Chapter 9
Nate and I are sluggish the next morning after a late night talking to Brody about how to salvage the season. We barely have time to grab breakfast or, in my case, coffee. Lots and lots of coffee.
“Bun.” I point to Nate’s loose hair as we’re about to step out of the bungalow.
“Do I have to?” he asks through a groan.
“Depends. Do you want this thing blowing up in our faces on day three?”
There’s a pause, followed by, “Maybe.”
It’s a one-word response for an emotion worth a lot more. After our conversation with Brody last night, Nate obviously means it might be best to end things now if we can’t pull this plan off, but getting caught in a lie of this magnitude would be the end of Rush and my career.
It’s bound to mean something to Nate too. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be here, let alone trying so hard.
“Nate, Brody was too harsh. You can do this. You are doing this. Hospital Brody is bound to be cranky.”
Nate studies me, and I half expect him to debate me about Brody or who knows him best. Instead, he sighs, grabs a ponytail holder, and pulls his hair back into Brody’s signature low bun. “Now that I’m all dolled up, can we get breakfast?”
I should have skipped the sixth tiny cup of coffee.
Now that we’re outside the lobby getting ready to leave for Nate’s next excursion, I’m all jitters even though all I need to do is snap a few photos of “Brody,” get a video or two where he looks like an expert at the activity, and hope Nate actually can pull off this charade.
Then I’ll find a quiet spot to set up shop while Nate finishes filming.
Jamie isn’t making the day easier. “Is this an outfit from your new sponsor?” she asks Nate.
The way she eyes him up makes me uncomfortable, even though he’s not Brody.
She doesn’t know that, and I’m standing right freaking here.
I take a step closer to Nate, putting a hand on his arm to get his attention.
“Pookie Bear, you’re going to be so great today.” I squeeze his arm as he bites back a smirk over the new nickname. I can’t use Gnat here, but that doesn’t mean I can’t get creative.
“Thanks, Gingersnap. I have a feeling today is going to be great.”
“You’re both going to be great,” Dave says, saddling up beside Jamie with a big smile on his face. “This new plan is the exact sort of creative thinking that’ll garner viewers and keep us off the chopping block.”
Dave slaps Nate’s shoulder with a force that vibrates across his body and down the arm I’m still gripping.
I take a step back, letting my hand drop.
What does Dave mean by creative thinking?
After last night’s talk with Brody, the plan is still essentially “have personality” and “try harder.” What’s creative about that?
Nate looks just as confused by Dave’s words. However, the director’s arm pat suggests Real Brody would understand perfectly.
My mouth dries at the thought. Despite Brody agreeing not to surprise us with anything else, had he somehow gone and done exactly that?
I clear my throat and force out the question I’m anxious to have answered. “What sort of creative thinking are we talking about?”
Dave’s brown eyes widen. “You, of course! We’ll be able to pull in more viewers who are curious if they could do stuff like this. There will also be some sofa warriors, but that’s expected anytime you do something innovative?—”
“There’s been some sort of mistake,” I blurt out, emphasizing the next part like my life depends on it because it might. “I’m not doing the excursions. I’m here to gather content for brand building behind the scenes, like yesterday.”
Nate looks as bewildered as I feel, confirming my hunch that he’s heard nothing of this plan.
“Brody, you didn’t discuss this with Abby first?” Dave waves a finger between us.
“Abigail,” I correct again as Nate lets out an “Ummm” followed by “I must have forgotten?”
Dave laughs—actually laughs—then scrapes a hand over his face, tracing down his growing beard. “Ballsy, Brody. Downright ballsy. Do you two need a minute to discuss?”
I cut Nate off at the pass. “I need to make a quick call.”
Nate reaches for me with an “Abigail” as I hurry away from the group, but he lets me go. I run toward the rocky shore where the distance and waves will keep me from being overheard. With a shaking hand, I pull my phone from my backpack and call Brody.
The phone rings three times, proof Brody is avoiding my call. Not shocking if he can guess even half the emotions I’m experiencing. Then he answers halfway through a fourth ring, concern thick in his voice.
