Page 30 of Keep It

I finish my rant, heaving. Unable to even look at him, I turn and slam the door behindmefor once.

Chapter 13

DANNY

Having to organize getting back to my hotel without Anya’s constant presence feels like a low point. Even Jaques barely acknowledges me when I slide into the back of the town car.

I yank my hat off and run my hands through my hair, trying to take a calming breath. I close my eyes but all I can see is the look on Anya’s face as she tore me a new one, hands flying and those hazel eyes blazing.

I pinch my eyes with my fingers until I see spots, trying to dissolve the image I can’t get out of my head.

Resting my head against the cool glass of the window, the streets pass by in a blur. We pass the entrance of a park, the tall green gates flung open as cyclists glide through the opening.

“Can you stop?” I ask, swallowing against my dry throat. “Please.”

Jaques doesn’t say a word as he pulls to the curb. I hardly wait for the car to stop before I’ve stumbled onto the pavement, pulling my hat back on my head.

My shoes crunch in the dirt pathway as I wander through the park. I barely look up from the pale sand beneath my feet.

Everyone was right. Everything anyone has ever said about me is right, I proved it all back there. I lashed out at a trainee who shook like a trapped field mouse. I lashed out at her, but really I was angry at myself. At myself for letting Callum McBride get under my skin now the same way he did months ago. For allowing him to goad me into a fight, leaving a glass table shattered on the floor and my reputation in ruins. McBride’s doing it again. Over and over. And I let it happen every time.

As soon as I saw McBride, that night replayed in my head. His cheek underneath my knuckles and the look in my sisters’ eyes. It’s like a bad dream he’s determined to make me relive.

I collapse on a green chair, startled by the sharp backwards angle that makes me slide back until I’m almost horizontal in a public park. The move surprises a laugh from my throat. As if I could pity myself more.

I gaze up at the trees above me, the gentle swaying distracting me from my pool of self loathing.

Couples walk by holding hands, children ride past me on bikes. I stare at them, envious of their lives. Their ability to walk through a park without worrying about prying eyes. I pull my hat off in frustration, yanking my hair between my fingers.

Pulling it back on to rest over my eyebrows, I lean my head back against the metal chair with a thud.

Anya’s face swims before me, her angry glare and flushed cheeks. The minute I met her, her sharp words bathed over me like a fresh start. No one has spoken to me like that. They’ve always thought their opinions, hidden them behind phone screens, but never said directly to my face. I almost can’t help myself now, from needling her, just to see what she’ll say.

But today, it wasn’t a pleasant experiment. It was a harsh truth. I put so much effort into resenting the people who think badly of me, that I end up proving them all right.

It’s not anyone on that production’s fault that I’m there. None of them hired me. None of them leak my name in the press and spread lies about me — although they probably will now. All they’ve done is do their job, earned a living, and I’ve been stomping around like they all owe me something.

How many people do the hardest jobs in the business just so people like me can demand an extra window in their trailer or specifically orange M&Ms on standby? Would I even be in this job if it wasn’t for my parents? Yes, they pushed and pushed me in this direction, but did I really have to let them?

When I was starting out, it only took my father a few calls to get me an audition forBetter You Know, and the producer was a woman who used to come to my mother’s dinner parties. I worked hard on that job, but all of that ambition has left me since then. Yet, I’m still working because my father keeps hiring me.

The garden is getting busier now, the after work rush settling in. I remember that day in my father’s office and feeling envious of the corporate people on their lunch breaks. I wanted to be them, I wanted to have a job that meant something, that wasn’t just playing pretend. But how many of those people wish they were me?

For such an opinionated woman, Anya has yet to be wrong about anything. I take a deep breath and stand, crossing the park in long strides.

A fountain stands in the center of the park, toy boats bobbing in the water controlled by a group of giggling children.

A green shack stands nearby selling snacks. I join the queue, keeping my head down. The last thing I need is someone to spot me when I’m deep in self reflection about my life choices.

The queue moves slowly and my neck starts to hurt. By the time I make it to the front of the line, I quickly remember I can’t speak French.

“Uh,” I say dumbly. Anya would know what to say. I hold my fingers up and point to the picture of packaged ice creams. “Two ofdeese.” The man scoffs at what I now realize was just English with a strong fake French accent. I’m an actor for god’s sake.

He hands me two ice cream bars and I mumble a quiet “merci”as I pay. I know that at least.

I hold the plastic packaging between my fingers so they don’t melt as I head back to Jaques.

He’s standing against the car door, dutifully waiting for me. He’s tall and broad. I’ve never seen him standing before which explains why I never imagined he’d be the size of a defensive linebacker.

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