#i'll be waiting to pop his ego balloon

[heygerald]

Falling Without a Harness - Chapter 6

AU where Tom Ryder is still an asshole, just not a psychotic one. When he actually starts to behave like a normal person, Parker is left to wonder if it's an act, or if the rest of him is.

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"Tom," Parker hedged ten minutes later, as the teams took their places in the arena. She was currently standing in the middle of everything, watching as her teammates discussed strategy, pointing to various platforms and inflatable shields whilst the white team did the same. She was relieved that Dan was on her team; his general height and demeanor boded well for engaging in (paint) warfare. Tom, on the other hand, didn't seem all that interested in anything as he fiddled with his phone. "Er, you've played paintball before right?"

He shrugged. "A few times, yeah."

"Right," she let out a breath of relief. "I'm going to follow you around then."

That caught his attention, and he glanced up from his phone screen with a frown. "What do you—no, don't do that."

"What? Why not?"

"Because you're a target," he said, matter-of-factly, and gestured to the paint already splattered down the front of her coveralls. "I'm not trying to end up looking like that."

"Wh—but—!" she blustered, popping a hip at him as she pointed out, "you're the one that shot me! And you don't look much better. And—I'm not a target anymore than you are. Don't be so sexist."

He scowled. "How is that being sexist?"

"You're just saying that because I'm the only girl on the team."

"No," he said, stooping down into her eyeline with an overly dramatic look on his face as he slowly and surely said, "I'm saying that because I'd bet you're awful at paintball, and Colt and the others are going to go for you first."

Parker's mouth dropped open as Tom tucked his phone away and started off towards a patch of haybales off to the far side.

It was a totally mean and unnecessary thing to say, and, worst of all, true. Parker sucked at paintball; sports in general. Colt knew this, as well as several of his friends that she had attempted to play beach volleyball with once, but there was no way that Tom knew that as well.

"Well, thanks for inviting me, Parker," she ranted, miming his deep voice as she followed after. "It's totally fun, I love it, you're too nice! That's what you should have said, by the way."

He cast her a dry look. "Are you done?"

She shot him a sour look, but...

Well, yeah, she was done. Rolling her eyes at him, she hefted her gun onto her shoulder, and leaned her back against the haybale. Her mask was still propped on the top of her head, coveralls only half zipped up as she languished. "Whatever. Do you really think you can shoot Colt?"

He arched a brow at her. "Is that really a question?"

"He's slippery."

"And an idiot. I'll shoot him."

"Do you ever get tired of having such a huge ego hanging over your shoulders or do you like the shade?"

Tom's only response was to roll his eyes and, at the sound of a warning whistle, pull his mask down over his face. He tensed, peering around the haybale as if this were serious, and—

Wait, hold on a minute. This was serious.

"Not to be that person," she chirped with a nervous glance towards the other team. "But if I were to be a target—"

The sound of a whistle blew loud, and within seconds paintballs started flying through the air. Parker shrieked, and plastered herself to the haybale.

Tom, now realizing he was stuck with a target at his side, sighed loud enough that she could hear it warbled through the mask. A flash of white as he rolled his eyes before, "for fuck's sake."

He pulled her mask down to cover her face before yanking her zipper the rest of the way up to her neck. Then, he shoved her gun against her chest.

"Just follow me."

"Oh," she breathed out, relieved. "Thanks."

"At least that way I can use you as a shield," he added, and the relief in her chest burst like a water balloon. Through her mask, Parker glared, and she was certain he could feel the heat of it. Another flash of white, another eyeroll as he slowly started ambling around the bale. "That was a joke."

Parker stood to her full height so she could properly jut her hip at him.

He, of course, ignored it.

But as the chit-chit-chit of paintballs flying overhead ramped up Parker was reminded that this was not the best place for judgement. She had already shot him once, after all, and if she stuck by his side perhaps she would get lucky enough to watch someone else shoot him as well.

When he disappeared around the corner she took a deep, calming breath and rushed after.

---

"Left."

"I know."

"Left!"

"I know!"

"Christ, fucking left!"

Parker paused in what she was doing, straightening to her full height so she could glare in exasperation at Tom, arms wide. "Do you want to do this?"

"I would, yeah," he responded with as much exasperation, though his wide eyes are hidden beneath his expensive sunglasses even though it was well into the evening now. "But it's still your turn!"

