Page 144 of Relationship Goals

No matter what happens between Abigail and me, if she forgives me or not, at least she helped me have this realization: I might have been lonely the past few years…

But I’m not alone.

I’ve never been alone.

Chapter Forty-two

Abigail

Tears flow freely,my character’s rage and frustration upon learning the truth about the IFF’s corruption coming to a boiling point.

My scene partner stares at me, and I deliver my line with as much sincere emotion as I can muster.

“And that’s why I…” My voice falters. I shake my head, forging onward. “That’s why—”

My voice breaks completely, and my shoulders begin to shake.

Turns out, it’s a bit too much sincere emotion.

“Cut.” Richard Grace’s command slices through the set, and I blink furiously, trying to pull myself out of this character.

Now that I’m crying, though, I can’t seem to turn it off. Can’t seem to stop the tears from turning into ugly sobs.

I’m not sure how long I stand there trying to force myself under control, but it’s the cool hand on my shoulder that brings me back to the present moment.

“Abigail.” Richard’s voice is soft, and I glance up at his kindly face, his longish white hair waving around his temples. “Let’s take a walk, okay?”

I nod, hiccupping, and wipe my hand across my cheeks.

“I’ll fix your makeup when you’re back.” Darren shakes his head at me from where he’s poised to touch up my face.

Great. I’ve ruined his work.

I’ve ruined this entire fucking take.

Forlorn, I follow Richard from the set. I wring my hands as we walk, twisting the diamond engagement ring my character wears around my finger.

Finally he stops under the relative cool shade of a towering oak tree. Sweat begins to bead between my breasts, and I fan my face. Shooting outside is why we’re here, after all, where we can use different locations and the studio gets a massive tax break from Georgia.

It’s humid as hell, though, and I miss LA’s softer sun.

“Are you all right?” Richard asks, the wrinkles on his forehead deepening as he frowns at me. Not an angry frown, though—it’s a look of true concern, and a fresh wave of tears threatens at his kindness.

“Ye-es.” I blink up at him, grimacing as a tear slides out against my will.

To my surprise, the director gives a gentle chuckle, smiling at me kindly.

“Now, you are a fine actress, Abigail Hunt, but you make a terrible liar.” There’s a faint Southern twang to the words, and it reminds me of sunshine and summer and my grandfather.

I sniffle, feeling overcome once again.

He clucks his tongue, then sighs as he crosses his arms over his chest. Richard Grace is tall and thin, the lean muscle of the endurance runner he once was still keeping him looking fit even well into his seventies.

“Listen.” He purses his lips, and I’m ready for him to fire me, to tell me that he made the wrong choice. “I cast you because I believe you are the right actor for this role. The only actor I wanted for it, in fact. I sent you to study with Michelle for a reason.”

“Michelle…” I falter, and there’s a question in my voice. “Not the LA Aces. Just Michelle?”

“Michelle,” he agrees. “She was one of the whistleblowers for the IFF. Didn’t she tell you?”

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