Chapter Seven

“It’s been grueling. Grueling.” Wren lay back on the couch in her dressing room, feet up on her coffee table, phone to her ear.

“It’s always grueling.” Felix’s voice came through a little tinny. He must have her on Bluetooth. A car honked in the background. Definitely on Bluetooth, then.

“I know, but I need to whine a little.”

“Right, sorry.” He gasped loudly and she sat up, heart pounding. Before she could ask if he were okay, he said, “I’m shocked that this is grueling. This is cruel, and unfair, and surprising!”

Flopping back against the couch, she huffed. “You’re awful, you know that?”

A chuckle warbled through the phone. “I’m sorry. I do feel bad for you. Was it fourteen hours yesterday?”

“Yes. And today looks the same. Hathor is so mad at me when I get home.”

“That cat has her own shelves on the wall to run along and an automatic feeder. She’s fine.”

“She doesn’t have me.”

“Or more like you don’t have her?”

“It can be both. Leave my codependent relationship with my cat alone.”

His laugh echoed a little. “Fine. I’ll change the subject. What have you been filming?”

“Boring scenes.” She stared at the weird stock beach photo hanging on the wall opposite. “The second unit are off filming all the background stuff, and we’re stuck filming all the quiet scenes. We’re on set for some of the house stuff, blah blah.”

“When do you get to the good stuff?”

“In theory, a weekish. But who knows, you know how quickly we get delayed. We’re starting on when the hurricane first hits and as the hospital starts to get cut off.”

“Isn’t this the same plot as last time?”

She shrugged, mostly to herself considering he couldn’t see it. “I mean, a lot of the threads are there. But a lot of the storylines are new, like Trinity’s character clashing with mine over my character’s resentment for our dad actually being involved in her life. The dad is going to be in this toward the end, and instead of my character striking out in the storm to find her, we’ll strike out together to find him before being separated. Blah blah, closure and actually dealing with the issues. All the natural disaster stuff is background.”

“Any luck convincing them to let you get a girlfriend?”

She barked a laugh. “Not a chance. Though they’re not throwing me with some man, at least. Trinity’s character is, though. She’s livid.”

Felix snorted. “I bet she is. You don’t think it’s shitty? That you, being thirty-something, don’t get a love interest, but the twenty-year-old does?”

“I mean, I see your point considering how Hollywood treats women over thirty like we’re suddenly grandmothers, but having a badass woman rely on herself is pretty cool. And rare.”

“That’s true. Is the actor playing Trinity’s love interest at least her age?”

It was Wren’s turn to snort. “He’s thirty-six.” She could hear the eye roll from Felix. “Better than forty, I guess,” she said. Because that’s what you did in this business. You grabbed onto the small successes.

“I guess,” Felix echoed. Both of them sounded like they didn’t really ‘guess’ at all. “Anything else going on?”

“Well…”

Wren picked at a thread on the scrubs she was dressed in, ready for the next scene she was filming. One that involved her coming home after a shift. It wasn’t actually a boring scene—it had some simmering energy between her and Trinity as that resentment was building up and both tried to pretend it wasn’t there. She and Trinity had great chemistry in those scenes, and she was looking forward to delving into it.

“That sounds like some gossip.”

“I’ll be seeing Madison Taylor soon.”

“Madison Taylor?” A pause. Wren waited for it. “Wait, the doctor? The doctor you’ve brought up at least every few days in some way since the accident? Who you gay panic-pushed in the dirt a million years ago? Why are you seeing her?”

“She’s going to be the medical advisor on the show.”

Another beat. Then a sound like a whimper. Here it came.

A burst of laughter.

There it was.

“How did that happen?” he barely managed to ask while cackling.

She didn’t answer.

“Wren?”

She grabbed a cushion next to her and pulled it onto her lap. “I suggested her.”

The laughter intensified. “Why?”

“I don’t know! Charles asked about a thing I’d said to Trinity as a joke, about one of the doctors saying the medical stuff last season hadn’t been so accurate, and he grilled me on it, then said they wanted someone and asked about my doctor and I panicked. Why? Why, Felix?”

“That was my question for you!”