The pair are locked in a tense stare down when a third head pops into frame. Colt, his own eyes obscured by the overhang of his bucket hat, lifts his pointer finger with a meddling smile. "Not to rush you or anything—"

"Oh, shut up!" they both exploded at the same time, now turning their exasperation onto Colt.

It's uncanny how similar they look in that moment—wide eyes, frown lines, furrowed brows—and while Jody stuffs her laughter into her half empty can of White Claw, Colt responds by lifting his palms up in front of him with years of practice placating his sister. "...yup, that's my bad."

Together, they face one another, preparing to go again.

Only for him to promptly ruin the silence to add, "all I'm saying is you just have to get it—"

"Tom, I swear to god!" she hissed, struggling to focus on two things at once. He hadn't stopped backseat coaching her since the game started, and though she desperately wants to win, every time he speak the temptation to aim at him got stronger. But that would help nothing.

Swallowing down that frustration, Parker realigned her arm up, returning to the half-crouched position she had been in earlier, and once more practiced her swing.

"Alright," he mutters under his breath, shrugging as if he didn't care. But it's obvious that he does care, and for that very reason, he continues, "but I just think you should aim a little further to the..."

Parker swings her arm forward, sending her last bag arching through the air. It flipped several times, twisting bottom over top, before hitting the board with a heavy thud, teetering on the precipice of the hole.

The four held their breaths, watching, waiting, hoping that—

The bag stopped teetering, and the crowd let go of their breaths.

"Ha!" Colt shouted, letting out a whoop that likely could have earned him a noise complaint. He threw his arms up in victory, and Parker and Tom watched in miserable silence—him, arms crossed, foot tapping; her pinching the bridge of her nose—as Colt raced across the beach and hefted Jody up by the waist. "Winners! Winners! That's right everybody, win-ah-ers!"

"I told you to aim left," Tom muttered.

Parker dropped her hand to glance over at him.

She wasn't any happier about the loss—yet another one to add to their list of defeats over the evening—and the pair sported matching frowns as they were forced to watch her brother do a victory lap around the beach. Ever the graceful idiot, that one.

"I hate him," she said miserably.

Tom gave her an irritable side eye while shaking some overgrown fringe out of his eyes. "Well, if you had listened to me—"

"Oh, stuff it," Parker huffed, throwing up her arms. Colt had gotten halfway through his victory lap before his attention was stolen by Jean-Claude, and was now lying on his back as the dog licked him cleanly across the face. "You weren't any better than I was. I did all the hard work that round; sorry if I didn't get another three points."

Tom furrowed his brows crossly. "At least I hit someone during paintball," he snarked. He beat her to the retort by gesturing sourly to his own chest. "Someone that wasn't on your team."

"You still owe me five hundred bucks for that, you know."

"Sue me."

She narrowed her eyes at him, turning to face him fully, and though he towered over her quite a bit, she tried to not be intimidated. Easy enough when he still had blue paint in his hair. But, the standoff didn't last any longer than that; Parker was sore herself—both in spirit and body—after their paintball session, and her beer was getting disrespectfully low for a party.

So, she rolled her eyes with a huff. "You sure love lawsuits, don't you?" she chirped while making her way over towards the cooler.

It had been Dan's idea to have the afterparty on a small slice of beach on the edge of Hollywood acres; far enough away from the city to avoid the crowds, and close enough to everyone's houses that ubers or taxis wouldn't be too difficult to get. He had brought a few coolers of cheap beer, while a couple of the other guys had brought stuff to grill, and, though it certainly wasn't an expensive party, it was certainly a nice one.

Tom hadn't seemed all that convinced when they pulled up, of course, his standards being higher than everyone else's, but the longer they drank and ate, he seemed to loosen up a bit.

That is, until they lost yet another game. Parker would have blamed her shit aim on the drinking, but...

Well, she had always been better at smack talk than athletics.

"I love winning them, anyway," he said, following her.

Parker hummed while fishing out two beers. She cracked them both open, taking a long dredge of the first, before handing the second to Tom. "What is it like to be rich?" she mused.

He smirked at her. "It's pretty nice."

"Hm. I'm sure it is."

"Beats being poor."

"The servants and undying fans must be a plus."

"Well, they certainly don't hurt," he hedged, the corner of his mouth turning up after he took a sip of his beer.

She had noticed throughout their interactions that his mood seemed to be fluid; from pleased to bitchy in moments, always lingering on cagey indifference when no one was watching. As if he was always expecting some sort of criticism or veiled insult, and so he was always prepared to dish it out first. It was still baffling to her what his triggers were, but at the very least, he had seemed to be enjoying himself.

