Page 38 of The Singapore Stunt

Two Mississippi.

The ones I would wipe my hands across to remove any moisture. I’d pushed, kicked, and punched at least five different people into pools, water splashing in every direction. There is no way some of it hasn’t landed on my hands.

But wait, it’s worse than that.

For hair and makeup, they sprayed my body with sunscreen. Enough to glisten in the sun to make my skin sparkle for the camera. A slippery substance that is probably still on my hands.

The hands that need to be bone-dry in order to grab hold of the ladder.

I lift my hand up, frantically wiping it against my bikini bottom. I know the drones are recording my every movement, cameras I can’t see capturing the frantic look on my face. I’m not acting. I’m petrified.

Three Mississippi.

I’m flying toward the ladder and whip my hands forward. I open my hands wide, let the bar hit the palm of my hands, and squeeze tight. I remember the training. I remember it all. Ariana remembered her training too. She did everything right, but it was out of control. She merely fell thirty feet. If this is it, then I want him to know. I mouth his name—Mattias.

Four Miss…

Both of my hands hit the rungs halfway down the ladder. I squeeze with all my might. The bar, even with the added powder, slips through my right hand, too much of the slippery substance still on my fingertips. My left hand sticks, and I hang on for dear life. Red-hot pain shoots down my left shoulder as I crash against the ladder, my body weight pulling on my left hand. I don’t have Ariana’s muscles. I’m not a true stuntperson.

I barely have time to wrap my leg through two rungs before my left hand gives out. My heart threatens to explode in my chest. I toss both my hands up at the ladder but fall short. I’ve failed.

This is the end.

I’m falling.

Chapter Thirty-One

Kimberly

In the scheme of things, I’ve lived a blessed life. My Wikipedia page may be short, but it will be full of accomplishments. Achievements I never thought possible five years ago. I had co-led a billion-dollar romance franchise. My peers included my name in the conversations for the best actress in the industry. I had made more money than I could ever spend. Hell, maybe someone will finally update my page with my correct elementary school.

But it’s the accomplishments not on the pages that make me most proud. I’ve remained grounded, as much as anyone can in Hollywood. And I’ve found a best friend who gets me.

My one regret will be not finding a partner. For so many years, I fooled myself into believing I didn’t want one. I didn’t need one.

I had been wrong on both accounts. So wrong. If Wikipedia ever adds a section for regret, mine would have a picture of Mattias. That we didn’t have enough time.

I close my eyes and try to fill my mind with a warm memory. I don’t want my last thought to be terrified. I didn’t do frightened in my real life, and I won’t let it the first impression I take with me to the afterlife.

Mattias’ beautiful face floods my head, and I feel the calm return. He has his forehead to mine, water welled behind his eyes and grit in his voice. “I don’t care how you look as long as you hold on. One hand, your leg, your goddamn incredible hair. Use whatever you need… I can’t afford to lose you, Kimberly.”

A sharp pain shoots up my leg, pulling me out of the happy thought. My left leg is tangled between two rungs of the ladder. I’m swinging wildly in a circle, tangling the ladder into a spiral.

I’m alive.

I do not know who is flying the helicopter, but whoever it is deserves a bonus. Somehow, they must see what is going on below him. He rotates the helicopter in the opposite direction from my spin.

It gives me a chance. A second chance.

I shift my weight and slip my right leg onto another rung and reach up and grab hold of the ladder. It’s not pretty. It’s not a smooth move that fans would expect from a special agent. But it’s real.

No wires, no harnesses, no CGI.

This is me almost dying.

I press a kiss to the side of the ladder. I wrap my legs through the rungs, practically sitting on them, and hook my arms. Nothing short of an alien invasion will get me to let go this time.

I remember who I am. Who I’m supposed to be. And remember the cameras are still rolling. This move is unscripted yet feels perfect.

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