“I’m a fool.”

“I’ve had my suspicions for a long time.” She heard the turn signal going over the phone, then the shift in motion and sound of the car parking. “But wait—wasn’t The Downfall, like, praised for its realism?”

“I thought so! It was one of the reasons we got a renewal even though it was supposed to be a limited show. From what I could see, everything was done well. It’s impossible to get perfection. But no. Dan wants perfection.”

That last snide sentence had slipped out, and she instantly wanted to pull it back in.

“Dan the homophobe? Ugh.”

She normally tried to keep her opinions on Dan to herself. There was no point dragging it all up and she could have been kicked off this project. If anyone had the power to do it, even if it would have been an incredibly bad move, it was Dan.

“You’re not supposed to talk out loud about how I think he’s a homophobe.”

“How you know he’s a homophobe, you mean.” There were sounds of a bag being rustled through, the jangle of keys. “But don’t worry. I don’t talk about that stuff.”

“I know.”

“Anyway, I’ve got to run.”

“Wait! That was all about me! How are you?”

A chuckle. “I offloaded for an hour last night on the phone to you about how much my new boss sucked. I’ll tag in next time. Got to run, got a meeting.”

“Good luck in your meeting!”

“Bye!”

Wren was left in silence. She checked Instagram and saw that a photo she’d added of herself and Trinity had already hit half a million likes. All they were doing was posing in the day’s costumes. Behind the scenes photos got everyone excited. She scrolled the comments, ignoring the trolls, blocking some. Most comments, though, were great, some witty and well thought out.

Bored, she commented on a few—she liked engaging with fans. She especially liked engaging with the queer fans. It left her with a warm and fuzzy feeling. Maybe because she would have loved that when she was younger. Maybe it was feeling a bit connected to a queer community—she didn’t have much of that. She worked too much to have much of one at all, and her mother had spent so much time impressing upon her to keep a ‘clean’ image that she hadn’t really been able to form a community of any kind.

She had friends. Most of all, she had Felix, whom she’d latched on to from middle school and would have to be pried from her cold dead hands. She had some acting friends—she’d become close to Trinity, though it felt more like sisterhood. Which she wasn’t complaining about at all. But finding this whole world of fans who existed in the queer community—that felt amazing.

A knock at her door shook her out of her thoughts. “Come in.” She didn’t bother straightening up, her feet still kicked up.

Trinity breezed in, shutting the door behind her. “The hottest woman is talking with Charles.”

Wren’s eyebrows shot up. “Aren’t you straight?”

“I can still see when a woman is smoking. And she is.”

“That’s a very good point.”

Trinity, with masses of blonde waves around her shoulders, often called smoking herself by publications that focused on that kind of thing, walked over and plopped next to Wren, instantly dropping her head on Wren’s shoulder. “What you looking at?”

Wren tilted her phone to show her the Instagram post.

“My hair looks amazing there.”

“That’s because they spent over an hour on it at five a.m.”

“Worth it.”

Wren turned her phone off and dropped it on the couch next to her. “Tell me more about this hot lady.”

“I know nothing more than that. But Erin let me know Charles wanted us to meet her and she was sending a runner to come get you, but I said I’d come find you.”

“Because you wanted to announce to me that she was hot?”

“Yup.”

“I adore your priorities,” Wren said, completely genuine. “Maybe the runner would have said that?”

“To be fair, he probably would have. It’s hard to miss.”

“Shouldn’t we go then? Can’t keep the director waiting and all that.”

“Please, darling.” The British accent Trinity slipped on as easily as a glove made Wren smile. She’d perfected it while recording a Jane Austen retelling. Which Wren was not jealous of. Nope. Except she was, because accent work was not her forte remotely. “We are the stars. He must revolve around us. Wait.” The accent stayed on. “We are the sun. He revolves around us. Yes, much better. Therefore—” she waved her hand imperiously in the air “—he can wait.”

Wren leaned away from her and raised her eyebrows.

“Kidding. Of course.” Voice back to normal, Trinity gave a wide smile, batting her eyelashes and aiming for the wide-eyed innocence she was so well known for. “As if I would anger the director.” Wren’s eyebrows stayed raised. “On purpose, anyway. It’s not my fault that at three a.m. everything you do and say is hilarious.”