Mostly, anyway. Tom Ryder certainly was a sore loser.

"Not to say that I was the weak link on the black team earlier or anything, but I felt a little unprepared for how good everyone was today."

Tom pulled a face, scoffing. "You don't think you were the weak link?"

"Don't be an ass," she said, before tilting her head side to side in concession. "But, obviously. I'm not blind."

He smirked. "You sure? You were pretty awful for someone that talked so much trash. What happened to seal team six?"

"That was just a joke, obviously."

"You sounded pretty sure."

She rolled her eyes while plopping down onto an washed-up log. It was well into the evening now, and as the sun set on the horizon, a pair of Colt's friends were attempting to get a fire going.

"It was just some pre-game taunts," she told him, shifting as he sat down beside her—not before checking that the log wasn't going to stain his pants, first, of course—and Parker tried not to focus on how warm he seemed to be in the dying sunlight. "Everyone does it. You know, get the other team all jazzed up. I didn't mean it literally."

"You literally said, 'literally'," he deadpanned.

"Well—that's—that's just something people say!" she argued on her behalf. It wasn't at all convincing, however, and Tom arched a brow at her. Parker waved a hand at him, fighting back a snicker. "Whatever. Sorry I suck, but it wasn't just my fault. Jody shot me right in the tit!"

He laughed. "Yeah, I saw that. It looked like it hurt."

"Eh. Nothing more than my ego."

"You still have one?"

She snorted into her beer, and gave Tom a half-hearted elbow to the ribcage. He didn't seem to notice as he laughed into his own beer, however, and Parker would have bet she did more damage to her own bones than she did to his. "Not as big as yours, obviously, but it does exist. Just, you know, it's probably on life support."

To that, he let out a true laugh, and Parker couldn't help but grin when he shook his head at her. "You and Colt, Jesus. I swear you say the stupidest shit."

"Maybe you should try it sometime."

"Saying stupid shit?" he deadpanned.

"Not taking yourself so seriously," she corrected, swallowing down another quarter of her beer. It was only her third, and despite the fact that she had work in the morning, Parker was quite determined to get drunk with her brother. Seavers' sibling traditions, and all that. "I mean, I know that you're in the media a lot, but you just seem so..."

Tom shot her a warning look. Both brows arched into his hairline. "So?"

"Practiced," she finished, mirroring his look with a mock one of her own. The adjective clearly surprised him, and Tom twisted away from her with a scoff. Down the beach, Colt and Jody were standing with their feet in the tide, happy as all get out. "Which is crazy because some of the stuff you say is definitely going to get you cancelled one day by the working class, but most of the stuff you say just sounds like you're doing a bit interview with TMZ."

"You mean my job?"

"Oh, plgh," she blew a raspberry at him. "Whatever. I thought being a perk of being rich and famous meant you had immunity to say, or do, whatever you wanted."

"Whatever I want?" he drawled distastefully.

"Well, I mean, you treat people on set pretty awfully."

"I don't—"

"And you're always getting kicked out of clubs for partying too hard or being an ass or, actually," she frowned, frozen in thought, "I don't know how you get kicked out of a club, really. But I know you do. I've seen the, you know, tiktoks or whatever. Melissa's, not mine," she added quickly.

Tom finished his beer with a sour look. "You think anything about me gets put in the news that Gail doesn't allow to be there?"

Parker frowned. "I thought she was just your producer."

"Producer, manager, media agent," he listed off blithely, taking another long sip of his beer. When he finished it, he crushed the can in his hand, and stuffed it into the sand. "She handles everything for me. I think by now she has half of the news outlet in her pocket. Probably a good bit of Hollywood in general. Which, she should, given how much I fucking pay her. That's not even including movie revenues and bonuses."

"Oh," she said, not knowing what else to say.

Parker had known that Gail had helped Tom get his first big movie, and had stuck by his side since the beginning. But, in the way that Colt talked about it offhandedly, Parker had always assumed that Tom wanted Gail to be his producer because they were good friends. She hadn't ever assumed that their friendship was anything other than mutual, but if Gail Meyers really did control all aspects of Tom's life—professional and private—well... how mutual could that really be?

He had that look on his face again—brows furrowed, eyes downcast, jaw line clenched and shoulders tense—and Parker decided that any further questions she had about Gail could wait another day.

