Page 7 of Broken Bridges

“But you made it.” Opening the front door wider, he waved me inside. “Come in. Come in.”

My smile faltered. Grabbing my suitcase handle, I took a deep breath. “Sure.”

Here I go.

I limped inside, wheeling my suitcase behind me. Three days out from Christmas and not one decoration was on display in the foyer. No fairy lights. No tree. No tinsel. He’d probably been waiting for me to put them up.

Cole’s brow furrowed as his gaze fell to my leg. I left my luggage by the door and hobbled toward the living room. The pain in my ankle was on the brink of being unbearable.

He closed the door, then pointed to my foot. “Why are you limping? Did you slip on the stairs?”

I wished that was all I’d done. “No, I didn’t slip. It’s a bit more serious than that.”

I dumped my purse onto the sofa. As I shrugged off my coat and tossed it beside my bag, my stomach lurched. I had to come clean. That was why I was here. I sank onto the seat, smoothed my hands over my dress pants, and rubbed at the ache in my knee. “Can we talk for a moment?”

“Sure.” He headed over to the bar. “You want a bourbon?”

“Yes. That’d be great.” I hadn’t drunk alcohol in months, but something to take the edge off would be nice. I stuffed a cushion behind my back to make myself comfortable.

Cole’s luxurious modern home, high up in Laurel Canyon, was ridiculously big for someone who lived alone. His six-bedrooms house had a towering atrium over the extensive living and kitchen area, a spectacular, wall-length gas fireplace, a home theater, custom music studio, games room and tech galore. It was a true bachelor pad.

Nothing had changed since I was last here. No new music awards or photos had been added to the glass shelves by the massive TV. All the perfectly placed cushions, throws, and floor rugs in coordinated shades of dark green were set against oatmeal-colored furniture, making the place look like it was staged to sell. But he never would. With spectacular views across the secluded canyon toward the endless expanse of the city, it felt like he lived on top of the world, not in the center of Los Angeles.

I rested my arm on the back of the sofa. “Where’s the rest of my welcome party?” Flint and Slip, the other two members of his band—my crazy friends too—were never far away.

“The guys and Sutton headed to the club about half an hour ago. Blake and April have us out every other night at some swanky bar or event, generating hype for our new album. It’s a tough job, but someone has to do it.”

His band’s manager and their PA/publicist were ruthless when it came to promotional opportunities and kept the boys in line. They worked hard for their money. I knew. I’d caused them enough grief when I’d lived here too.

Cole handed me a bourbon and took a seat adjacent to me. “So? What happened to your leg?”

My heart cinched like a harness pulled too tight. I was glad the others weren’t here so I could talk to Cole first. I’d kept secrets from him for way too long. But I’d needed time to accept that I’d never be the same. “A lot has happened over the past few months. I haven’t told you everything that’s been going on.” Tears burned at the back of my eyes. “Nor have I been honest about why I had to give up the show I loved and move back to LA.”

“Gotta say, I was shocked.” He took a sip of his neat vodka. “You loved Chicago. You loved your show.”

“I did. But I couldn’t do it anymore.” The cracks in my chest that had taken months to stitch together threatened to open. I took a deep breath and tried to hold onto my composure. I had to get through this.

Confusion dug divots into his brow. “Why?”

Nausea rocked my guts. “Physically...I can’t do stunts anymore.” I put down my glass on the coffee table. My hands trembled as I rolled up the right leg on my flared dress pants. “Because of this.”

“Holy shit.” Cole choked on a mouthful of his drink and shot forward. His gaze raked over my mangled leg. “What the fuck?”

A tangle of seven finger-width, six-inch long, red scars snaked over the side of my calf like angry tentacles. Several large dark marks dotted my knee and sliced across my ankle. Every time I looked at them, it reminded me of everything I’d lost—my career, the fun I used to have, and my boyfriend. Since I was ten, I’d wanted to be an action star, and perform my own stunts in movies and on television. So I’d trained. I’d done every course possible—acting, fighting, wirework, driving skills, and firearms. I fell in love with stunt work more than acting, and wasn’t afraid to have a go at anything. At the end of my first year at college, I landed the Chicago-based role on Through The Smoke. My dream job had come to fruition. Now, it’d been incinerated.

Not being able to do stunt work ever again was like losing a limb.

I almost had.

“What happened?” Tears welled on the rims of his eyes.

“I was injured on set.” Working on a fire and rescue show, some of the stunts we’d done were insane. We’d meticulously prepared for them. We’d rehearsed them. Every safety measure had been in place. But sometimes things went wrong. “Rhett and I were doing a scene on top of an old building. We had to run from the fire and jump across a gap to the next rooftop. But when the explosion went off, the blast was too big. It threw us off our mark. Rhett’s safety wire saved him. Mine failed. I hit a metal stair landing. My right leg took all the impact, shattering my ankle, snapping my tibia, and breaking my knee. But the platform was rusted. My leg fell through. My calf was ripped to shreds against the shards of steel.”

So much for safety boots and clothing. They hadn’t protected me enough.

“Fuck.” The color drained from his face. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d been hurt?”

I shook my head, fighting back my stinging tears. “Everything got so fucked up.” Mainly my head. “I went into complete denial. I didn’t want to admit that my leg was ruined. After the accident, I spent a couple weeks in the hospital and had multiple surgeries to pin the bones back together. I was adamant I’d get better...so determined...but I didn’t. And then Rhett left me.” My co-star, my boyfriend, gone. He’d trampled on my heart and tossed me aside without a second thought.

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