “Not at the moment.”

Patrick nodded. “Is that normal? I don’t know how movies work. Is this still where you see yourself in, say, five years?”

“Okay, Principal Belding…” said Elle, giving AJ a sympathetic look.

Patrick grinned. “I know. You and Age should be in a movie together.”

Noah genuinely smiled at this. “I would love that,” he said. He turned to AJ. “Seriously, I would give pretty much anything to act together.”

AJ blushed. “Would you leave the kitchen the way it is?”

Noah shot her the same look he’d worn at Comic-Con—a little annoyed, a little smitten. As Patrick guffawed, Noah’s eyes slid to his wheelchair.

He was quiet on the drive home.

“Way to air our dirty laundry in there,” AJ joked, attempting to lighten the mood. “AJ’s a terrible Taurus. Who are we, George and Martha?”

Noah smirked. “Don’t worry, Elle set me straight,” he said. “Apparently being deeply resistant to change is extremely Taurean. You are, in fact, a good Taurus.”

He gave her an affectionate look but said nothing further. AJ monitored him from the passenger seat, feeling his energy grow more remote with each passing mile.

“Are you upset about something?” she ventured.

Noah glanced at her and shook his head. “I’m not upset,” he said in a low voice. AJ could tell there was more. She waited. Finally, he spoke as they turned onto his street. “I’m jealous.”

AJ had not expected this. She looked at Noah’s long profile, and suddenly it clicked into place: his ease playing on the floor with Charlie, his preoccupation with her having the opportunity to be a mother, his first question after Patrick’s accident, his innate dad-ness…

“Because they have kids?” she asked softly.

Noah’s jaw tensed. He nodded as they pulled into his driveway.

THE NEXT DAY, AJ took her laptop upstairs to “work on screenplay revisions,” and spent the morning googling “reverse vasectomy,” which apparently was a thing. As was, she learned, genetic testing in utero. It was possible to screen for the Huntington’s allele before implanting an embryo using in vitro fertilization. It cost a fortune, but Noah had a fortune.

Paradoxically, AJ found herself willing to consider it—perhaps because she knew Noah never would. He didn’t operate by half measures. He hadn’t wanted to adopt a dog without being sure he could give her a good life. He hadn’t wanted a partner for the same reason. There was no way he would have a child knowing he’d be gone before they were fully grown.

AJ closed her computer and reached for Eudora’s director’s notes—she could use a distraction. Unfortunately, by the time she realized what entry she was on, it was too late to stop reading.

September 3, 2000

Ezell—

A tragedy. Noah is

Several empty lines followed: space for the words Eudora couldn’t bring herself to write.

And now he is leaving. Shades of his father. It won’t solve anything, but a man doesn’t learn that until he’s walked out on something he can’t get back.

I fear this means a calamitous end to this experiment for us all.

He has forbidden me to tell AJ the reason, and I dread how this will affect her work. She has such talent, but she doesn’t know it. She was never seen or encouraged as an artist before Noah. If he goes now, at this nascent stage, any idea she had of herself as an actor will go with him.

As for Noah, I don’t think there’s anyone he feels closer to than AJ. He truly is her shadow, and she his. Last night, I had them finish our play as it was intended, and my God, the two of them. They were phasing, deep into it, and I heard Noah ask her to stay with him, and he meant it.

Ezell, to think what he’s been shouldering on his own—

Well, not entirely. AJ can reach him in this bond they’ve forged where I cannot—even if she isn’t doing it consciously. And he has loved her as a young man should. Without an end date, without reservation. Now that he knows—I fear she will be his before, and there may not be an after.

This summer has been rosy for us all. Ezell, sometimes when I see them together it really feels like you’re here. I should be telling this girl how much she’s done for me. And instead I must—

I know what I must do. Saying goodbye to this experiment will be saying goodbye to you all over again, but it has to be done if either of them is to survive this. My heart is broken.

AJ let the note fall into her lap. Her face was streaked with tears.

There it was in black and white—the start of their beautiful, fucked-up, inextricable lives.

Outside, she heard Bud barking. She wiped her cheeks and leaned forward to look out the window. Noah was standing on the lawn, feet spread wide as he stared across the yard into the distance. He breathed deep into his lungs; AJ watched his chest expand like a kite in the fleeting August air.

Hastily, she replaced Eudora’s papers and ran downstairs to catch him.

A FEW DAYS LATER, Noah decided to make Julia Child’s boeuf bourguignon. AJ had no interest in playing sous chef but offered to do the shopping by way of contribution.

Over breakfast, she watched Noah painstakingly copy down each ingredient from an ancient-looking copy of Mastering the Art of French Cooking, his cheeks slightly flushed as he muttered terms like “full-bodied” and “blanched” under his breath.

“Don’t lose this,” he said, handing the list to AJ with a stern look.

“I would never,” said AJ.

But then Molly Magnusson was calling with some additional notes on the screenplay adaptation, and AJ was looking for the sundress she’d stolen from Libby, and then she was dealing with the clutch on Noah’s ancient car, and it wasn’t until she was walking into Big Y that she realized that she had left Noah’s sacred list on the kitchen island.

As she guiltily trudged back toward Drew House, AJ took heart that Davis had just sent plans for the kitchen. Hopefully Noah would be so engrossed, she’d be able to snatch the list unnoticed.

The second AJ entered the front hall, she felt a strange unease gather at the base of her consciousness. As she paused beside the grandfather clock, she realized what it was.

Tick, tick, tick, tick.

For the first time since she had reentered that house, Noah had wound the clock.

“Hello?” she called.

A faint whimpering came into earshot. As AJ edged toward Errol’s study, she found Bud lying outside, nose pushed under the door. She was crying like a small child. AJ’s chest constricted.

Bud’s whines were nothing to the noise coming from within, an awful mewling loud enough to make the thick oak door vibrate. AJ’s heart began to thud as she reached for the handle. Bud looked up at the click of the latch bolt. AJ opened the door.

A horrible sight met her eyes: Noah seated at Errol’s desk, racked with uncontrollable sobs. He was crying so hard, he looked like he was about to wretch—his face was twisted into an unrecognizable red mask as he rocked back and forth. The sound he was making was grotesque, a rasping keen. AJ fought the urge to cover her ears.

As Bud charged in, AJ noticed the remains of one of Noah’s model planes lying broken in front of the French doors.

For a split second, Noah seemed almost glad to see the dog. Then he was blinking at AJ, once, twice, and AJ was wishing that she had just taken the shopping list and left. With a twinge, she felt Noah’s dismay at being discovered like this.

Then he rose to his full height, fury enfolding him like a storm front.

“Get out.”

AJ reached for him. “You’re okay,” she said. “You’re okay, I’m here.” She held out her hands.

“I don’t want you here,” Noah said so ferociously AJ froze in place.

His lip twitched. He was still crying.

“What happened?” AJ asked quietly. She glanced at the toy on the floor.

Noah’s face contorted. He tried to take a breath, but the air wouldn’t go in. “I b-broke it,” he said, holding up his right palm and staring at it. He was trying desperately to get ahold of himself, his great shoulders heaving. Then he said, “I lost control of my hand.”

AJ felt a wave of panic that she instantly suppressed. “Has this happened before?”

Noah nodded tremulously. “Once,” he said. “About six months ago.”

AJ swallowed. “That could be anything,” she said calmly.

Noah glared at her with such contempt she flinched. Then he stepped out from behind his desk and walked to the French doors. He stared out across the lawn.

“I’ve taken this as far as I can.”

Now AJ couldn’t breathe. “What do you mean?”

Noah continued to survey the yard. “I mean, I can’t sustain this. It’s time for you to leave.”

For a second, AJ thought she was going to be sick. “You’re upset,” she managed. “Let’s talk about this.”

Noah shook his head. “There’s nothing to discuss.”

AJ took a breath. “That’s not how this works,” she said, forcing her voice to remain even.

Noah shook his head again, more insistently this time. “You’re just going to tell me ‘It could be anything.’ It’s not anything—it’s fucking starting. And you don’t want to hear it.”

AJ gaped at him. “I do want to hear it,” she said. “I’ve been trying to talk to you for weeks, and all you want to talk about is the stupid kitchen.”

“That is how I deal with this,” roared Noah, rounding on her. “I’ve tried to include you and you just reject it.”

Anger broke over AJ. “Whatever you have to tell yourself to avoid opening up,” she snapped.

Noah’s eyes were rabid. “Well, I’m open now,” he said wrathfully, and he was. The connection between them had been switched on like a PSA alert, overriding every other signal.

AJ hadn’t seen Noah like this since the day before he had left thirteen years prior. Inside, he was turbulent, erupting, ash raining down afresh over every patch of progress they had made this summer. In the midst of it, a deep black abscess was consuming every feeling in its path.

“This is me,” he sobbed. “I’m a mess. Every time I spill milk or trip or can’t find a word, all I can think is, Is it now? Is it time? And being around you makes it infinitely worse. Everything we do, every stupid, boring, happy thing, just reminds me that none of this can last. I can’t look at you without hurting. And I’m exhausted. I’m sick of having to act like I’m not living in dread.”

His voice shook as he said, “It wasn’t like this before. I-I’m going back to the plan.”

And that’s when AJ understood. That black hole was a safety vacuum, Noah’s internal decontamination protocol. He was sealing himself off from her. The glass dome was starting to re-form—soon everything good and alive in him would be back inside it.

For a second, the room spun on its axis. Then it snapped back into place.

“No,” said AJ. “Sorry, but you don’t get to unilaterally destroy our happiness based on some plan you made up when you were a scared-shitless kid.”

Noah advanced on her. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m still scared shitless,” he growled. “And you would be too, if you took this at all seriously.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” said AJ, trying not to show her fright.

Noah gave her a cruel look. “It means I’m getting retargeted ads for vasectomy clinics,” he said. “We’re on the same internet. Why are you looking at that shit?”

Her cheeks burned. “Sorry, I didn’t realize this was a totalitarian state,” she said. “I should have though, that’s totally my bad. How did Eudora put it? Noah doesn’t trust anyone but himself.”

Noah glared at her. AJ took that to mean she had an advantage and pressed on. “She thought we should be together,” she said. “That’s why she put me in the will. You must see that.”

Noah gave her a pitying look. “Eudora put you in the will because when I go you’ll be the only one left who gives a rat’s ass about her work. Even from that urn, she’s still using you.” He shook his head and looked down at his hands again, his face shuttering. “I’m not going to do that,” he said more to himself than to her. “You’re not going to be my caregiver.”

“Why not?” The words exploded out of AJ in a dry sob. She was asking him, but she was also asking herself. “Truly, what is so bad about having to care for someone you love?”

The question rang around the room, ricocheting off the ceiling tiles, and in that moment, AJ knew her answer. Nothing. As long as his heart beat, she would love him, whatever form he took.

Noah’s face was drawn. “It won’t be someone you love,” he said, a tear escaping down his cheek. He wiped it with his sleeve. “It will be someone you pity. It might be someone you despise. Trust me, I know what I’m talking about.”

It was the first time he had alluded to what it had been like to care for his mother. AJ heard a note of finality in his voice and charged ahead anyway. “We are not all built the same,” she said beseechingly. “You weren’t born loving someone worse off than you. I was.”

Noah shook his head. “You’re not listening. We are not going to live like that.”

“You don’t know what it will be like,” AJ insisted, hot tears welling in her eyes. “You still have good years left—maybe more than you think. Your life doesn’t have to end when you get symptoms. You’re not in this alone.” She took a step toward him. “We can do this together.”

Noah peered down at her without expression. “Tell me—in all of your searching, did you ever watch a video of what this disease actually looks like?”

AJ glared at him. “I met your mom, remember?” she said defiantly.

Noah smirked. “Yes. And as I recall, your response was ‘I couldn’t do it.’ ”

The air left AJ’s lungs. “That was years ago.”

“No. That was the truth,” he said. “And by the way, that day? That was nothing.” He let that sink in. “I won’t do it.”

AJ was panicking now. This was thirteen years ago all over again. He was going to deal with this by leaving her, and there was not a thing she could do to stop it. She had burned through most of her ammo to get them to this point in May. The walls were closing in.

“You’re a fucking coward, you know that?” she said. Noah opened his mouth to respond but she plowed on. “You said you’d try your best, but you won’t actually try anything different or new. Even if it would mean keeping this thing we have alive, or forget that—getting yourself some substantive emotional support. You would literally rather die than give up control.”