“Abigail, aren’t you filming?”
“Brody, please tell me this is some sort of sick joke or an epic misunderstanding.”
“What are you talking about?” The question is innocuous, but his tone is an octave higher than usual. He knows exactly what I’m talking about. Fine. Whatever. Two can play this game, and I’m going to be a fierce competitor because there’s no way I can do these excursions. Nor do I want to.
“Dave seems to think I’m taking part in these activities. Like I’m on the show or something. What the hell did you tell them?”
I can hear the panic in my voice. If Brody notices, he does a good job pretending otherwise.
He laughs, the sound quickly turning into a cough when he realizes he’s laughing alone.
After clearing his throat, he says, “I did some thinking after our call—lots of time to do that in a hospital—and I realized a few things.”
“Uh huh.”
“Do you remember what you said at the hospital about my brand? That it’s built on Rush and daring feats?”
I vaguely recall the conversation, but I don’t see how it explains the mix-up currently happening on set a world away.
“You’re right. My brand is all adrenaline and me, which makes sense, given I am the brand. But lying in this stupid hospital bed got me thinking about how to broaden my appeal. How can I show people there’s more to me?”
“So, you want to update your brand strategy? That’s totally a conversation we can have when I get back. I don’t see what that has to do with what’s happening now, though.”
“Well, then I was thinking about how Nate isn’t sure he can pull off the personality thing on screen when it’s just him, and it all clicked.”
“What did?” I’m not following whatever drug-induced logic Brody is operating under.
“Don’t you see? This gives us an angle we haven’t had in previous seasons!”
“A new angle?”
“You’re a newbie in this world and female. That can bring in more newbies, aspiring adrenaline junkies, and female viewers.”
It’s the same thing that got Dave so worked up earlier, but the suggestion doesn’t excite me.
I focus my attention on the beach, watching the ocean waves roll onto the shore, tug at the sand and rocks, and then roll back out.
Like Brody appearing out of nowhere to mess things up a little, then disappearing before consequences get dished out.
“You need to find someone else to do it.”
I hear Brody shake his head. “It has to be you, Abigail. You’re fresh to all this. Plus, you and I dating will help get more viewers invested.”
It seems dumb to state the obvious, but I need to. “It’s not actually you here with me.”
“Yeah, but no one else knows! Nate needs someone he can work with, and you two have a dynamic that’ll kill on camera.”
Or kill in real life. “Nate and I do not have a dynamic.”
“You two argue and banter. I saw it at the hospital. That sort of relationship makes for great television.”
“He can do this on his own; he doesn’t need me. Just give him another chance.”
“We don’t have time to keep doling out chances. The show needs to succeed, and this is the way to do it. We need your help to make this season a success.”
Then it hits me. I’m getting so caught up in the logistics of Brody’s newfound plan and not wanting to take part that I’m overlooking the real sticking point. “You told Dave I’d take part in the show without talking to me first? Even after you agreed to keep Nate and me updated?”
“I know, not a great look. I wanted to tell you, but the idea came to me suddenly and I wasn’t even sure if Dave would go for it. Plus, the time difference, and it wasn’t like you were going to say yes?—”
“So, you decided for me?”
The question hangs between us for a long, blustery moment.
“Abby…”
“Abigail,” I snap. “Just admit you made this decision for me with no concern for any input I might have.”
“It’s not like that.”
“Isn’t it? You went behind our backs and changed everything. Since this is apparently all a big game, let me put it into terms you might understand: you went and changed the rules without consulting the players. You don’t get to be inconvenienced when the players have feelings about it.”
I had never snapped at Brody like this. Never so much as argued with him, really.
I’ve always gone along with his suggestions or used logic to defend my argument.
But this? While logical, it’s driven by pure emotion.
I can see how Brody got to this point; he’s only focused on preserving his brand and saving his show.
In that goal, I’m not his brand manager or girlfriend.
I’m a pawn he can play to ensure this season’s success.
The realization hurts more than anything Brody could have said.
“I didn’t think it was a big deal. Aren’t we all committed to making the show a success?”
