I spend New Years partying with some other Cali actors from the Hollywood neighbourhood in L.A. and Malibu.

Soon enough, the simple walk from my car up to a club will feel like a condemned man's walk down the last mile. Not that I'm not assaulted with camera flashes and insistent reporters on the daily - my fame already turns a simple grocery run into an autograph session - but the blooming scandal will compound everything exponentially. For now, though, I have Dani on my arm and things are still normal, even if we do spend the entire evening apart.

I know of most of the celebs here, though I personally know very few. But that doesn't stop me from striking up conversation with Arrow and Teen Wolf actor Colton Haynes.

Jared, Misha and I appeared alongside Paul Wesley, Nina Dobrev, John Barrowman, Colton and other big names at the CW upfronts in 2014, which is when I met him.

I've wanted to talk to Colton in person since he came out to the world as gay. And I'm glad I'm finally getting the chance, because I also get to meet his secret celebrity florist boyfriend Jeff Leatham, who, if things go as planned, won't be a secret for long.

Jeff tells me when Colton takes a bathroom break that he's thinking about popping the question in a few months, if all goes well. I try not to gush too obviously, but I honestly think their story is incredibly inspiring and I'm honoured to be one of the select few people on earth who know about their relationship right now. Although I hope to soon be one of millions.

The reason I find it so touching is because couples like them are so rare. Hollywood romances are ninety-nine percent pro-mances: staged, fake, pure off-screen acting. The marriages are more about profile than love, set up by publicity agents and sometimes trapping stars in relationships where divorce would automatically end their career. But Colton went through hell for being open about his sexuality, and his profile, like Jeff's, will take a severe blow if they get engaged. They both know it, and it doesn't matter to them. And there's nothing more genuine than that.

When the headlines about those two emerge in a few months, I'll be watching to gauge the world's reaction to the unveiling of their secret romance. And I'll probably be thinking about Misha and I, about what we could be if not for a million little inconveniences.

I see him again, the Mishaesque stranger from the last heated evening I was here.

I spot him throwing back a shot at the bar under the barrage of strobing, multicoloured lights, and curiosity propels me forward until I'm within his line of sight. Despite the darkness and the myriad of hues splashing across his face, I recognize those eyes, widening at the sight of me.

My boldness wanes a bit. This isn't my style. But it's not like I'm soliciting sex or anything. I just want to know...

"What's your name?" My voice fights to carry over the thundering beat of the music.

The stranger's face splits into a broad, sensual gin as he leans across the chrome bar top on his forearms.

"What do you want it to be," he drawls smoothly.

My jaw clenches, and I suppress the urge to roll my eyes. Typical stranger at the club who would rather we maintain delusions of each other as sexual fantasies than get real by bringing names to the table.

"How original," I mutter, effectively shutting him down with my perpetually foul mood.

Pretty boy chuckles to himself, long lashes screening his eyes as he drops his gaze to his drink. When he lifts his head again, expressive brows arched, he studies me pensively.

"Look, handsome," he murmurs. "I like dick as in the body part, not the personality type. You may be hot, but you left me with blue balls the first time we met, and you're not exactly coming across as a little ray of sunshine right now, either."

My jaw slackens, and I reach up to rub it absentmindedly. Well, if he's looking for roses and candy hearts, he ain't getting them from a miserable fuck like me. I'm not even interested, and this whole encounter, like the first, was a complete bust.

"That's too bad," I stiffen, shifting on my feet as I contemplate just walking away. "Because I've been told that I'm a dick of massive proportions."

My cheeks darken as the man runs his eyes over me in slow perusal.

"Oh, I'll bet," he groans, biting his bottom lip in sexual torment. "Fuck, you're so bad for me. Complete poison." He shakes his head like he can't believe what he's about to do. "I'd normally move the fuck on by this point, but..."

Sliding off the bar stool, he reaches around as though to grope my backside, but his fingers find my phone instead and pull it out of my pocket. In a kind of daze, I enter the passcode for him and he adds himself effortlessly to my contacts. I make no move to stop him, mostly because I have no intention of getting with him anyway.

