It’s a long fight sequence, including one-on-one combat, diving off buildings and driving a motorcycle across two rooftops.
We’ve been going over the plan meticulously for months, but I’ve been riding since I could get my license, so I’ve never had any concerns. I should be ready. I should be excited.
I don’t know whether it’s the remnants of the festive break or leaving my woman curled up in bed, but there’s a tightening in my stomach that feels suspiciously like nerves.
I don’t get stage fright and I haven’t hurt myself on this job since I jarred my side all those months ago, and even that was just bad luck. Mistakes haven’t been made, everything’s gone smoothly, so why do I feel like the other shoe is about to drop?
It’s when I get out of the car that it does.
It’s still dark, the sky just lightening on the horizon, bathing everything in a cool blue haze as a handful of crew members cross the silent lot. It’s almost preternatural, the air chilled and silent, only punctured by my car door slamming behind me.
I can smell the catering truck, but the few crew members standing in front are silent, shuffling from foot to foot. Early mornings aren’t anyone’s favorites, but by the time I step onto set there’s usually enough adrenaline threading through the crew that energy levels are high.
My chest tightens. Something’s wrong.
Eric holds the door open to my trailer but I bypass him, my feet taking me to the men crowded around the production truck in a semicircle.
I recognize Marky by his shock of white hair, his shoulders hunched as he rests his face in his hands.
“Marky,” I say as I approach. He whirls towards me and pulls his hand away from his face.
“Jackie,” he says, swallowing and crossing his hands across his chest.
I rest one hand on my hip before rubbing my beard with the other. “What’s going on?” I ask slowly.
Marky takes a deep breath. “It’s Tony.”
My heart freezes in my chest. “What about him?” I bite out.
I barely register the words coming out of Mark’s mouth,—“stunt”, “gone wrong”, “coma”—but the one that my mind hangs onto freezes the breath in my lungs.
“Paralyzed.”
Knees shaking, I barely make it to my trailer before collapsing on the tiny sofa. My palms sweat as I try to take a deep breath, but it gets caught in my throat. I lean forward, dangling my head between my knees and trying to remember the advice my therapist used to give me.
I take a deep breath through shaking lips, trying to count to five before exhaling and repeating the motion. I haven’t had an attack like this for nearly twenty years, but I would have one almost weekly in the months after Dad died. If I tripped over my own feet my heart would pound in my chest and panic would grip my throat like a vice. How could a man who was so strong, so healthy, so adventurous, slip in the street and die within seconds? It was only after I started stunt work that I learned how to take risks safely, how to protect myself in a guided fall, how to land from a jump without breaking my knees, that the attacks eased. Over time, my confidence returned, my stunts got riskier, until eventually I was leading projects where I was pushing my body to extremes.
My mouth feels dry, and I press my freezing hands to my face.
Paralyzed.
I ran off before Marky could give me any more information. What hospital is he in? Is Kaia on her way? All Kaia wanted was for him to stop putting himself at risk and now this. Does Masen know? God,Masen.
My phone ringing jolts me out of my spiral, and my knees shake as I read Rosie’s name on the screen.
“Rosie?” I croak.
“Hey, I wasn’t sure if you were on set already so I thought I’d try you. Can you talk for a second?”
“Yes. Please.”
“The L&P that your sister sent has arrived! Thank God, because I’ve already finished the box and I was almost ready to somehow try to make it myself.”
Her happy voice soothes me like a balm and I close my eyes as she regales me with the story of how she and my sister bonded over a fizzy drink.
“Jackson?” she asks and I let my eyes open.
“Sorry, I’m here.”