"Well, next year Colt is definitely getting a less violent birthday party," she said in a not-so-subtle change of conversation. Tom glanced at her sideways, and she forced something nonchalant into her tone. "Something that doesn't require any physical prowess. Maybe, a movie marathon or, like, a pool party."

He harrumphed. "Do you have a pool?"

"Hardy-har-har, no. I don't have a pool," she snarked. But, well, that was probably a good point. Parker turned to Tom in consideration. "Now, you wouldn't happen to have a pool at your—?"

"Don't even think about it."

"Oh, come on! I doubt you even use it."

"I use it plenty," he sniffed. Parker didn't give in so easily, however, and when she batted her eyelashes at him with a conniving smile, Tom shoved her lightly on the shoulder. She saw the smile he bit back. "You'll have to find someone else to host. I don't invite set hands to my house."

"See? That!" Parker laughed, pointing at him. "How have you not gotten cancelled yet when you say stuff like that?"

Tom, biting back a laugh, made a show of glancing around them at the empty space of sand. "Because I don't say stuff like that when I'm around people."

She remembered very clearly an offhand comment Jody had made to her at drinks, about how Tom Ryder was a complete idiot when it came to wearing his microphone. "I beg to differ," she taunted.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Hmmm, nothing," she snickered, deciding to keep that particular piece of information to herself. Besides, she wouldn't put it past Tom to get Jody in trouble for blabbing about him—nondisclosure agreements and all that. "Whatever. Maybe I'll take him to one of those fairs where you can learn how to do trapeze. I bet the daredevil would like that."

"He's certainly got the... flair of a gymnast," he said, and together they watched as Colt attempted to do cartwheels in the sand. He managed three in a row before popping up, grabbing the beer out of Jody's hand, and shot gunning the entire thing. He finished with a dazzling grin. "Alright, that's not bad, I'll give him that."

Parker snorted dryly. "Less so when he throws up doing it."

Tom, not questioning how she knew that, grimaced. "That's disgusting."

"Oooh, is throwing up on a beach too low-bro for you, Mr. Fancy Bathroom?"

To that, Tom pointedly grabbed her beer, and finished half of it in a single go. When he shoved it back into her hand, he added drolly, "hilarious, as always."

Parker thought she was hilarious, and grinned as she took a small sip of her beer. Besides, he didn't seem all that put out by the joke. Rather, he seemed quite at ease sitting there with her on the beach, no phone in sight. Or she suspected so, anyway.

It was always hard to tell with him.

Musing, she asked, "what do you normally do for your birthday?"

"What do you think? Gail throws a party."

"Fun."

"Yeah, it usually is," he said. Parker could picture it; a glamorous mansion, decorated out in whatever pompous theme they had decided on that year, giant photos of his face plastered throughout the building, a string of scantily dressed woman drifting throughout. "Open bars, cocktail waitresses, DJ Aoki."

She rounded on him with wide eyes. "Wait, seriously?"

"Usually, yeah."

She swung her glance around to the beach, watching as Colt's friends laughed and played hacky-sack and threw a frisbee, all slightly drunk, and most with paint in their hair. It was an intimate party, with something easy going and happy electrifying the air, but...

Well, it certainly wasn't going to beat DJ Aoki.

"Alright," she conceded, rolling her eyes at the overly smug smirk he shot her. "That sounds pretty fun, I'll give you that."

"Better than this."

"Hey!" she exclaimed, half serious and half in amusement. "Jody and I planned this for a while. Plus, this is exactly the type of thing that Colt would enjoy."

Tom made a face. "He certainly enjoyed shooting me."

"Oh, you noticed that, did you?"

"Hard not to," he groused. It was all to Parker's amusement, however, and while she tried to hide her laughter, she did a really bad job at it. "Oh, fuck off. You're lucky I don't have a photoshoot this week; I'm probably covered in welts. If I did, you can bet your ass that—"

"You'd sue me?" she taunted.

Tom's mouth ground together, obviously not having any retort, and in response she peeled forward in giggles.

"Fuck off," he said.

But, well, the longer that Parker laughed—beer quite clearly working its way through her system—the more the sour look he was wearing wore off. Until, eventually, the pair were giggling like teenagers.

"I totally could," he said anyway, if only just to re-insert himself as a rich asshole.

Parker hummed, still shaking in laughter, and leaned over to wiggle her brows at him conspiratorially. "Could, but... won't," she teased, cheeks well rosy red by now, and, honestly, she didn't even care. It was fun just joking around with him. "Some might even say that you're a big ole softie, Ryder. All talk, and no action."

