11

I spot Drew just as he walks into the Zion Canyon Brew Pub in Springdale, the town right next to Zion National Park. I wave him down from my spot at the bar.

And then he pulls that delicious hand-on-the-small-of-my-back move as he stops and stands next to me, and I nearly topple over from the delicious shivers that tiny bit of contact gives me.

His hand falls away, and he flashes a smile. I do a quick once-over while I pull myself together as he takes the stool next to me. He’s changed into dark jeans, a plain long-sleeved shirt, and a lightweight jacket.

His eyes drift up and down. “Damn. You clean up nicely, Dunn.”

Blush creeps up my chest and neck and all the way up my cheeks. I smooth a hand over the burnt-orange flowy top I’m wearing with skinny jeans.

“These are the only clean things in my suitcase,” I admit.

He lets out a low whistle. “I approve. You ought to put off doing laundry more often.”

He raises an eyebrow at me, and I shove him lightly on the shoulder. He rests his arm on the edge of the bar top, sitting just inches from me. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were dressing up for me.”

I laugh at the smug undercurrent in his tone. “Jeans and a top are not dressing up.”

“They’re not?” he jokes.

I shake my head. “Sorry. This is travel TV life. You don’t dress to impress anyone—you just wear what’s clean.”

I could swear Drew’s expression falls just a tad, but he quickly smiles. “How did you know I was craving a beer?”

The bartender walks over and takes Drew’s order.

“I guess I have a sixth sense about these things.” I take a sip of my own beer. “I figured we could both use a drink after today, and this place is the closest to our hotel.”

Drew glances around, presumably to take in the lodge-like décor. Dark wood makes up the bar, the stools, the tables surrounding us, and even the floor. On the dark-hued walls are framed photos of nearby Zion National Park.

A server sets down Drew’s beer and Drew takes a sip.

He grimaces. “Wow. That’s weak.”

“It’s Utah. It’s illegal to brew and sell beer higher than four percent alcohol.”

“Jesus, really?” Horror clouds his expression.

“You didn’t know that?” I chuckle.

“I didn’t. Damn. I wouldn’t have signed on to this project had I known I’d be spending six weeks drinking this stuff.”

“Oh my gosh, such a baby. Six weeks of drinking something other than pretentious microbrews. It’s a hard life you lead.” I laugh and enjoy the teasing banter we’ve got going.

“So.” He twists to me. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

I take a breath and prepare my pitch. “How would you feel about pulling a coup?”

His brow jumps. “That’s a hell of a way to start a conversation.”

“Okay, yeah, maybe that’s not the best way to sell it. Look, the gist of it is that Blaine is a nightmare to work with. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“To say the least.” Drew sighs before taking another long swallow of his beer. “I can’t believe the network wanted to sign him as host. The guy has the work ethic of a cranky toddler.”

“He’s a reality TV star with a huge social media following. They think his audience will translate to a viewership with the series. And the network heads aren’t the ones who have to deal with him on a day-to-day basis. We are.”

I take another sip of weak beer to ease the irritation creeping up inside me once more.

Concern paints Drew’s face as he looks at me. “Does that bother you?”

“Does what bother me?”

“How they finally let you run your own series but refused to let you call the shots on such an important part of it?”

I stay silent for a moment, remembering all the shit I’ve had to eat working in this industry. How over the years I’ve put in longer hours than a lot of my male counterparts just to be noticed. How I’ve had to speak up twice as loud to get some of my bosses to pay attention to ideas I’ve come up with, because they always just deferred to their peers.

How it was pure luck that this opportunity for my own show worked out in the first place, because someone else’s show fell through. How if just one exec had been feeling off that day, they probably would have said yes to someone else’s pitch.

Every time I think about this, it always hits like punches to my gut. I’m getting my big break not because of my work ethic, but because of pure chance.

I glance at him. “Honestly? Yeah, it does bother me. But that’s the industry. That’s the opportunity I’ve been given. And all I can do is deliver a kick-ass project that makes the higher-ups at the network want to keep giving me jobs like this. That’s the only way I’ll ever get to make that series in Palawan. Someday. Hopefully.”

“You will, Dunn.”

In the quiet moment that follows as we sip our drinks, I’m heartened by his support.

After a bit I turn to him and refocus on why I asked him here in the first place.

“So. How are you feeling about what I’ve said?”

“Staging a coup on Blaine?”

I let out a breath. “Yes.”

“And you want me as the host, I’m guessing?”

“I know this is unconventional.”

“Unconventional?” he says incredulously.

“Okay, fine, it’s akin to throwing out the playbook entirely. But honestly, Drew, you were amazing today. You lit up the screen in a way that I haven’t seen before.”

He squints at my hands, and I realize I’m gesturing wildly, I’m so enthusiastic.

I fold my hands and set them in my lap. “I mean it. Even the times when we actually got Blaine to give a shit and do a decent run-through of his lines, he still wasn’t half as good as you. You have this natural charisma that translates so well on camera.”

He purses his lips and glances at the floor. I can’t tell if he’s soaking in my compliments or he’s turned off by the prospect of upending the show.

