When I thought I’d be waving a Sandro René contract like a flag of victory, I wasexcitedto see my parents. Finally, proof that I’d made the right choice in pursuing this dream of mine. Maybe, instead of looking disappointed, Dad would look proud.
But now?
Now I’m injured, jobless, sleeping on my best friend’s couch, and dreading the look on my father’s face. The smugItold you so. The subtle withdrawal. The way he never says he’s ashamed of me but still manages to make me feel it in my bones.
I don’t want coffee. I want a hole in the ground.
Stella plops down beside me and takes my hand. “You lost the job? That’s…” She trails off, trying to find the right word for the mess I’m sitting in.
“A real kick in theshins?” I offer.
“A confetti cannon of disappointment,” she counters.
“A reality check with brass knuckles.”
“That’s the one,” she says with a soft laugh, leaning her head against my shoulder in solidarity. “That’s exactly what it is.”
My smile fades as the weight of it all presses back in, heavy and sharp.
“What happened?” Stella asks. “Why did they let you go? Did you finally tell your agent about your ankle?”
“Nope.” I sigh deeply, shaking my head. “I’m pretty sure my roommate did. She was my alternate. If I can’t perform, she gets the job.”
I stare blankly ahead, the pulse in my ears dull and relentless. My body feels like it’s too much and not enough at the same time. I blink, trying to force back the sting in my eyes.I will not cry.
“Lucy…” Stella’s voice is soft, almost reverent.
I let out a brittle laugh. “Every instinct said not to trust Trish, but I gave her the benefit of the doubt. Thought maybe kindness could fix her.”
Stella winces. “Maybe it did and you just don’t know it yet. Sometimes things like that need time to take root.”
I nod, swallowing hard, but the knot in my chest only tightens. I swipe at dry eyes. “I must be so stupid.”
“Stop.” Stella cups my face before I can look away. “You’re not stupid. You’re kind. You see the best in people. You’reinsanelytalented. You’ve worked your ass off. And yeah, this sucks… but it’s not the end.”
I let out a shaky breath, her hands warm on my skin. “Feels like it.”
She drops her hands but holds my gaze. “It’s not. This is a setback. A really shitty one. But you’ll get through it.”
“I hate this,” I whisper.
It’s a weak substitute for what I really want to say:I’m scared. I’m broke. I’m tired. I don’t know if I can keep doing this anymore.But the words won’t come.
And then I think of Nash.
Of how he saw the whole thing unravel. My job. My pride. My fake composure. And instead of pulling away or trying to fix it with platitudes, he justsat there.
Unmoving. Solid.
And then, instead of the judgment every cell in my body knew to expect, he offered the kind of help I really need.
Something solid to grab onto.
A lifeline.
A plan.
Gratitude washes over me. Nash’s steady presence was everything I needed in that situation. Maybe everything I’ve ever needed, ever.