"I'm serious," he said, and, well, he certainly looked serious as he bent towards her.

And while Parker probably should have focused on that fact—he absolutely could ruin her with a single lawsuit until she was desolate and on the street—but, now that the fire was going, her attention was stolen by the flickering light in the depths of his eyes. They were a lighter blue than she originally thought, not so icy as deep, and when set against the rich color of his skin and the blonde (natural, supposedly) hue of his hair....

Well—Tom Ryder wasn't just hot, he was breathtaking.

She knew she didn't look the same. She was rosy cheeked, covered in hues of green, white, and blue paint, smelling like paint lacquer and sweat, with the firelight surely darkening the already murky color of her eyes.

Still, she swore he leaned closer; swore his gaze swept over every bunch and inch of her skin as she did his.

It was odd, being that close to him, but nice too.

Nice and exciting and comforting and electric and—

"Oh, hey, there you are," Colt's voice, suspiciously chipper and high, interrupted them at the same time that his boots stepped over the log. He planted a hand on top of Parker's head to balance himself, the other not-so-subtly planting on Tom's shoulder, before plopping down into the few inches of log that separated them. Parker swatted his hand off of her head, while Tom smoothed out the wrinkles in his shirt. "I've been looking everywhere for you guys, my buddies, my pals. What are we talking about over here?"

"Nosy older brothers," Parker snarked, giving him a what the hell? look when he smiled at her. "I thought you were with Jody. Doing summersaults or something."

"Ah, she's good. That one, always—always good—but I thought I'd spend some more time with you. Plus, think I pulled something in the hamstring, you know. Can't let that happen, got to stay in tip top shape for this guy over here," he gestured to Tom with a thumb, awkward smile in place. "I feel like we never spend quality time together any more, Park. What have you been up to?"

"In the twenty minutes since our game finished?"

Colt laughed—a little too hard for a joke that wasn't at all funny—before swinging towards Tom. This time he jerked a thumb in her direction, saying, "she's so, so funny, you know. Loves to make jokes. Loves them. But, you know, you don't like jokes, so if she's bothering you—"

"I'm not bothering him," Parker huffed.

Tom's gaze jumped between the siblings. "Yeah, no, she's fine, man. Hasn't called me an asshole yet, so, that's probably a good sign."

Colt threw his head back with a laugh, clapping. "Ha! Right! Because the first time you met, she called you an asshole. A lot. Three times, I think. Which—super not cool. I know how you are about being called an asshole," he kept on going, a strong emphasis on the word as if Tom had forgotten. "So, sorry about her. I think I mentioned that she's actually adopted."

"Oh my god!" Parker whined, throwing her hands up in frustration. Colt didn't seem to notice, however, and he just barreled on.

"Did you get a beer?"

Tom blinked between brother and sister. "Uh, yeah man, I had a beer."

"Finished it?"

"Yeah."

"Great," he clapped his hands, grinning, before slinging an arm over Parker's shoulder. "Since you're done, you probably want another one, right? Well, I need one too, so, we'll go get that for you."

"Uh—"

"No problem! Two seconds! You just keep sitting there stunning, Tom. Like you always do on set! God, what a hunk," he rambled on in a single stream of consciousness, patting Tom far too hard on the shoulder despite their strained work-friendship. It stunned Tom, and while he only blinked at his shoulder in shock, Colt shot him some finger guns. "Don't sweat it, bro. We'll be back!"

Colt hauled Parker onto her feet before she could protest, and dragged her off in the direction of the cooler. Dan shot the pair an odd look, but upon noticing the glower she was wearing, wisely decided not to get involved. He seemed to be doing a lot of that lately.

"Colt," she hissed, ripping herself away from him as he started digging through the cooler like a rat in a trashcan. She swatted his bucket hat. "What the hell was that?"

"You want a Bud or a Coors?"

"Colt!"

"Oh, I think this is the last Coors, so, sorry, all out of luck," he continued rambling, studiously avoiding the way she was glaring daggers into his back. "Man, we sure drank a lot of beer already."

"Colt!"

Colt stood to his full height, beer in each hand, and paused when he finally caught tailwind of her sour glare. "What?"

"Don't what me!" Parker snapped, gesturing wildly over her shoulder to the general direction of Tom, before crossing one arm over the other. "Brother? My man? What the hell was that?"