“Here’s my thing: unless some miracle happens and Blaine magically develops a moral compass and a work ethic overnight, he’s going to keep sleeping through call times and showing up to locations hungover, drunk, or high. We can’t film a show with a host like that. The network execs are convinced Blaine is their guy and refused every time I’ve asked to replace him.”

I pause to take a breath, then another sip of beer.

“But if I go to them with footage—with episodes already cut of you as the host, running lines and demoing scenes, I honestly think they’ll get on board. I’d have something to present to them as a way, way better alternative than Blaine.”

He sits up straight and squares his shoulders. “Sorry. I can’t.”

The hard set of his jaw tells me he doesn’t want to say more. But I can’t help but try to plead my case. I know without a doubt Drew is the perfect host for my series. I just need to convince him.

“Can you at least consider it? I honestly think this is the right thing to do. I can’t imagine anyone else hosting this series. You’re it.”

The way he looks off and rolls his eyes sends a punch to my chest.

“You don’t get it.” He looks down at the bar top.

“Get what?”

He turns to look at me. “How hard this kind of stuff is for me.”

“What do you mean? Drew, you did an incredible job today. You made it look so easy.”

“Easy?” The sharp way he speaks makes me jolt back on my stool. He stares at me for a long second, like he can’t believe what I’ve said.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

Drew stands up and digs his wallet out of his pocket, then slaps cash on the counter. When he looks up at me, his jaw is tight and his eyes are hard.

“I can’t shove aside my nerves just because you want to switch things up on a whim for your show.”

“That’s not how I feel at all. I know it must be difficult for you—”

“Do you? Do you really know how it feels to have your heart race like it’s going to burst out of your chest? Or feel like you can’t catch your breath no matter how deeply you breathe? Or feel like every cell in your body is freezing up while everyone around you is watching you fuck up?”

I stay quiet because he’s right. I can’t relate to any of that. So instead of saying yet another insensitive comment, I put my hand over his hand that’s resting on the counter and hope that conveys the empathy I feel for him. He jerks away from my touch immediately.

All of a sudden he looks tired and beaten down. “When I told you about my stage fright, I thought you understood. I thought you were different from everyone else who told me I just needed to suck it up and get over it. But I guess I was wrong.”

When Drew walks off, I slump in my stool and sip my drink, but it tastes bitter on my tongue. I push away the glass, feeling like the biggest, most insensitive jerk in the world.

How could I have misjudged this so badly? I remember so clearly the dread and pain on Drew’s face when we hiked Whale Rock and he opened up to me about his stage fright.

I was so focused on my idea to switch hosts that I didn’t stop and think about how it could affect Drew and his stage fright.

As I walk out of the bar, I hold my breath, hoping like hell I can at least make it outside before I let any tears fall.

---

•   •   •

I gaze up at the night sky. A zillion stars sparkle above me.

This is what I remember best about the Needles section of Canyonlands—how the night sky glitters. It’s ten o’clock and we’re setting up for the nighttime portion of our overnight Needles shoot. The sky is a deep black-blue hue, the most captivating color I’ve ever seen. Each of the stars bursts from the darkness like a tiny exploding diamond.

When I visited with Apong Lita, she held my hand as we counted the stars together. The memory warms me from the inside out, like an invisible hug.

It’s a pleasant distraction from the quiet tension between Drew and me. Ever since our argument two days ago, we haven’t spoken to each other except to chat briefly about work stuff on set. I texted him an apology the night he stormed out on me, but he never responded. I figured that means he wants to move on and never mention it again.

A scream jolts me back to the present. I whip my head around and see Blaine standing several feet away from me, his face to the sky, neck bent back at a weird angle, his mouth open.

“Hot damn these stars!” he announces. “Billions of them in the sky. Billions! Holy shit! And those rocks!” He points to the pitch-black horizon. “Those rocks over there are shaped like huge, giant dicks. Beautiful!”

I do my best to tune him out and hope that there aren’t any mule deer nearby. They’re sometimes spotted in the park and will most certainly freak out at Blaine’s shouting.

I glance over at the crew. Joe, Wyatt, Haley, Drew, and Rylan are finishing setting up the gear for the shoot while I go over the shot list on my tablet.

A quarter mile away, all our tents are set up. We arrived a couple of hours before sunset to set those up first in the daylight so we could hike here, film, and then go straight to our tents and sleep for a bit before capturing the sunrise.

Holding my breath, I hazard another look at Blaine, who is still gawking up at the sky. He arrived hours late, chauffeured by Colton as usual, and has spent the fifteen minutes he’s been here staring at the sky with his mouth wide open.

I say a silent prayer that he actually does his job with zero issues tonight.

From the corner of my eye, I watch as Drew approaches. “Hey.” Seriousness paints the knit of his eyebrows.

“Oh. Hey.”

I quickly glance back down at my tablet, the muscles in my neck and shoulders tense at his approach. I don’t have it in me to have another emotionally charged conversation with him right now.

“I just wanted to say that I’m sorry I never replied to your text.” A heavy sigh rockets from his mouth. “And I’m sorry for how upset I got at you the other day.”

“It’s okay, Drew,” I say quickly. “We don’t need to rehash things.”