"I'm not looking for a hookup," I sigh, jadedly stuffing my phone back in my pocket.

"Yeah," he gestures to the wedding band on my left hand. "Look, I get it. You're clearly in the closet, probably happily married. I'm not looking for anything with strings attached, either. Just a fling."

Dream the fuck on. But it occurs to me, like a lightening bolt to my core, that my wedding band will soon be obsolete.

I'm...single.

For the first time in longer than I can remember, I'm on my own.

But I don't want to be alone; it's in my DNA as a human to crave intimacy. So...what if I take Jared's advice? What if I just...pick up every willing man at the club with dark hair and blue eyes, fuck their brains out and then show them the door?

If I dim the lights, take them from behind so I don't have to look at their disappointingly non-Misha-like faces...would I be able to achieve any kind of satisfaction? Some kind of reprieve from the loneliness or at least from the sexual frustration?

And, fuck, how did it come to this? I don't do this kind of thing. Jizz and jet, hump and dump, shoot and scoot, cram and scram, smash and dash, blow and go...

"I have to go," I mutter, folding my arms across my chest. Dani's probably looking for me, and, anyways, I'm not ready for the world to see Jensen Ackles being groped by some stranger at the bar.

"Always when we're getting to the good part," the man sighs wistfully.

Aww, how tragic that I'm leaving him high and dry again. I'll cry later.

Mystery man props his head on his hand and watches me walk away, disappearing into the crowd in search of my friends.

I notice he's texted himself from my phone, so now the fucker has my number, too. And he entered his name as that hot gay from the club, Ian.

He either can't spell, or he thinks he's funny. Either way, he can think about my dick while he rubs one out in the shower tonight, because it's Misha or bust for me.

***

I'm shaking like a damn leaf when the tires of the security transport vehicle finally crunch over the gravel of the Supernatural set.

The engines are cut. Car doors slam. My personal bodyguards exit the bevy of dark-tinted vehicles flanking me for most of the trip, assuming their positions. I roll my shoulders to relieve the tension as they escort me across the parking lot towards the cluster of trailers opposite the gravel drive.

Shuddering, I brace myself against the onslaught of wind and burrow deeper into my leather jacket. Misha isn't anywhere in sight, but the thought of seeing him again has me shivering in agonizing anticipation more than the cold.

Not to mention that the weather seems insufferably frigid after the year-round warmth of California. Even though I know that BC, influenced by mountains and ocean, boasts of a mild climate, with temperate winters, compared to other Canadian provinces.

I don't feel good leaving the babies at home so early on in their lives, but my parents are sticking around a while longer to help Dani look after them, while Mack had to return home. But even after they leave, the doc plans on becoming more involved in helping out with the kids.

Security ushers me to my trailer door, and I turn the key in the lock. Home sweet home, I think, switching on the lights and smiling at the familiar sight.

Before I can begin to settle in, my phone goes off with a notification from my PA, who's apparently found a luxury penthouse back in Cali that she'd like me to look into. Probably to rent for the duration of the house hunt.

We've been looking into some houses near my current home, so I can still be close to the children when I move out. Given that I'll be living alone, I honestly wouldn't mind settling in a condo or penthouse apartment rather than a house. I just want to move on with my life.

My inbox is flooded with emails about stints and series-regular roles on other TV phenoms, but there is no foreseeable end to Supernatural, so I ignore these for the time being and open the housing update.

It contains info on a two-thousand square foot triplex apartment in a new condominium development. Attached is a panoramic shot of a lush spread with floor-to-ceiling glass walls offering a spectacular view of the city. The unique and authentic interior design is much more my style, with eclectic furnishings and finishes in a palette of creams and deep chocolate brown.

My eyes roam approvingly over the contemporary, open-plan architecture, bright and airy with beautiful leather accents and plush, sumptuous sofas. The description boasts of high-end amenities likes a jacuzzi, gym, sauna, and fireplace, with room for my personal modifications and renovations.

