Page 39 of Cast to be Mine

13

GRACE

The trailer door slammed behind me. I collapsed onto the leather couch, my whole body shaking with sobs I couldn’t control. Pathetic. I was absolutely pathetic.

I pressed my face into the throw pillow and let the tears come. Mascara was definitely running down my face. Or maybe not. The makeup artist had said she had special cleanser to remove it. My carefully styled messy hair was probably a real disaster that didn’t look sexy. None of it mattered because my career was over before it had even started.

The worst part was that I knew exactly why. I could feel it happening in real time, like watching a car crash in slow motion and being powerless to stop it. Every take, every line, I could tell I was coming off forced. Stiff. Like a robot programmed to recite dialogue instead of a living, breathing character.

And it was all because of Jack fucking Montana.

During private rehearsals with Micah, everything had clicked. The emotions flowed naturally. The words felt like my own thoughts. I could react, adapt, live in the moment.

But Jack? Jack was a black hole.

When the cameras were rolling and it was his coverage, he was electric. All that movie star charisma cranked up to eleven. But the second the lens pointed at me? The moment it was my turn to deliver? He went completely deadpan. Just stood there with this blank expression, staring through me while he waited for me to finish so he could get back to being the center of attention.

I had nothing to work with. No chemistry. No emotion. No compass.

How was I supposed to find Elena’s fear and desperation when my scene partner gave me less than a cardboard cutout would? At least a cardboard cutout wouldn’t actively radiate contempt. Jack’s mood swings were legendary. One minute he was flirty and playful and the next he turned into a spoiled brat.

I grabbed a tissue from the box on the side table and blew my nose, the sound echoing in the tiny trailer. Humiliating. All of it. A hundred people had watched me fall apart. A hundred people who would go home tonight and tell their friends about the amateur who couldn’t handle her first big role.

The whispers I’d heard as I fled the set echoed in my head.

I should probably brick my phone. I didn’t want to see the social media notifications that were sure to blow up very soon.

Maybe Jack was right. Maybe I didn’t belong on a production of this magnitude. Had I fooled myself into thinking I had what it took when really I was just a pretty face with delusions of grandeur?

I curled into a ball on the couch, pulling my knees to my chest. The cargo jacket felt suffocating. I was still in full wardrobe. Fran was going to kill me for sitting down and creasing everything.

Did it even matter? I’d probably be fired by the end of the day anyway.

Should I just quit? Save everyone the trouble? I could walk out of here, drive home, and pretend none of this ever happened. Go back to playing corpses and baristas with secrets that never got revealed. At least I was good at those roles. At least nobody expected anything from me.

A knock on the trailer door made me flinch.

“Grace?” Micah.

Oh God. Not now. Not when I looked like a trash bandit.

“Can we talk?” he asked.

I wiped frantically at my face, knowing it was useless. “Can you come back later? I just need a few minutes to compose myself.”

There was a pause. I could picture him standing on the other side of the flimsy door, probably debating whether to respect my wishes or push through anyway.

“You can have as much time as you like,” he said finally, and there was something in his voice that made my chest ache. Genuine kindness. “But I really don’t want to leave you alone like this.”

I stared at the door for a long moment. Every instinct screamed at me to send him away. To hide until I could paste on a professional mask and pretend I hadn’t just had a complete meltdown in front of the entire crew.

But something about the way he said it—I don’t want to leave you alone—broke through my defenses.

I got up on shaky legs and opened the door a few inches.

Micah stood on the narrow steps, his face etched with concern. He wasn’t wearing the headset anymore. I noticed for the first time how tired he looked. Dark circles under his eyes. Tension in his jaw.

I stepped back to let him in, and I couldn’t help noticing the way his shoulders filled out the narrow doorway as he stepped inside. The trailer suddenly felt very small. Very intimate.