Noah’s face turned in disgust. “Talking isn’t a fucking panacea, Age,” he said. “It’s what healthy people tell sick people to do so that they don’t have to feel guilty for being healthy. Just talk about it. I have an incurable, progressive, degenerative disease. I know those are just words to you, and that’s how they’re going to stay. But fuck if I’m going to stick around for it.”

AJ felt a surge of nauseous warmth. “If our positions were reversed, I would stick around,” she said unevenly. “I would stick around for you.”

“If our positions were reversed, I would never ask you to,” said Noah quietly.

“You cannot kill yourself,” said AJ.

“Yes, I can,” he said. “And I’m going to.”

AJ shook her head. “Fucking coward.”

Noah glared at her. Too long passed before he spoke. “Fine,” he said dispassionately. “I’m a coward.”

AJ gasped. “Noah, I—”

“This isn’t what I thought it would be,” he said. “You need to leave, do you understand? You’re not wanted. Please go pack. I will drop you at your parents’ or at the train if you prefer.”

He stared at her unfeelingly. AJ listed, sluggish with shock and humiliation. She tried to summon her anger—what was left of it propelled her from the office. But by the time she reached the second-floor landing she could hardly breathe. The pink light from Eudora’s room looked safe, like the inner ear of a shell. AJ shut herself inside, flung her body onto the bed, and wailed.

SOMETIME LATER, SHE REVIVED. She sat up and attempted to take calming breaths amid a dead woman’s throw pillows. In a bleak way, she supposed it was appropriate, given that Noah viewed himself as a dead man, and that was who she slept with every night.

A fresh pang of anguish welled up at this thought, instantly quelled by disbelief.

He was scared. He was scared, and lost, and she had walked in on him, but fuck if this didn’t hurt. Two hours ago they had been planning dinner. They could get back to that.

AJ could fix this. She had to.

She stood slowly, blood siphoning back into her limbs as she made her way to the window. All was quiet in the yard; Noah was inside somewhere below.

She had to think. He’d been wrong about Bud, and he was wrong about this—there must be a way to make him see that. But how? He wouldn’t talk to her and with each passing second, that dome was becoming more real, more permanent.

AJ needed to slow this down before it calcified. She needed to suggest a new premise.

She needed more time.

She walked over to the bureau and looked at her reflection. Her face and neck were splotchy, her eyes sunken. Just as Eudora’s had been that awful day in her pink silk bathrobe.

It’s not too late.

Despite Noah’s vitriol, AJ felt convinced that Eudora had put her name in the will for a reason. Eudora did everything for a reason. Slowly, AJ began to turn Eudora’s words over in her mind.

AJ can reach him in this bond they’ve forged where I cannot.

A dawning awareness crept over her. Eudora hadn’t been able to get through to Noah, but she believed AJ could. She believed that AJ could convince him that his life was worth saving.

Last night, I had them finish our play as it was intended.

AJ wiped her cheeks and turned toward Eudora and Ezell’s papers. She heaved open file box after file box, systematically riffling through their contents.

There was one place Noah could not shut her out. One place he could never have a plan.

She came upon it after an hour, a smushed white box, now jaundiced with age. She knew the document by its typewritten font even before she read its title.

Eudora had left her one last bright move.

AJ FOUND NOAH WAITING for her in the drawing room. He stood when he saw her.

“You haven’t packed,” he said irritably. His emotions were still roiling.

“No, I haven’t packed,” AJ forced out.

His eyes shone in anger. “I wasn’t kidding,” he said. “You have to leave.”

AJ nodded. “I agree,” she said. “But not yet.”

For the first time, Noah glanced down at the box under her arm. He rolled his eyes and stalked back toward Errol’s office. AJ gathered her courage and followed.

By the time she entered, he was seated behind the desk, a six-foot oak barrier separating them. All remnants of the model plane had been cleared away.

“AJ, I’m not fucking around,” said Noah, busying himself with a pile of papers.

AJ advanced into the room. “Do you know what this is?” she asked, holding out the box.

He stacked one script atop another. “The book for Fire & Water,” he said without looking up.

AJ lowered her hands to keep them from shaking. “Eudora left it to us together,” she said. “We owe it to her to stage it, at least once.”

Noah stared at her. “You’re offering to perform it with me.”

AJ swallowed. “Yes.”

The muscle in his jaw was working. “This is incredibly manipulative,” he said reproachfully.

“I know,” said AJ. Then, “Is it working?”

The corner of his mouth twitched. He was studying her with an unreadable expression. “What do you propose to do about the ending?” he asked stiffly.

AJ’s heart jumped. He hadn’t completely shut her down.

“We’d improvise,” she said. “From what Eudora wrote, it seems like that’s how it was originally intended to be performed. I just think she was so heartbroken when she lost Ezell she told everyone it was unfinished rather than watch other people butcher it.”

Noah was thinking. “So that night…she was, what, initiating us?”

“Her notes imply as much,” said AJ. She pushed on. “We could do it this fall. You could direct. A limited run. Ten or twelve performances.”

Noah leaned back in the desk chair. “One play, twelve different endings.” He was intrigued in spite of himself.

“I think we’d be able to attract a decent audience,” she said. “Arho fandom, and all.”

“I’m not worried about that,” said Noah. He ran a hand over his face. “I need to think.”

AJ waited as he stared out the window at something she couldn’t see.

“I am serious. You and I need to make a clean break,” he said finally. “But if we do as you suggest, it would make more sense to close the play, then go our separate ways.”

AJ swallowed. “I agree.”

“Permanently,” said Noah. “We can’t keep doing this.”

“I agree,” AJ repeated, her heart buckling.

For a moment, he looked extremely fatigued, and AJ wondered if she shouldn’t just give up. Then he glanced at her searchingly. He nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay?” said AJ.

Noah nodded again. “Okay.”

And he meant it. AJ felt the vacuum slow and stop, the dome fluctuate then vanish.

“Okay,” said AJ, forcing her legs to remain upright as relief overtook her. It wasn’t over yet. She felt the urge to formalize this accord in some way. She looked down at the white box.

“Here,” she said, walking toward him. “You read it first.” She placed the script on the desk. She could feel him watching her but kept her eyes down, like a shy student handing in an assignment. She just had to get out of this room, then she could go back upstairs and cry. She turned to go.

“AJ.”

AJ kept walking. God fucking damn it, she was getting out of this room.

“Age.” Noah’s voice was pleading, but AJ would not turn back.

Her hand was on the doorknob when he caught up with her. With one deft movement, he pressed the door closed, preventing her exit. AJ felt herself starting to cry. She refused to look at him as his body hovered beside hers.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, fighting back tears. “I’m so sorry about all of this.”

AJ was in so much pain she couldn’t breathe. “I know,” she said almost inaudibly.

“Look at me,” he said, touching her shoulder.

AJ shrugged him off, shaking her head.

“Look at me,” he said more forcefully.

His hand closed around her upper arm, and AJ was so startled she did look up. As their eyes connected, she found heat in his, and indignation broke through her like a dry wind. She shook her head and reached for the doorknob. Again, he shut the door.

“Noah,” she warned.

His hands were on her hips now, pinning her back against the door. AJ didn’t have time to react before his tongue was in her mouth.

Fuck. You.

AJ pushed him off. But then the kiss caught up to her. They eyed each other for a moment.

Then he was on her again, his mouth forcing her neck back, his hands like a vise on her ribs, then her ass. He was hard. From the way he groaned, he’d been hard for a while, and the knowledge hit AJ’s bloodstream like a drug.

She pushed him into the room, and he let her back him down onto the couch. She held his hands above his head, grinding against him until they were both panting.

He shucked off Libby’s dress, and she undid his pants and slid onto him. She kissed him, not with affection, but because she knew his lips would make her come, and they did. A terrible, unwanted pleasure forked through her, and she gasped.

And then, before he could so much as thrust, she pulled off him, glaring. AJ wiped her mouth. She had never been so mad. His eyes were raw as she held his gaze.

Fuck. You.

She could feel his stare cutting into the base of her spine as she headed for the door. She was halfway across the room when he spoke, his voice soft, the command in his tone unmistakable.

“Get on the rug.”

And AJ found she could not disobey. With each step, her legs grew heavier, until she collapsed onto her knees atop the bearskin. Slowly she bent forward on all fours, the heels of her hands digging into the pelt.

She didn’t look at Noah, she just waited.

She saw his feet standing before her and felt a thrum of anticipation. Then he knelt down. His hands were on her hips now, yanking her toward him, and she felt one of his knees slide between her own, his other lunging out beside her.

She was nothing in his hands, he could easily move her where he pleased. She felt his fingers on her shoulder blades, smoothing over her back, his dick still wet as it pulsed between her legs.

Then he shoved into her, and AJ had never been fucked like this, not even by Noah. This wasn’t sex; it was an exorcism. He was going to fuck them both right out of this hell.

His hands, his fucking hands on her hips, the pressure of him, the friction. AJ couldn’t see his face, but she felt his fury as he took her, so hard, so fast, she couldn’t breathe. She was gripping the fur now, sweaty tufts between her fingers. She was crying now, but she told him not to stop. The channel between them was ripped wide, unstable, overpowering, and as he made her come, AJ was—

Noah.

He didn’t want to come, he just wanted to bury himself here. But she felt so good, nothing felt like her, and he wasn’t going to cry, he was just going to dig and dig and dig, and God, she was beautiful, and this wouldn’t be the last time. He needed to go deeper. He was pushing her down now, more weight, his nose in her hair, and fuck, her scent. He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to go on without this creature who was turning her sweet face toward his, her teeth bared, her eyes frantic because she was him and he was her, and fuck this solid flesh, he did not want to come, he just wanted to stay buried in this girl, his girl, his, fuck, oh fuck take it, take this lifeless fucking river. God, this girl. They were dirt, they were clay, they were nothing but silt.

After, they lay side by side looking at the engraved tin tiles in Errol’s twelve-foot-high ceiling.

AJ felt a lazy tear in the corner of her eye. “I think they call that a death kink,” she mused.

Noah’s fingers brushed hers. “You’re just saying that because the only woman I’ve ever loved is literally named Age and Death.”

AJ’s eyes shot open.

“Age shall not wither her,” Noah continued contemplatively. “Ask for me tomorrow, and you shall find me a grave man. It’s very Shakespearean.”

AJ was horrified. “Wow,” she said. “So this is how I finally end up going by Ashlee Jayde.”

Noah chuckled. “I can see it now on the marquee.”

“Hmm?”

“For our show,” he said quietly.

Our show. The words hung in the air, a promise and a threat.

FIRE & WATER WAS the story of F and W, two companions in science and love. The play opened on a high note, with F and W achieving their lifelong ambition of suspending life inside an amorphous, gelatinous substance they christened Molten Ice.

Within a few scenes, it was revealed that F had been concealing terminal cancer from W. Heartbroken, W immediately set out to find a cure for F’s illness, while F insisted that they try to enjoy what remaining time they had.

W worked tirelessly, but no treatment could be found. As time grew short, W became desperate; they flooded the entire hilltop where F and W lived in Molten Ice, suspending it from the ravages of time. There, the two companions could reside indefinitely, so long as they never left.

What happened from there was a matter of improvisation.

The play’s title hearkened to a speech F gave W midway through the opening act.

Lay down your work and sit a while. I wish you wouldn’t struggle so. Even art cannot stop time. Bend it, sure, manipulate it, yes. But stop it? Fire cannot breathe inside of water. There is no thirteenth hour in a day. Every story has its end. I cannot live forever, nor would I wish to.

THE NEXT DAY, NOAH put the kitchen renovation on hold and drove to Kinko’s to photocopy the script. He and AJ read through it on the patio while Bud snoozed on the grass nearby.

Ezell had written the show as an outlet for his and Eudora’s grief over his terminal cancer, and AJ immediately identified with Eudora’s role.

“I should be W,” she declared. If Noah’s master plan was for her to wander these halls the way Eudora had after Ezell died, he could at least give her the part.

Noah smiled, then informed her that they would each be playing both parts.

“We’ll alternate every night,” he said firmly. “That way, we both get a chance to initiate the unscripted section.”

“Wait, so we have to memorize the whole thing?”

Noah’s eyes lit. “You’d end up memorizing it anyway. I’m just asking you to do it on purpose.”

AJ grumbled, but in the end she did as she was told. He was the director; this was what she had agreed to. Frankly, learning the lines was a trifle compared to acting them out across from Noah.

