Breaking Autumn: A Bad Boy Stuntman Romance

by Jackson Kane

  The whole house had this homey, rustic feel to it, but not the bathroom, that was modern, sleek, and hi-tech. I found myself thanking whoever designed it every time I walked in. It had immediately become my favorite room in the house. I looked longingly at the huge Jacuzzi bathtub several feet away, but knew I'd never have the time for it. I vowed on all that was holy that I'd find time to use it before I left this place. The thought of a nice long, hot soak maybe with some incense, music and wine made my legs tremble.

  A girl could dream…

  The rest of the room was a door-less open space with cool dark tiles that felt amazing on my battered, raw feet. I activated the shower and three separate heads kicked on, streaming, and or pulsing water from every direction. It was like standing in a full-body massage. Absolutely everything was adjustable, the height, angle, and pressure of the water, to the music and mood lighting.

  My favorite part though was the two foot wide vertical window that stretched from the floor to the ceiling. It didn't catch the sun head on, but it was close enough to show most of the vivid colors the sky had to offer. The tile walls captured the sunset's violet and orange hues, giving the bathroom a rich, painted quality. Between the all-encompassing jets of hot water and the unending desert view, it was impossible for at least some of the days stress to not melt away.

  After drying off and reluctantly embracing reality, I called Mom before it got too late for her. I tried to call her every night, but the last few days ran so long with training I missed my window. She was always either waking up or falling asleep, or just about to have some tests done.

  “Mom?” I asked, pinning the phone to my ear with my shoulder as I massaged lotion into my legs. “How’re you feeling?”

  “Oh I’m fine, Amanda Bynes.” Mom's voice had the low, rumbling quality of someone who had just woken up after a short nap. Even still, it felt really good to hear her voice. “How's my actor's first full week of training?”

  It felt like I'd been here a month!

  “Amanda By—” My brain was spent from the twelve hours of non-stop activity today, and I was not even close to being done. “Seriously? The girl from the Nickelodeon shows? That's your go to celebrity? I don't think she's even an actor any more.”

  “I'm eighty percent sure that she did some movies recently.” Mom yawned, waking up a bit more.

  “Mom…”

  “Maybe not eighty now that I think about it, but definitely a solid seventy.”

  “Are you feeling any better since the surgery?” She had a lumpectomy on her left breast the day before yesterday; the tumor had almost grown to the size of a golf ball. I was so incredibly nervous that I called Aunt Paula every hour that day for updates. Surprisingly, Dante didn’t give me any shit about it. In fact he was the one to remind me to do it a few times.

  “Better,” she groaned, shifting positions. “I always thought Righty would be the one who tried to kill me, not Lefty. Lefty and I were buds. I feel so betrayed.”

  “I never trusted her.” I smiled weakly, trying to cover my anxiety with humor. “How’s the radiation? Are you a superhero yet?”

  “I have to wait a month before I get my powers unfortunately.” Mom sulked. “But we’re starting chemo tomorrow. So I have that to look forward to.”

  We talked about all the nitty-gritty details, before she asked to move on. I completely understood. She was so immersed in it that she needed some distractions.

  “I feel bad about complaining to you considering what you’re going through.”

  “Don’t be. They don’t have Netflix here. I need you to distract me from NCIS and Wheel of Fortune by telling me all about your training.” She sounded more alert and upbeat now that we changed topics. “Just call me Dr. Katz, Professional Therapist.”

  “I’ll bitch and moan on one condition. Stop with the super obscure references. I'm too tired to point out all the reasons you're using them wrong.”

  “Aww,” she whined.

  “I'm sore, I hate this, and I want to come home!” I pouted like a ten-year-old who fell off her bike. Flashbacks came to mind of calling Mom during my first Girl Scouts camping trip crying my eyes out for essentially the same reason only on a much, much smaller scale.

  “Is it that bad?”

  “Oh my God, it's horrible. I woke up at five thirty in the morning to go jogging with him through the desert. Before this week I had never seen a sunrise from that side of sleep before and I was hoping to keep it that way!”