“Charles just doesn’t understand how hilarious we are.”

“Obviously.” Trinity stood up, holding out a hand to pull Wren up.

“To be fair, the crew were also ready to kill us,” Wren said as she was yanked to her feet.

“I was ready to kill us. All I wanted to do was sleep and we couldn’t stop laughing.” Trinity led the way out of the dressing room.

“You were nineteen when that was happening. You should have been full of beans and barely touched by the early hours. I, on the other hand, am an old maid and had every excuse.”

“Oh yeah, you’re ancient.”

“I am in Hollywood Years, dearest.”

“Fuck Hollywood,” Trinity said over her shoulder, and one of the grips dragging lights in the opposite direction widened his eyes at her.

“She’s kidding, Jerry,” Wren said as she passed.

Trinity turned around, walking backwards, and mouthed silently, “Fuck Hollywood.”

Jerry snorted, and Wren wasn’t able to repress her reaction into something as subtle as a snort, a loud laugh erupting from her.

Trinity did things that Wren would never have dared. But Wren supposed actors older than her looked at her coming out and thought the same.

Hopefully it would all keep evolving.

They walked through the corridors, not heading toward the sets, but a back room used for meetings while on set.

Trinity rapped her knuckles on the thick wooden door and it opened to reveal Erin.

“Thanks for swinging by, you two.”

Standing back, Erin pulled the door open wider for them to enter. Dan Barrows was sitting at the table, his PA Alexandra on his right. Charles was seated at the opposite head of the table.

Two kings, reigning over their creation.

“Ah, fantastic, our two leads,” Charles said.

How badly Wren would love to be involved in a project not dominated by straight white cis men in all the major decision roles.

One day, she kept swearing to herself, that would happen. She would make it happen.

Seated at the table between the two heads, facing the door, was Madison Taylor.

While Wren stopped dead in the doorway, eyes caught on Madison’s, Trinity waltzed in and slipped into a seat opposite her, on the side closer to Charles. Eyeing Wren over her shoulder, she gave Wren a puzzled look.

“Why don’t you take a seat, Wren?” Dan asked coolly.

The sound of his voice snapped her out of it, and she sat next to Trinity, sadly closer to Dan.

Who was wearing sunglasses. Inside.

Madison merely blinked at her.

She did look incredibly attractive. Her hair was out in waves of a deep brown, and she was wearing a dark tank top. Her legs disappeared under the table, but Wren was sure they also looked fantastic.

How had Wren not seen this coming? Of course it was Madison. A week had passed since her conversation with Charles and she’d forgotten about it after a few days, not having heard anything else. There’d not been notifications of big changes in the script, and after spending two days horrified she may have to see Madison again due to her own idiocy, the worry had faded when nothing had happened

Fool.

“So, Wren,” Dan drawled, “you know Madison already, of course.”

Wren could feel Trinity’s gaze burning into her. She did not look.

“Of course,” Wren managed a smile. “Hi, Madison.”

Madison eyed her, but also put on a small smile. “Good morning.”

Charles gave them a funny look. He’d probably assumed they were close.

Ha.

“Madison Taylor, this is Trinity Dray.”

Madison held her hand out over the table and Trinity leaned forward to shake it. “Pleasure to meet you,” Trinity said.

“You too,” Madison murmured as she sat back in her chair. A script sat in front of her, colorful tabs sticking out all over it.

“Madison Taylor is an MD, specifically an attending in the ER. She’s had extensive experience in not only ERs, but in Emergency Response, having volunteered during national emergencies with a variety of organizations and services.” During Charles’ little introduction, Madison had gone slightly pink, shifting in her chair and only making eye contact with the table. “We’ve brought her on board to bring more authenticity to this season.”

Trinity brightened. “Great! That’s always a good thing.”

