Chapter 12
CHAPTER
TWELVE
MYLO
The rest of the evening is a blur of logistics. Christine heads out once Andy releases us, presumably to get to bed early; she might have taken our little heart-to-heart seriously.
I feel more justified in my irritation, even as it fades.
Fake people are dangerous in this line of work.
If someone can look you in the eyes and say everything’s safe, but they haven’t checked it themselves, that’s the biggest risk.
We all have to put on a brave face and keep the production moving.
So, while forgoing comfort is part of the job, it’s all the more important to have a crew that never compromises safety.
As hard as we work to keep things moving smoothly, any stunt performer worth their salt will happily be fired before they put a colleague’s life on the line.
Christine can be real when she wants to be, which means I was right. And if we really did have a breakthrough… I can swallow my pride and have a good time.
I chat with Pauli and the other riggers for a while, working out the plan for tomorrow so we can hit the ground running. Or hit the sky running, as it were.
I’m about to join a group of the stunt crew headed back to the hotel when the wind shifts, bringing a subtle thread of sweet coconut to my nose.
Christine should be well inland by now.
I hesitate. It was a bit odd she left so early; she usually hangs around. Maybe she’s more rattled than she let on. It’s really not my problem, but…
I grab my backpack and phone from the van, then wave off the offered ride. “Just something I need to check on. I’ll catch the next van out.”
Pauli and a few riggers are still working for another hour or so, so I won’t be stranded.
I follow my nose, and it leads me up along the beach. I hesitate as I head around a low cliff that cuts the set off from view, but if Christine’s doing something stupid, I might be the only one who knows she’s out here…
After a quick hit from my vape, I sigh out a cloud of vapor. The wind shifts to my back, carrying her scent away from me, but I keep an eye out as I continue up the beach.
A few minutes later, there’s her scent again—but behind me. I turn back and there’s just enough light to make out the peak of the crane. If I passed her, but she’s not inland, then she must be…
I jog toward the waves, anxiety seizing my chest. I’ve had a few dark nights where I considered walking into the ocean and not coming back…
Her scent catches my nose, and I move faster toward it, kicking off my sneakers—until I see the silhouette of a dark figure. Not in the waves, but on them, gliding.
Is she… night surfing?!
As the wave approaches the shore, the flash of her platinum blonde hair is unmistakable, though her dark wetsuit blends into the water.
“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” I spit under my breath. Of course she’s fine. Of course she’s out here having fun, doing whatever the fuck she wants. Sabotaging tomorrow’s stunt by spending energy she should be saving, because she doesn’t care; she doesn’t care about anything.
I’m so incredulous that I just stand there as she draws closer. When the wave crashes and her board wobbles, she dives into the water.
“This is cute,” I call out. “Real fucking cute.”
Christine doesn’t miss a beat as she stands in the waist-high water, sliding her board under her arm and stepping toward the shore. “I thought I smelled that vape of yours.”
“No.” I shove my feet back into my sneakers. “We’re not doing this. I’m not talking to you.”
“You literally are,” she says with a light laugh.
“Not anymore.” I stalk back toward the set. Not ever again. Fuck.
“Hey, chill out, Mai Tai—”
“Don’t fucking call me that. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Her voice approaches behind me, but I’m not looking. “Y’know, I don’t get you. You act like you get along with everyone, but you’ve had some problem with me ever since you got here.”
I whirl on my heel.
She’s right there, towering over me even though she stands on the lower sand.
“Okay, fine. Have it your way. You want to know my problem with you?”
“Yeah.” There’s a bite in her tone, frigid as the winter ocean. “I think I’d like to.”
“You’re fucking fake, that’s my problem with you.”
The words seem to impact with physical force, and she takes a half-step back. “Excuse me?”
“Here I thought we had an actual fucking heart-to-heart. I thought I was talking to a real person for once, not—not oh, Christine Evansworth, America’s Sweetheart.” The sing-song mocking is bitter even to my ear, but I don’t care anymore.
“I’m as real a person as you—”
“These stunts are dangerous, Christine! Fucking dangerous. I thought you were finally taking that seriously—but no. What is this to you, your personal vacation? Get production to pay for you to go destination surfing and, hey, throw a movie together on the side?”
A growl rumbles in her chest.
Fear spikes through me, but I hold my ground. Fear and I are friends at this point. And god knows I need to be careful around Christine.
“That’s fucking unfair and you know it,” she snarls. “I work harder than anyone—”
“Oh, you work hard. Yeah. Okay. That’s why you’re out here surfing. Obviously.”
“You’re one to talk,” she snaps. “What are you doing out here?”
I’ve never been stunned silent before. First time for everything, I guess.
When my lungs work again, my voice is low, bitter. “I came out here to check on you. Because I was worried. Sure makes me an idiot, doesn’t it? God, you’re so self-centered.” I turn and walk away. I’m done.
“You came to check on me?”
“I’m not doing this. This isn’t my problem.”
“Mylo—”
“Just don’t fuck up tomorrow, okay?” The words are equal ice and venom.
Christine doesn’t say anything else.
I don’t look back.