"I didn't scream," I repeat, confessing the worst of my sins and unable to look at him while I do so. "I should have, but I didn't know until it was-"

"Amanda, no." My dad stalks toward me faster than I've seen him move in years, and I flinch automatically though he's never raised a hand against me, ever.

He kneels next to the side of my bed, resting his hand carefully on my foot. "You were a child," he says calmly and firmly, meeting my eyes without hesitation. "And we raised you to have a good heart. That's what you were listening to. You did nothing wrong. Nothing at all."

Then, I watch in shock as his face crumples.

"We should have looked harder. We knew you were taken somewhere on your way home, but we assumed there was a car. The police..." His voice breaks then, and he stops long enough to try to recover himself. "There were reports of a van and a man who no one recognized, parked near the high school." He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand.

"But we didn't know, and you were right there, the whole time, waiting for us." He looks up at me with raw misery in his expression. "Volunteers knocked on doors, in the beginning. We knocked at every house on your route home." He swallows hard.

"Daddy, it's okay-"

"When we found you, I went back to the list, the spreadsheet I made to make sure we covered every house, every person on your way home. And it was me. I knocked on his door, baby. I knocked and I talked to him, and I had no idea you were there. I am so sorry." My dad, the stern, distant figure I've learned to avoid, breaks into sobs, burying his face against the side of my bed. "I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault. It was never your fault," he says, his face muffled against my comforter, his big hand clinging to my foot.

But it's not his fault, either. It seems maybe I'm not the only one blaming myself when I shouldn't be. Jakes is really the only person to blame, and that's clearer to me now more than ever.

I touch my dad's hand lightly with mine but have to shift my gaze to the ceiling to try to get my tears under control.

Because Chase was right.

He was so, so wrong, in so many respects, but he was right about this.

I can feel my heart breaking again, into even smaller pieces.

Because it's that contradiction in Chase, that mix of good and bad, that's going to make it so much harder to let him go.

34.

Chase "That's a wrap for Thursday," Max shouts. "Well, Thurs-riday." He glances up pointedly at the already brightening sky, and everyone else chuckles.

It's almost dawn. I haven't slept. Filming nights sucks.

It always does. But tonight is worse. And going back to my room, that won't be any better.

"Good work, everybody," Max says to a smattering of applause and some halfhearted cheers.

Shivering in Smitty's hoodie, I shuffle to my chair, where my coat is waiting. It's below freezing now, and there was a major discussion around 3:00 a.m. about our breath showing, clearly indicating it was colder than it should have been for late summer, when the events in the movie are supposed to be taking place. It would be taken out in post-production, but that's another expense.

Max wasn't happy. But I don't care. I didn't care when they were talking about it, didn't care when they finally decided.

In the end, I did what Karen told me. I showed up on time and did my job. Everyone had heard the basics of what had happened by the time I arrived. A set is pretty much like a small town. Gossip travels at lightning speed. Even faster when it involves scandal. There were plenty of stares and whispers among the crew, especially from those who'd met Amanda. People liked her. I'm guessing whatever respect I'd earned by being a professional instead of a screwup this week is long gone now.

Karen ignored me other than to give me direction on how to tilt my head so she could finish her work. Ron, the van driver, wouldn't look at me. Emily stayed quiet and made no attempt at conversation for the first time since I met her.

Now, my driving need to fix, to do, has vanished beneath a thick layer of despair and inevitability. I can't do anything, can't fix anything. This is just reality, and I have to live with choices I can't unmake.

I feel like I'm drowning.

Even the surprise phone call from Rick, my agent, the first one from him in months, didn't help. His voicemail was positive, excited, passing along word that everything-rumors that Amanda and I are being targeted by a stalker due to our new couple status-is generating highly visible attention in the media. And the casting agent for the Besson film contacted him to confirm I was coming next week because they "really want to see you."

Most of the cynical people in the business, it seems, have assumed Amanda's visit was a planned publicity stunt from the beginning-one she was in on. But the fact that it can't be proved either way only generates more and more speculation and discussion.