It had been easy this summer, ensconced with grill-dad-country-squire Noah, to forget that he was also Academy Award–winner Noah Drew. And looking on Noah’s true form was blinding.

His abilities were self-evident and breathtaking. AJ hadn’t experienced his focus, his seriousness, or his breadth since they had been thrown together on Into the Blue, and nothing but sheer desperation could have compelled her to stand before him now, once again utterly outmatched.

The result was debilitating attraction.

“The staging will be spare,” said Noah. “Like, black backdrop and two chairs.”

They were back on the patio, the August sun raging overhead, and AJ could not concentrate. Every time Noah stressed a point, his forearms flexed in this way that made her dizzy.

They were halfway through the first scene when Noah noticed. He casually grabbed her shoulders to move her to her mark, and when he let go, she drifted after him as if caught by static electricity. He looked up, and his face softened as he took in her desire. AJ couldn’t hide it.

“Hey,” he said softly. He set the script down and led her by the hand up to the gray bedroom.

AJ wasn’t one to use the term “making love.” But there was no other way to describe how Noah was with her that afternoon. He knew her now, knew where to go and what to do, and he was doing it because she needed it and because he wanted her to have what she needed.

He removed her garments one by one and laid her gently down, appraising her form in the afternoon light. The way his hands touched her skin made AJ feel lacy and love-worn and dear, like a passage he knew by heart but would endlessly revisit in search of new meaning.

It’s still me, he was telling her. You know me.

His beauty was astonishing. The apple of his shoulders, the tendons in his neck, the delicate wristbones that married fragility and strength. Oh, the look of him as he bent toward her, his body scythed, his eyes half closed, unaware of whether he was falling or flying.

He kissed her, and it was flight, AJ thought, to be so swept up in another person that your entire consciousness became dips and swoops and gulps of air. In her ear, he told her what she was to him, and she told him back, and he shuddered, then arced, stealing the breath from her lungs.

He didn’t rush to get up and neither did she. They lay together for an indeterminate amount of time studying each other’s faces as though looking in a mirror.

Noah brushed an eyelash off her cheekbone.

“Hair dryer?”

“Hair dryer.”

NOAH BEGAN EACH MORNING by warming them up.

“Hello.”

“Hello.”

“Hello.”

“Hello.”

From there, they’d tackle the book of the play. Noah never reminded AJ more of Eudora than when he was directing. There was a brightness in his eyes, a purpose in his movements that imitated the fire of her old mentor. He made it so safe to try things. He loved to ask, “What if?”

“What if you tried to make it funny?” he’d say. “It might actually be sadder that way.”

“What if you say it from here? Make them lean forward in their chairs to hear you.”

“What if you get really big here? Yes, as big as you can.”

It was the difference between talking to someone face-to-face and talking to them side by side. Noah directed AJ side by side, and in return, she gave him everything she had.

The afternoons were devoted to improvisation.

It was very like running again after a long hiatus. As they began to play together, AJ could feel ancient pathways in her brain starting to reinvigorate, but it wasn’t instant. Their early attempts at reentering the Black Room felt stilted and slow as the humid August air.

But each day, they’d play a little harder, sink a little deeper. The more they gave, the further they delved, until at last they submerged into that infinite sea of intuitiveness and trust.

“Hello.”

“Hello?”

“Hello?”

“Helloi?”

While their roles in Fire & Water alternated each day, their roles in life had decisively flipped. By scripting the end of their relationship, Noah had relieved his own anxiety and left AJ in dread.

He knew this as well as she did. Their connection was open all the time now. They had never been more transparent to each other, but, in the end, AJ found it mattered very little.

Empathy was not predictive. Being able to feel or even influence a person’s emotions was not the same as being able to influence their actions. Noah’s love for AJ was absolute, his desire to leave her nonexistent, but their future didn’t hinge on Noah’s heart so much as his capacity for uncertainty. For that was the true cost of happiness: never knowing when it might be lost.

In that sense, they were like any other couple.

“Helloi?”

“Hell oy?”

“Hell oy?”

“Hell loy?”

As the weeks wore on, their life became indistinguishable from the premise of Fire & Water. The world they were constructing inside the Black Room was a sanctuary, with devastation lurking just beyond.

Still, there were times when it really did feel like nothing could touch them.

When AJ was tempted to hope that maybe, just maybe, she could change his mind.

SNL RECONVENED AT THE beginning of September, so they planned for AJ to head back into the city after Labor Day. Noah would follow the week after, when his fancy sublet opened up.

AJ understood the logic of them each having their own space, but she hated what it represented. She refused to ask Noah any questions about his rental, even though she knew it had a kitchen that had once been featured in Architectural Digest he was eager to discuss.

The night before she was scheduled to depart, AJ stalwartly packed her duffel. Well, mostly. She tucked the items Noah had bought her that summer into his drawers and hid Libby’s black dress in the back of his closet. If all went well, she would be back for them.

And if it didn’t, she never wanted to see any of that stuff again.

“Got everything?” asked Noah as he pulled into Metro-North the next morning.

“Absolutely,” AJ lied.

His eyes narrowed. But before he could comment, AJ kissed him on the cheek and got out of the car. She hated long goodbyes, and she didn’t want to think about what this one meant.

The air in AJ’s one-bedroom smelled stale, like someone had made a candle out of her bodywash and linty sweatshirts and not burned it. She stayed just long enough to drop her bag. She could not spend her first day in three months apart from Noah staring at the Ektorp.

Instead, she met Dave in their lobby, and they passed a pleasant afternoon dodging tourists in Central Park. There was such comfort in spending time with a former roommate. It didn’t matter that they hadn’t caught up in months, their ease was on a creature level.

Dave had done six cons that summer with Toni, Xiaobo, and an assortment of others. He didn’t seem as euphoric about it as usual. As they passed the statue of Alice in Wonderland, AJ probed.

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I look forward to it all year, mostly so I can be with Bo. But…I don’t know. We’ve been doing this for six years and…I’m tired. Like, convention days are amazing, but that leaves a lot of other days. I’m getting old, is what I’m saying.”

AJ laughed and bought him a popsicle that looked like a rocket ship. As he ate it, AJ gave him a bare-bones account of her summer that she thought was sanitized. But the second she mentioned Noah, Dave took one look at her and grinned.

“Summer of the Gothic Sex Mansion. Nice,” he said, and AJ’s face went Bram Stoker’s favorite shade of red.

“I’m happy for you guys,” said Dave, who had never opined on AJ’s love life before. “He’s, like, loved you forever.”

AJ looked up in surprise. “You knew?”

Dave laughed. “I’ve known since the jam. Glad you finally realized.” Then, “Really glad.”

“Thanks, D,” said AJ, stealing into Dave’s reality, where her time with Noah wasn’t almost up.

They hugged goodbye at the Eighty-sixth Street 4 train, and Dave headed downtown for a practice group he had agreed to coach as a favor to an old friend.

AJ took a meandering route back through the park, stopping to eat at a pretzel stand. By the time she returned to her building, it was after nine P.M., and she had successfully exhausted herself.

As she entered her lobby, her doorman, Oscar, gave her an unusually knowing look.

“Someone is really excited to see you,” he said.

AJ barely had time to react before she saw Bud scraping toward her across the polished black tile floor. Her tail was going berserk. She reared up on her hind legs, digging at AJ’s shins until AJ squatted and let her kiss her ears. “That’s my girl,” said AJ quietly. “That’s my good girl.”

She looked up to find Noah unfolding himself from the most secluded of the lobby’s black leather chairs; he was in a hoodie and a baseball cap. From his posture, AJ could tell he had been waiting for some time. Beneath his disguise, his eyes went round with relief at the sight of her. “You forgot something,” he said, holding up one of her snake plants.

AJ grinned. She ran to him and threw her arms around his middle so forcefully she almost bowled him over. Behind her, she could feel Bud pawing at her legs.

They went upstairs, ordered food, and snuggled into the Ektorp. Noah’s nose was buried in her hair, his hand covering her abdomen. As his heart raced against her shoulder, a calm stole over AJ. Surely this meant he was starting to see reason; he couldn’t even last the day without her. They stayed like that until his heart had slowed to its usual, steady rhythm.

AJ’s anxiety didn’t return until the next day, when she noticed the T.J. Maxx bag he had brought, containing all the items she had intentionally left at Drew House.

SHORTLY AFTER RETURNING TO work, AJ met with Dani Chan to request time off in October. When Dani heard what it was for, she eyed AJ over her glasses.

“I didn’t think acting was your thing,” she said after a moment.

AJ’s cheeks colored. She thought of Eudora’s last note. Of how she had once attracted friends like Toni, out of a subconscious desire to stay small and safe. After all this time, part of AJ was still waiting for someone else to tell her who she was. Maybe it was time to decide for herself.

She gave Dani a self-effacing shrug. “It’s one of my things.”

Dani held her gaze, and for a split second, AJ thought she might push further. People did not like having their preconceived notions overturned, particularly about those closest to them.

Then she said, “Right on. Two weeks isn’t much. You don’t need any time to rehearse?”

AJ shook her head. She didn’t want to miss any more work than necessary.

“No, I guess Noah Drew just goes off the cuff,” said Dani.

THE HAYES THEATER WAS a colonial brick number wedged between two much sleeker buildings on Forty-fourth Street, and it looked like the theater time forgot. It was only a ten-minute walk from 30 Rock, so AJ was able to pop over whenever necessary.

Noah was footing the up-front costs for the production, which felt sort of like asking someone out to an expensive restaurant then making them pay. Per usual, he didn’t mind. While AJ was at work, he also shouldered the technical aspects of their show, from the lighting and sound cues to the needs of the stage and house managers.

One day, he texted AJ to come to the theater in a white T-shirt. When she arrived, he had her stand center stage under the hot lights as he looked up at her from the house.

“You see?” he yelled to Alfie in the booth. “The blue gel is completely washing her out.”

He hopped up onstage and tugged off his black crew neck sweatshirt, one of a long lineage that had taken up residence in AJ’s closet.

“Put this on,” he said, handing it to AJ. He stood beside her, now in a white T-shirt, slightly out of breath and so intensely in his element, it made him hard to look at. As AJ pulled on his amazing-smelling sweatshirt, Noah took a few steps downstage to assess her. He shook his head.

“She should be golden. It should hit her here and here,” he yelled up to Alfie, indicating AJ’s brow and chin. Then, as if only just seeing her, he walked over to AJ and kissed her soundly.

“What was that for?” she said, breathless as a new constellation of lights clinked on above them.

Noah shrugged, then kissed her again, holding her to him until she sighed.

AJ NEVER DID SEE the Architectural Digest kitchen. Whatever Noah’s objections to her couch, they weren’t enough to keep him from sleeping over every night. There was a practical excuse for this: it made it easy to rehearse amid AJ’s work schedule. But that’s what it was, an excuse.

With just two weeks until curtain up, they began practicing more at the theater, waking early to get time in before AJ went to 30 Rock. They knew the scripted section cold, exchanging roles each day. On Sundays, they would run the entire show multiple times with the light crew so the technicians could get a feel for blacking out the hour-long improvised second act.

The Hayes may have been Broadway’s smallest theater, but to AJ it felt huge. As their opening neared, she found herself grateful for the cons, where she had faced crowds several multiples of the Hayes’s capacity, as she increasingly had to remind herself.

Truthfully, it was exhilarating being onstage with Noah even without an audience.

“It’s ours forever.”

“I don’t understand.”

“This hill, the view. The stars. We’ll be safe here.”

The spell of Fire & Water had banished any sense of an ending from the Hayes Theater. Noah hadn’t mentioned their separation in weeks. When AJ was with him, she could feel how much he loved her, and it did not seem insane to hope that he might come around.

But the instant she was out of his presence, time returned, indifferent and inevitable.

Tick, tick, tick, tick.

In those weeks, the familiar rushes and routines of work became AJ’s tether to the person she had been before that summer. It was at work that she found herself exhausted. At work, where she could contemplate what would become of her if this didn’t go her way.

She’d spend long bleak hours in her office wondering if she would ever find anything funny again, then walk over to see Noah and land so firmly in the candy-colored present she couldn’t think five minutes into the future.

MOST SHOWS KICKED OFF with a week or two of previews to iron out the kinks, but since this was a minimal production with a short run, they settled for a dress rehearsal the Monday before their Tuesday opening.