  “I was talking about my references, but no, it's fine. We'll do your thing first.”

  “I was too winded to enjoy even a second of it. I struggled to just keep Dante within eye shot so I didn't die in the middle of the desert. Every morning after breakfast we play 'the game' which was just forty-five minutes of me trying to hit him and failing miserably. Then brunch.”

  “I love brunch!” Mom piped up. She was fully awake now. I should've found a way to lead this conversation with brunch.

  “Then several sets of actual weight lifting. More food. We started doing some driving stuff today, but when he realized I didn't have my license we spent the rest of the day going over just some of the basics, then—you guessed it—more food. I just got out of a shower and am waiting on my acting coach to show up so we can work on accents and annunciation or some crap for the next forever hours. Then dinner.”

  “Wow. That's a lot. A lot of everything.” Mom let that sentiment linger while she tried to process it all. I was right there with her. It was still hard for me to wrap my head around. “How many times do you eat throughout the day?”

  “Two times more than I would like. That was the biggest surprise by far about all this training! How much food I had to eat. It's crazy. I mean every meal is amazing, but after my second pound of food, holy crap, it was hard to force it all in! I never thought in my entire life that I could ever get so tired of just eating. I know that sounds like such a first-world problem, but I feel like an overfilled balloon.”

  “You know...” I could picture the scrunched up face Mom was making as she spoke. “Starving kids in Africa and all that.”

  “Where!” I shouted in exasperation. “Send me an address. I'll gladly mail them some seasoned chicken breasts and steamed broccoli.”

  “I'll look into the USPS shipping guidelines. So you're sleeping in his house? That's kind of weird, right? Is he in the next room over?”

  “No,” I said, walking out to the window. The light was on in his workshop. “He sleeps out in the barn... Garage? Guest house? I don't actually know what he calls his man cave. The estate is enormous. There's an airstrip here! People can land planes on his property. Airplanes.”

  “Ohhh. The barn. Do you feel like the daughter of a manor lord, and he’s your lowly stable boy?”

  “I do not in fact.”

  “Let us away for a tryst in the barn, mi' lady. We shan’t be long.” Mom excitedly ignored me, then switched back and forth between a high and low voice to act out an absurd play. “Oh, Rodrigo, we shouldn't! If my father were to run afoul of our trespass...'”

  “Rodrigo?” I asked, laughing.

  “I care not for lord Wadsworth Pennington! I must have you!”

  “What do you do when I'm not around?” I asked, with a sweeping smile that cut my face in half. Imagining Dante in an open flowing white shirt and torn, tan trousers was exactly what I needed after today.

  “Trashy Victorian romance novels and crappy TV mostly,”

  “Ah.” I said. “So the same things when I am around.”

  “Pretty much,” Mom replied, probably shrugging.

  “Now that you mention it, that is the one place I’m not allowed to go on the estate.” A lonely light on the second floor window of Dante’s mysterious building sharply defied the fading sunlight. “That’s off limits.”

  “So is Dante pre or post witch’s curse, because I'm getting a Beauty and the Beast vibe.”

  “He's got the muscles, but isn't nearly hairy enough to pull
the rest of it off.” Although he did have that one lone beautiful flower in the hallway... “Either way I left my burglarizing kit back at the house so no B and Es for me this time.”

  With the window open it was easy to hear the car pulling up.

  “Hey. I think my acting coach is here. I have to let you go.” I walked back into the bedroom and checked the far walls window. Only it wasn't Reggie's bright yellow Lexus that pulled up. It was a limo.

  And Jason Brenner stepped out of it.

  Chapter 13

  Autumn

  “Hi. What are you doing here?” I asked, after rushing down to answer the door.

  The lessons with Reggie had all been very laid back. He encouraged me to be as relaxed as possible, even if that meant wearing pajamas. I never went that far of course, but the plain T shirt and casual pants I wore weren't too far off from a Saturday morning of cereal and Charmed reruns with Mom.

