The taste of tears slips past my lips and salts my tongue before I feel them fall. “I am so not badass.”
“Like I’m even accepting arguments on the topic.”
“I was awful to him, Soph,” I say, my heart pulsing painfully in my temples.
“Yeah, well now he’s being awful to himself,” she says before mumbling something under her breath. I thought I heard concussion.
That makes me sit up. Literally. “What do you mean? What concussion? Is he okay?”
My body is instantly flooded with adrenaline, enough that I forget the pain of my hangover, if only for a brief stomach-twisting moment.
“Shit. I wasn’t going to say anything.”
“Sophie!”
“He’s fine, babe. I promise. He’s just been acting a little careless at work,” she says.
She doesn’t say anything else about it, but she doesn’t have to. I’m worried regardless of what she says… And I am suddenly way too far from where I want to be.
“No matter what,” Sophie says softly, “you have backup. All you need to do is tell the truth—to yourself, and to Doc. But that’s just my two cents.”
I just breathe and think for a minute, and my girl is silent and patient. My heart turns over a few times before I can restart and tell her, “I have to come home.”
28
AFTER-EFFECTS
DOC
I’VE NEVER BEEN SO dogged about chasing down work or new accounts, but given my emotional state of emergency, it’s the best thing I can think to do outside of surfing. And since avoiding Nora-spots around town is optimal, I’ve also been staying away from Monkhouse’s place. He’s texted me a lot over the past week, wondering why I haven’t stopped by as usual. I even got a few texts from Sophie, checking on me. My stomach turns anytime someone asks how I am.
I get a call from one of the marginally successful small studios about a short stint doing some driving work, so I jump at the chance. Car jumps and chase scenes are some of my favorite to do, and also an insane adrenaline high. They require a lot of skill and focus, though, so I can’t really fault anyone but myself when I roll the car while I’m in it. Despite my getting injured on their watch, the studio practically humps my leg in thanks, as I’ve saved them a full-day shoot with their effects team. Turns out they were going to roll the car anyway—it’s just usually done with no live people inside.
After the medic patches up my scrapes and bruises, he casually mentions that I have a concussion like it’s the cherry on top.
“Shouldn’t you have led with that?”
“Sorry.” He laughs as though I should be amused, but I simply am not. “It’s not major, but I wouldn’t stay alone tonight. If you prefer, we can check you in at Cedars-Sinai for observation.”
The word alone reverberates through me, rattling the marrow in my bones. It stirs up resentment and an ache in my chest that has nothing to do with my injuries. It’s like he knew my nights have been shit. “I’d prefer to be at home.”
“I just thought your girlfriend or someone could keep an eye on you?” The reason nearly becomes a question, but turns the corner at the tail end to sound more like an apology. “You need someone to help keep you awake for the next twelve hours, or to wake you up every hour or two and check your vitals.”
I relent and sheepishly accept the situation. I’ve had concussions before—far more serious, even. I shove my attitude into the backseat and try to relax. “Right, mate. Sorry. It’s been a rough go for me lately. Thanks.”
After he leaves me to gather my shit and get dressed, I call Fox to see about resting up at casa de Monkhouse tonight. Where better to be than in the house of a registered nurse?
“Hey!” Sophie shouts as I arrive, limping slightly as I come through the door.
Did I mention I jammed my knee as well?
“Are you trying to hurt yourself?” She hustles over then stops in front of me, popping her hands on her hips. “Or is it a death wish you have?”
I smile wanly. “I just lost focus. I promise. These things do happen in my line of work.” I wince, holding my side.
Ah yes, I forgot. A bruised rib, too.
“You’re such an idiot,” she says, but I feel the love. Mostly because she steps forward and hugs me gently.
“Leave him alone.” Fox comes out of their bedroom just in the nick of time. A lecture may have been next. “He’s my patient.”
“That makes sense,” she says, lightly slapping my cheek. “A registered idiot is the best caretaker for this one.”