Dan leaned forward, distorting the reflection of them all in his sunglasses. All their faces turned to him immediately. Wren hated that even hers did. “The past week, Madison has had the script, and she and I spent yesterday going over her suggestions. There is nothing, thankfully, involving extensive rewrites. But expect the dailies to come with more specific instructions and some changes. She’s not only focused on medical accuracy, but, as requested, looked at how people are behaving in the hospital: we want to avoid eye rolls and ‘that’s so unprofessional, no one would do that in such-and-such situation’-type comments.”

Madison was nodding slowly, the pen that had been on top of the script now in her hand as she absentmindedly flicked it rapidly around and around her long fingers.

Wren shouldn’t notice her long fingers.

Dan finally looked at Madison. “So, welcome to the team.”

Her cheeks were still a bit pink, that pen going around and around. “Thank you.”

“Won’t you miss the hospital while you’re with us, Doctor Taylor?” Trinity asked, friendly and open as she always managed to be.

“Madison, please.” She gave a quirk of her lips. “Maybe after a while, but I’ll only be on set full time during the couple of months when the scenes in the hospital are filming, and for when you have medical moments during the natural disaster.”

“And how do you two know each other?” Trinity asked, looking between Madison and Wren.

It was Madison’s turn to seem uncomfortable, shifting slightly in her seat. “We don’t know each other that well,” Wren said.

Madison gazed at her openly, as if considering her. “We were at a summer camp for a few months when we were kids. But we barely talked.”

They’d talked nonstop for a few of those weeks, then not at all as Wren had frozen her out the rest of the time.

“Must have been funny to see her shoot to stardom a few short years later.” Charles always said the most awkward thing.

“It was certainly something.”

“We ran into each other again after my accident,” Wren hurried on. She did not want to dwell on the camp side of the story any longer.

There was no reason for her to think that Madison would say anything. She hadn’t said anything in front of anyone at the hospital. Nor had she ever told the story, it would seem, over the years. Lots of people told stories about when they’d known celebrities. And this one was one that could have caused Wren a lot of issues.

So, if Madison hadn’t revealed it all since it had happened, she doubted she would now. But still. The shame alone was enough to make her plough on regardless, hoping to keep it from coming up.

“And you didn’t see each other again?” Trinity asked.

Madison shook her head, gaze still on Wren. “Nope.”

“She put my arm back in its socket.” Wren wanted to add, ‘and accused me of coming out for attention,’ but thought that would sound too bitter.

“She did a great job with that gash on your forehead.” Dan leaned in and peered at her. She kind of wanted to slap him. Shouldn’t he be scared of catching the gay? “Barely a scar.”

“That wasn’t me.” Madison gave a tight smile. “Her mother insisted on the head of plastic surgery, who’s incredible.”

“Ah yes. Debbie.” Charles nodded, face neutral at the mention of Wren’s mother.

Dan was expressionless behind his glasses.

Wren bit down a smirk. Her mother was overbearing, but the way she struck fear into these two fully grown, powerful men gave her a lot of joy.

“Madison will be working a lot with you, Wren.” Charles looked between the two of them. “I’ll want to work with you both afterward, to make sure it’s all moving along well. But Madison and I have spoken, and she’ll be alongside you for anything medical. Dan insisted.”

Dan relaxed back in his chair, swinging it back and forth slightly. “You’ll be working alongside each other intensively.” He smirked. “Don’t get too close. We don’t need any more attention like that.”

Trinity tensed next to her, and Wren dropped a hand on her thigh.

“Whatever do you mean, Dan?” Wren asked through a brittle smile.

The air had frozen all around them and Madison was staring at him as if piecing together a puzzle that had been bothering her for a long time.

Dan stood up. “Just a joke.” Sure it was. “Don’t be so sensitive.”

Could she murder him? He loved insinuating that women were too emotional for this business. Always insinuated. Never outright said.

He flashed a grin. “I have to get back to the office. Got a meeting soon with one of the funders. He’s upset Riley didn’t get a love interest. Thinks it’d get more butts in chairs. Even though he’s right, I have to convince him of what we’re doing.”

Wren clenched her jaw. Dan dropping a hint at who he really was, then going and reminding them that it was because of him alone that Riley, Wren’s character, hadn’t been shoved together with a man. Which was, really, something the writers, Charles, and Wren had all fought for.