  That said, I was not prepared for Jason, who wore a linen, button down shirt and vest over perfectly tailored pants and loafers with such a high gloss that I could see myself in them.

  “Hi,” Jason said, with his warm sweeping smile. He tucked a thick manila folder under his left arm which freed him up to shake my hand. “Reggie won't be able to make it anymore. He was offered a part on a sitcom.”

  “Wow. I didn't even know he was auditioning.” But I guess it did make sense that an acting coach would want to make that leap. In fact, I was getting the impression that most people out here did odd jobs in the hopes of being discovered. I thought about the limo driver that dropped me off here from the airport. I wouldn’t at all be surprised if I saw him in a movie at some point too. “Things, uh, happen fast around here.”

  “They certainly do.” Jason nodded, looking amused and knowingly resigned. Jason glanced past me to see if anyone was in the house. “May I come in?”

  “Yeah!” Wait. Could I invite him in? I didn't actually live here. But Dante did say the house was mine for as long as I was training with him. I guess that meant I could have guests over, right? That wasn't something that had come up yet. “I mean, I guess so. This isn't really my place.”

  Even if I could have guests over, would Jason specifically be allowed? I remember the look Dante gave him at the audition. There was obvious animosity between the two. At some point I hoped to find out what that was all about.

  “Ah. Of course.” Jason nodded, seemingly reading my mind. He opened the folder he held in his other hand. It was two bound stacks of paper. The name written atop the pile was the working title of our film. “If it helps, I was sent by the studio to be your new acting coach.”

  “Really?” I didn't want to disrespect Dante, but the last coach was allowed in so I’d imagine that Jason would be too. “Y'know what? Sure. C'mon in. It’s fine.”

  I hope.

  “I'll be ready to sneak out the bedroom window, just in case.” Jason winked one of those crushingly blue eyes at me and walked inside.

  “Have you already eaten?” Jason asked, when we entered the kitchen. “I can have something delivered.”

  “No! Thank you, but no. If I even think about food again today I'm going to explode.” I grabbed a few cups and filled a pitcher with water. Reciting lines always made me super parched. It helped to have some water around.

  “Ah, yes. The training lifestyle,” He said, wistfully, probably remembering the last role he had to bulk up for. “I do not envy you.”

  It sounds a little cliché, but Jason wasn't as physically impressive in real life as he appeared on television. Nothing like Dante, who was a cut, hulking monster. Jason was only about an inch taller than me. Jason filled out his clothes well, but was trimmer than he was muscular. If it wasn't for who he was, you'd think he was just some handsome guy, with a well-paid dentist.

  While Dante looked more at home in the UFC.

  Jason cocked his head back and inspected me, which made me wish I had on something other than a loose T shirt and rolled-up capri pants. “You've already started to tone up a bit. I can see it in your arms and shoulders. Nice work.”

  “Thanks.” I turned away to keep the flush from my face and grab the cups and pitcher. Had I really started to change? Dante’s torture was already starting to pay off, I guessed. Either way it still made me feel embarrassed to be noticed like that. I had no idea how to deal with a completely harmless compliment from a celebrity! All I could do was try to ignore it to keep my face from turning into a tomato. “Should we get started?”

  Jason nodded, lifting the pitcher of water out of my hands and followed me to what was easily my second favorite room in the house. Three bookshelf-covered walls greeted us in the bedroom-sized library, with the forth reserved for eight-foot tall windows and an elaborate stone fireplace. Two human-swallowing couches faced off in the center of the room with only a plain coffee table between them. It was gorgeous.

  Needless to say, I filmed as many videos in here as I could.

  “Do you mind if I set my camera up and film some of this?” I asked setting the cups down on the table.

  “I’m nothing if not a camera whore.” He flashed a grin, before raising his eyebrows in concern “Just make sure you run all that by the social media manager before you post it anywhere. All it takes is one sentence in a video to break your contract, and trust me. You do not want that to happen.”

  “Of course! I always CC’d Sarah in my content emails with Mom. Some times Sarah even acknowledges my existence with a reply.”