In keeping with the sets, their costumes were simple: blue jeans and T-shirts—white for W, black for F, with the actors swapping colors in tandem with their roles.

The atmosphere was fraught going into dress rehearsal. They both knew what this final run-through meant, but neither addressed it. Instead, AJ watched Noah stand onstage, adjusting the prop chairs. Then, half an hour later, he slammed one down so forcefully during a scene, its left anterior leg snapped clean off.

“That’s good luck,” their stage manager, Jerry, reassured them.

After, they sat at the edge of the stage under the work lights, looking out at the rows of empty seats in the orchestra and balcony. Noah was in white, AJ in black.

He glanced at her. “Nervous?”

AJ sat back a little. “Not exactly.”

She felt jittery thinking about certain things—walking on for the first time, feeling the energy of the crowd. But they knew what they were doing. They couldn’t have been better prepared. And the truth was, the fears motivating AJ went so far beyond stage fright, the performance seemed almost incidental. This was for Noah and Noah alone.

“I’m…ready.”

She didn’t need to ask if he was nervous. She could feel his excitement like a sunny day. She watched his legs swing lackadaisically, as if dangling off the edge of a dock.

“So about what we discussed,” he said offhandedly, and AJ’s blood froze. He was actually going to say it. “I’m thinking that after the last show, I’ll just head out, and that will be it.”

AJ looked up at his face. He appeared pleasant, disconnected—the way he used to seem whenever Risa commented on her engagement to Brian. His energy, however, had tanked. “I figure we’ll say our goodbyes onstage,” he continued. “Why make it harder than it needs to be?”

AJ blinked a few times. “Right,” she said, hearing her own voice distorted, as though through leaded glass. “How Marina Abramović.”

She was referencing the great performance artist’s famous parting from her longtime lover, Ulay, in which both artists met in the middle of China’s Great Wall, then never saw each other again.

Noah frowned. “You think this is artificial, and you’re not wrong,” he said. “But it’s for the best. It is, AJ. It’ll hurt less…in the long run.”

AJ watched the overhead light play off the toe of his sneakers.

“Do you agree?” he prodded.

“I agree.”

“It is for the best,” Noah repeated. “I mean, we have a chance at a perfect ending—how many people can say that?”

“Not many,” said AJ, who was gratified to feel his mood leaden as he spouted this bullshit.

She heaved herself onto her feet, dusted off her hands, and offered one to Noah. Their eyes met as she helped him up, and he searched her for the resistance he knew she felt. AJ let him read her, let him see how, despite her heartbreak, she wasn’t putting up a fight.

Yet.

IN THE LEAD-UP TO opening night, Risa had issued a press release to dramatic effect; according to their house manager, all twelve performances would be standing-room only.

AJ had been happy about this in the abstract—it meant that Noah would get his money out of the show. But as the two of them waited in their shared dressing room on opening night, her nerves cinched with every crescendo of the crowd.

As the minutes crawled by, she stared catatonically at her own reflection, at the white of her shirt, at the way the stage makeup brought out her eyebrows, her cheekbones. Noah didn’t bother her. He sat nearby on the green leather couch reading his phone, Bud asleep on his lap. It was always cold backstage, but AJ was practically shivering.

It was the adrenaline. It was the waiting.

Their characters entered from opposite sides, so they parted ways as they left the dressing room.

“Hair dryer,” said Noah.

“Hair dryer,” said AJ.

As AJ stood in the wings, she could feel the audience’s expectations like a rising tide. These people had paid good money to see Noah Drew perform his esteemed uncle’s work with a complete rando. Well, not a complete rando, but a woman whose only real acting credit had been an accident, and who was considered, at most, a one-hit wonder. They must be so confused about what she was doing here.

But AJ knew what she was doing here. And as the lights came up and they walked on, the crowd lost their minds.

AJ and Noah waited, feeling the emotion of the room lap over them. AJ glanced beyond the stage and was somehow not at all surprised to see Otto and Oona in the front row. She smiled at them gratefully, then back at Noah, whose eyes flashed as the din died down.

Tonight, AJ had the first line. She watched Noah take a breath, watched the stage light gild his hair, his shoulders. She felt the audience’s energy lock in with theirs.

Then she began.

The scripted portion of the play unfurled like a pleasant drive on a familiar road; the route was the same every time, but the experience was always a tiny bit different.

Noah got a big laugh on the first joke, which gave them both a boost. They paced themselves, feeling their way through each scene. W’s desperation built steadily as F reassured her he’d had a good life, until finally W’s grief drove her to create the sanctuary of their house.

“Time can’t touch us here,” AJ said. Time won’t touch us here, she thought.

There was no intermission or set change to signal the end of the scripted portion of the play, just a single light cue that transformed the feel of the stage, and the tint of AJ’s white shirt, from gold to rose. It was so simple, but the audience gasped when it happened.

Now the flight path shimmered to life before them. Now it was time to play.

AJ looked at Noah and smiled. He smiled back.

Then she ran at him, charging full force across the stage.

“Get down!” she cried.

But it was too late. A tree had crashed into their oasis, disrupting their lives and reversing their roles. W had managed to save F, but in the process, she had been cataclysmically wounded.

“This is bad. I can’t feel my arms,” she said, lying supine on the floor.

“Try not to move,” he said, phoning the doctor.

Despite F’s terminal prognosis, it was now W who required immediate and intensive medical care. As she lay on a bed constructed from the two prop chairs, he tended to her every need.

“It’s funny,” she said, forcing him to spoon-feed her. “I guess you never can predict what will happen in life.”

“Well, we sort of can,” said Noah, pointedly. “I’m still sick. In all likelihood, you will still outlive me.”

“More soup, please,” said AJ feebly.

F, who had spent years identifying as sick person, came to find new meaning in his role as caregiver. But sadly, the damage to W was too grievous; not even Molten Ice could save her.

“It was supposed to be me,” he wept, kneeling by her deathbed.

AJ used her remaining strength to pat his hand. “Maybe. Maybe not. I guess I take comfort in the fact that someone goes first in every couple. This isn’t unique to us.”

In the split second before the blackout, AJ felt Noah’s energy pulse.

They received a rapturous ovation and returned for three curtain calls.

Backstage, Noah wiped off his brow as AJ chugged water from her Nalgene.

“I thought that went well,” she said.

“It did,” said Noah. She could feel him eyeing her. “A little on the nose, don’t you think?”

“What?” said AJ, peeling off her now-soaked white tee and dropping it in the garment bag. “Oh. The subconscious, you know.”

“Right,” said Noah. As AJ tugged on a clean shirt, Risa and Ned burst in, BlackBerrys waving in the air like lighters at a concert.

“What a smash!” said Ned.

“Twitter’s blowing up!” said Risa.

The crowd outside the stage door was no less enthused. Otto and Oona had managed to elbow their way toward the front. Tonight, they were in Arho “street fashion”—XXS black leather jacket for her, XXL white wool peacoat for him.

“That was incredible,” said Otto.

“Really something,” said Oona.

“What, no sign?” said AJ.

They turned on each other immediately. “I told you we should have lettered up,” growled Oona.

As Noah thanked them, AJ could almost hear Eudora sighing in her ear. Damn Nauticals.

The next night, Noah played W and AJ played F. When it was his turn to initiate the improvised section, he chose a fun premise—an inversion of a locked-room mystery. W and F were trapped inside the house, while a man was mugged just outside their window.

“Everyone else is asleep,” said Noah. “We’re the only two witnesses.”

After the police interrogated them, the scene progressed to a mock trial where W was called as an eyewitness. As AJ, now the prosecutor, examined Noah, she revealed new evidence.

“Your Honor, I believe exhibit H is incontrovertible proof that this witness is guilty.”

From there, W was taken into custody.

“I’ve been set up,” Noah told her, using his one phone call. “You’re my man on the outside. I’ll need your help if I’m going to win this case.”

“What good am I?” said AJ, exhausted. “I’m sick. I can’t even leave this house.”

For a split second, Noah’s eyes narrowed. “Who knows what you’re capable of.”

With the aid of a helpful bailiff, also played by Noah, F began the daunting project of helping W mount a defense. AJ didn’t make it easy. With every new piece of evidence she unearthed, she forced Noah to give her a motivational speech on how much she had to offer the world despite her limitations. F overcame her self-defeating narrative just in time to get the charges dropped.

At home, they celebrated W’s exoneration.

“Thanks for sticking with me,” said Noah.

“Thanks for sticking with me,” said AJ. “Guess being sick wasn’t the end of my life after all.”

Noah was tense as they bowed. As they walked back into their dressing room, AJ chatted pleasantly, watching him try to stay calm.

“Okay, you’ve made your point, yeah?” he said, once they were inside.

AJ looked at him innocently. She shrugged.

A disbelieving laugh escaped him. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Then they gathered up their belongings and Bud and headed back to AJ’s to sleep.

On Thursday night, it was AJ’s turn to initiate. She could see concern flicker behind Noah’s eyes as she took her stance center stage and sent them into their next scene.

“I’m bored,” she said. “How about a game of Truth or Dare?”

It was an intense way to build out the characters. Over the course of several truths, the audience learned that F was a bit of a martyr, and that W had a sadistic streak. Their dares became increasingly exhibitionist—“I dare you to beg like a dog” had Noah down to his briefs on all fours. “I dare you to streak through the garden” saw AJ run topless up the aisle.

Inevitably, their dares were constrained by F’s illness—there was only so much to do on their hilltop.

“Truth,” said AJ, as they sat together at their imaginary kitchen table.

“Are you sick of living with a sick person?” asked Noah.

AJ raised an eyebrow. “Not if that sick person is you.”

Noah frowned. “I’m sick of it.”

“How sick of it?”

“Pretty sick of it.”

“Okay,” said AJ. “Truth or dare.”

“Dare,” said Noah.

“Leave the house,” said AJ.

The audience gasped. Noah’s energy blackened.

“I’ll die,” he said.

AJ shrugged. “You said you were sick of living this way. There’s your way out.”

Noah stared at her. “Don’t you think the timing is a little arbitrary?”

AJ shrugged. “Does it matter?” she said. “You’re never getting better. What’s the difference between later and now?”

“I still have good days.”

AJ looked at him triumphantly. “So, if I’m hearing you correctly, you’re saying it would be premature to walk out when things are still good, even knowing you can’t get better?”

As they left the stage, Noah stopped so abruptly in the wings AJ almost rammed into him.

“So this is how it’s going to be?” he said.

AJ shrugged. “Up to you,” she said. “We could just go home and talk this out like normal people.”

Noah scowled at her. “You are unbelievable,” he said, and stormed off toward the dressing room.

AJ waited ten minutes before rejoining him. By the time she entered, he had calmed down.

“I’m not bringing this home with us,” he said in a clipped voice.

AJ stripped off her white shirt. “As you like,” she said from inside the fabric.

On Friday, AJ knew she had it coming. The audience, however, had no idea. When Noah burst into F and W’s house holding an imaginary bundle of fluff, they applauded.

“Meet Atlas,” he said.

He was the cutest little dog and the goodest boy, with big brown eyes and the waggliest tail. F and W had never loved a creature this much. They lavished the puppy with toys and love and snuggles and taught him all kinds of fun commands: Atlas, oven mitts! Atlas, charge phone! Atlas, Macarena! Every time he mastered one, the audience cheered.

Atlas wasn’t merely a pet and a substitute child, he was also a born hero. When a robber attempted to gain entry to F and W’s house, Atlas barked them away.

“Attaboy, Atlas,” said Noah.

But as the years wore on, Atlas began to age. He had arrived at their hilltop after the Molten Ice event horizon, Noah explained, so he was not privilege to its time-stopping effects. F and W remained unchanged, but Atlas continued to deteriorate, until finally his health failed. Noah clearly had a lot of pent-up angst about Bud dying, and it was all coming out in this performance.

“I know what you’re going to say,” he said shakily, as he gave the dog dialysis. “You think we should put him down.”

“He’s very old,” said AJ, who was now forced to argue in favor of euthanizing their beloved pet. “He has no quality of life.”

“But he’s so precious,” said Noah, tears rolling down his cheeks. “I can’t bear to lose him.”

“He’s blind,” said AJ. “His kidneys are gone. He can barely walk.”

“If he were a person, you would never think of killing him,” said Noah.

“Yes, I—” Noah’s eyes flashed almost imperceptibly. AJ glared at him. “This is an act of mercy,” she said finally.