All by the grace of Dan.

Trinity was like a tightly drawn bow. Wren squeezed gently and felt her relax a little. Wren could push. She’d been at this long enough. It really was unfortunate for her, but Trinity couldn’t. Not if she wanted to keep working. Her career was in an incredibly fragile moment.

Wren tried to help her whenever she could. But the last thing Trinity needed was to anger one of the biggest producers only to protect Wren, when she was perfectly capable of dealing with Dan herself. Which, most of the time, came with choosing her battles. If Trinity made Dan mad, it was horrifying how many projects he could blacklist her from. Wren had a lot more power, in that regard. Even if it often felt like she didn’t.

As Dan swept out the room, he called over his shoulder. “Charles, walk me out? I have time constraints to discuss.”

Good luck arguing that with Charles.

The expression on Charles’ face said the same as he got up to follow him. “You all get more acquainted.”

Erin paused at the door. “Madison, see you on set in about an hour as discussed with Charles, to give you a chance to see how it’s done.”

They left them behind, Alexandra having followed, the door closing behind them. Trinity leaned back in her chair. “He’s such a piece of shit.”

Madison’s eyes widened. “I see that now. Also, can you just say that?”

Trinity grinned. “This room is camera-free. And as big as his ego is, he wouldn’t stay behind to listen at the door—it wouldn’t cross his mind. Though part of me wishes he would.”

“Good to know.” Madison swung back and forth on her chair slowly, that pen still going round and round her fingers. “This is all very surreal.”

“Never been on a set before?” Trinity asked.

Madison shook her head. “No. I know nothing about any of this. Dan insisted that would help bring more ‘authenticity.’ Mostly I think I’m going to get a bit lost.”

“Mm. Yeah. So, you two knew each other?” Trinity asked. Clearly, she’d been waiting to segue back to that.

“Smooth transition,” Wren said.

She turned her chair slightly, grinning at her. “Oh, I know.”

“We were at camp. That’s all.” Wren shrugged, feeling Madison’s gaze on her. This was so awkward. Would she say anything now? To Trinity? “Dan seems to think we were besties.”

Madison gave a choke of a laugh. Trinity perked up, grin turning wicked.

Come on. Did Madison have to do that? Couldn’t she let this go? Wren had been a ridiculous kid. But Madison had been mean in that hospital room. Calling her attention-seeking.

Trinity was going to cling to that cough/laugh.

Which is exactly what she did.

Angling her chair back to face across the table, Trinity looked at Madison, that delighted grin still on her face. “Did you two not like each other, and that’s what this—” she waved her hand between Madison and Wren “—absolute weirdness is?”

Madison opened her mouth. Finally, Wren turned her attention on her. Wren’s face, she was sure, was pleading. Trinity wasn’t a gossip, except with Wren—she hoped only with Wren, anyway—but this was still not exactly something she wanted spread everywhere. Couldn’t they start afresh? Wren wasn’t even sure she wanted to after what Madison had said. But they were going to work together.

Which was entirely Wren’s fault. All that bitterness was surface level, she knew that. She wanted Madison to like her. Maybe she wanted to make it up to her for what Wren had done at that camp. Maybe she wanted to fight back against the accusations of attention seeking. Because she cared what Madison thought.

Which was entirely inconvenient.

There was a knock at the door, and Madison’s mouth snapped shut.

“Come in!” Trinity called, sounding far too disappointed at the interruption.

A runner stuck his shaggy red head through the door, someone Wren didn’t recognize. “Miss Dray, you’re needed in makeup. You have an interview in an hour with Scott.”

Trinity swiveled her chair around and pouted. “But I was starting to have fun.”

The runner blinked at her. “Uh—s-sorry, Miss Dray.”

“No, no.” She grinned. “I’ll be right there, thanks.”

“Thank you.” He ducked out, cheeks blazing.

Trinity groaned. “I forgot I had that interview.” She swiveled back to face Madison, who was looking at her curiously. “I have an interview with my character’s love interest to start ‘sparking interest.’”

“Good luck,” Madison said, as if unsure what else she should say to that.

