Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 123873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 619(@200wpm)___ 495(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 619(@200wpm)___ 495(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
“So do I. That’s why I always drag you.”
“Complaining together makes it better.”
“Don’t rhyme, it’s insipid.” Brendan fell silent, though, as the lights dropped. A hush swept over the room, paired with the collective sounds of people settling in their seats, a soft human rustle. The stage illuminated bright on the dais—and brassy music blared out over the echoing space as the opening act came pouring out onto the stage in an explosion of color and noise. Brendan let himself drift off, zone out, idly passing his gaze over the rows of seats and only half-listening as musical performance after musical performance twirled and yowled across the stage.
And that was how he caught it:
One of the back doors opening, letting in a little square of light, then a person. A familiar rangy frame.
Cillian.
Neat and sleek in a tailored tuxedo, his hair swept back in a graceful wave.
He was fucking beautiful, that taut poised energy ready to spring into motion as he hovered anxiously in the doorway for a few moments—then slipped inside, skirting several cameramen to creep down the outer aisle, head turning back and forth.
Just the sight of him lifted Brendan’s heart up as if it had become air—soaring high and spreading everywhere.
“Drake,” Brendan whispered, smacking his arm. “Drake. He’s here.”
Drake jerked upright with a snorting snore. “Bffh? Huh?” Squinting, he rubbed his eyes and craned around Brendan. “…oh. Well.” A light, almost playful punch landed between Brendan’s shoulder blades. “Better make it good when it’s your turn, jackass.”
“Y-yeah.”
Brendan watched as Cillian stilled when Sophie’s waving arms shot up in the air, before he changed course and slipped between two rows, ducking his head apologetically again and again as he bumped around knees and calves to drop down in the empty seat at Sophie’s side—and as Sophie pulled him into a hug, Brendan though he’d never been more jealous of a woman in his life.
Look up, he silently begged. He just…wanted to see those pale brown eyes on him, seeing him, for just a moment. Look up.
But Cillian didn’t look up.
Brendan couldn’t help how he watched, as the awards ceremony dragged on. He was dimly aware of hearing Heart of Snow for multiple calls, including Best Fight Scene, Best Lighting, but he only half paid attention. His heart beat to the rhythm of Cillian’s smile, as Cillian and Sophie leaned together and chattered the way they always did.
That chatter broke, though, as the call for Best Lead Actress came—and the presenter called out joyfully, “Sophie Ling, for Heart of Snow!”
Good for her, Brendan thought. Good. And he finally broke from staring at Cillian to clap as more than an obligatory polite expectation, a smile breaking across his lips as he watched her throw her arms around Cillian, shrieking, before bounding joyously up onto the stage. She’d been a bright spot in all of this, and he admired her—her talent, her effusiveness, even the way she’d stood up for Cillian so many times on set.
Sophie took her award with a giddy little scream, clutching it in both hands and hugging it to her chest. Stepping up to the mic, she immediately bonked her nose against it, then jerked back with a little, “Oops,” rousing soft laughter from the crowd. She grinned. “Little clumsy tonight. Um! I am super bad at speeches. Like, really bad. Really bad. So I’m not gonna talk long. I just want to say how much fun I had working on Heart of Snow, and how grateful I am to have had so many talented people to learn from. This award isn’t just for me, it’s for all of us. Thank you, and please watch a bit later for a special video from me and a very good friend!”
She dashed off the stage to applause, while the presenter returned. A few more little jokes and they were on to Best Lead Actor, and Brendan had heard his name at that call so many times, but this time…
This time, he was hoping for someone else.
And he clenched his fingers against the armrests, nerves prickling as the presenter pulled out the envelope, read the card, then announced:
“…Cillian Tell, for Heart of Snow!”
Sophie’s scream for Cillian’s award was even louder than for her own, and she grabbed him, shook him—fuck, Brendan wished he could hug him, pride and happiness swelling up inside him so powerfully they crowded the breath out of his chest. He clapped furiously, joining several others in standing—but he paused, as Drake caught the hem of his coat and tugged lightly, gaze fixed idly on the stage below.
“Funny,” he murmured. “A year ago you’d have said that was your award.”
“Like you said,” Brendan answered, sinking back down into his seat. “There’s room for others on the stage.”
As the crowd settled down, Cillian raced up onto the stage, taking his place behind the podium breathlessly. He parted his lips, looking out at the crowd.