The lights cut to black as the two of them gathered Atlas on a blanket for his final injection.

AJ could tell Noah thought he’d won by the way he took her hand to bow. And she let him go right on thinking it until their Saturday performance.

“This clock always makes me think of your old mentor, Bertram,” she initiated, winding the cogs. “It’s a real shame he just killed himself.”

F, Bertram’s former protégé, had been tasked with executing Bertram’s will. As Noah sifted through the bequests, AJ played a rotating series of figures from Bertram’s life who appeared at their house to regale him with all the reasons Bertram’s death had been a tragedy.

“He had so much promise,” said another former colleague.

“If only he’d talked to me,” said Bertram’s longtime partner.

“It was selfish of him,” said Bertram’s sister. “I miss him every day.”

Noah’s character was compelled to console each and every one of Bertram’s bereaved, but Noah himself stalked off after the blackout.

AJ needn’t have pushed so hard that night—nothing she said onstage affected Noah as much as her own father showing up at their dressing room after, clapping him on the shoulder, and saying, “Proud of you, son.” On their cab ride home, Noah brought it up three times.

“He didn’t have to say that,” he kept repeating.

On Sunday night, there were so many people in the theater, they had to bring in extra ushers to keep the house running smoothly. Yet, despite the large crowd, you could hear a pin drop as Noah, now in white, burst into tears at the top of the improvised segment.

“You resent me for being healthy,” he said. “It’s written all over your face.”

As the cancer patient F, AJ was obliged to take on every bitter attribute he gifted her character. F hated being cooped up in this house, hated being dependent on him, hated that he was able to leave when she was not. Every terrible thing Noah said or implied, AJ had to justify.

The audience thought it was clever, subversive even. People were rarely open about caregiver burnout or how difficult sick people could be.

Only AJ understood that Noah was forcing her to play his own mother.

“I’m doing everything I can, but I can’t help that you’re sick,” he said, spraying an imaginary can of air freshener over the couch.

“You could stop flaunting your health,” AJ heard herself say. “You could be a teensy bit sensitive to what this is like for me. And stop trying to embalm me in lemon Lysol. I’m not dead yet.”

He was giving her a front-row seat to the thanklessness he had experienced, the rancor—what he didn’t want for her. He had AJ on the run for most of the act.

Then, about five minutes before the blackout, the faulty chair—which evidently had not been replaced, just repaired—blew out again, sending Noah crashing to the floor.

AJ was down beside him in seconds, helping him back up. Noah was so flustered, he didn’t have time to tell her how resentful she was. AJ took the opening.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” she said.

“Really,” said Noah skeptically. “You’re probably disappointed it didn’t finish me off.”

AJ shook her head. “If I get that way, it’s because deep down I’m terrified of losing you.”

Noah blinked at her a few times, then to her surprise, he enveloped her in a hug. The audience was moved and so was AJ.

As they bowed, she felt a tiny sprout of hope.

They had six performances left.

MONDAY WAS “DARK” ON Broadway, so AJ and Noah had the day off. While he rose early with Bud, she slept in until he returned with coffee and the paper. Apparently, The New York Times had reviewed the previous night’s show.

“Watching AJ Graves and Noah Drew improvise is like listening to Don Felder and Joe Walsh on the 1980 live LP of Hotel California,” AJ read to him. “They play as if they’re one instrument.”

“I know that recording,” Noah scoffed. “That solo wouldn’t work without the bass.”

AJ rolled her eyes and continued to scan the review. It was mostly about the historic significance of the performance and Noah—they’d been careful to keep anything personal away from the press, including that AJ had been Eudora’s student. AJ did get one other favorable mention.

AJ Graves, best known as a staff writer for SNL, proves an excellent foil for Drew. Even as he bears down on her with a wall of emotion, she manages to keep him dancing on his toes.

She glanced up to see Noah watching her indulgently, and it hit her. He had brought the paper home just so she could see it. He didn’t read his own reviews.

They went for a run in the park, and AJ was glad for the fresh air. It was warm for mid-October, and being outside felt like finding a little sliver of their idyllic summer embedded in the city.

On the elevator ride back to AJ’s apartment, Noah pushed her up against the wall and started kissing her. Once inside, he tried to lead her to the bed, but AJ made an excuse about them being filthy (which they were), and they had Ektorp sex instead.

The truth was, AJ didn’t know how many times they had left. Couch sex seemed to imply a lot, so she could actually enjoy it. Bed sex, however, had started to reek of Last-Time Sex, and the thought of having Last-Time Sex with Noah made AJ sick.

She knew she had made the right call as soon as he hit the shower. When AJ opened the closet to toss her laundry into the hamper, she was stunned to find that Noah had removed all of his black crew neck sweatshirts but one. He must have taken his stuff out of the apartment that morning while she slept.

Tick, tick, tick, tick.

When he emerged from the bathroom, she hadn’t moved.

“Your sweatshirts are gone.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his shoulders stoop. “It’s for the best.”

You cannot believe that, she wanted to shout. Instead, she averted her gaze and got in the shower.

The next night, she initiated by pronouncing Noah’s character dead.

“I just c-c-can’t believe it, Doctor,” she gasped.

“It is unbelievable,” said Noah dryly.

AJ then forced Noah to play a slew of rebound lovers to the bereaved W. She picked them up at a local dive by writing her number on their plates in ketchup.

The chair had been fixed again, and AJ used it to stage fuck W’s lovers in several positions.

After every one, she cried for missing F.

Once a respectful mourning period had been observed, AJ informed Noah that he was now Hank, the guy who would never live up to F’s memory. They spent what felt like an eternity as W and Hank, during which a kindly Hank could not reach a disenchanted and emotionally unavailable W. The set ended with W going back to the dive bar to try to feel something with a stranger.

Noah left the stage without AJ after one curtain call, and she did not know which he would rather do: yell at her or Heathcliffian Death Fuck her. The question had to be put on hold because Dave and Dani Chan were waving her down outside their dressing room.

“Age, nice job,” said Dave, giving her a quick hug. “That was…really dark.”

“Right?” said AJ, affecting cheer.

At that moment, Noah stalked up to them.

“Hey, Dave. Hey, Dani,” he said evenly. “Thanks for coming.”

“Nice job, Rho,” said Dave. Dani eyed Noah skeptically.

Five shows left.

For their second Wednesday performance, Noah initiated a scene close to his heart.

“We’re renovating the kitchen,” he announced.

“I have some news, too,” said AJ. “The FDA just approved a new treatment for your cancer. Sure is lucky we held out, even when they told us it was hopeless.”

Noah’s energy coiled like a serpent ready to strike. He nodded stiffly.

“Just in time for the renovation, too,” AJ added chipperly.

He agreed to the treatments, and for a while everything went well.

It was a particularly spicy evening for W and F. Noah had never kissed AJ onstage this much. To AJ’s embarrassment, this was deeply affecting. She could not help how her body responded to him, and every time he initiated physical intimacy, she would get increasingly turned on.

“God, you get me going,” he said, pulling her hips flush against his groin. The audience hooted as he brought their lips together, as she gasped. More.

Then it stopped.

The drug, Noah informed her, was having deleterious side effects. The prime one was that he no longer had interest in sex with her.

“But you never know, it might come back,” he said. “Hand me that demo bar, will you?”

Over the course of several titillating scenes, he came onto her, then backed off. He did it again and again, to the point where AJ could no longer hide how upset she actually was.

“I don’t understand,” she said in shame and humiliation.

“This just isn’t who I am anymore,” Noah informed her.

“Then let’s stop the medication,” she said, tears in her eyes.

“It’s not the medication,” he revealed. Noah looked directly at her as he spoke his next line. “This is a side effect of the disease.”

The set ended with a defeated W leaving F to live in the house on his own.

The next day, they found out that Em Tyner had attended the performance. They hadn’t heard him knock on the dressing room door. They’d been too busy Heathcliffian Death Fucking on the green leather couch.

Four shows left.

Thursday night, AJ wanted to make Noah hurt. She took center stage in the white shirt and announced that there had been a miracle.

“I’m pregnant,” she said.

Noah’s eyes flashed at her. “Are you sure?” he said, the energy inside of him rupturing.

AJ swallowed hard. “Yes,” she said and handed him an imaginary object she informed the audience was a red Hot Wheels.

It was a medical marvel. The formerly sterile F had somehow inseminated W, and now a baby was coming. AJ made it everything she knew he would want: the building of the crib, the selection of the perfect car seat. They both cried holding the imaginary baby for the first time.

The child grew quickly. F couldn’t leave the house, but it didn’t matter. They were all together, and they were happy. Then miracle of miracles, a sister. Now they had two children—Halloweens and Christmases and summers under the stars.

“Dad, tell me a story,” said AJ, clasping his hand.

For a second, Noah couldn’t seem to catch his breath.

After, he rounded on her in the wings, eyes swimming. “You,” he heaved, “are a cruel bitch.”

He didn’t go home with her that night. He took Bud from the dressing room and left without changing clothes. AJ waited for him for an hour, but he didn’t return. She walked home after midnight and waited still. Finally, at three A.M., she took two Benadryl and passed out.

Three shows left.

AJ had never been so scared to go on as she was for their second Friday performance. She hadn’t seen or heard from Noah all day. He didn’t appear in the dressing room beforehand. AJ sat watching the clock and quaking. She was dangerously close to making a break for the lobby bar when the stage manager told her to get in position. Alone, she trembled in the wing.

Then the lights came up, and there he was. He didn’t look as if he’d slept at all. They made their way through the scripted portion of the play mainly on muscle memory. When the audience laughed at their first joke, AJ wanted to ask them Why? As they arrived at the improvised section, AJ became increasingly aware of her pulse in her ears.

She met Noah’s eyes searchingly; his energy was ashen, unnervingly still. He indicated that AJ should sit, so she sat. He straightened out his white shirt and took the chair across from hers.

“Will you hand me that glue?” he asked.

AJ’s heart sank. “Sure,” she said. “What are you making?”

Noah bent forward over the imaginary table. “A model plane.”

It started with a tremor in his right hand, so slight it was barely noticeable. They were going about their ordinary domestic activities and everything was fine, except for small moments when his hand would seize. He’d laugh it off, tell her not to worry.

But then it wasn’t just his hand. He started raising his eyebrows in a way that was disturbing. Now they thought he might have cancer, too. They were looking into it with F’s doctors.

“Is this normal for cancer?” asked AJ.

“This isn’t cancer,” Noah informed her.

Back at the house, W was tripping and dropping things. And now his legs and arms were starting to move uncontrollably, in large windmill motions. They could barely hold a conversation for the rocking, and yet they pressed on.

Over the next half an hour, several years passed in W’s prognosis, until Noah was barely propped up in his chair. Drool was covering his chin, and his eyes were looking all around the set. AJ was striving desperately to understand him.

“You need something,” she tried. “You need water? You need food?”

Noah glanced at her briefly, then wet himself.

The audience murmured. It took everything AJ had not to slap him.

But the horrors weren’t over. Noah had transformed his face to the point where AJ didn’t recognize him. He was making strangled gargling noises with his tongue. He was choking.

And now AJ was crying, struggling to help him get air. He fell on the floor. She tried to raise him up into a seated position, but he was deadweight. She couldn’t lift him. His tongue was wagging, writhing. He was drowning.

“Breathe,” she shouted. “You have to breathe.”

The lights blacked out.

He followed her to the dressing room after and changed out of his soiled garments while AJ threw up in the toilet. She emerged from the bathroom to find him waiting on the couch. He looked at her with a drawn, tired expression. It wasn’t disdain, but it wasn’t remorse either.

“I’m ready to go home now,” said AJ.

Noah nodded, and they brought Bud back to her apartment. AJ took the first turn in the shower and was tucked into bed by the time Noah emerged. She pretended to be asleep, listening to the sounds of his footsteps on her floor, waiting for the relief of the lamp’s off switch.

The darkness brought no rest. Every time AJ shut her eyes, she saw him as he had been onstage that night: mangled, helpless, damned. He was so fucking good at what he did, but AJ had never seen him play like that, like he was hooked up to a video in his own brain.

A video of what was coming for him.

For the first time, AJ’s resolve began to falter. Not about their relationship ending—that, they would both regret until the day they died. But how he died…

AJ so badly wanted for this not to be happening to the person she loved most that she had considered every possibility except the one staring her in the face, which was that he knew what he was talking about. That suicide actually might be his best option.