  “Yes.” Jason shook his head, probably having a similar experience “The don’t make it easy on us in that regard.”

  “So why are you coaching me? I mean the studio could've sent anyone. Isn't this...” I was terrified of coming off ungrateful, or even worse, patronizing. “Beneath you?” Not great start to that thought! “I mean, I'm sure you're crazy busy.” I quickly added, verbally back peddling. “Wouldn't this take up too much of your valuable time?” And the pendulum swings the other way.

  Could I possibly sound more fangirlish?

  Jason smirked, slipping off and pocketing his cufflinks, before rolling up his sleeves and sitting on the couch opposite me. He filled both waters, took a sip of his and then replied. “Not at all.”

  I fought an overwhelming urge to break the silence with an apology for something I couldn't even begin to put into words, but decided to try and let the whole thing go. The whole concept of acting normal around a celebrity was about as possible as driving normal with a cop behind you.

  “When I heard about Reggie leaving, I offered.” Jason crossed his leg with his knees close together the way Europeans tend to do it. “I think training together is important. I'd like to understand you so that our characters have better chemistry on screen.”

  “For tonight, let's simply do a table read. Feel everything out.” Jason handed me my copy, then quickly began to clarify. “A table read, if you’re unfamiliar is—”Seeing the smug look on my face he stopped. “Am I preaching to the choir?”

  “I’m a celebrity and entertainment video blogger.” I shrugged innocently. “A table read is a line-by-line reading of the script with each actor reading their part. It's kind of a first rehearsal so that the actors can read against the people they'll be acting with. If I’m not mistaken sometimes the directors and writers will sit in on the session to see if any of the dialogue needs rewrites. That about cover it?”

  “I am impressed” He nodded with raised eyebrows. “It’s just that I saw that look on your face and— Well, I apologize for assuming.”

  “I may have watched the Avengers table read a hundred times…” I buried my hidden nerd and continued. “It’s not that, it’s just the thought of reading the entire thing this late after such a long day crashed into me like my friend's, big, dopey mastiff.”

  “Oh no! We aren’t reading the whole thing.” Jason chuckled. “I doubt either of us has that much time. Just the parts we have together. We can always stop if it gets too late. I’m not as strict as Dante is
.”

  Relieved, I nodded and we got started. We had a dozen or two significant scenes together, not including the unspoken exchanges our characters had while in the company of others, but those were mostly reaction shots into the camera so we skipped them. It was halfway through an emotional section of dialogue that Jason, who had begun to frown in this second time reading through, abruptly stopped. He laid his script down on the coffee table and looked up at me curiously.

  “Did I do something wrong?” I asked. My stomach flipped in search of the most painful knot to form itself into. Acting was even more important than the stunt training. Despite having an acting background, it was easy to feel like an imposter sitting next to an international, award-winning actor like Jason.

  What the hell am I doing here again?

  “You're not comfortable with me yet. I can hear it in your voice,” he said casually. “I love my fans, but I need a costar right now.”

  “I'm sorry.” I took a deep breath. “It's just all this is still so— I feel a little like Alice down the rabbit hole, you know? I used to poke fun at celebrities in my videos, and now here I am reading lines, sitting across from... Well.” I gestured toward Jason.

  “You want to know the biggest lie in entertainment?” Jason cleared his throat, leaned in and quickly glanced at the camera I had set up, smiling. “That we know what were doing.”

  “We're just like you.” Jason laughed. “Most of us have no idea how we got here, not really.”

  They were like me how?

  “I appreciate the gesture, but I don't know. It feels different, like someone is waiting around every corner ready to pop out and say, 'Got you! Are you crazy, you think you deserve any of this? You've been pranked!'” I laughed awkwardly, hiding behind an extended sip of water. When Jason didn't say anything, I compulsively continued. “It's easier with Dante, because I'm always too distracted to ask myself if that makes any sense. All my mental, and physical—and occasionally emotional—energy goes into not screwing up. Self-doubt and existential crisis is kinda impossible while spinning in a car at forty-five miles an hour.”