That's When We Uncover [Jensen Ackles + Misha Collins | Cockles | mxm]

Chapter Twenty-Five

I knead my hands along the steering wheel, gazing sombrely through the windshield.

City lights shine against the black backdrop of night like stars sprinkled across a navy canvas. The world is reduced to a smattering of pinpricks and blurry buildings looming overhead as I speed down the highway.

There's an exhilarating rush of freedom in driving, uninhibited, across this stretch of California road, the world rushing past me in vibrant technicolor.

I'm headed to the local club for a party hosted by a few actor friends of mine. I figure I've spent long enough at home, nursing a bruised heart and crying an endless well of tears like some spurned Disney princess.

I know - I suppose I've always known - that my time with Misha wouldn't last forever. I had my shining hour with him, now I have to face the stinging slap of reality. If it's meant to be, he'll find his way back to me. If not, I'll think of him as the one that got away for the rest of my life.

I blast the radio and roll the windows down to allow fresh gusts of wind to roll through the car. The thrumming of the bass pulses inside the confines of the vehicle, carried by the rushing breeze.

My body aches from being dragged through the past few weeks, facial muscles sore from forcing smiles and posing for family pictures. Dani wants to document every moment in our babies' lives, and she's orchestrated nothing short of a full-blown photoshoot, not unlike the many she's accustomed to featuring in.

She's raring to return to modelling, exulting in various treatments, creams and exercises to reclaim her awe-inspiring beach body.

She doesn't know it, but I've come to perfect the same art as her. I smile for the cameras and model the perfect husband, moving through the motions of my life and trying to enjoy celebrity galas, parties, awards ceremonies... I know how to act; I know that I need to start getting out more, if only to keep up appearances.

The club is vibrating, alive with the pounding of a wicked beat and shaking to its foundations. I check in with the bouncers and wade through the crowd, cradling my drink in my hand.

It isn't long before I find my friends in the secluded booth reserved for the night, in various states of intoxication.

They're high-class, A-class, a well-cropped collective. Swaying to the sensually pounding rhythm, their perfect bodies move with effortless ease. Luxe streetwear channeling an all-American cool, hair perfectly styled, makeup flawlessly applied, skin aglow with smouldering Californian tans.

The club is a whirl of sunglasses, embroidered crop tops and tiny denim shorts, glasses of colourful shots shimmering in the strobe lights. The smells and sights, the crushing throng of people and the flashing of lights all around me is a familiar concoction: the way of fame.

There are big names all around me, flanked by bodyguards and other VIP exclusives. I spot Bloom, Spears, even that prepubescent boy Styles.

Actors, models, directors, stylists, designers, singers and other musicians - the biggest stars in the celebrity circuit - move together in a mass of hot, well-dressed party animals on the dance floor.

I move past people who don't see the real man beneath my killer apparel and gruff, masculine demeanour.

They don't know that I'm a closeted gay actor on a hugely-popular fantasy-horror TV show with a seemingly perfect family comprised of a model-gorgeous wife and three children...and I'm pining for a man I'll never be able to call my own.