I fucking love you more than life.

AJ did not want him to suffer pain or indignity. Certainly not for her.

As she began to cry, she felt his arms engulf her. He was crying too, unapologetically, which made AJ cry harder. His hands closed like shackles, binding her to him, and AJ felt his energy glide against hers, immense, profound, and then they were submerging, two mated creatures flung deep into a fathomless sea. They cried and cried until they passed into nothingness.

Two shows left.

AJ brought no fire to her final initiation.

“I’ve been going through my old papers,” she told him. “Remembering how it all began.”

From there, she took them into an F and W prequel, the story of how the two of them met at a research institution, where it was hate at first sight.

“Stay out of my lab,” he fumed.

“Stay out of my life!” she rejoined.

Thrown together for the sake of funding, they eventually did get to know each other.

“I have a disability,” she confessed over imaginary beakers. “To me, most people are just flat surfaces. They’re not…real.”

“Am I?” he asked.

She searched him. “I don’t know yet.”

For a time, they collaborated as friends. Then he received an invitation to pursue his research across the country. When she heard he would be leaving, W broke down.

“This work has meaning,” she said with difficulty. “And we are the only two people who can do it. I know things aren’t perfect, but—”

He stepped toward her. “Is this just about the work for you?”

She took an uneasy breath. “No,” she said. “No, with you I can actually feel something.”

There were tears in Noah’s eyes as he touched her cheek, then kissed her.

In the end, F managed to divert his funding to their current research. The blackout came just after they began their work on Molten Ice.

It was a sweet set; Noah was pleased. But from the moment they left the stage that night, AJ had the feeling of being caught in someone else’s scene. As they rode the elevator to her apartment, she told herself it wasn’t over yet.

One show left.

Then Noah began kissing her like that. He was taking her to the bed, and oh God. For the first time in their entire relationship, AJ found herself watching them as though from outside herself. He was having Last-Time Sex with her, and she did not want to be a part of it; and yet, she could not stop herself from completing the rite, from rolling under him, from moaning his name, from coming.

The feeling of being in the wrong scene continued all through the next day. Noah left in the morning to run some errands, and AJ didn’t ask where he was headed—not because she didn’t care, but because she was afraid he would tell her it was none of her business. Because despite her every effort, she had not gotten through to him.

He had gotten through to her.

You can’t always play the hero.

AJ couldn’t fix this.

She had no memory of walking on for their final performance. One moment they were together backstage, and the next she was under the spotlights in black, the crowd’s noise a distant drone.

Across from her, Noah appeared in white, and they began the scripted portion of the show. AJ listened to herself say her lines as if reciting a countdown.

This isn’t real. This can’t be real.

Then Noah initiated his own F and W prequel by divulging a secret.

“I’m an alien,” he confessed. “I was sent to Earth years ago to find a cure for the disease that killed my mother. Unfortunately, I have failed, and soon my own symptoms will begin. The effects are dangerous to humans, and so I am leaving shortly. It’s for your own protection.”

It was a gorgeous set. The flight path was bright tonight, a neon jet stream, the audience’s attention omnipresent as clear, uncharted space. With every move, AJ could feel the Cosmic Consciousness at work. They weren’t playing with each other. It was playing with them.

They began with the arrival of the alien many years before, a curious creature who assumed the form of a human male in high school.

“I fit in well,” Noah reported to his supreme leader. “All high schoolers are like little aliens.”

He fell quickly for a human girl, F. She was auditioning for the school drama, so the alien auditioned, too. When they cut to their performance, Noah jumped down into the orchestra, and now AJ and Noah were back in the first scene they’d ever played.

“I have forgot why I did call thee back,” said AJ, smiling shyly.

Noah stepped forward, eyes ablaze. “Let me stand here till thou remember it.”

For a moment, all AJ could do was look at him.

“I shall forget, to have thee still stand there,” she said. “Remembering how I love thy company.”

Noah swallowed. “And I’ll still stay, to have thee still forget, forgetting any other home but this.”

A red light flashed at the back of the house.

Tick, tick, tick, tick.

They were halfway through the set.

This isn’t real, AJ thought as Noah climbed back onstage.

Not when she still had to tell him about the weird odor in her lobby, and Libby’s most recent insane text, and how he’d fucked up her toilet seat again. That stuff wasn’t just going to disappear in the next twenty-nine minutes.

But he was.

Now the alien was graduating with honors. He gained entry to a high-level research institution, where he posed as a grad student and combed the facilities for the cure to his illness. One day, he chanced upon F in a physics lab, now a scientist herself, and they decided to combine research.

As their characters reconnected onstage, AJ could feel the minutes slipping past them, but the flight path could not be altered. She was bound to it by the laws of their bond. It had been done long ago, and she was powerless to undo it.

F and W were taking a walk now, maybe fifteen minutes from the blackout. Fifteen minutes was nothing. A frozen dinner. A loading zone. A rosary.

This isn’t real.

AJ wanted to tell Noah he was forbidden to leave. Instead, she said, “You are so wet.”

There it was, the smile she loved so well. “Tell me something I don’t know,” he said, pulling her out of the imaginary downpour under an imaginary awning.

AJ looked up at him, silently mapping every freckle on his face. “The first book you ever lent me, the one I said that I forgot?” she said. “I lied. I still know every word you wrote in it. I used to sleep with it at night.”

Noah’s breath caught.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” said AJ.

Noah cleared his throat. “The first scene we ever did, the one that made you run away?” he said, his eyes shining. “I wasn’t acting at all. I really was that in love with you. I still am.”

Then he kissed her.

They lived happily for a time, their research prospering thanks to W’s otherworldly technology. When F got sick, he defied fate and used their findings to save her.

But he could not save himself. The same symptoms that had plagued his mother were beginning, and he had been so preoccupied with saving F that his own clock had run out.

“I have to go now,” said Noah. He advanced, and AJ realized he was about to kiss her goodbye.

She shook her head, stepping back. “I cannot believe you are doing this.”

Noah’s jaw clenched. He took another step toward her. “Age,” he breathed.

AJ was still shaking her head, but she could not pull away as he drew near. He cupped her cheeks in both his hands and nudged her nose with his. She was already crying when their lips met. As they clutched at each other, she tasted salt and metal.

Noah’s emotions were a coastal storm, the audience’s a riptide. They were standing in a hurricane, and this was the eye. He was squeezing her so tight she couldn’t breathe. Yes, thought AJ. Just let it end here.

Then he broke the kiss. He took a breath. His dark eyes swept hers. “I will always love you.”

Then he let her go.

AJ’s face contorted as he took a step back. “Do not. Do. This.”

For an instant he paused. “I have to,” he said, his voice breaking.

AJ shook her head. “Do not.”

He was crying now, his chest spasming. “I have to.”

AJ’s lips parted, but no sound came out.

This isn’t real.

He was backing away now, his hands balled at his sides. “I love you.”

The blackout fell like an executioner’s axe.

As the audience erupted, AJ could hear Noah’s footfalls growing faint.

It was perfect—a perfect show, a perfect circle, a perfect end.

But AJ couldn’t let it stand. She didn’t want to be perfect; she wanted to be whole.

“Noah,” she called out.

The applause died immediately—Did she just use his name? Noah’s footsteps faltered. AJ heard the whir of the rig and the spotlights flared back on. She had caught him just before his foot entered the wing. He turned around slowly, the muscles working in his jaw.

“I have to go,” he said warningly.

AJ gulped. “Then take me with you,” she gasped. “Please.”

Noah’s eyes were brimming. He chewed the inside of his cheek. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” said AJ, stepping toward him.

“Stop,” Noah choked out. “This isn’t the plan,” he said through gritted teeth.

Your scene partner is your life. If this is to work, you must follow them wherever they go. You must follow them to the end, into death if necessary.

AJ could hardly speak. “I understand about the plan,” she said with difficulty. “And I will stay with you. No matter what.” Her eyes bore into his. “I will support you, no matter what.”

A tear escaped down Noah’s cheek. He wiped it away, drawing in a sharp breath. “That won’t work.”

“Why not?” said AJ.

“You are ruining this,” said Noah in a low voice.

“Tell me why not,” AJ demanded.

“Because I don’t want a reason to linger,” he erupted.

A ripple went through the theater. AJ opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off.

“Don’t you get it?” he said, incredulous. “Without you, life is nice and easy and yes, maybe just a little empty, and if I have to go, so be it. But if you are there—” He had to pause. “If you’re there, life is messy and unpredictable and beautiful. And when it’s time to do this thing I have—I have to do it—I won’t. I won’t be able to.”

Tears were streaming down AJ’s face. “In that case, I would help you.”

Noah shook his head. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do,” she swore.

Noah inhaled sharply, his eyes spilling. “You,” he breathed, and for a moment it was all he could say. Then, “You will not want to do what needs to be done.”

AJ leveled her gaze at him. “Try me.”

In that instant, everything vanished but them. There were no clocks here. Just a girl and a boy suspended in pure, uncut love. AJ nodded once. I’m with you. For a second, Noah’s gaze shone back.

She saw it breach his eyes first, a ripple in the dark pools of his irises—a distortion.

He blinked.

Then he took a step back into the wings. “No.”

The worst pain AJ had ever experienced scraped down her spine, as if she were being torn from the inside out.

He was pulling away, casting her off.

“No,” he said. “This isn’t what we agreed.”

The Black Room was glitching now. The stage lights were burning through, the crowd’s noise ripping at AJ’s eardrums like scrap metal. The golden cord of their connection was cutting into her, straining sharp as a garroter’s wire. He’s going to break it, was AJ’s last thought before—

He ripped himself from her like a hook from a fish’s mouth.

Noah’s face was a white oval now, his eyes dead as coins. He was fading into the wing.

He was waning, he was waning.

Then he was gone.

The stage lights dropped again, and AJ was plunged into red-toned black. The water in her body went flat, her mind quiet as a pine box. The space around her was wrong now—the flight path was gone. So was the audience’s energy. Without Noah, AJ’s signal could not reach the collective. She swayed in the dark, half an antenna, a spare part.

Then the lights came back up, and the crowd’s cheers pinned her to the spot. They thought they had just seen the best performance of their lives. AJ bowed once, folding along her center like a dried moth, and then the curtain closed. It did not reopen.

The work lights sprang on. Around her, the crew hooted their congratulations from the wings, from the rafters. AJ waved an arm to disguise her shaking.

Time was skipping now. She found herself in the dressing room with no idea how she got there.

So quiet. Too quiet.

Where’s Bud?

AJ realized with a jolt that she hadn’t said goodbye to the dog she’d known from a pup, the dog who had been a living tether between them.

A shallow sob escaped her. She wanted to cry, she needed to cry, and yet all she could do was stare at the laundry bag in the corner, the one that still contained some of Noah’s clothes. Another shallow sob bubbled up like a hiccup.

She would change. That’s what she did every night. AJ took off her black T-shirt and sat down in front of her own reflection, staring at her face, streaked with mascara. She gazed at her body, at the skin and tendons and ligaments Noah had loved.

That’s fixable.

Of course it was. AJ would just get a new body, one that didn’t already belong to Noah.

She turned from the mirror and stared at her hands. They were her mother’s hands, capable hands, hands that had never failed her. Why the fuck hadn’t they been able to stop him?

Because he’d told her no.

AJ hadn’t thought it possible.

She wiped the mascara off her face using her T-shirt then threw it in the laundry bag, and now she couldn’t put the bag back down. Instead, she carried it over to the green leather couch and wrapped her body around their dirty clothes. AJ closed her eyes.

So quiet.

In the past, Noah’s absence had felt like a darkened portal, a silent phone. Now when she looked inside, it was as if he had never been there. She was beating her fists against a solid brick wall, asking it to open. There was no magic here, only mortar and clay.

Too, too quiet.

AJ is a tabula rasa.

She’s imprinted on him.

I fear this means a calamitous end to this experiment for all of us.

Time skipped again. Now AJ was back onstage. The crew had all gone home. They were used to AJ and Noah keeping odd hours. They trusted them to lock up.

AJ stood under the work lights and turned slowly on the spot, looking for her shadow.

But she had none.

That made sense. She was in a theater cut from time, a bodiless being with no future and no past.

I’ll wait here, she reasoned. I’ll wait here for my shadow.

Waiting. Godot. Godot is a classic.

AJ let her things fall to the floor.

It wasn’t over. As long as she stayed here, the scene was still in play.