"Not sure," he whistled, popping the tab open to take a dramatic breath. "I think it's probably an expensive cologne, but it definitely smells a little off. Can cologne go bad?"

He offered the second beer over with a look of wide-eyed innocence, as if he had no idea why Parker would be upset. And, well, even though she was immune to his puppy-dog eyes and wobbly lip, not even Parker would shit on the sanctity of a birthday.

Snatching the beer out of his hand, she shoved a finger in his face, "I'll let it go this time," she warned. "But I swear to god if you pull something like that again..."

"Oh, what, you'll shoot me?" Colt mocked, before tapping his temple as if something had just occurred to him. "Oh, that's right! You can't hit anything. I think you actually shot yourself once today, Park, so, uh, you know—I'm not all that scared."

Parker stared, eye twitching, as her brother gave her a smug grin.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I think there's a nice little English lady just waiting for someone to—!"

Colt Seavers may have been a muscular guy that knew how to take a hit, but he went down surprisingly easy when his younger sister tackled him around the waist.

---

"Red."

"Black."

"Okay, then up."

"Mhmm, no," Colt shook his head, frowning beneath the fringe and bucket hat, as he shuffled three cards in his hand. He peered at them all with half-lidded eyes. "Down."

"King?"

Colt held up a card, turning it to face Parker with a drunk grin. "Ha!" he shouted, holding the card high above his head—as if to put it on show for everyone nearby—before he gave her matching middle fingers. "Drink up, loser!"

His sister whined. She did not, in any way, want to drink up.

But, the game was the game, and so she tipped her head all the way back, beer pointed toward the sky, and finished it in three, long swallows.

Then, she flopped back onto the beach with a loud, dying groan.

Among it all, Jody leaned forward to snatch up the card that Colt had just abandoned. It was an ace of spades. With furrowed brows, she asked, "I'm sorry, but I don't quite understand how this game works."

"What do you mean?" Colt asked, peering over at her.

"Like, what are the rules?" she emphasized, a long sweeping gesture over the stack of cards, the two quarters off to the side, the ever-growing pile of empty beers, and then to the siblings.

The siblings that were now wearing matching looks of confusion.

"Rules?" Colt echoed with even more emphasis. His eyebrows were screwed up beneath the brim of his hat, and his eyes had a hazy layer over them.

"Oh, Christ," Tom rolled his eyes. He hadn't been interested in the slightest when the Seavers siblings proposed a round of playing, what they called, Calico In The Woods, but there hadn't been anything else to do than stoke the campfire, and so he had spent the last twenty-five minutes growing more and more confused by their nonsensical rules dictated almost definitely by who was the drunkest. "Is this even a real game?"

Parker, sprawled beside him, inched onto her elbows. "Of course it is," she said. The slight slur of her syllables wasn't exactly confidence bolstering, however. "I learned it at camp, like, ages ago."

"Camp?" Tom couldn't even imagine what sort of camp these two idiots would spend their summers at while growing up. "What sort of camp teaches this?"

Colt wagged a finger crookedly through the air. "Family camp, technically. All the relatives would meet up every summer and it was all tent poles and mosquitoes for seven straight days. It was more fun when we were still kids, didn't have to pay for anything, and just got shoved together with the cousins. Made for good drinking too."

"And they gave you beer when you were kids?" Jody asked in bewilderment. She had been drinking steadily throughout the night as well, but whereas Colt sucked down drinks like it was his job, she had been slowly nursing her latest one for the last forty-five minutes.

"When we were—come on, Jody, don't be ridiculous. Of course they didn't give us beer when we were kids. This is America, you know. We had to find it."

"And technically it was hooch," Parker interjected. It didn't surprise Tom in the least that they would have been drinking some garage-brewed hooch, and he flattened his brows at her accordingly. Parker only response was a careless laugh. "What? Not mine! Sam would always bring it. Or, steal it. Something like that."

Jody giggled from her spot in the circle, and the distant firelight made her smile sparkle. "I think I'm starting to understand the two of you better, after tonight," she mused.

Colt leaned forward. "Impressed?"

"That you're still alive? Immensely."

"Pshaw," he blew a raspberry, waving a hand at her. "It's what we do, isn't it? Surviving the stunts, jumping out of buildings, getting set on fire. Pretty heroic if you ask me."

"What he does, anyway" Parker said pointedly. At her side, Jody laughed. It was a tinkly sound, delicate, and very much her. She understood where her brother's infatuation stemmed from; Jody Moreno was a stunning woman, gentle and kind in every way. "I stopped jumping out of buildings when I was, like, six. The heroics didn't really do it for me."