“But I just wanted you to know that . . .”

I hold up a hand, cutting him off. “I said it’s okay.” I swallow, hoping the pause dials back the conviction in my tone. “I was the one who was out of line. And I think it’s best if we just try to move on and not talk about it again. I’ve got an overnight shoot to focus on and Blaine to keep an eye on, and I don’t want to lose track of him because then he might accidentally fall off a cliff or ingest a cactus and then the whole shoot will be—”

Just then Wyatt screams, “No!”

Both Drew and I whip our heads around and see Wyatt sprinting toward Blaine.

“What the . . .” Drew trails off the second Wyatt tackles Blaine.

Drew and I run over to them. The rest of the crew takes off for the scene too. A few seconds later we all reach Wyatt as he tries to pry open Blaine’s mouth.

“What is going on?” I ask.

“He just ate a whole bag of edibles!” Wyatt grunts.

Something shiny catches my eye. I turn and see multiple empty mini vodka bottles next to Blaine. He’s been drinking too. Panic surges through me. Joe and Drew squat down and grab either side of Blaine while Wyatt tries to pry open his mouth. My eyes go wide as I stand off to the side, breathless and waiting, hoping that Blaine hasn’t ingested them.

A second later his mouth is wide open and my heart sinks. It’s empty. Blaine swallowed the whole bag, which means he’s drunk and high, and he’s going to be completely out of it for the rest of the night—which means he will be utterly useless for filming. We’ll probably have to take him to the hospital too.

“Shit, is he gonna OD? Should we call an ambulance?” Haley asks.

Joe shakes his head. “No, he’ll be fine. He’ll just pass out for the night and have some crazy-ass dreams.”

Everyone turns to Joe, who shrugs. “I consumed a lot of edibles in my twenties.”

My eyes water as dread and frustration fill me.

Wyatt gazes up at me, his brown eyes sorrowful. “I’m sorry, Alia.”

I shake my head. “It’s not your fault.” I let out a sigh, thankful that I’m holding it together enough not to cry in front of everyone.

Blaine starts giggling. Wyatt, Joe, and Drew all stand up.

“I tried to get to him as soon as I saw him pull something out of his jacket pocket,” Wyatt says.

“It’s okay, Wyatt,” I say softly. “I was keeping an eye on him. I just got distracted—”

“It’s my fault.” Drew rubs a hand over his face. When it falls away, he looks utterly dejected. “If I hadn’t distracted you, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Well, there’s not a whole lot we can do about it now,” I mutter.

Blaine gyrates against the dirt as he starts to chant something I can’t understand. Rylan walks off into the darkness, returning later with Colton, whose youthful face breaks into a worried expression after Rylan tells him what happened.

He darts his stare to me. “Crap, Alia. I’m so sorry. Blaine went off on me about finding his lucky pukka shell necklace. He said he couldn’t film without it. He swore it was in one of his packs by the tents so I was trying to find it. I should have been keeping an eye on him.”

I repeat what I said to Wyatt—that it’s not his fault and that it’s okay. On the inside, my gut is curdling with anger and frustration. All of us have been working so hard to keep this shoot going—to babysit a grown man who continues to ruin everything.

But more than that, I’m angry at how the Needles shoot is now ruined—and angry at myself for the role I played in this. Instead of trying to reason with Drew, I should have just walked away and kept Blaine on my radar. And now because I didn’t, the single most meaningful shoot in the whole series—the tribute to my grandmother—is ruined.

I almost let out a bitter, angry laugh. Because if I can’t even nail this one overnight shoot, I have no business thinking that I can someday be in charge of an international series. Maybe it’s a good thing I didn’t have the guts to pitch Hidden Gem Island Getaways. Because ruining that, an entire series based on a place that was so special to my apong Lita, would hurt a million times worse than this.

“I’ll host.” Drew’s sudden words jerk me out of my silent pity party.

“What?”

“I’ll host. I did it before at the Narrows. I’ll do it again now.”

There’s such certainty in his voice. It makes my head spin. Just a couple of days ago, he was adamantly against the idea of playing host ever again.

The rest of the crew look at Drew with confused yet intrigued expressions.

“Drew, even if you host this segment, it still wouldn’t work,” I say. “We need at least a couple of shots of Blaine standing in the landscape or saying a few lines. It can’t just be you.”

“We’ll fake it,” he says. “We’ll do another quick nighttime shoot just outside of the park one of these nights when he’s sobered up. We’ll get some shots of him against the darkened sky with all the stars. Then we can have him do a voice-over later for the intro. It’ll work. I promise.”

His words settle into my brain. That’s actually doable.

A relieved smile flashes across Wyatt’s face. “I really think this could work, Alia.”

Joe nods just as Haley says, “That’s a great idea.” Rylan voices her agreement, and Colton offers to walk Blaine to the tents so that he’s out of the way.

Joe starts to compliment Drew, but he stops him. “It’s not my idea. It’s Alia’s.”

My shoulders loosen at how he makes sure I get credit. Joe flashes me a thumbs-up as Wyatt tells me “well done.”

I check the time, then clap my hands once. “Okay, guys. Let’s do this.”