As long as she stayed here, time would stand still.

We can’t all be touched by the hand of greatness.

We should talk.

No.

AJ had held back nothing, so she had nothing left to hold on to. Her breaths were shallow. She was slipping, sliding down a smooth, dark shaft.

She grasped for some brighter day in her future, but found that she no longer believed in such a time. The dream of that full life was already over—it had been Noah all along. He had been her normal. And now normal was gone.

She’d go back to her apartment. Clean the place up. Rearrange the furniture. Throw it all out and start new. But she’d still see him standing in the sunlight, still feel his echo opening the cabinets.

This is a bachelor pad.

She’d go to Gladstone. But there too, he’d woven into the fabric of her life like smoke.

I’m happy for you guys.

Before, there had been safe houses. Now he had been inside every space, every relationship. There was nowhere she could hide from the loss of him.

AJ was on her knees now, her breaths scattering dust across the floor.

She would see him again, of course. Once or twice a year, polished and distant and bright on the silver screen.

Until the year she didn’t. Then, there would be nothing to do but make guesses and keep her distant vigil. But that was no change, really. Part of AJ had never left that room in Santa Monica where Noah had told her of his fate. Part of her was forever sitting there, waiting.

I always know where you are.

AJ was tired. She had never been so tired, and her apartment was so far. So many streets to cross between here and there, so many bike lanes. The subways were still running, those screeching steel cages that blurred up to the platform fast enough to knock a person down.

I fucking love you more than life.

Noah had been her life. From this point forward, she would always be looking back. She might have many years of this. She did not want a single one.

It’s all part of the plan.

Perhaps it was time for AJ to make a plan of her own.

The thought filled her with immediate relief. Yes. Why had she fought so hard against this? It was too bad they were never going to speak again—she wouldn’t have the chance to tell Noah how wrong she’d been. So wrong to argue so hard against certainty. Against painlessness.

Noah had been totally and completely right.

We need to go our separate ways. Permanently.

AJ was on her feet now, full of purpose.

She slung her bag over her shoulder and felt for her keys. The exit sign glowed red through the wings. She started walking toward it.

It was time to end this scene.

Permanently.

Something buzzed inside AJ’s bag, but she kept walking.

Her phone. It rang once. Twice.

A foot from the wing, she answered it. “Hey, Emily.”

AJ’s voice sounded canned in the cavernousness of the theater. No mic, just her on this deserted stage. Hearing herself speak, she suddenly noticed how jittery she was, how fast her heart was beating.

“I couldn’t sleep,” said Emily. “Did you have your play tonight?”

Air. AJ needed air. “Yes,” she gasped, stumbling back onto the stage.

Emily paused. “Are you mad?” she asked. “Are you mad I didn’t come?”

AJ was now aware of her limbs. They felt as if they had been cattle prodded, twisting, throbbing, tingling. “No, I-I’m not mad,” she stammered.

“Age, are you okay?” asked Emily.

“I—” AJ’s vision sizzled. She felt as if she might pass out.

“Because I’ve been thinking about you a lot tonight.” Emily giggled. “Of course, I always think about you, Age. But a lot tonight.”

The theater spun. “How come?”

Emily sighed. “Don’t know. Oh. I was thinking about Winslow.”

It took AJ a minute to realize Emily meant Winslow Shoe, Ezell’s character on Astronauticals. “Look, Em—” She sucked in a breath. “It’s late and—”

“Why did he go back to the Gringotts Pond? That place sucks.”

“Green Gob Pond,” AJ pushed out. “Bleep-Bloop was in trouble. Remember?”

“No,” said Emily. “Oh. The robot. But how did Winslow know Bleeboop was in trouble?”

“He just…knew,” AJ managed.

“That’s what Mike said,” said Emily.

As she began to list her favorite parts of the episode, AJ grabbed on to the thread of her sister’s voice. She lay down onstage and thought of Emily’s soft body, of how it felt clasped with hers. She thought of her sister’s downy blond hair, of her Herbal Essences shampoo.

“Oh my God,” said Emily. “It’s so good.”

As her sister spoke, AJ felt a white calm glimmer near her diaphragm. It pulsed like a second heartbeat, growing stronger and stronger with Emily’s every word.

“Mike says we can watch more tomorrow,” Emily was saying. “He’s home, you know.”

AJ closed her eyes and took a breath, holding it in for as long as she could. She released it slowly and did it again. Maybe she could go home after all—be with Emily and Mike.

Her vision was coming back into focus. The screaming in her limbs had begun to ebb. Carefully, AJ sat up. She would stay on the phone with Emily until she got home.

Time would restart.

She just had to walk off the stage.

She could do this. She’d taken bigger leaps before.

Today something remarkable happened. A girl came to the house.

Slowly, AJ picked up her bag and got to her feet.

A noise in the rafters made her jump. AJ shook it off. Empty theaters were creepy as hell.

“Did you hear that Baskin-Robbins is closing?” asked Emily.

“No, I didn’t hear that,” said AJ, her voice still shaky.

She heard a second noise, a scratching, this time closer.

Fuck—was someone here?

“Yeah, they’re having a BOGO sale of all the ice cream, and guess what I’m going to do?”

AJ could distinctly hear footsteps now; they were heavy, stomping toward her. One of the velvet runners began to rustle. AJ’s adrenaline spiked.

Then Bud was sprinting toward her across the stage, tags jangling, tail wagging like mad.

As AJ stooped to pet the dog, Noah appeared in the wing. He took one step and then another until both his feet landed onstage. AJ felt an energetic swell, a cresting wave.

Air rushed back into her lungs.

His frame was in the light now, his shadow stretched across the floor. AJ could make out her own form now. She watched their shades collide.

Your scene partner is your life.

Noah’s cheeks were chapped from the cold, his eyes intent on her face. There was fear in them, but also resolve.

AJ held his gaze.

I know you.

In two more strides, he was there, and AJ felt time break wide open. For a moment, Noah just looked at her.

Then he offered her his hand.

“Age?” asked Emily in her ear.

Noah had walked through fire. AJ knew he would do it again.

She smiled at him. She couldn’t help it.

“I’m here,” she said.

Then she placed her hand in his, palm to palm. It felt like home.

Noah’s eyes crinkled and filled.

Then, he grinned.

HOLLYWOOD, CALIFORNIA

Summer 2015

AJ AND NOAH STOOD OFF CAMERA, waiting for the lighting technicians to finish taking the levels on set. Production on a major film was a lot more involved than the janky, do-it-yourself laboratory that had been Into the Blue, but with added red tape came some improvements. Namely, they had a story this time, thanks to AJ’s script, and a cohesive vision, thanks to Noah’s direction.

After Em Tyner publicly washed his hands of any Into the Blue sequel, AJ and Noah had optioned the rights for Mooncalf Pictures, their production company. The fans had also mounted a massive Kickstarter—this hadn’t helped with the actual costs of production so much as it had convinced their studio to green-light the project.

In AJ’s opinion, the film had all the makings of a satisfying sequel. The plot centered around five all-new leads living on the outskirts of Naval space in their own crale, Gilarise. After some fun pirate hijinks, the Gilarise crew stumbled upon a dastardly conspiracy that could only be defeated with the help of the now-scattered former Gilamede crew.

This story had been largely constructed around the availability of their Into the Blue castmates. Toni was now a series regular on one of HBO’s dark comedies and had only a week to spare.

Xiaobo had taken AJ’s vacant seat at SNL last year when he and Dave had moved in. Because the two of them had the full summer off, the captain and Pete had the largest cameos in the film.

AJ had interspersed their various appearances at strategic points along the heroes’ journey of the new cast, including a short but vital sequence for Ana and Rho.

She looked up at Noah and caught him rubbing his face tats.

“I forgot how much these itch,” he said.

“You’ll miss them when they’re gone,” she said.

Their characters were about to sacrifice themselves to save the Gilarise crew.

This had been a major point of contention with the studio.

“The fans love Arho,” one particularly irritating exec enjoyed pointing out.

But AJ and Noah had stuck to their guns. They didn’t want to ruin what had been so visceral about the original show by trying to replicate it. This was the truest trajectory for their characters, who had been living on the run for years as vigilantes.

And they had won. Today would be a wrap for Ana and Rho.

They were shooting in front of a green screen, but AJ could see it all in her head: Ana and Rho would lead the young rebels through an abandoned Naval shipyard in search of a vital map. Then, just as they unearthed it, they’d trigger an old explosive. Using their powers, Ana and Rho would seal themselves in with the bomb to protect the others.

AJ watched Noah flex the fingers of his right hand. His tremors were still subtle enough that no one but the two of them noticed, but they were consistent and fairly frequent. Their therapist had encouraged them to try to embrace each symptom with analytical detachment, “like a science project.” Sometimes this worked for AJ, and sometimes it made her want to scream.

As with all of HD, they were taking it one day at a time.

AJ now reached for Noah’s left hand. They had opted to leave on their wedding bands for the scene, as they felt it likely their characters also would have married. Noah closed his fingers around AJ’s and squeezed. AJ smiled at him.

It hadn’t been a full moon circle in the end, just a small service in the backyard at Drew House. Most of their wedding photos were of Noah and AJ’s dad gazing fondly at the grill.

Okay fine, there was an amazing one of AJ and Noah in the entryway by Eudora’s urn. And a great one of Storm officiating the ceremony. And a hilarious one of all of AJ’s siblings forcing Noah into the pool. The Graveses had welcomed Noah like a brother, and while he consistently ghosted the family text thread, he was overjoyed to never have another quiet holiday.

AJ and Noah were particularly close with Elle and Patrick, in whom Noah had confided his diagnosis last year. It had been an emotional conversation—all four of them had cried—but the results had been transformative. AJ no longer felt she had to carry the burden on her own, and Patrick and Elle could uniquely understand some of their challenges. Both men had deeply benefited from the friendship.

Noah never expressly told AJ this, but she had confirmed that Patrick and Elle’s debt had disappeared shortly after he joined the family.

This information had come by way of Melissa, Patrick’s former nurse, who had recently become Libby’s first girlfriend. AJ didn’t know which made her like Melissa better: that she was a sweetheart who had made Libby genuinely happy, or that she was a fellow Nautical who had made Libby watch all of Astronauticals.

Mike, meanwhile, had made the bold choice to move to the city, where he was consulting with Revell Games & Toys, a real-life game publisher (in addition to reigning supreme online). In typical Graves family fashion, AJ did not know what was going on in his personal life; however, she had her eye on a certain spunky cosplayer Mike constantly retweeted.

Within the family—and probably within his cinematic oeuvre—Noah’s favorite role by far was uncle. This included a lot of play with Charlie, Claire, and Cody, Patrick and Elle’s third.

But none of AJ’s siblings loved Noah like Emily. They were up at Drew House all the time now, so rather than pursue the kitchen renovation, Noah had Davis turn his talents to a second suite of upstairs bedrooms, a dedicated space in their house for Emily to sleep over. They spent many weekends as a trio, and it was hard to say who liked this best, AJ, Emily, or Noah.

Their family had suffered one major loss: Bud passed at fourteen. AJ and Noah’s grief was acute and there was nothing for the pain. For a while, it felt as if the sun had gone out of their sky.

However, one weekend some months later, they happened upon an animal shelter, where a six-month-old shepherd mix with paws the size of coasters had looked up at Noah in just the right way, and he had fallen again. He named the dog Mac (for Macbeth), and Mac had long since earned his name by proudly depositing a surfeit of dead birds at Noah’s feet.

AJ and Noah’s best times were still those they spent in their own world. They had been inseparable since they closed Fire & Water.

It happened just as Eudora had predicted: Noah hadn’t known it was a mistake until he’d walked out. He’d made it across Forty-fourth Street when his legs refused to carry him further.

“I told myself I just needed to see you leave,” he later confessed. “Then it would be done.”

He’d waited in the alley across from the Hayes, Bud asleep in his arms as the audience then crew seeped onto the sidewalk. When AJ still had not appeared by midnight, he began to panic.

“I had no right to worry. But when you didn’t come out, I couldn’t breathe,” he said. “I just stared and stared at the stage door, thinking how I’d fucking lied to myself. I love you. There was no end date that could make this hurt less—no plan that could fix it. And if I walked away thinking that would somehow lessen the pain, then I was not only a coward but a fool.”

He had found her onstage moments later, and they never looked back.

