“Or more like selective hearing.”
“Do you remember what it was like to be passionate about something when you were a kid?” Holden says, pacing back and forth in front of me. I bob my head up and down, remembering when I first learned chess from my grandfather. And every Saturday he would teach me a new way to level up.
“Great. So do I. It lasted all of ten minutes before people started to introduce me to things they thought I needed. It gets old.”
That is when it hits me—my opening.
“Do you have a piece of paper and a pen, by any chance?”
“Why?”
“Just humor me.”
He scoffs, walking away without answering. My feet dangle off the counter, irritation buzzing through me, hoping he didn’t leave me to go to his room to read another script.
A minute later, he comes back with the supplies I asked for. A smile pulls at the corners of my mouth, taking the paper and pen from his hand happily.
I fold the paper in half, bringing the top edge of the paper to the bottom edge. Creasing the paper continuously before it turns into the shape I want. Arching my body to the side to write down each idea on every tab before it turns into what I want.
“What are you doing?”
“Shh, I am predicting your future.”
“You got to be kidding me.”
“I would never.” I feign a shocked expression on my face. It takes all of ten minutes to convince him to pick a number, then a color, before it lands on his tab of choice.
“So, what’s it say?”
I don’t read it. Instead, I flip it to him so he can see what I’ve written in black ink.
Trust the girl who can’t drive.
“What do the other tabs say?”
Holden unfolds the creases of the paper and lets out a long sigh.
“It’s not a fortune if all the tabs say the same thing.”
It takes everything in me to not smirk at him. I want to stare at him a moment longer to take in that funny expression on his face—the look of shock, awe and amusement all at once.
Before I know it, I can feel myself slipping off the counter as the lights flicker off in the kitchen. A clumsy fall leaving me in the crook of his arms, in the dark, inches from his face. On the verge of doing something I will regret as soon as it’s over.
Chapter eight
All or Nothing
My vision zooms in on the call sheet. Season four, episode two. It’s his name and Graham’s at the top of the schedule. From what I can remember from this episode, the two “brothers” are set to perform a fight scene.
The production assistant on set has just laid out his clothes for the morning shoot—basketball shorts and a sleeveless tank. Holden looks restless, barely aware of his surroundings.
“We have to be there by six a.m. at the latest,” says a woman who appears at his side. On his kitchen table, a fresh new coffee is set out for him.
Holden takes a large swig from his cup as the assistant rambles about the latest rumors.
“They are saying this is our last season.”
“Yeah, they said that last year,” Holden says.
