Chapter 10

Bailey

I spent the day working on the script for another episode of “Past Out.” It was a medical drama with a supernatural edge, where the main doctor was reincarnated and there were flashbacks on every episode to his previous life, two hundred years in the past. Historical stuff wasn’t really my thing, but because of the supernatural elements, it was easier to come up with ideas.

Up until the first episode I’d written, there hadn’t been a lot of romance for the main character, Dr. Marquise, but I’d had him asking out a nurse new to the hospital. Apparently, the producers had liked showing a softer side to him, and they’d run with it. So, I was capitalizing on that by writing another episode where he shows a different side of his personality.

I’d been writing for a couple of hours when my phone rang and my agent’s name popped up on the screen.

“Hey, Joan,” I said, answering on the first ring.

“Who loves you, baby?” she replied by way of greeting.

I laughed. “What did you do?” I asked.

“Well, technically, it’s what you did, but I sold it for you.”

“You sold what?” I asked in confusion. I had two unfinished episodes for “Past Out” on my laptop, and we’d gotten more rejections than I could count on my novel.

“Love and Other Simple Things.”

My breath caught.

I’d forgotten all about the movie script I’d written while I’d been in rehab.

It had been therapeutic and gave me something to do while I’d been in pain. When I’d sent it to Joan, she’d said she loved it but wasn’t sure she could sell it. So I’d promptly written it off.

“But…” I couldn’t even think of what to say.

“That new streaming platform, LoveLand, green lit it today. I heard from them last week, but they had questions. I didn’t want to say anything until they made a decision—and today they did!”

“How much?” I asked softly.

The number she named brought tears to my eyes.

It wasn’t that I was broke or in danger of becoming homeless.

I’d just felt so useless the last few years, often anxious about how I was going to survive if I lived another fifty years.

This was the kind of money that would give me a cushion, especially if I invested wisely. My financial planner had been begging me to let her get creative with my money, but I’d been too afraid to risk it.

Now I could.

“And the best part?” Joan continued. “They want you to have a part!”

And just like that, my excitement deflated like a balloon that had been popped with a butcher knife.

“No.” I shook my head vehemently even though she couldn’t see it.

“Bailey, this could be your way back to work!” Joan protested. “I told them you have physical limitations because of the accident, and they said they didn’t care as long as the issue wasn’t with your face. And it’s not.”

“Is this a deal breaker?” I asked quietly.

“No, of course not, but?—”

“Tell them thank you, but I’d prefer not to be on camera.”

“Bailey.”

“You work for me,” I said, trying to keep my voice firm. “Please. I don’t want to argue with you. Get me whatever I have to sign so my attorney can look at it, but make sure there’s nothing in there about me being on screen. I have to go. Thanks, Joan.” I disconnected before she could protest.

Fuck .

I hated being a bitch.

Joan had been so good to me since the accident, selling those two scripts for “Past Out,” shopping my novel to anyone and everyone, and now this. She was good at what she did, and I normally adored her.

But there was no way in hell I was going to be in a movie.

Not even one I wrote.

Those days were over.

I couldn’t fathom subjecting myself to the scrutiny that came with being on the screen, not to mention the press and publicity. The media would jump all over the fact that I had such a bad limp, and even if I wore the shoes with lifts, it was still obvious that I walked funny. I could mask it if I walked very, very slowly, but it also wasn’t comfortable. Within a few minutes my hip started to ache and I’d have to sit down. How could I concentrate on my lines or whatever emotion I was supposed to emit if I was in physical pain?

There was no chance I would ever go back to acting.

No matter how much I missed it.

And that really sucked.

I sank down on the couch and wrapped my arms around a throw pillow, holding it tight against my chest.

I’d thought that three years later, I would be past the worst of it. That I wouldn’t miss acting or the life I’d had so much. But if anything, I missed it more. Instead of moving on, sometimes it felt like I was stuck in the past. I couldn’t look to the future because I didn’t know what I wanted it to look like. Instead, it seemed as if I were subconsciously waiting for something to happen that would give me back everything I’d lost.

I knew intellectually that was never going to happen, but my heart had other ideas. My soul yearned for everything that had been taken the night of the accident. No amount of therapy or self-help books or meditation could erase the pain, the loss, or the ache that always hovered just beneath the surface of my psyche.

And I hated myself for feeling that way.

I fell into a funk the next few days, unable to write or read or do much of anything but stare at mindless reality television shows. I gorged myself on Ben having to relive it in my own head seemed unfair.