No one who knows the truth is talking, so I look savvier-if more heartless-than I am, which makes me ill. It hasn't been announced yet if Elise has been charged with accessory status, but it probably won't matter once the publicity agency's lawyers get involved. The truth, as always, is less important than whatever legal maneuvering can be managed. My guess is that George, my former publicist, and whoever else Elise has called in for help will work to keep this sanitized version of events spinning. It's better for them.

Nobody knows yet that Amanda's gone home. That I made that haunted look appear on her face.

The crowd outside the hotel tonight was so out of control that we didn't even try for a pickup out front.

I got what I wanted. My name is the one on everyone's tongue and Twitter feed right now, in a good way.

And I go home day after tomorrow. Actually, if it's Friday already, I've got a late flight tomorrow. Back to my life, the one I pulled from the wreckage of my previous mistakes. I won't have to crawl back to my dad in Texas, begging for a place to stay.

I saved my career.

And now, with that newly bright future in front of me again, I find the shine is empty. Just a handful of glitter and carefully placed lights, nothing real.

Acting is the only thing that has ever meant anything to me, the only time I felt like I belonged. And I would have done anything to keep going, to keep feeling that way. But now I've apparently found a line I'm not willing to cross, only after I've crossed it.

Amanda loves me ... loved me. The real me. And I didn't, couldn't, step up to accept it. Because I was too self-involved to tell the truth and too afraid of losing her.

Forget Elise, Sera, Max, everyone. That's on me. I wasn't who I should have been, who she deserves.

Amanda, I'm so sorry.

"So that was fun, huh?" Adam asks as he drops into his chair, which is, unfortunately, next to mine.

I ignore him, focusing on making my numb fingers line up the zipper on my coat and pull it up.

"So I guess you're back in the headlines again. What's it feel like to relive the glory days for a few minutes?" He sighs, stretching his legs out in front of him. "I mean, don't get me wrong. It's a smart play. Maybe I just need to find some famous, damaged girl with a pretty face who'll let me-"

I turn and lash out with my foot, kicking over his chair with him in it. He hits the ground with the crack of wood and a satisfying thud.

But it's not enough to sate the blood thundering in my veins, demanding that he pay.

Wrapping my hand in the front of his shirt, I drag him up from the ground. Distantly, I hear gasps from the various cast and crew who are watching, but it doesn't really register.

He doesn't get to talk about her like that. Ever.

But as I draw back to hit him, I see the flicker of a smirk on his face and Amanda's words echo in my head: He wants you to break.

It sends a shock through me, to realize that she was right. I don't need to do this. It's letting him control me, just like everyone else. He's pushing my buttons to get a response, and if I hit him, I'm giving him exactly what he wants. The same way I caved to Elise, when she told me she knew better and I wanted the promised results so badly I didn't care if what she was suggesting felt wrong.

But I know better than that now.

I let go of Adam, dropping him onto his broken and splintered chair. Then with my heart pounding and my hands shaking from the excess adrenaline, I turn and walk away.

"Hey, fucker, come back here and finish it!" he bellows, and I hear him trying to scramble to his feet out of the wreckage.

It would be so much easier, more familiar, to turn around and hit him, but I keep going until I find Emily huddled under one of the heat lamps.

"Can you find out where Leon is?" I ask. I'm no longer cold, at least.

Her eyes are puffy from lack of sleep but still capable of projecting intense wariness. She nods quickly and points across set to where Max and Leon are deep in conversation.

"Oh." Awesome. Max. I'm sure he has plenty to say to me. "Thanks."

I hang back a few feet, waiting until Max finishes talking to Leon before I approach.

"Great work tonight, Chase," Max says, beaming at me as he passes.

I stare at him wordlessly. Tonight, of all nights, he chooses to praise me?

Then he leans forward and says in a confidential tone, "Look, I know I gave you a hard time about ... you know, but with this extra attention..." He grins. "We're already getting calls about distribution."

Shame wells in me and I look away, studying the ground in the distance until he pats me on the shoulder and strolls away, whistling.

When he's finally out of hearing range, I risk glancing up at Leon, who's watching me with an impenetrable expression.

Swallowing my pride, I ask, "Have you heard anything from Amanda? I've tried to call-"

"No, I haven't and I don't expect to," Leon says. His bald head wrinkles with a frown. "You shouldn't, either."

