Page 34 of Ripped

I shake my head. “No.”

“Good.”

I follow Rick and Jackson through the rest of the tour, taking reference photos with my phone and jotting down notes about lighting and camera angles. It’s a good distraction that keeps my mind off the call with Wyatt. But by the time we’re done, Wyatt and the grant is the only thing I can think about again.

Why did I tell him to pull the application? I’ve just tanked my career before it’s even started. I’m never going to get another grant after this.

“Hey, Rick,” I say when Jackson leaves us in the hotel lobby. Anxiety skitters across my skin and I’m all jittery and antsy.

“Yeah?”

“Can I, um, talk to you about something?”

We go to a Starbucks down the street and grab the last empty table in the corner. I can barely sit still.

“So, um, how bad is it if I’ve applied for a production grant and then pull my application halfway through the process?”

Rick cocks an eyebrow. “Huh? What do you mean?”

Fuck. I don’t want to go into the whole backstory with Miles and Wyatt. I just want to know how much of a self-sabotaging idiot I am.

“Does this have anything to do with the call earlier?” Rick asks.

“Yeah, it does.”

“Okay, so spill.”

I don’t know how else to spill without telling him everything. It’s humiliating, but I do, starting from the script Wyatt and I were working on, straight through the cheating and the email from the granting committee, ending with the call he overheard.

Rick’s silent the entire time, his expression inscrutable.

“So… I guess I’m wondering… how fucked am I?”

Rick takes a long sip of his flat white. “I dunno what to tell ya. Life’s hard. This industry is harder. Shit is going to hit the fan every other day. There are assholes around every fucking corner and you don’t always have the luxury of choosing who you work with.”

I frown, my stomach twisting into knots so tight I think I’m going to be sick. “So I’m really fucked.”

“Is anyone ever really fucked?” Rick shrugs. “I mean, yeah, this grant sounds like it’s a big deal. But guess what? There are hundreds of grants out there.”

That’s kinda exactly what my film school instructor said. Kinda what Donnie said too.

“Listen, kid. There’s never a clear-cut answer to any of this. Is this the big break you’ve been waiting for? Maybe, who can say? Is it worth it if you’ve gotta work with someone you don’t like? Only you can answer that. The only way you’re ever truly fucked, is if you stop trying.”

Rick checks the time on his phone. “Hey, I gotta jet. I’ll see ya tomorrow, ‘kay?”

I stay behind to finish my latte with a double pump of hazelnut syrup. I know everything Rick said is right. Donnie too. In my head, it makes perfect sense. If anyone else came to me, I’d tell them the same thing.

So why doesn’t it feel right? Why does it feel like everything is slipping through my fingers and the harder I try to hold on, the less I have to grasp?

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

DONNIE

I find Connor downstairs in the theater room when I get home in the evening. He’s curled up in a ball, staring at the screen.

“Hey, what are you watching?”

He holds out his hand and when I take it, he drags me onto the couch with him. He settles his head in my lap and my fingers immediately go to his hair. I think this is going to be my new favorite thing, playing with his hair. He hums whenever I comb my fingers through it. He gasps whenever I rake my nails across his scalp.

---