I puttered around the house, cleaning the kitchen until the counters sparkled, and threw in a load of laundry. I had a service who came once every two weeks to do the big stuff like scrubbing bathrooms and floors, but I did the everyday tasks myself, determined to find some semblance of normal with my physical limitations.

Well, if I was honest, I didn’t have a lot of limitations beyond dealing with the pain. When it hit, there was nothing I could do but rest or take a pain pill, which I only did when it was really bad. On the good days, I could do most things. Except walk without a limp. Run. Carry heavy items.

It was just easier to pretend I couldn’t.

Easier to tell myself I was broken, crippled, useless.

Unlovable .

A scarred, ugly monster no man would ever care about.

Hell, looking back on it, Dirk hadn’t loved me when I’d been on top—all he’d cared about was what I could do for him—so what could I possibly offer someone now that I was both physically and emotionally broken?

Somewhere deep down, I knew I had to get beyond this, but it was so much more difficult than it seemed. My self-esteem was shattered, my body was a mess, and my emotions were all over the place. I was lonely but didn’t want to spend time with anyone other than Manny and his family, Sage if she came to me, and my gaming friends.

Especially Jensen.

His friendship had become incredibly important to me, and the fear of losing it left me conflicted.

Not to mention fear of rejection and the deep-seated fear he would turn out to be another Dirk.

If we took our friendship from gaming friends to real-life friends, what would that add? He would take one look at the way I walked and run. A hot guy like him probably had sexy, fully abled women in his life, and he wouldn’t want anything beyond friendship with me. If that was the case, why even bother? We could keep things the way they were. Why set myself up for heartbreak?

I really needed to talk to him, hear his voice, get a feel for who he was.

Otherwise, I was going to drive myself crazy.

I opened Discord on my phone and sent him a message.

@Empress: Hey, how’s your trip going? Are you around?

I waited, staring at the screen for what felt like a long time but was probably only a minute or two. Then he responded.

@Phantom: Hey. It’s been a long fucking week. I’m so ready to go home. How are you?

@Empress: It’s been a rough week here too.

@Phantom: You okay?

@Empress: No, I’m not, but it’s hard to talk about without telling you things I’m not sure you’re ready to hear. I’m not even sure I’m ready to share them.

@Phantom: Well, only you can make that decision, but I’m here if you need to talk. Even if you have to talk in circles.

@Empress: Okay, then here goes: I sold a book today.

That was close to the truth without getting too close to my real identity.

@Phantom: Isn’t that great?

@Empress: Yes. Except they want me to do in-person promo and I can’t. I mean, I could, but I don’t want to.

It would be easier to get this part over with now. I’d let him know I was crippled and then he could decide if he still wanted to become real-life friends. Maybe this would scare him off and I’d have a better idea of what kind of man he was.

@Phantom: Why?

@Empress: Three years ago, I had an accident that disfigured me. Not my face, but my body. I’m extremely self-conscious about it.

@Phantom: Oh, wow. Are you okay, though? In general?

That was a loaded question.

How the hell was I supposed to answer that?

I was not okay.

I wasn’t going to die or anything, and I wasn’t paralyzed, but I had so many limitations. Yes, some of them were self-inflicted, but not all. My wounds went beyond the physical, but that would be hard to articulate in writing. And I didn’t want to scare him off. For the first time in three years, I’d met someone who made me think about something other than how miserable I was.

It probably wouldn’t lead anywhere, but I deserved a little happiness, didn’t I? And the only way to move forward with whatever this was, was to tell him pertinent portions of the truth and see how he reacted.

Well, here went nothing.

@Empress: I guess the best way I can answer is to say I’m surviving. It’s hard for me to get around on days when there’s residual pain but every day is a little better than the last.

@Phantom: Oh, Bailey, I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do? I know a top-notch orthopedic surgeon and could probably get you an appointment.

@Empress: I’ve seen more doctors than most people see in a lifetime. There isn’t much they can do at this point. I could have more surgeries, but I’ve already had too many, and the results are always the same.

@Phantom: Well, if there’s anything you need, just ask.

Was that a legitimate sentiment or was he just saying that since we hadn’t met yet?

@Empress: Thank you. That’s very sweet.

@Phantom: I mean it. If there’s a way for me to help, I’m happy to try.

Maybe it was an act, but he seemed genuine.

So it was now or never.

I would put him on the spot and see how easy it was to scare him off.

@Empress: Would you want to voice chat?