"I just want to make sure she's okay." I stuff my hands in my coat pockets.

He looks at me incredulously. "Do you think she's okay?"

I shut my eyes. "No, of course not. That's not what I meant. I just-"

He pokes a finger in my shoulder, and I open my eyes.

"I'm not sure what you expect, son. But you're damn lucky that she's not going public with her side of this. She could destroy you." He shakes his head in disbelief. "All those people who are clapping you on the back now would turn on you so fast you'd feel the breeze. Better to leave well enough alone and pray she doesn't change her mind. You hear me?"

I clamp my jaw shut and give a tight nod. "Do you know anything more about Sera?" I don't like the idea of her out there, especially when I don't know if Amanda is safe and taking precautions. The chain Sera sent threw me, not just because of the message it carried, but because it was the first time she'd ever attempted contact with someone in my life instead of me directly.

Leon sighs. "They're getting closer. I don't think they were real motivated until this afternoon. Evidently, she knows about your little escapade with law enforcement here. Someone threw a lit book of matches in the open window of a squad car while the officer was inside a Starbucks grabbing coffee."

I grimace. Sounds about right.

"Then she smashed the windshield with a crowbar and ran."

Holy shit. "That's new." Fire, yes. Direct violence, no.

"He lost her in a crowd. She's good at blending in when she wants to. And now that we've locked down security for you here and at the hotel, they're having a hard time drawing her out."

"You're sure she's still here for me? She won't bother Amanda?" I persist.

He shrugs. "I notified the PD in Springfield. Even offered to send Amanda home with an officer, but she wanted to wait for her sister."

Liza or Mia? I wonder which one came and how Amanda felt about it. I want her to tell me, to talk to me.

"That's all?" I ask Leon. It doesn't seem like enough.

"Miss Grace is not my responsibility. The people on this set are," he points out. "Don't worry about it. Just keep your head down and don't go making yourself a target. We'll take care of the whackjob. You just keep doing what you do." He jerks his head in a dismissive gesture toward the cameras.

Then he walks away, leaving me fuming with impotent fury. The thing is, if I do what everyone is telling me to now, I win. I'm the good little actor who played my role in the scheme and got everything I wanted.

But if I accept the rewards as my due, then there's no difference between me and Elise. Or Adam and me.

But at least the two of them are deliberate schemers. I just followed blindly, hating every second of it but doing nothing to stop it. That's worse.

I need to do something else. I need to change, or I'm going to end up back here, hating myself again in six months, a year. Or maybe I won't be that lucky.

A flicker of an idea, something Leon said, tickles the far reaches of my brain.

I can't do anything to take back what I've done. But maybe I can fix things going forward. Maybe I can still try to be the person I should have been all along.

If I follow through, it'll destroy everything I've done this week, every bit of career advancement gone. Forget the Besson audition, or any audition for a while after this. It might well land me back in Tillman on my knees, with a manure shovel in one hand and a groveling apology in the other.

Even worse, it's possible that Karen's right, and Amanda will hate me even more for making her humiliation greater and her pain worth nothing.

But just considering the idea makes me feel like I can breathe again, like I might be able to cough the water from my lungs and stop drowning. Which also makes me think it's possible Amanda might understand exactly what I'm doing.

Breaking free.

35.

Amanda "What are you doing?" Liza asks, sticking her head in my partially open door before I can pretend to be reading or doing anything other than staring into space.

Technically, I'm staring at the torn-out pages I swiped from Liza's discarded college brochures and taped to my walls years ago. All of them portray happy people in various stages of crossing the green open space of a quad. Sometimes they're lying on blankets with books. Others are obviously in the middle of a (staged) Frisbee game. One of them, my favorite, is taken at dusk with the sky turning pink behind an enormous chapel, and a pair of students holding hands are cast in silhouette.

I think I could do that now, be one of those students. Suddenly, it just seems more possible. Before, I'd stalled out on progress to the point of no advancement at all. But I just spent five days, give or take, away from home and once I got past the rough start, I was mostly okay.

I'm not done, I know, working through the issues from being taken. But now, it seems like maybe the light at the end of that endless tunnel could be sunshine instead of another fluorescent light illuminating the tracks disappearing into nothingness.