For six months after, they lived in AJ’s apartment so she could do her job. Then they flew to Barcelona over the summer for an indie film Noah had agreed to shoot mostly for the three-month schedule and the chance to get out of the country.

News of their relationship had broken that spring—dog-walking photo, classic—and AJ had never experienced anything like it.

She had gone from being a civilian to being tabloid fodder overnight, and it had thrown her back to her worst days of “No” (which naturally revived like a militant zombie out of GIF hell). It was worth it to be with Noah, but AJ couldn’t help but feel she had lost some of her credibility and all of her privacy in the process.

Spain had been an ideal escape. Noah was happy to be at work, and AJ was happy to hang out all day watching soccer and eating croquettes. She gave little thought to New York, until it came time to fly home, and she found herself having the second-worst anxiety attack of her life.

It was the tabloids and the creepiness of being a public person. It was having to watch Noah while away his good years so he could stay physically close to her. And it was the stress. The job took so much, and AJ no longer needed work to be her everything.

She was beside herself. She had hustled her entire life for this gig, only to find that she no longer wanted it.

Her off-ramp came later that week in the form of an email from Otto, beseeching them to support the Into the Blue sequel Kickstarter in the wake of Em Tyner’s public denouncement. Apparently, Arho’s real-life romance had been the juice the base needed to finally mobilize a full-scale reboot campaign, but they didn’t have a face for it.

When AJ showed the email to Noah, he took one look and said, “What if we do it?”

AJ had agonized over quitting SNL, but in the end, it was time. She had achieved the dream, but dreams changed. Humor had given her a voice as a kid, but it had also been her defense mechanism, one that had served its purpose. Now there was a range of projects she wanted to explore—with Noah, while she could. Plus, when you ran your own production company, no one could shoot down your pitches.

Mooncalf Pictures now had several films and one show in development, all quietly positioning Noah behind the camera as much as in front of it.

In the past year, he’d shot two more big-budget projects, the first of which would release that fall. AJ felt sure it would garner Noah his third Oscar nod.

But there would only be a few more years of that. Noah’s intention was to go public with his diagnosis at forty to do some advocacy, then settle into stage work until he started to fail. He felt no self-pity on this score. “It’s five years longer than most female actors get,” he told AJ grimly.

Beyond this, they had no set plan.

There were good days and bad days carrying the diagnosis. Sometimes, Noah would still get overwhelmed and want to walk away, and sometimes AJ would still want to ignore what was coming. But in the end, they always showed up for each other. AJ knew that nothing she could say to Noah would ever be wrong, and Noah knew that AJ had his back, no matter what.

Neither of them took a second they had together for granted.

And they never would.

“Okay, we’re good,” said their lighting tech.

Their assistant director called Places, and all around them, people scrambled to get into position. Still holding hands, AJ and Noah walked to their marks.

Noah gave AJ the once-over. “Are we doing this?”

AJ nodded. “Yes.”

She could feel the pulse in his thumb, strong and sure and vital. They were older now, but so were their characters, and that was how it should be. No one should stand still too long in time.

AJ adjusted her robes, and Noah his armor. She watched his eyes light as he stepped into Rho for one last scene. Then she herself slipped into Ana like a dance combination, a well-worn shoe.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of their breath. Then, Noah called Action, and all at once, the two of them were racing, hands clasped, into the wide-open future.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Given the length of Into the Blue, it would be prudent to keep this brief.

Oh well!

Alyssa Reuben, my diabolically brilliant Scorpio agent. I would sooner have locked this book in an atomic bunker than changed one word for the wrong reasons. You gave me all the right ones. Thank you for instantly seeing what this novel wanted to be, for rolling up your sleeves, and for your unwavering faith in this project. Your vision, integrity, and courage made all of this possible and remind me what book publishing can be at its best. Thank you, my friend.

Natalie Hallak, my lab partner and editor. I knew from our first conversation that you held the final piece of this puzzle. Truly, my happy place is any room where we are on the phone, experimenting with these characters. There is not one sentence in this novel that did not benefit from your creativity, enthusiasm, and skill. Thank you for being a Nautical in your soul, for loving this house, and for figuring out how to get everyone into the living room ASAP.

Jenna Bush Hager. The fire to my water, Jenna—I am so wildly proud to be part of your list. You bring such taste and savvy to everything you do. Thank you for advocating for this project so fiercely at every turn, for taking the time out of your day to respond to literally all my emails, and for editing the Ziploc bag out of part II (it had to go). You are everything this industry needs, and I cannot wait to see you continue to trailblaze as a publisher.

Sylvie Rabineau, I am obsessed with you. You are such an immaculate professional: clever and stalwart and kind (and not-so-secretly the inspiration for Molly Magnusson). You pitch me so well, even though I write too long for Hollywood. Thank you for making miracles happen, again and again.

Liza Mullet, I knew there would be a Taurus on this project for AJ, and I’m so glad it turned out to be you. Thank you for reading this book more times than anyone else and for all of your smart help on and off the page. Cameron Dames, thank you for coming through in the eleventh hour! Alex Levenberg, Hellie Ogdon, and Kim Atkins, thank you for working so tirelessly and creatively to expand the Blue Coats’ orbit!

Julia Plant, from day one, you have been such a bright, positive presence and staunch ally. I can’t thank you enough for your support, and I know you are going to continue to do incredible things at Thousand Voices, even if you are team Hal (Collin for life). Ben Spector, thank you for all the sharp, incisive feedback. Lilly Mavis, thank you for all you do.

My team at Ballantine—thank you for the blood, sweat, and tears that transformed this novel from a Word doc full of interrobangs to an actual book full of interrobangs. Endless gratitude to Kara Welsh, Jennifer Hershey, Kim Hovey, Pamela Alders, and Michelle Daniel. Lara Ameen, thank you for your key early support of #Arho. Ivanka Perez, thank you for taking care of all the gritty intricacies of bookmaking so beautifully.

Elizabeth Eno, thank you for bringing such elegance (and whoosh) to this design. Cassie Vu, there could not have been another cover for this novel. You and this jacket are the stuff of dreams. Jeanne Reina—I’m so happy and grateful we got to reunite on Into the Blue. Speaking of, Emily Isayeff, I love that our arc is almost as long as AJ and Noah’s! You, Brianna Kusilek, Taylor Noel, and Emily Siegmund are such all-stars. Thank you. AJ, Noah, and I are beyond lucky.

My family at Clarkson Potter. I can write about the triumphs of art because I get to work with creative excellence every single day, and I can take risks with my writing because I have a job I dearly love. I am so proud of our publishing and so grateful to be a part of this team. Potter is my Drew House, and getting to come home has been more than a dream come true.

Sarah Smith, thank you for helping me navigate a truly dark moment and for fifteen (!) years of friendship. Speaking of badass publishing ladies I love, Kayleigh George, Cristina Garces, Thea Diklich-Newell, Vivian Lee, and Helen O’Hare—you are my lifelines. Thank you.

Writing is a solitary, singular pursuit, and I would have ceased to function long ago if not for my fellow authors. Emma Parry, Anna Pitoniak, and Mikki Brammer, our conversations are truly guiding starlight over vast, sometimes unfathomable waters, and I would be lost without you.

Julia Spiro, work wife and author extraordinaire. You believed in this book before it existed, sat across from me while I emotionally ate pancakes over fictional people, let me crouch on your kitchen floor while we were out on submission, and celebrated with me after. If it weren’t for our friendship, there were times I would have left this path. Thank you for walking with me.

daRosa’s MV Printing, you were my first visit at every step of this journey. Thank you for running off this manuscript again and again, even though I never once sent it as a PDF. Matt Tombers of Edgartown Books and Molly Coogan of Bunch of Grapes: When writers fantasize about being published, it’s all about walking into our hometown bookshops and seeing our books. Thank you for making this dream a reality for me for the past five years.

Everly Brodie, in the summer of 2009, somewhere between watching Avatar: The Last Airbender, Firefly, and Two Gentlemen of Verona, the seeds of this book took root. Thank you. Your love…shaped me.

Heather Gartin, I would never have figured out how to make Into the Blue work if you hadn’t made me watch Vanderpump Rules. Thank you for that, for hysterically laughing at encouraging my very earliest attempts at spice, and for being my friend for twenty-five (!) years.

Peg Denithorne and John Astin, I took acting in college because I thought it would make me a better writer, and it made me a better human being. Thank you for the plays, lessons, and opportunities, on- and offstage. To say that you inspired this book is such an understatement. I’m so lucky I got to study with you.

Anthony Atamanuik, Kevin Hines, Chelsea Clarke, and Ari Voukydas, you taught me how to improvise, and looking back, I kind of can’t believe I got to be in a room with any of you. Stephen Ruddy, I loved your Gravid Water class, and it hugely impacted this book—thank you.

Paul Penczner, Chelsea Scott, Andy Kraut, PJ Vogt, Daniel Tepper, and the many incarnations of Half Birthday, you guys were all so much better than me, I would have been happy just to tag along and watch. Thanks for letting me play.

John Timothy, you are so good at what you do. Thank you for my Alaskan fridge magnet and for all of our adventures. I could not have written this novel without them.

Carita Gardiner, thank you for reading this story in its earliest form and for hyping my writing since I was sixteen years old. Margie Friedman, thank you for your insights into Hollywood, and for giving me a place to crash in L.A. for my entire life.

My dear friends, especially Caroline Hill, Michelle LeMeur, Lisa Billowitz, and Robin Lloyd. Thank you for caring that I’m a writer, but also not caring that I’m a writer.

Brodies, Caseys, and Garcias, thank you all for your incredible support. A few key shoutouts: My cousins, Angelica and Melissa, thanks for coming to so many improv shows back in the day. My father-in-law, Dave, you are truly my number one field rep. My niece, Jessica, I see so much of AJ in you. Never stop hydrating (or chasing your dreams).

Mom, my forever muse, you gave me my love of performance (and performers), epic stories, and science fiction. Thank you for making me a Trekkie before I could walk (Saturn!), for reading to me into my teens, and for spending hours teaching me to wordsmith. Dad, everything I know about being willing to march into hell for a heavenly cause I learned from you. I can’t count the number of times I’ve reached for your example over the past five years. Thank you, both, for your sacrifices, support, and for laughing with me through thick and thin.

Siblings, I wouldn’t have survived the pandemic without Sibtar. You two will always be my favorite people to geek out with, even if we never make it through Legend of Korra. B, you were so right about “Flow Like Water.” I listened to it every day while writing this book. Clara, your response to this story gave me the courage I needed when things were do-or-die. Thank you for reading all one hundred openings no matter how busy you were, for being in a lifelong book club with me, and for shouldering the bulk of my grief over Xaden’s arc (why). Claudia and Mariah, I’m so glad to have you as my sisters. Now, pull your weight and start hawking this book.

Freddie Mercury Lemon Law Brodie Garcia. Well, Freddog, let’s be real. You heavily protested the writing of this book. If I was working on it, you were either staring at me like you’ve never known human kindness or shaking a toy in my face. To be fair, this taught me a lot about nonverbal communication and the necessity of play, two key themes herein. In truth, I would trade every word for a way to actually communicate how much I love you. Thanks for being my dog.

Sherry Moore, the older I get, the more life seems to be a matter of keeping your seat through a series of increasingly difficult challenges. I am so lucky that for the past thirteen (!) years, your chair has been across from mine. Thank you for everything—I wouldn’t be here without you.

Kevin, if writers are misunderstood, then the spouses of writers aren’t understood at all. So little of it is marking up pages, and so much is trying to motivate a grown woman to shower. Simply put, you are my North, my South, my East, my West, my working week, and my Sunday Rest. No matter what this story required, you were right there with me, offering reassurance, and insight, and unswerving loyalty to your favorite character, Brian (!?). You are the reason I have so much to say about true love, and you are also the reason we don’t still have a Christmas tree in July. Thank you for being my best friend, for anchoring me while I’m dreaming, and for giving me a real life I love returning to.

And finally, dear reader, thank you from the bottom of my heart for taking a chance on this story. In the words of track one on NOW 4, every time we’re down, you can make it right, and that makes you larger than life.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

EMMA BRODIE is an executive editor at Clarkson Potter. She graduated from Johns Hopkins University’s Writing Seminars program, and her debut novel, Songs in Ursa Major, received the American Book Award. She lives on Martha’s Vineyard with her husband and their very good dog, Freddie Mercury.

emmabrodie.com

Instagram: @emma.c.brodie

Substack: @emmabrodie

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