Fox immediately grips my face and tugs at my lower lids with his thumbs. “Not bad. Okay, so Henry will wake you up every hour on the hour. You should be good.”
“Fox.” Sophie playfully punches him in the shoulder.
“Of course I’m kidding. I’ll stay up,” he says. “I do this shit all the time.”
By four a.m., the checkups every hour have gotten tedious and sincerely annoying, which leaves me wide awake. Exhaustion has boomeranged into the inability to sleep, thanks in part to my mood degrading with each wake-up call. Fox ignores it, probably used to dealing with cranky patients, but it sticks in the back of my mind what a jerk I’m being. That doesn’t mean I can stop myself or manage to apologize yet.
The TV is on low, but I can’t pay attention. Nora is the only thing my mind will consider as a train of thought right now, and it’s all I can do not to text or call her. Earlier, Sophie let it spill that Nora’s still in New York at her dad’s. I hadn’t realized I was doing it, but apparently, I asked, repeating myself several times in a row when no one answered. Sophie had quickly caved.
Now, the bluish glow of whatever is on TV burns my eyes. I keep spacing out, losing track of what’s happening on screen.
“Hey.” Fox comes in from letting Flowerkraut outside. The goofy dog beelines over to me and begins to lick my knees. “Can’t sleep?”
“Nah. Best that I don’t anyway, right?” I don’t know that it’s true, but why not sound optimistic? Keeps up appearances. I run my hand over Flower’s head, and she ends up jumping up on the sofa and using me as a pillow. She usually doesn’t like me this much. Great, even the dog has pity on me.
Fox shrugs and sits down at the other end. “You’re nearly in the clear, but I’ll still wake you at five and six, just to be safe.”
I look away, uncomfortable. “Thanks, mate. I owe you one.”
“Pfft.” He waves the praise off. “You don’t owe me shit.”
The brief quiet makes me uneasy for some reason. “You’re not going to make me talk about Nora, are you?” I throw him a glance, and he looks confused. Dammit. I tried so hard not to bring her up again, I practically sabotaged myself.
“Do you want to talk about her?”
“No.” Honestly, I don’t.
“Then no.” He shrugs.
I don’t know why I’m surprised, but I am. “I made you talk about Sophie,” I remind him, giving him another fucking window, should he want it.
“You don’t need a lecture like I did. I was the asshole.”
“What do you mean was?”
“Fuck you,” he says and laughs. Then he ruins the relaxed conversation with his casual assessment. “You just need time to move on, man.”
My stomach twists. I can’t imagine it. The realization that I haven’t given up hope for Nora yet floors me a little. “Fuck you.”
“Dude. I just meant there’s no need to hash it out unless you really want to,” he says.
I shake my head and groan, stretching my muscles long as best I can. The aches in my body echo every facet of my complete mental exhaustion, not to mention the injuries. Yet I can no longer sleep a wink. My boy Fox, though, gets it.
“Kombat?” he asks.
I smirk, realizing it’s been ages since we had one of our gaming nights. “Taking advantage of the invalid, eh?”
“I’ll pretend I’m going to let you win until I have the opportunity for a fatality.” He waggles his eye
brows because he knows he can’t intimidate me.
“I won’t pretend shit, so get ready to lose, motherfucker.”
29
THE SET REGRET
NORA
AFTER A SEEMINGLY endless flight back to LA, I go to my and Cam’s apartment to find her feeling quite on the mend and readying herself for some Halloween gigs and parties. Costume bits and all sorts of crazy decorations were strewn all over the place. In my room, I even find mini fake pumpkins adorning my little Fitzwilliam’s hedgie house.
Though I’m thoroughly exhausted from traveling and jet lag, I can’t sleep a wink. All I can do is go over in my mind what I would say to Doc when I see him—and if he would speak to me at all. As soon as the clock reached a decent hour, I call around until I can suss out where I’ll find Doc. Fox is kind enough to gather some intel for me and finds out where Doc is working today. He’s on the backlot at Universal, and Zeke is working with him doing double work. I’m thankful I don’t have to fly to Ojai or Baja or somewhere equally pain-in-the-ass.
