My phone rings.
I react fast, fumbling for it, heart hammering in my throat. The name on the screen knocks the air out of me.
Terrence. My agent. The man I should have called days ago.
Desperate for a distraction, I answer, then gape as he gives me the worst news yet… in front of a man I barely know and kinda sorta almost kissed just now.
“What do you mean, I lost the job?” My chest feels empty. My stomach drops. In another world, I’d excuse myself to a different room, but I’m not exactly mobile.
Terrence sighs. “You should have called me, Lucy. I could have talked to the casting director and the choreographer. Not saying it would have gone any better for you, but you might have had a chance.”
“What happened? Rehearsals haven’t even started yet.” I glare at my ankle, then reluctantly meet Nash’seyes. The concern I see there has me pushing back the knot of fear in my chest.
I will not emotionally detonate in front of this man with his grownup job, gorgeous house, and stable life.
I won’t.
I can’t.
“Someone told the director you’re stuck on the other side of the country with a concussion and a grade three sprain,” Terrence says with a heavy undercurrent ofand I should have heard about it from you, not them.“One mention of torn ligaments and he decided it was safer to go with your alternate.”
My alternate, otherwise known as Trish, my roommate, the only person not in Stillwater Bay who knew what happened to me.
“So now what?”
I don’t know if I’m asking Terrence, Nash, or God himself, but it’s my agent that answers, sighing like I’m an injured racehorse and he’s loading his rifle.
“Take some time. Heal. Follow your physical therapist’s orders like they’re the ten commandments. Get your ass in class ASAP and I’ll line up some auditions once you’re back to full strength. In the meantime, I’ll talk to the director, see if I can get you listed as Trish’s alternate, in case she has a problem.”
Oh, Trish is gonna have a problem, all right. A problem in the shape of a big, black boot kicking her right in the behind.
We say our goodbyes. I end the call and stare blankly at my phone, my pulse thrumming in my ears. My bodyfeels like it’s both too light and too heavy all at once, like I might either float away or collapse in on myself.
I mean, this is it right? Rock bottom. A week ago, I had everything I ever wanted. And now?
My God. What now?
I blink, forcing the sting from my eyes, then swallow hard.
I will handle this with grace.
I blow a breath past my lips and meet Nash’s gaze. “So, yeah,” I say, spreading my hands as I shove my emotions into a black box in the back of my mind. “Probably should’ve seen that coming from a mile away.”
Not the part where my roommate stole my job. Who really sees something likethatcoming?
Nash sits back on his heels, his expression unreadable. “I’m really sorry, Lucy.”
He hesitates, like he’s weighing his words. Then, simply, “How can I help?”
The way he says it—like he means it, like he isn’t just trying to fix me or feel better about himself—makes something sharp twist in my chest. I trusted Trish even though she had serious red flags and this is how she repaid me. I can't let that happen again.
“The physical therapy is already amazing,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “The faster I heal, the faster I get back on the audition circuit.” I tack on the brightest smile I can manage. “So really, thank you. So much. Humble perseverance from this point forward.”
I almost go so far as to hit him with the finger guns but reign it inbefore I do.
Nash watches me for a moment longer, his gaze sharper now. Not pitying. Measuring.
I brace for the lecture that’s sure to come. A continuation of the tirade he held back the day Bennett knocked me over. He’ll tell me where I went wrong in my life, how I could have avoided this mess, then offer a string of solutions that really aren’t helpful at all.