Of course, I want the show to succeed. Then Brody would too, which means his brand will grow, and I can save my career even with only having one client to stake my reputation on.
At what cost, though? Before today, I would have said that a personal relationship (not necessarily romantic) with a client is helpful.
In cases like this, where damn near everything is on the line, it means Brody can use our personal relationship to serve his professional one.
What’s worse is I should have seen it coming.
My exhale is loud and slow. “We all agreed on the course of action after our call. This is something completely different.”
“It doesn’t have to be. Come on, Abigail. This is the element we’ve been missing on the show. It’s exactly what we need to stand out from Just Jump.”
Beyond the fact that Just Jump and Rush both draw in adrenaline junkies, the shows are entirely different.
The former has a rotating cast doing a variety of stupid jump stunts while Rush focuses on Brody completing a wide range of thrill-seeking activities and sharing strategies with viewers looking to do the same.
Even with the differences, Brody is determined to make Rush everything Just Jump isn’t.
“Brody, this plan has multiple flaws. Beyond not asking me to participate, you overlooked that I’m terrible at these types of things.
” I don’t actually know if I’d be terrible at excursions because I’ve never tried, but I’m not about to admit to Brody that I’m terrified of doing the thing he does for fun.
“Don’t do the full thing then! Just do enough for Dave and the team to get the footage they need.”
It almost sounds reasonable until the ocean crashes onto the shore in front of me, bringing with it a spray of water.
I inhale, and the air hits me like smelling salts.
It reminds me of the first two seasons of Rush and all the excursions someone couldn’t hit pause on partway through.
“How does someone do part of a bobsled course? How about stop mid-rock climb? Could you have stopped paragliding partway through and avoided your accident?”
There’s a sharp inhale on the other end of the phone. “Abby?—”
More waves roll ashore, but I barely hear them over the blood rushing in my ears. “Aren’t I doing plenty of lying for one show?”
“You’re doing a bit of acting. That’s how television works, even reality TV. I know this isn’t ideal, but it’s what the show needs to succeed, especially since I can’t be there myself. I thought you of all people would get how important it is for this season to be the best…”
He doesn’t have to say more for me to get what he means. My career, like his, depends on the success of his show and his brand. In a convoluted way, Brody is helping me. Himself, too, of course.
It’s manipulative at best. At worst…well, I shouldn’t go there.
“Fine.” The word is sharp in my mouth, leaving behind the taste of bile. “I’ll try doing some partial excursions.”
Brody likely misses the fine print of my last words as he rushes to say “thank you” before quickly hanging up. He’s probably worried I’ll change my mind. A valid concern.
As I head back to the lobby where the rest of the crew and Nate stand waiting, I’m desperate to call Brody back to rescind my agreement or skip filming and “forget” to tell him.
But one look at Nate hurrying over reminds me he’s doing a lot for the show with much less on the line.
I can at least do this, or at least try.
Nate closes the remaining distance between us, leaning close to whisper. “Everything okay? What did Brody say?”
The kindness in his voice slices through my anger toward his brother and puts me at risk of bursting into tears because I’ve had zero time to come to terms with what I agreed to.
All I know is that this feels wrong. Very wrong.
Yet, it needs to be done. What’s the alternative?
Watching my career flop alongside the show?
“Brody confirmed what Dave said.” I close my eyes and take a series of steadying breaths. No tears. Forget the fear, the betrayal, the overall frustration…I refuse to cry in front of Nate and the crew.
When I’m ready, I open my eyes again, and the concern on Nate’s face almost sets me back to square one. “Brody told them I’d take part in the show with you.”
Nate raises an eyebrow. “Without running it by you first?”
I manage a nod, mentally commanding my chin to stop quivering.
“That’s messed up, even for Brody.”
“He said I don’t have to do the full excursion. Just enough for the cameras.”
“Still.”
Despite the current miscommunication, something makes me want to protect Brody. But I need to preserve my energy for the excursion. Instead, I shrug off Nate’s response and head toward the crew with a feigned smile. “Let’s bring this new angle to life.”