"Afraid?" Tom asked.

"Mhmmmm.... just not stupid I think."

Tom made a noise halfway between a laugh and a cough. Parker heard it—hard not to when she seemed to always be tuned in to him—but if her brother did, he didn't comment on it. Instead, he was in the process of finishing his beer.

"Are you sure you should have another?" Jody asked.

"Am I sure that you should have another?" he shot back, completely ignoring her concern to grin madly at the group as he stuck his head into the cooler. "I think we should all have another. Yeah? A White Claw for m'lady. Stripe for m'sista. Tom, man, what you having?"

Tom blinked at him for a long moment, likely considering whether or not he even still wanted to be there, before giving in with a long suffering sigh. "Anything that's not shitty."

Colt glanced between Tom and the cooler silently. "Er, when you say nothing shitty," he hedged, a hand lifting to run through his hair. It promptly knocked his bucket hat off with a thump, but he didn't notice. "What's your opinion on Red Stripe?"

"Awful."

"Natties?"

"Worse."

The sound of ice and glass tinkled as he continued to dig through the cooler. "Corona?"

Tom, surprised at the option, shrugged. "Yeah, alright."

"Right, nice," he said, snapping finger guns towards Tom, before he returned his attention to the cooler with a dramatic sigh. "Thing is though there aren't any more of those, but—next time, next time I'll get some more. We do have a lime Bud Light? Domestic, I think. IPA, eh... maybe? Think they're organic, too, cuz that's a whole thing for you, right?"

Parker stuffer her lip between her teeth to keep from laughing, and swung towards Tom. His brows were drawn flat, shoulders tense, a cloud of irritation hovering over his spot in the sand. A string of giggles rushed past her mouth.

She slapped a hand over it just as quickly.

Tom heard it though, and as he glared at her, he just made an impatient gimme gesture to Colt with the flutter of his hand. Ice tinkled before a wet can was pressed into his palm.

"If you—you close your eyes," Colt continued nonsensically, "you won't even know the difference, my brother. Same thing."

"Yeah, I'll fucking get right on that."

Colt didn't hear the sarcasm and gave him a thumbs up paired with a grin. "Nice!"

Jody giggled as Colt flopped down beside her. Despite her judgement on the drinking, she cracked open the drink he gave her, and lifted it into the air.

"I think now's a proper time for a toast," she said, nudging Colt gently in the side. He beamed at the attention; going so far as to sit up straight and pull his shoulders back. "I am very happy we got to meet on set, and, erm, hope you have a good year. Yeah?"

His face was almost entirely a grin now. "That's—that's nice. You have a nice accent, you know. It's the vowels."

"The vowels?"

"Killer 'o's."

"What does that even mean?" Jody asked, laughing, which only seemed to please Colt further. Shaking her head at his antics, she turned next to Parker. "Parker?"

"Hm? Oh!"

In a rush, Parker moved from lying on her stomach to pulling her legs up underneath her. She teetered too far into Jody's space for a moment before overcorrecting into Tom's. He didn't complain, but righted her with a gentle palm.

It was warm against her skin, comfortable too.

There was a flicker of a memory—the bathroom, the taunting and teasing, and feeling of her hand rubbing soothing circles into his flushed back—before she was thrown back into the present. He was blinking at her; calm and indifferent, as if not a bother in the world other than the lime Bud Light in his hand.

With a little effort, Parker moved her attention to her brother.

"Er, Colt, obviously I love you and I love spending time with you," she started. It felt like an awkward declaration with everyone watching her, but her brother didn't mind in the least. His smile had softened at the edges into something reminiscent. "You're my best friend, and the only person that I would follow to the West Coast."

He laughed. It was an inside joke between the pair that Parker had no love lost for the West Coast. She didn't like the valley girl accents or the overpriced cappuccinos, but at the end of the day, it was worth it.

She shook her head a second time. "Anyways, um, happy birthday. Another year, another bender, huh?"

Colt waggled a finger at her. "Don't let Mom hear you say that," he said, before adding in a bad stage whisper to Jody, "Mom thinks I'm a bad influence on her."

To which Parker added in a stage whisper of her own, "he gave me my first cigarette."

"And I never heard the end of it."

They all laughed; starry eyes and sand warm skin as the evening air fell over them, before, naturally, their attentions moved to Tom.

