Chapter 2

Finally she realized that she needed to take him to a doctor. “But you tell him it was your fault, you got that? Otherwise I’m leaving you there and calling you father to pick you up. You don’t want that, do you?”

He didn’t. He’d lived with his father one summer before the man had brought him back to his mother, telling her Charlie was her brat and her responsibility. If he thought his mother’s occasional drinking sprees were bad, they were nothing compared to his father’s drug use. The man never physically abused him but he would be gone for days at a time, leaving Charlie locked in the dirty sixth-floor apartment to fend for himself.

By the time she took Charlie to the ER the skin on his arm was leathery, almost numb, and pale white. The doctor determined he’d sustained a third-degree burn and would need plastic surgery. Charlie’s mother told him she couldn’t afford that and, obviously reluctantly, he gave her instructions for how to continue caring for the burn. “He will scar badly,” he cautioned her, “if you don’t follow my instructions.”

Then he told her he had called Children’s Services to report what had happened. Panicked, Charlie’s mother grabbed him up and left the hospital, muttering angrily, “I knew that would happen. I just knewit. And I’m not going to let them take you away from me, baby. I’m just not!”

Three hours later she’d packed their clothes and a few belongings in her car and they were on the road. By the next day they were in another city. She found a cheap one-room apartment, managed to get a job in a sleazy bar, and when autumn came she enrolled him in school. By then his arm was as healed as it ever would be, and, as the doctor predicted, badly scarred. He never again wore anything but long-sleeved shirts, even in the summer, until he was in college, majoring in technical theater with an emphasis on scene design.

During his second year there, his roommate had tried to convince him the burns weren’t as awful to look at as Charlie thought. For the next three days Charlie had dressed for the season, which, considering the college was in the south-west, meant short-sleeved shirts or tank tops. He soon found he couldn’t stand the stares and the dismayed glances. Suffering the heat was better than suffering the looks.

It was the last time he did that until he got the job at the theater. Even now he kept his arms covered except when he was working. He almost fled the first time he came into the scene shop wearing a tank-top and saw the looks of shock and surprise on the faces of his crew. Then Jace Parish had come over, put his arm around Charlie’s shoulders, and said without missing a beat, “Gentlemen, I think we have the star for Phantomif we can figure out how to make an arm mask instead of a face mask for him.” The others had cracked up and even Charlie had finally joined in. After that, when he was working at the theater, he dressed for comfort. The rest of the time though he wore his long-sleeved shirts. A crew who understood was one thing. People outside of his immediate circle of friends were another.

And despite the fact he’s sleeping with me, Ricky is no friend. Not the way I want. Not a friend who will accept all of me the way I am. But damn it, I’m…in love with him? Maybe. Grateful because he was willing to sleep with me more than once? Definitely.

He dropped his gaze from Ricky to the drink sitting on the table, praying no one had seen the yearning, the need, he felt for the actor.

* * * *

Someone had.

Jace Parish was seated at the bar too, as far away as he could get from Ricky Moore and his entourage of pretty women. He was also in the perfect spot to watch Charlie.

Why, CC?That was the crew’s name for Charlie, because his last name was Cox. What the hell do you see in him? Yeah, he’s a decent actor, but he’s also a total ass.You’re worth ten times him.

Of course Jace knew he’d never say that to Charlie. He valued his working relationship with the designer and wasn’t about to jeopardize it by bringing his personal feelings to the forefront.

“Hey, Jace, you’re supposed to be having fun and celebrating.”

Jace turned to see Merianne, one of the actresses, standing there, a grin on her face, a drink in her hand.

“I am, I am,” he said, plastering a smile on his face.

“Then come dance with me.” She put down her glass and held out her hand.