Page 75 of Falling Like Stars

I grab my notebook and stumble through the warehouse, one hand clamped to my mouth. I ignore the concerned glances and questions that follow me; I probably look like I’m about to puke. And I am. Years’ worth of grief and guilt are finally breaking free from the prison I’ve locked them in, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

Outside, the sunlight is blinding. I can’t see where I’m going, and I crash into someone. Hard. I hear a feminine yelp, and we both go down. My notebook spills open, my sketches flying everywhere.

“No, no, no,” I cry, on my hands and knees, gathering them up as fast as I can.

Whoever I crashed into, a woman, puts her hand on my shoulder. “Are you okay? Let me help…”

I shrug her off and stumble to my feet. I make it around the corner to a back alley and slump against the wall of the warehouse. The concrete is hard against my back as I heave gulps of air. With trembling fingers, I pull out my phone. To call…who? J.J.? Dr. Baldwin? I can barely think or see or breathe, but I start dialing.

Chapter Twenty-One

“ZACH?” SYD TAPS the desk. “You still with us?”

“Hm? Yeah,” I say, and tear my gaze from the LA city skyline visible from my manager’s Beverly Wilshire office.

Syd and my agent, Chase, exchange glances over the polished mahogany of the conference room table. It’s been a week since Rowan left the bungalow, and American Vice has wrapped. Staring into space seems to be my new pastime.

Syd shifts in his seat. “Right, so as I was saying—”

“As we were saying,” Chase cuts in, “we need to pivot.”

The older man nods at the younger. “We love the high profile of American Vice,” Syd says. “But after Crazy 8 and Covet, you’re logging too many supporting roles. Need to get you back on the leading man track.”

I frown. “I won an Oscar for a supporting role.”

“And that’s incredible, chief,” Chase says. “But we can’t have you locked into that space. You’re Taylor Swift, not Taylor’s opening act.”

“Midnight Skies is a lead,” I say, though I have zero energy for this discussion. Rowan’s face when I told her I should treat her like shit keeps filtering into my thoughts. If I could take it back…

“Midnight Skies is great. It’s going to rock Cannes and Toronto, both. There’s no doubt it’s going to be huge. Small and indie, but huge.”

I smirk. “I thought you said it was too dark, Syd.”

“It is too dark,” my manager says. “But the early buzz all over town is that it’s one of your best pieces of acting, bar none.” He shrugs. “That kind of buzz trumps my personal opinion.”

“But it’s still indie,” Chase puts in. “This is not.”

He slides a script across the table to me, No Man’s Land by Tyler Pollack is written on the cover page. Beneath that, Copy #2 of 4. Not for personal possession.

“It’s about a World War I aviator who gets shot down behind enemy lines and is held in a Hungarian POW camp. The film depicts his escape from the camp and struggle to get back to his regiment.”

“Tyler Pollack is the next big thing,” Syd chimes in. “His script is brilliant.”

I nod, idly riffling the corners of the pages. “Who’s attached to direct?”

“Sam Mendes with Paramount producing,” Chase says, and leans forward, practically salivating. “This is the big one, chief. And they want you.”

“When’s the audition?”

“Sam wants a meeting,” Syd says.

“You’re practically ‘offer only’ status, Zach,” Chase says, his smile blinding. “Your days of auditioning are numbered.”

I nod again and open the script. My manager and agent wait while I read a few pages from the beginning, middle, and end. They’re right; the script seems brilliant. The lines are smart and rich, and my character, Charlie Dawson, is basically a one-man show of resilience as he escapes a brutal internment camp and battles his way to the front. It’s going to be another draining, all-out effort. I’m tired just from reading a few random pages, and I was already tired. At the edge of burnout. But it’s too good to pass up. Not to mention, breaking free from a prison is the exact kind of role that speaks to me.

You just compared your relationship with Eva to a POW camp.

A crazed laugh bursts out of me, and I look up to see my team with twin expressions of worry. I shut the script and send it back across the table.

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