Not that I wouldn’t, because I would never be able to wait however long it would take for him to come home.
When I pull up to the security gates, I immediately feel the urge to puke all over my dashboard. Eating crow was never my strong suit, but this particular crow is going to be extremely bitter and hard to swallow. Never mind that nerves have locked down my appetite to the point that I haven’t eaten a full meal for going on three days. Everything I have ingested was practically force fed. Nothing in my body will relax until I’m able to talk to Doc, whether or not I can fix this.
“Pass?” the guard asks.
“Um, I should be on a guest list,” I say, pulling up as much confidence as I can muster. “My name’s Nora Bennett, and it should be under Zeke Morgan? He’s with—”
“Yeah, I see it here. ID, please.”
I hand it over and pick at my cuticles while I wait. The anxiety slows down every second, so I focus on the background noise instead of imagining the look of contempt I’ll likely find on Doc’s face when he sees me. If he’ll see me.
“Park over there,” the guard says, a little prickly because I’m pretty sure he’s had to repeat himself.
“Sorry. Right. Yes. Thank you.” I quickly pull through, following another guard’s motions and slipping into the spot. I put the pass on the dashboard as instructed and grip the door handle with my left hand. Breaths toil in and out, attempts at fueling my courage. It takes me almost five minutes to get myself out of the car, but I do, and I walk toward the set building.
Once I’m inside, Zeke spots me and trots over. “Hey,” he says, hushed, and wraps me in a quick hug. “Sorry, Prince Charming’s not here.”
All the blood drains from my face, and my heart drops into my stomach. “What? Where is he?”
He pats my arm. “No, no, don’t fret, Bennett,” he says. “He had to be up in a harness today for a green-screen test, and he ended up falling and popping his shoulder out of joint.”
“Jesus.”
“He’s fine!” Zeke insists. “Just hurts like a motherfucker, right? So, now he’s with the medic getting wrapped up. And probably some anti-inflammatories or who knows? Vicodin. Oh, hey—maybe he’ll be all loopy and make it easy on you.”
I chuckle lightly. “Thanks, Z,” I say softly. “But he and I have never taken it easy on each other. And this time, I don’t really deserve it.”
“Aww, Bennett,” he says with a shake of his head, about to talk me out of my pessimism, but I stop him.
“It’s fine,” I say. “Really. Thank you for helping me get in here.”
“No worries. Happy to arrange it, my friend.” Zeke nudges me with his shoulder and turns me in the direction I need to go. “Good luck.”
My brows jump, and my eyes go wide as I inhale as much courage as I can pack into my lungs. “Thanks. I think I need all the luck today.”
Zeke escorts me to the medic area, and my pulse nearly chokes me when I see Doc on a gurney, shirtless and naked from the waist up—except for all the gauze, tape, and some sort of immobilizing wrap on his shoulder. He obviously managed some severe scrapes in the fall, because he has a bandage on his forehead, a large piece of gauze taped on the front of his shoulder, and another on his arm.
Honestly, I’m having difficulty processing seeing him hurt. It has occurred to me that what he does can be dangerous, but for some reason I’ve always been able to distance myself from any such reality. I know he’s had broken bones and concussions, but since he took over managing his “den of daredevils,” as he calls the crew that works for him, he’s not in the hot seat nearly as much. I allow myself a last pause before continuing toward him. His eyes are closed, but even so, he looks irritated.
When I finally speak, I sound meek. I’m not, but I am afraid.
“Hi.”
30
AFTER THE TRUTH
DOC
FOR A MOMENT, I think I’m hallucinating. They gave me something strong for the pain, so I figure it’s possible. I blink a couple times, and Nora is still there, her entire being radiating remorse and shame, the latter of which I don’t understand.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, tone full of accusation. All the anger is still simmering—I can’t help it. Even after my mental health surf-a-thon and subsequent discourse with Sophie, I’m still pissed and hurt. And rightly so. I told her I loved her, and she spat it back in my face like it was a joke. Only her punchline was breaking up with me for yet another indiscernible reason. It was the worst fucking déjà vu I’ve ever experienced.