Tom who, for the life of him, looked like he had just been thrown onto a stage without any clothes on. How someone could be an international super star and so awkward at the same time baffled Parker.

"Oh, uh, happy birthday," he managed with a flimsy nod. Then, when no one cheered to that—clearly expecting more—Tom added, "...you're a, um, good stunt double man."

Parker furrowed her brows at him, eyes widening ever so slightly in prompt, and after a moment his shoulders sank with an exhale.

"Honestly, you're really good at what you do, professional, and... you make me look good doing it, so, you know—happy birthday. I haven't forgotten that you introduced me to Gail, or whatever, so... thanks. Happy birthday, man."

Sensing that he was uncomfortable with the attention on him, and pleasantly surprised to hear Tom Ryder thank anyone was enough for Parker. She lifted her beer as high as she could, and gave a cry of "here, here" that everyone echoed.

When Parker sipped her beer, she glanced at the man beside her.

He didn't notice her gaze at first, but when he did, she saw him stiffen, fluffing his collar and raking a hand through his hair all in a choppy motion that she suspected were more robotic than anything else. He wasn't smiling like the others either.

Odd, for someone so used to the limelight to be uncomfortable with a couple odd attentions on him. But Parker was odd herself, and so she spared him grace where others may not.

"That was nice," she muttered.

Tom froze in his ministrations, before giving a harsh scoff. "Nice? Yeah, you're welcome. I usually get paid twenty grand for doing something like this."

"Attending a friend's birthday party?"

"Public appearances."

She hummed half-heartedly. It was sad to think that Tom would think of a small birthday party like this in terms of what sort of check he could be getting out of it, and she was having too much fun to be sad.

Colt's bucket hat caught her attention. She swiped it up before promptly plopping it atop her head. "Are bucket hats still a fashion crime?"

The question was only worthy of a side eye. "You look ridiculous."

Parker shrugged, grabbing the ends of her braids and wiggling them at him. There was still paint in her hair, as well as on her hands, and she supposed he had a point about her overall fashion sense. "What about now?"

The side eye lingered longer this time, swinging from the hat to her braids to her cross-eyed smile she was giving him.

Through it all, she caught the flicker of his smile.

Parker grinned. "I think you're just jealous of my hat."

"Colt's hat."

"I have a matching one," she said, twisting and turning to try and remember where she had left it. "I think it's in my car."

"Thank god for that."

Parker stuck her tongue out at him, at the same time that Jean-Claude came crashing through the scene. He kicked up sand over the both of them, a stick in his mouth as he danced back and forth on his front paws. Parker laughed—the dog, pervy or not, was pretty fricking cute—and as she wrestled with the stick in his mouth, there was a cry.

"Time for a picture! Come on, everyone gather round!"

Colt leapt to the front and Jody clambered closer at her side as Jean-Claude practically sat in Parker's lap, stick forgotten in exchange for some gentle head scratches. She would have bowled backwards if Tom wasn't there with his warm palms, and as the rest of the remaining group piled in around them, she smiled up at him.

He didn't smile back; just looked at her, eyes sweeping over the length of her face, the dimples in her cheeks, and the curve of her nose for a moment so long Parker swore it lasted forever. But then there was a countdown, and together they tore their attention off of each other and looked forward.

"...two... one... say cheese!"

There was the click of a camera and a flash as the party called out together. The party came back to life with that single photo giving everyone a reason to group back together. People she had forgotten were even there started handing out the last of the beers from the cooler, marshmallows appeared out of someone's bag, and as energy threaded through them like a shot of her cousin's mystery hooch, someone turned the radio up just in time for The Spins by Mac Miller to come on.

It felt like a movie as everyone hopped to their feet, drinks raised, fire casting shimmer light over their drunken, grinning faces while sparks drifted up into the stars overhead.

Colt danced with Jody, limbs awkwardly thrown forward and backward as the alcohol fueled their steps, and when Dan grabbed her around the waist and spun her, round and round they went, Parker threw her head back and shrieked with laughter. The type of laughter that had her chest heaving, face hurting from splitting so wide, every worry disappearing as they simply lived in the moment.

And, though the speaker was awful, and the beer was shitty, and their dancing was more so jumping in a discordant swing of limbs, and though the people weren't exactly the upper brow of Hollywood's finest or the rich elites that he was used to, Parker swore in the dim glow of the firelight, that Tom Ryder was grinning as well.

[creative-frequency]

[theyearofdiamonddogs]

My sibling knows me... 😏 @amicitonia