“Have fun,” Wren said sweetly, smiling up at her as she stood up.

“Uh-huh, yeah, thanks.” Trinity paused, fingers playing with each other in front of her nervously.

Wren dropped her sarcastic act. “Just treat it like one of the interviews we’ve done together. They’ll focus on the romance rather than the sisterly relationship, but it’s all the same.”

“Right, yeah. Of course.” Trinity grabbed the door handle. “Can I say that I don’t want her to be reduced to a love interest, though, and bring up her other story threads?”

Wren wanted to say, ‘fuck yeah, do it.’ She would do exactly that, personally. But instead, she said, “PR will come prep you right before as usual. If you can find a way they’re happy with, I’m sure you’ll be okay to say something like that.”

“Right. See you two later.” She opened the door, turning back and cocking her head at Madison. “Can’t wait to hear what that awkward cough meant about you two not actually being friends.”

Then she was gone, door closing behind her, leaving Wren and Madison blinking at each other across the table.

Madison cleared her throat. “I was surprised you recommended me for this.”

“So was I,” Wren blurted out.

Madison gave a surprised laugh, the sound throwing Wren back to camp—the smell of pine trees, the heat of sun on her skin, and Madison. “Good to know where I stand.”

She was using her foot to move the chair back and forth almost imperceptibly, gazing at Wren as if she couldn’t quite figure her out. Which was exactly how Wren felt.

“Thanks for not, you know, sharing that story.” Wren tried a hesitant smile.

“I haven’t until now,” Madison said. Before Wren could panic, she continued, “Why would I start?” Relief flooded her. Then, Madison said, “It was humiliating.”

“I know. But you said some pretty harsh things in the hospital, so…”

Why couldn’t Wren just let things go? A tiny slice of peace had seemed to be settling over them, the air easing; both of them had even laughed or smiled in the last minute. The second those words left Wren’s mouth, however, that feeling sizzled away, gone in the blink of an eye. Madison’s chair froze. Distantly, Wren realized it was the only moment she’d really seen the woman still since they’d met. Wren much preferred her moving. This icy look was far more disconcerting.

“I shouldn’t have said that, no.” Madison’s narrowed eyes contradicted the words.

But Wren took them at face value. “I’m glad you think that,” she said cautiously. “I was nine. Pushing you over was incredibly immature.”

“Can you blame me for thinking that, though?” Madison’s jaw clenched visibly.

Now she was doubling down? About something that Wren had done when she was a kid? Did she not get that it had been about being panicked from liking it? Surely she got that, and realized it wasn’t because Wren was a big fake queer.

“Uh, yes, I can very much blame you for thinking that.” Wren sat forward, palms flat on the deep oak table, the wood smooth and cool under her hands. Everything that she wasn’t in that moment. What was it about this woman that had her pushing every button Wren had?

“Shockingly,” Wren said coolly, “coming out was something I’d been fighting to do for years. Just because I had a shitty moment when I was a kid doesn’t mean it wasn’t real.”

Madison barely seemed to take that in. “Oh, please, you wore a T-shirt about oral sex. How could you have been more attention-grabbing?”

Wait. So, this wasn’t only due to the fact that Madison assumed she wasn’t really a lesbian because of her reaction at nine?

Or was it still about that? Or about that and that she thought Wren was an attention seeker?

This was too much. Madison didn’t even know her. Wren stood up, palms still flat on the table, eyeing her. Madison met her gaze defiantly. She had no idea what Wren had gone through living in the closet so long. The worry about what it could mean if she came out. The fear every year she considered doing it that her career was too fragile. Her mother’s words always in the back of her mind, reminding her of all of that.

Yes, it had been a bit over the top, what she’d done. But Wren had reached her boiling point. She’d played ‘the good girl’ forever, always maintained her ‘image’ to keep everyone happy. Until she realized she’d pushed herself down into a box of her own making and could feel the sides pushing in on her. Why couldn’t she be attention-grabbing with her coming out? Why did her coming out have to be quiet? That part of her felt huge sometimes, and insignificant others. But coming out publicly? That felt big. That felt flashy. It felt gigantic and fun and important and something to celebrate. Why should that also be ‘clean’—whatever that meant—and well-mannered? Should queer people be polite and quiet? Is that what Madison was saying? Was Madison straight and assuming the worst of queers? They were fine if they didn’t splash it about? She had to be straight to think such a thing. Oh, it’s fine, I just don’t want to hear about it all the time.