Still, I do have compassion, and I know something larger’s at work. If Sophie knows what it is, she didn’t let on.
“I wanted to tell you I’m sorry,” she says.
She takes a step forward. I notice her face is bare, and she looks wiped. She rarely wears makeup, though, unless it’s some kind of function like a wedding or holiday, and she’ll still look like a fucking angel.
“I’m not asking for forgiveness—it would make me an even bigger bitch if I did. This is just an explanation, and a hope that you might understand.”
“Understand what?” I am too frustrated with her formal and weird introduction to be patient. “Understand that loving you is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me? Oh, don’t you worry, I got that down pat.”
I immediately regret saying this, given that she’s here in the spirit of contrition. I think. But I can’t help being on edge in her presence. I love her, and I fucking hate her right now, but revenge is never a one-way street. The tears that escape down her cheeks are like a kick to the throat.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“No, I get it. I deserve that,” she tells me with a sniffle. Quickly, she swipes at her eyes.
I try to sit up, and the meds save me from the full impact of my movement. Even so, I’ve either been struck by lightning in the shoulder, or the painkillers have not fully kicked in. My vision briefly flashes white. When it clears, Nora is right next to the gurney, her delicately long fingers wrapped around the side-gate. Her face is worried, sad, and my first instinct is to make her feel better. I grunt in frustration—at myself, but she takes it as an affront.
“Sorry, I… I wanted to make sure you were okay,” she says, stepping backward.
“No, I—” I begin, but decide I’d better just shut up. Now I don’t know what to say.
She doesn’t move from her new spot, instead wringing her hands and chewing on her lips. They look chapped.
“Anyway, I wanted to explain a couple of things,” she begins, her eyes studying the floor before they pop up to meet my gaze. I can’t take my eyes off her, even now. “I didn’t mean all those things I said.” Her head twists back and forth as if to back up her claim. “I know I can’t take it back…” Her mouth hangs open as she seems to fight to continue. “—any of it, but you should know a few things before I go.”
The thought that she means she’
s leaving California urges me to ask Go? Where are you going? but I tamp it down. First things first—see what she has to say. “Okay,” I say instead.
Watching her chest expand with a lungful of courage is strange. I can see her gearing up to confess something, and it both scares the shit out of me and makes me want to hold her in my arms so she knows it will be all right. I can’t do that. I don’t even know if that’s what she wants. Therein lies the problem, I suppose.
After a mournful exhale, she swallows with effort and begins again. “I’ve only had a couple of serious relationships. The last ended four, maybe five months before I met you,” she explains. Her fingers lace together across her belly, her elbows bent. Whatever it is has her posture stiff with stress. “His name was—”
“Stephen.” Given the last time I saw her, I figured it’s a good guess.
Alarm registers in her eyes, but it’s fleeting. “Yes.”
She begins to fidget, and that’s when I realize this is going to be a lot more difficult than I expected. Nora doesn’t fidget. She’s not generally an anxious or nervous person. She’s brave, confident, and the most outgoing person I know. I also think I’m going to get very angry very soon. But this time, it will be with someone I’ve never met and ideally—for his benefit—will never meet.
“He told me he loved me very early on,” she almost whispers. Her eyes have turned to the wall behind me. “Probably two months after we met? Less? Anyway, it was really odd, and I told him he was crazy.” She tries to laugh. “But… it was so nice to hear. I didn’t think much of it. I’d only ever been in love once, and that was practically adolescent, but I suppose I should’ve known. I didn’t trust my instincts.”
“Nora.”
She ignores me and quickens the pace of her story. “The first time he hit me, it happened so fast, I immediately started to doubt it had happened at all.”
Doc Page 21