Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 82187 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82187 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
“Goddammit,” he muttered.
He slammed the schematic down so hard his cupholder of pencils fell off the table, sending them rolling across the concrete.
How does he make it look easy?
It was like Wes was building fuckin’ toddler LEGO sets instead of the miracles that wowed every director in the industry.
Law leaned over the soldering stand, trying again.
His fingers trembled as he used tweezers to lower a spark flare into a micro-sized copper casing, like the drawing indicated.
He accidentally touched the ignition coil with the tip of the soldering iron, causing a crack of brilliant light to explode in his face.
“Fuck!” he roared, staggering backward, waving smoke out of his eyes.
The flare fizzed and spat heat like a blow torch gone wild, hissing bright enough to light half the table in a fiery glow.
He almost tripped over the stool trying to reach the fire blanket mounted on the support beam.
By the time he smothered it, ashes and chemical dust coated the workbench, the blueprints, his clothes—even his hair.
He stood there panting, eyebrows singed at the edges, smoke still curling toward the ceiling.
A voice came from behind him.
“Good lord, Lawson…please don’t burn my house down.”
Law spun, half-startled, half-humiliated.
Wes’s mom stood at the foot of the stairs in her pale-blue scrubs, holding a paper plate stacked with a thick turkey sandwich and the other half full of his favorite barbecue potato chips.
Her eyes were soft with worry—and pity.
“Sorry, Miss Drake,” he mumbled, scrubbing a sooty hand over his beard. “Thought I had it that time. Just…wrong fuse.”
Miss Drake stepped closer, offering the plate. “Here, eat. I gotta go. And don’t blow up my basement. I’m working a double tonight, and I’d like to come home to my roof still attached.”
“I got four fire extinguishers lined up.” He managed a weak grin.
She touched his shoulder, her voice dropping. “You two will find your way back to each other…you always do.”
Law’s throat tightened until he could only nod.
She kissed his cheek and headed back up the stairs, leaving Law standing in silence and staring at the sandwich.
He didn’t know the last time he’d eaten, but he wasn’t hungry.
He tried to keep working. But after several more hours, the words on the blueprints began to blur together, turning to gibberish.
His brain felt like a dam about to burst under too much pressure.
Eventually, he gave up.
He crossed the basement and slumped onto the old brown couch.
Wes’s couch.
He curled sideways on the cushions, pressing his cheek into the fabric.
He could still smell Wes there, his faint cologne and the smoky sweetness of his torch fuel.
They’d been making love on it since they were teenagers
Law squeezed his eyes shut against the sting.
He didn’t remember falling asleep when he was jolted awake to the shrill ringing of his phone.
He blinked, tired and disoriented.
The basement was dark except for the blue glow from the television.
He fumbled for the phone, squinting at the caller ID.
Wes.
For a moment, Law just stared at the screen.
His hands began to shake with his thumb hovering over the green answer button like it was a detonator.
He swiped, but he couldn’t speak.
Wes didn’t either.
There was only breathing, rough and uneven.
The quietness made Law’s ears ring.
Finally, Wes’s voice cracked through the silence, raw and husky. “Law?”
He squeezed his eyes closed, Wes’s voice splintering something in his chest.
He opened his mouth, but no words came out.
Wes cleared his throat, as if he were fighting the same emotional blockage.
“Mom said you’ve been at the house for days.”
Law swallowed, but still said nothing.
Wes let out a shaky exhale. “I’m at Titan Gate. Working Stage 19 on the Spy Guys set.”
Law clamped his teeth together, pressing his knuckles to his mouth to keep from making a sound.
Wes continued, his voice fading in and out like he was in a warehouse.
“They’re shooting a chase scene through a subway station tomorrow. I built all the flame rigs and throwers for it. Put explosive charges in the floor tiles so the wall collapses in during the escape.”
Wes paused a long time, and Law knew he was about to say something he didn’t want to hear.
“The studio extended my contract another ten weeks.”
Law’s stomach felt like he’d swallowed a pint of acid.
He tried to picture Wes there, wearing a headset, commanding a crew, grinning while he set off huge, perfect explosions…without him.
He doesn’t need me anymore.
“That’s…big,” he whispered, having to force it out.
Wes hesitated. “It’s…um…yeah, it’s good work.”
Law fought the quake in his voice. He was about to say I miss you but choked it back so hard it hurt.
Silence expanded between them, stretching into a deep trench.
Wes’s voice was small when he spoke again. “Free told me how hard you’ve been working. That the big bust is coming as soon as God and Day secure the warrant.”
Law’s mouth fell open, stunned. “You…you’ve been checking in with Free?”
But had refused to answer or return his calls.