I reply no to the indoor waterfall, maybe to making the lobby's focal point a massive fish tank. Definite yes to the scenic terrace. I think this is the one, and tap out a reply to this end.

I've barely finished showering and unpacking when Jared invites me to his trailer to hang out with the guys. Most are scheduled to arrive later on in the day, but Mark, Richard, Rob, Clif and I gather together over at Casa Padalecki to catch up and wait on their arrival.

We settle down on his couches with a few beers, and my stomach churns with dread.

I have to tell them. Sooner or later, they'll find out, and I'd rather my friends hear the news from me first.

I make no effort to disguise my turmoil, lying horizontally across one of the couches with a permanent scowl etched on my features. Their efforts to cheer me up are in vain.

Finally, Jared goes over to the TV to "put something funny on."

Not long into his choice selection, I have a good idea where this is headed.

[There should be a GIF or video here. Update the app now to see it.]

"Now, guys," Jared begins solemnly, reaching for the remote before shutting off the TV. "Jensen has something he'd like to say to us, and I want you all to - wait...Jensen? Where'd he go?"

"I'm over here," I grunt from the doorway.

All heads swivel to where I'm grabbing my coat and shoes.

"You're leaving," Rob asks in dismay.  

Jared pipes up too, but I don't hear it because I'm already high-tailing it out of his trailer.

***

I'm not surprised when Jared calls me over again later, after the others have left, and apologizes profusely.

He even brings out some steak and grills it in the kitchenette, before serving it to me with diced potatoes and roasted red peppers. As if I'll forgive him on the mere, insufficient grounds that he's making me food...

"Mm," I groan, shoving a forkful of the tender, savoury meat into my mouth. "You're forgiven." 

"Thanks," Jared wrings his hands nervously. His fingers start drumming on the small oak table. "So...how've you been, man? How's your life?"

"Misha's fine."

It takes Jared a moment to catch on, and his tone takes on a wistful softness.

"Okay, cute. But seriously. How have you been holding up?"

"How do you think?"

He knows that I'm heartbroken and my wife is divorcing me and my life is just about over, but aside from those little setbacks, it's been all fuckin' smiles. "My cup runneth over."

Jared slips his hands up behind his neck, fingers lacing, and ducks his chin to his chest.

"Look, man, I know things are hard right now, and I'm sorry. I'm just trying to help however I can."

"So you thought you'd set me up to come out to the guys?"

Jared lowers his gaze, mouth tense.

"Sorry if it made you uncomfortable. Not my smartest or most thought-out move. I just thought-"

"It's okay," I sigh. "I get what you were trying to do and...good friends are hard to come by. So thanks."

"Insert dick joke here," Jared mutters under his breath.

"Huh?"

"Dude," Jared snorts. "Good friends are hard to come by?"

I stare evenly at him until his chuckling dies down, replaced by uneasy coughing.

"Sorry."

"It's fine," I manage around a forkful of steak.

We eat in silence for a few minutes before I set my fork down with a clatter and rub my temples warily.

"You okay?" Jared's eyebrows shoot up.

"No. I'm actually fucking terrified."

"What do you mean?"

I sigh, the heaviness of exhaustion hanging on my eyelids like weights.

"I'm worried my life is going to end up like those movies," I blurt. "You know. Contemporary ones. Alternative, no clear-cut resolution..."

"No happy ending?"

"Yeah, exactly," I swallow. "No happy ending. I mean, I always thought the characters were so stupid. Like, chase after the love of your life, goddamnit, fight. Or...something. I don't know, don't just...give up."

Jared's brow furrows as he regards me contemplatively.

"I guess I just...didn't think that would be me. You know," I gesture warily with my hands, "main dude living an unfulfilling life, maybe a double identity. Then there's this person he wants to be with but he can't because-"

"Things."

