Page 32 of The Singapore Stunt

“We don’t have time for distractions. I have a team to worry about. We need to focus on the execution.”

“It’ll only take two minutes,” she pleads.

“We both know it won’t.” I don’t elaborate. “I came over to remind you about your balance. To remind you that you are but a small piece in a much bigger machine. Your actions have consequences. If you do something we didn’t plan, everyone looks foolish. People get hurt.”

Disappointment floods her eyes for a second before that look of determination returns. She’s not giving up so easily. “I already feel out of balance. Will you steady me?”

I point to Alex. “He’s your partner in this scene. Look for him to steady you. He doesn’t make mistakes, and he doesn’t drink.” I’m a dick. The last dig is pointless.

I turn and escape like a coward, my back taking the brunt of what I know is some epic side-eye. I march toward Alex, who gives me a nod. We glance across the Gardens, and three more nods are returned. My team is in position. They are ready. All that’s left is for Kimberly to execute. Us stuntpeople are always at the mercy of the stars.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Kimberly

Mattias thinks he’s burned me with his comment, but I see past the false anger and see the hurt. His hurt. His history of women abandoning him. Of hiding him in the darkness of late-night hotel rooms away from the spotlight.

I’ve never felt this way about him. It’s the opposite. I saw him from the beginning. I pushed us into the spotlight together, even though we are in our infancy. Even though I knew the price that would come from my actions. The attention, the questions, the interrogations. I wanted to show him I was up for it, that I wanted him next to me in the pictures, on my arm.

Yet it’s all gone to hell. My history of deceit is too big to overcome my truth. It’s like the rest of my life—when people look, they don’t see me. They see the projection of what they want to see. Preconceived notions that never reflect who I am. Even Mattias is not immune.

“Again!” Wesley barks at me to reset the fight sequence. Morgan has given up on me. We are on take ten of the combo that I flaunted in front of Wesley a day ago. Back when I had Mattias’ belief in me. Back when I believed I could soar.

Morgan hides behind the monitor in his director’s chair, his head lifted toward the roof of the hotel. I’m sure he’s calculating the timing it will take to finish this sequence and reset the crew on the roof for the much more complicated stunt.

“Don’t hold back,” Alex says to me and looks over his shoulder in search of Mattias. I haven’t seen him since our second take.

Alex gives me an encouraging nod, a soft smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. Thankfully, I displayed a level of competency to the stunt team yesterday, otherwise, they’d have walked off the set by now.

“Take ten…” Marlon barks. “Rolling… and action!”

I duck from a kick, spin, and sweep the feet of a member of the stunt team. I drop my shoulder and twist my body away from knives that will be added in postproduction via computer graphics. I approach Alex and prepare for my combination. I toss my lazy punch, and Alex overcompensates in order to sell it to the camera. I stumble and recover in time to perform the kick. He’s closer than he should be, my poor punch ruining the rhythm. My kick strikes him solidly in the chest. He struggles to stay on his feet in anticipation of the final punch in my combo.

I recall Mattias’ hands on my hip, rotating my shoulders to provide the power for the punch. Alex leans to his left rather than his right, the kick putting him in the wrong place. As a result, my punch lands on his nose, hard. I feel the crunch of bone. Blood spurts out of his nose, enough to make me want to stop, but Alex doesn’t. Muscle memory. He stays in character and spins his body in the air, landing hard on the pavement.

Only years of training halts me from kneeling to the ground to check on him. “And cut,” Morgan yells, and I shake my right hand by my side, a strange sensation racing up my arm with the punch. Alex lifts his head, blood streaming from his nose.

“I think you might’ve broken my nose.” Blood drips into his mouth as he gives me a crimson smile. Yes, a smile. “That’ll make it the third time. I’m ahead of Xavier now, thanks.” His laugh eases my concern, but only for a minute.

I turn and look for Wesley. I guess we’re doing take eleven. Wesley leans over Marlon’s shoulder, the two of them pointing to a monitor in front of them. A review of my failure. Wesley nods and then approaches. Alex disappears with the medical staff team.

“That’s a wrap for the garden sequence,” Wesley says, clapping his hands together.

“Wait. I can do it. One more,” I plead, and for the first time since I’ve met him, Wesley looks like he cares for someone other than himself.

“Kimberly, we’re good. Marlon thinks that last take is even better than what they drew up. You busted his freaking nose.” His words offer no solace to me. I know I failed, no matter how they spin this.

“What about the rest of the garden sequence?”

“It’ll have to wait. This should have taken twenty minutes, and it took two hours. Marlon is concerned about the rooftop. The light. The winds. The sooner we get up there…”

He doesn’t have to complete the sentence. He’s not the only one who wants this miserable day to be over.

We have a sixty-minute transition break to change costume, hair, and makeup and report to the top of the hotel. Sixty minutes for me to calm down and block out the thoughts swirling in my head. They’ve affected my performance. My mistake resulted in a broken nose, a hurt hand, and blood. Once I get on the elevator to the fifty-seventh floor, everything rises.

Including the price of screwing up.

Chapter Twenty-Six

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