Chapter 27
twenty-seven
. . .
Brandon
I should probably stay home and figure out what the hell just happened between Stella and me this morning. Instead, I'm driving to the studio lot like my apartment is on fire, needing to put distance between myself and the memory of how she felt in my arms before everything went sideways.
I grab two bottles of water to go with our lunch from the commissary and head outside to where Sophia's already claimed our usual picnic table under the big oak tree. The afternoon sun feels good on my shoulders, and I'm grateful for the day off.
“Please tell me you got the good sandwiches,” Sophia says, looking up from her phone as I approach.
“Turkey club for you, Italian combo for me,” I say, sliding the bag across the table. “And yes, I made sure they put extra avocado on yours.”
“This is why you're my favorite,” she says with a grin while unwrapping her lunch. “How's the morning been? You looked like you were moving pretty slow when I saw you walking across the lot earlier.”
I rotate my shoulder experimentally. It's better than it was a month ago, but still not where it needs to be. “Just the usual bumps and bruises. Nothing a hot shower won't fix.”
Sophia takes a bite of her sandwich and studies me with those sharp eyes that made her such a good child actress and an even better adult one. “So, how's everything else going? You seem different lately.”
“Different how?”
“I don't know. Quieter, maybe? Less of that Brandon charm that usually has every woman on set asking me for your number.”
I laugh despite myself. “Maybe I'm just getting old.”
“You're thirty-two, not ninety-two.” She pauses, then leans forward slightly. “Speaking of which, I heard through the grapevine that Marvel's doing another round of auditions for that new project. The one with all the practical stunts. Didn't you say you were interested in that?”
My stomach tightens. I've been dreading this conversation. “Yeah, I heard about it.”
“And?”
I take a long drink of water, buying myself time. Sophia knows me too well to accept a casual brush-off, and honestly, I don't know why I'm keeping it a secret.
“I can't audition,” I say finally.
“What do you mean you can't? Brandon, this is exactly the kind of opportunity you've been waiting for. Big budget, respected director, and they specifically want someone with your experience.”
I set down my sandwich and look her directly in the eye. “I failed my last physical.”
The words hang in the air between us. Sophia's expression shifts from confusion to concern.
“What do you mean you failed?”
“My shoulder. It's not healing like it should, and I can't pass the mobility tests they require.” I try to keep my voice casual, but I can hear the frustration creeping in.
“I'm doing physical therapy, and I go back for a retest in three months, but right now, I'd have to submit my current physical with any audition.”
“Brandon.” Her voice is soft now, the way it gets when she's worried. “Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because I didn't want you to worry. And because saying it out loud makes it real.” I manage a smile. “Besides, it's not permanent. The PT is helping, and my therapist thinks I'll be cleared by the end of summer.”
Sophia reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “I can imagine how frustrated you must be.”
It's not a question, and I don't try to deny it. “Yeah. I'm getting older, Soph. These injuries are taking longer to heal, and the recovery time between jobs keeps getting longer. I can't keep doing this forever.”
“Does anyone else know?”
“Stella knows. She's actually been helping me think through some options. Career stuff.”
“I'm glad you told her and she's helping you,” Sophia says. “She's good at plotting out career options for people.”
“She is. She's got some smart ideas on how I can stay involved in this world.”
“What kind of options are you considering?”
I pick at my sandwich, grateful she's not pushing the injury topic. “Stunt coordination, obviously. Maybe choreography. I've been thinking about the teaching side, too. There are a lot of young stunt performers who could benefit from someone showing them the ropes properly.”
“You'd be amazing at that,” Sophia says immediately. “You basically taught me everything I know about on-set safety.”
I smile at the memory. Sophia was fourteen when we first worked together on that spy show for the kids' network.
Just a petite girl with dark brown hair, piercing blue eyes, and more talent than half the adults on set.
I was doing easy stunts, playing the bumbling bad guy who always got caught, and she was this fierce little spy character who took down villains twice her size.
“You were a natural,” I say. “You just needed someone to teach you how to do it without actually getting hurt.”
“You did more than that.” Her voice is serious now. “You looked out for me when a lot of people on sets didn't look out for kid actors. I don't know if I ever properly thanked you for that.”
“You don't need to thank me. That's what good friends and self-nominated big brothers do.”
She smiles at that. We've never talked about it explicitly, but somewhere along the way, that's what we've become: family.
“Well, let me return the favor,” she says. “I can reach out to some of the coordinators I've worked with and get a sense of what opportunities might be out there. Unless Stella is doing that?”
“A little. Stella's been encouraging me to network more, actually. She says I need to start thinking of myself as a brand, not just a body for hire.”
“That's really smart.”
“She introduced me to Helena last night. I guess she has a new project starting soon at FlixPix, and Stella wanted me to be on her radar before she started hiring her crew.”
“I can put in a good word, too. You'd be perfect on that project.”
“Thanks, Soph.”
“Speaking of Stella,” Sophia says, settling back in her chair with that look she gets when she's about to dig into something. “How are things going with you two? Still fake dating and living together?”
“We're fine,” I say, trying to keep my voice casual. “Her mom left this morning, so things should go back to normal.”
“It was nice of you to step in as her fake boyfriend,” she says, watching my face carefully.
“It wasn't a big deal. Just helped her out of a jam.”
“Mmm.” Sophia tilts her head. “Can I ask you something?”
I bite into my sandwich and take my time chewing. I know when I'm about to get grilled. “Sure.”
When's the last time you went on a date?”
The question catches me off guard. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Humor me.”
I think back through the past few months. There was that woman from the gym in March, but we never actually met up. Before that… “New Year's Eve, I think? That party at Wyatt's.”
“Brandon, that was almost six months ago.”
Has it really been that long? “I've been busy with work, physical therapy—”
“And Thursday nights with Stella,” Sophia finishes gently. “Every Thursday night for how long now?”
“We're friends, Soph. Friends hang out.”
“They do. But friends don't usually stop dating other people.” She leans forward slightly. “I'm not judging. I'm just pointing out that maybe subconsciously, you've made yourself unavailable since she's moved in across the hall.”
I want to argue, but something about the way she says it makes me pause. Have I been turning down opportunities? Making excuses not to go out with other women?
“She's interested in Mason anyway,” I say finally.
“Is she?” Sophia says softly. “I'm not suggesting you run off and marry the girl, but seeing the two of you together last night and knowing how close the two of you have become, well, maybe there's a reason why it was so easy for you to fall into the role of boyfriend.”
The truth is, it did feel natural. More than natural. It felt right in a way that scares me.
“I enjoyed it,” I admit quietly. “More than I should have.”
“And that terrifies you.”
“Yeah. It does.” I run a hand through my hair. “She's my friend, Soph. My really good friend. If I mess that up—”
“What if you don't mess it up? What if it's exactly what you both need?”
Before I can answer, my phone buzzes with a text from Jake sharing a packing list for Manmorial Weekend.
Sophia notices the notification. “You're going to La Jolla with the guys?”
“Finally got the coveted invite,” I say, grateful for the subject change.
“Congratulations. Perhaps you'll get some perspective after some time away with them.”
I nod, not trusting myself to respond. Because the thought of Stella as more than a friend both thrills and terrifies me in equal measure.