"Yeah. He can't because - things - and then," I swallow thickly. "Then he throws it all away. His chance at happiness, because...he's scared. Too scared to take a risk. Or maybe he's scared of change, I don't know."

"You think maybe that's what Misha's scared of too?"

I scoff darkly.

"I think he's scared of losing everything. And rightly so."

"But you don't think he's really happy."

"No, I... I don't know. I can't really speak for him."

"But you know him."

"Yeah, I do."

"Really well," Jared emphasizes.

"Really, really well."

"Like-"

"Like really, really-"

"Okay, got it, thanks. Thank you, thank you...moving on."

I shrug and bite nonchalantly into a sizzling hot, oven-roasted potato. It's simply seasoned and nicely browned, delectable.

"So what do you think will happen," I press.

"What do you mean?"

"What is our ending? Is it all just gonna...fade into nothing? Like the big guy in the sky will eventually call cut and I'll just be...standing there, exactly the same as I was before Misha happened? Still alone?"

"I don't know, man. It's your movie. Your life. You do what you want."

"You think it's that simple?"

"I mean, sure it is," Jared coaxes. "Didn't you just say as much? About how stupid it is to just let life pass you by and not do what you want? Not pursue who you want?"

"I know what I want. And I do what I want."

Misha is what I want.

Done.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

"So," he challenges, punctuating the question with a jab of his fork.

"So... So what next? Where do I go from here?"

"You tell me."

"Oh, sure, except I don't have a fucking clue. I know what I want, but I don't think Misha knows what he wants."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning," I grapple for words, "I think he's confused. I don't think he...remembers. Or wants to remember. What we had, I mean. I think he's trying to sweep us under the rug and he genuinely thinks he can get away with it, but he can't."

"Why not?"

"Because it's all just a piss poor excuse, a big lie, and...he's not really...he can't - he should be honest with himself."

I know how he must feel, though. I went through the same thing, and I didn't know what to think either. Except: wow, my whole life was a lie... Damn.

"But?"

"I don't know, man! But he doesn't want to, but he's scared of where it might lead, but he doesn't want to doubt everything he's built his life on, but he really thinks he can go on like this forever..."

"You think he's lying to himself," Jared prods carefully.

"I mean, he's a professional actor..." I hesitate. "You know how it is. It's hard even for us to tell when we're lying. I don't know... I just want him to come back to me."

"He'll come back to you," Jared promises. "And in you and on you and-"

"Whoa. Brakes. Hit those. Right now." I squeeze my eyes shut, drawing a hand warily over my face.

"Okay, jeez. Calm down. Yeah, what he did was cruel. But he does have a few very redeeming qualities." Jared leans over to elbow me suggestively in the ribs. "Say it with me, Jensen: that bubble butt..."

"Shut up," I toss back stiffly.

"Aww, come on," he presses, which angers me and gives him purpose in life. "Misha's got an ass like two little volleyballs glued together and you know it. He's worth fighting for."

I ignore him, in spite of my dick waking up and trying to put its feelings in on the subject too. Shit, what am I going to do when I see him again? If I so much as hear Misha's orgasm-inducing voice, I'll be tackling him onto the nearest horizontal surface like an NFL linebacker. And I would very much like to see someone try and hold me back.

Instead I hiss at Jared to fuck off, causing him to raise his hands in mock surrender.

"Oh, go suck a dick, Jensen," he smirks. "You're not you when you're thirsty."

His lecherous grin only broadens at the sight of my feral glower. But before I can lunge at him over the table, the trailer door swings open and it suddenly feels as if a load of bricks have been dropped on my chest.

I collapse back in my seat, knees quivering like jelly, muscles uselessly lax, jaw hanging and is it raining or is that just my drool?

I grip the kitchen table with whitening knuckles, so turned on by the sight of him after all this time that I might explode like a fucking geyser.

"Hey, Jared. Jensen." His voice washes over my senses like lighter fluid, and when he trains those sparkling blue orbs on me, an all-consuming inferno roars to life inside me.

Misha.