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My phone rang with FaceTime, and I lifted it. Naya was calling. I hadn’t told her yet that I was heading home early, maybe because I subconsciously knew there was a chance the stupid flight would be delayed. It was winter, after all.
Hitting answer, her huge rainbow-framed glasses appeared on the screen. “Holy shit, what is happening over there?” She pulled back, pressing a finger to the arch of her frames, shoving them back up her nose.
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s all over the news. Abel’s gone Bad Santa … or Sad Santa … or something.”
I lifted an eyebrow and opened my mouth before promptly closing it. “Not my circus, not my monkeys.”
Naya popped a bubble of gum. “Sorry, not your circus? What the hell is going on?”
“I got fired. Apparently, I did such a good job that they are allowing me to have a longer Christmas break to reward me. Which feels less like a reward and more like a punishment now I’m sitting at the airport waiting on a delayed flight.”
“You’re coming home?” Naya looked excited before her face fell again. “Okay, I’m being selfish because I want to see you, but that sucks. I’m so sorry. I know how hard you worked to prove yourself.”
I shrugged my shoulders. “It was a long shot anyway. Harper only got the position in the first place because of who her mom was. Everybody knew it. I’m a nobody, and even with Harper’s endorsement, it wasn’t enough. They didn’t care.” My eyes welled up with tears.
“Wow, babe. Come on. It’s just a setback. You’ll have plenty of opportunities to show those sharks whose ocean it is.”
I shook my head. “It’s not that.” Tears welled in my eyes as I let out a soft sob. “Despite my best efforts, I fell in love with Abel. From the first moment I saw him, I tried to deny it, but then we kissed. Then it became something more, and now he’s branded on my skin. The only way I can get him off is to peel all the layers back and leave them behind. Which would mean leaving LA behind because he’s everywhere.”
“Well, apparently, whatever conversation you two had before you left, he’s not taking it so well. They’re saying he trashed his trailer, showed up drunk, and got into a fight with the director. Everybody’s talking about it. That’s why I called you because it didn’t seem like that was something that could happen if you were on the scene.”
I frowned, considering what she was saying. “Abel and I never talked. He doesn’t even know I got fired unless he was the one who suggested it. He didn’t come back from filming, and he’s blocked my number—”
“—I can unlock it for you,” Naya grinned. “I still have access to his phone, and let me tell you, he’s Ubered a lot of alcohol to his location. He’s either holding a party, or he’s going to set himself on fire because there’s no reason for one man to have that much alcohol.”
“I think you might be onto something with the setting himself on fire thing if what you’re saying is true. Filming was going great. He only had one more scene, so I have no idea why he’d fuck it up now.”
Naya bobbed her head, not answering me for a minute, and then she looked up. “Alright, you’re unblocked, and I’ve set you to unknown caller, so he’ll either ignore that, or he’ll answer it and have no idea it’s you. But I suggest if you feel the way you say you do about him, fleeing to Chicago is the last choice you want to make.”
Ten
ABEL
Isuccessfully managed to get everybody to leave me the fuck alone as I sat on the stage set for the Mall Santa scene. They’d moved on to another scene with a threat about how I had to get my shit together. But honestly? I couldn’t be bothered.
There’s no fucking point to any of this, was there? Christmas miracles weren’t real. That hope floats, lovey-dovey, shoot for the stars love was all bullshit in the end. This world was like I’d always thought it was—full of predators and prey. And the predators clawed their way to the top, taking down whoever they needed to while the prey fell into a heap.
I was a predator until I’d let Scout turn me into the prey, which was the last time I would ever let somebody do that to me. Lifting the vodka bottle to my lips, I tilted my head back, chugging several mouthfuls.
The PA had done what I asked, but he thought I wouldn’t realize he’d watered it down. Setting the bottle on the arm of Santa’s throne, I pulled out my phone and opened a delivery app, ordering more booze to my hotel room—my new hotel room because I sure as hell wasn’t going back to the one I was sharing with Scout.
Once the order was processed, I stuck my phone back in my pocket and rose, swiping the bottle again and taking another long gulp. Stumbling through the set, there was something eerie about all the Christmas-ness. Amidst the dimmed lights, distant voices echoed while they finished the film's last scenes.
If we didn’t re-shoot this mall scene today, I was pretty confident it would get cut from the film. But what did I fucking care? It’s all a joke.
I tossed the bottle into the nearby garbage can and cut across the next set, where I tripped over a camera track and landed face-first on the ground, out cold.
The whole set was dark when I came to, and no voices drifted to me. My head was pounding, though, as I rolled onto my back with a groan, checking my face and forehead for any damage.
I was still wearing the damn Santa beard. Peeling the fake hair away from my skin, I winced and ripped like a Band-Aid. Rubbing my jaw, I continued checking for any damage before taking off the mustache.
When I was confident nothing was broken, I sat slowly and tried to figure out what time it was. It was late. I’d never seen a set as quiet as this. Rising to my feet, the room swung around me, and I reached for something to brace myself. Besides the camera track I’d tripped over, there was nothing, which left me floating in mid-air, trying to steady myself.
“Fuck. Maybe he didn’t water down the vodka.” I winced as another forceful throb attacked my head, and I stumbled back the way I’d come to the throne I could collapse into until my head functioned properly.
I tripped over something else, catching myself this time but making a ton of racket didn’t help the pounding in my skull. Only then did the thought register to use my phone’s flashlight as I dug it out, checked the time and confirmed it was well-past shooting time, and punched the light on.
