Old man? He’s only like a year younger than me. Rage is bubbling its way up to my brain. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
The fight is supposed to start with me punching Ty in the face—fake, of course. Then he punches me in the stomach. We grapple, wrestle on the ground, and roll into the water. There is a moment where my character debates holding his brother under, but he can’t do it. He lets up, and then Ty is sucked out into the water by a massive dark mass, waves of water in their wake. I go after him and pull him back to shore.
This will be the last scene of the day since we’ll be freezing, and exhausted afterward. I suggest we film it in two sections: the wet part and the dry part, but Natalie wants it all as one take. From the very first call ofaction, it all goes wrong. I punch the air near Ty’s face, but it’s too far away to look realistic. We reset after a costume change into dry clothes. Ty gets closer for the next take. I pull my arm back and bring it forward, focusing on channeling my anger at Ty into my expression. My foot slips a little, bringing me even closer, and my fist connects with Ty’s cheek in a sickening and, if I’m being totally honest, satisfying smack.
Ty immediately falls to the ground, clutching his face, and any satisfaction I momentarily felt dissipates in the reality of the situation.
Oh shit.
I hit Ty in the face.
I leap toward him. “Are you okay?”
Ty backs away, scooching on the ground like I might hit him again. “Get the fuck away from me.”
The medics swarm around Ty like ants to a fallen crumb.
“You did that on purpose.”
Natalie is over by us now. “Are you okay?”
Charlotte joins the group. She kneels next to Ty, practically shoving one of the medics out of the way. “Oh, baby. Your face.”
Ty ignores her, stands, and speaks directly to Natalie. “First he throws coffee at me…”I try to protest, but Ty is too loud.“Now he hit me on purpose. He’s had a grudge against me this whole time. I can’t work with him.”
Natalie takes a quick breath. “Ty, it looked like an honest accident.”
“It was an accident, I swear.” My limbs feel heavy. I know it was an accident, but even I can admit it doesn’t seem like it.
“He needs to be replaced.” Ty points his finger at me. “And he’s been sleeping with the host’s daughter. I’ve seen them sneaking around.”
My stomach drops to my toes like I’m in a free fall. Everything slows down. Everyone looks at me, even the medics. Natalie’s eyes are like a wounded animal, then, in an instant, go ice hard.
I shake my head, but is there really any use in denying it? It’s not like I’ve broken any contract. But I did break a promise, and it’s written all over Natalie’s face what that means.
Ty holds the ice from the medics to his cheek. “Either he goes, or I go.”
We wrapfor the day and all head back. I feel awful, so instead of heading straight for my cabin, I walk to the little pub nearby. After buying the best bottle of Scotch they have, I bring it to Ty’s cabin and knock, but there is no answer. Searching my pockets, I find a pen and a scrap of paper.
Didn’t mean to hit you. It was an accident, I swear. Hope this helps.
Leaving the note and the whiskey on the porch, I head back to the pub. I drown my sorrows in a whiskey, and then another, and another. It’s not like this is the only time anyone has ever accidentally gotten hurt on set. OnThe Princess Brideset, Mandy Patinkin bruised a rib holding in his laughter during the Miracle Max scene. It’s not like he threatened to quit if Billy Crystal wasn’t fired. Harrison Ford hit Ryan Gosling onBlade Runner, and they all laughed about it onThe Graham Norton Show. Me hitting Ty was a simple accident, wasn’t it?
My text to Skye says delivered, but it doesn’t show that it wasread. She’s probably busy writing or biking—well, maybe not in the dark. She could be meeting with her writing group. No, that would’ve been yesterday. Honestly, it doesn’t matter what she’s doing. In a couple weeks, maybe sooner now, I’ll never know what she’s doing. She’ll be here, and I’ll be back in LA.
I order one more whiskey and swish this thought around like the amber liquid in the glass.
Skye was completely upfront about just wanting something casual—a fling. I can’t pout, because that’s exactly what we ended up with. Of course she doesn’t want to be with me; I’ve been like a love-sick puppy, dropping everything to spend more time with her and not focusing enough on the film or my career. What little of one I have left.
I stumble back to my cabin, a candle burning in the window. That wasn’t very safe of me to leave that burning. Did I leave it like that all day?
When I open the door to my little studio bungalow, I notice right away there is a lump in the bed, the blankets moving rhythmically up and down with each of their heavy breaths.
SKYE
Bloody hell. Once the car stops (snugly in a ditch, but stopped), I get out to see what happened. When I swerved in the road, I must’ve run over something. My front left tire is as flat as a pancake and no longer straight like the other wheels, but at an odd angle. I take a deep breath and mean to let it out in one calming gust, but what comes out instead as I stare at my demolished tire in the dark night and feel the first fat rain drop of many to be sure, is a primal rage-filled scream.
As I get back in the car, the rain really starts to come down, the sound echoing on the metal of the roof. At least it’s not snow…yet. Even if I changed the tire, with it bent that odd way, I couldn’t drive it anywhere. My phone has absolutely no service and two missed texts. The first is from Dad.