Wren was quickly losing track of what both of them were trying to say, and instead felt all her frustration boiling over.

“Who knew that cute kid that talked about Ancient Egypt nonstop and all the ways that ancient civilization was so advanced back then would become so judgmental?” Wren was breathing a bit too hard, her anger tearing away her better judgment. “You get to police if I’m queer enough, or too queer? I got scared and lashed out at nine and that can’t mean I was terrified of what it all meant; it must mean I’m not a lesbian? Or what, you’re so homophobic you think queer people just want attention? They have to fit a certain way to be acceptable by you? Or are you like Dan, and think queer people shouldn’t come out at all? Or aren’t even really queer?”

Madison stood up so quickly that her chair rolled back and hit the wall behind it with a dull thud, her brown eyes flashing. “I have to be homophobic to think what you did was attention-seeking and ridiculous? I can’t purely think you’re over the top and far too much?”

“What, you’ve held this grudge for so long that how I choose to come out gets you this riled up? Which is it, Madison? Are you homophobic? Ill-advised enough to think that I can’t be a lesbian because of something that happened at nine? Or have you genuinely just held this grudge so long that anything I do will annoy you?”

“Nailed it with that last one.” Madison grabbed the script that was in front of her and marched around the table. It was irritating to no end that she didn’t trip on one of the chairs or at least get stuck on one. Instead, she wove between them, came around, and passed Wren with an overheated air of frustration.

One hand on the door handle, she turned and glared at Wren. She was only a foot away, annoyance rolling off her. Wren crossed her arms and met her gaze defiantly. Of course, not only did Madison not get clumsy when so mad, but she looked so righteous standing there, eyes bright in her anger. She looked smoking hot, precisely as Trinity said, and damned if that didn’t make Wren more furious.

Hadn’t she wanted Madison here to mend bridges?

“Calling someone homophobic because you’ve gone and assumed they aren’t queer themselves says more about you.”

Uh oh.

Why had Wren assumed she was straight? Her not rejoicing that Wren had come out like other queer people had? Her own assumption and the ass it had made of her made her cheeks burn all the more.

But Madison was not done. “Maybe, just maybe, this queer person thinks you were attention seeking and it’s as simple as that, no big conspiracy theory. Maybe yes, that person has a grudge from when we were nine. Maybe not everyone likes you. Maybe you shouldn’t throw the word homophobic around as if you’re the only one who’s faced anything like that. But I’m going to stick with the not-liking-you part, because all of this—” and Madison gestured at Wren “—is an image, and my grudge is making all of it annoy me even more. Simple as that.”

Lips pressed together, Wren threw up her hands. “So, you’re queer and want to police how someone can come out?”

“I think we settled on the ‘you annoy me and that’s it’ part.” Madison yanked the door open and walked out, the door starting to swing closed behind her.

“Yeah—well—” The door was almost shut and she had nothing. “I don’t like you either!”

The door closed.

“Good one, Wren,” she muttered to herself, glaring at the door.

Except she was even more annoyed at herself, because some part of her did like Madison and wanted her to get off her high horse and approve of her. Or at least stop judging her.

The door was yanked open again and Wren stepped back, her behind pressing into the table as Madison stood there, face as annoyed as it had been when she’d walked out. There was something in her face, though; something that had been there the entire argument which Wren hadn’t been able to place. Was it satisfaction? Did she enjoy arguing?

“I have no idea where I can storm off to!” Madison burst out, still sounding angry. “This is my first time here and this is literally the only room I know.”

“Go down the hall and go left,” Wren huffed. “Follow that corridor and go left at the end, then first right you’ll find the set where Charles will be.” She was half-yelling, grateful that not many people were around this hallway at this time of day.

“Thank you,” Madison snapped.

“You’re welcome,” Wren retorted.

The door shut again.