by Claire Raye
I should try and stand up. I need to get down there and find out what the fuck is wrong with my ankle. I need to let Sadie know I might not be able to do the next scene just yet.
With an arm wrapped around my ribs, I slowly push myself off the ground, the pain only intensifying with the movement. When I try to put my right foot down, try to bear weight on it, I actually cry out in agony as pain washes over me, nearly knocking me on my ass.
“Paul, you good up there?” comes Sadie’s voice again. “We don’t need another take. You’re good to come down.”
I want to answer her, but I can’t. Not without walking to the window or walking down the stairs, neither of which feels possible at the moment. But I also know I need to get out of here, so I suck in a deep breath, gritting my teeth at the pain as I start to slowly walk toward the door.
It feels like it takes me an hour just to walk three feet and when I eventually reach the four flights of stairs, I have absolutely no fucking clue how I’m going to get down them. Inching my foot over the edge, I try the first one, but the pain that rips through my ankle when I put my full body weight on it, actually has me seeing stars.
I somehow manage three stairs before I finally hear someone coming up. Stopping, I lean against the handrail, my body now covered in sweat as I try to breathe through the pain.
“Paul, you good? Did you hear…”
Sadie’s words are cut off as she rounds the corner and sees me standing at the top of the stairs struggling to catch my breath.
“Oh my god. What happened?” she cries out, running up the last few steps so she’s standing right in front of me, her hand now resting on my arm.
I try to smile, even though all I want to do is collapse in a heap on the floor. “Looks like those workouts are paying off,” I force out, my jaw tight. “You’re not even out of breath.”
“Paul,” she says, ignoring my teasing as she hunches down and looks at me, her eyes searching my face. “What happened?” she asks, and I can hear the fear in her voice.
“Rolled my ankle,” I say. “Might be broken. Something’s going on with my chest too.”
“Shit. Okay. Sit down,” Sadie immediately says, holding my arm as she eases me down onto the step. “I’m gonna get some help. Sit tight and don’t move.”
I don’t say anything. I just watch as she unclips the radio from her jeans and starts to explain what’s happened to someone on the other end.
I try to take slow, shallow breaths, anything deeper hurting my ribs as I wait for this to be taken care of. Eventually, Gus and Andrew appear, both of them easing me up as they practically carry me down the stairs. When we get down there, a golf cart is waiting, the set medic standing by.
“Hey,” I say, trying for a smile as Gus and Andrew ease me into the back seat of the cart.
The medic is all business as she wraps a blood pressure cuff around my arm and starts asking me questions about what happened. I’m not really paying attention, distracted by the appearance of Sadie, who stands nearby with a worried expression on her face as she bites at her thumbnail.
“It’s okay, boss,” I tell her.
She shakes her head, her eyes still watching me as she leans over and says something to her assistant. I close my eyes now and just go with it, too exhausted to fight what happens next.
Eventually I’m loaded into a car, Sadie climbing in the back seat next to me as we make our way to the hospital.
“You don’t need to come with me,” I tell her.
Sadie nods, but doesn’t say anything.
“Sadie,” I say, waiting until she looks at me. “You have a movie to make,” I say when she does.
“The assistant director can take care of things,” she says. “This is more important.”
I shake my head as I offer her a smile. “This is nothing,” I say. “I’ll be fine, seriously.”
Now it’s Sadie shaking her head at me. “I’m not arguing with you about this,” she says, her face tense, her words firm.
“So, it’s a Weber B fracture of the fibula,” the doctor tells me. “Good news is the bone hasn’t slipped we won’t need surgery. Bad news is you also have a cracked rib, so you’ll need to stay off the crutches for the first two weeks.”
“What?” I ask, shuffling up the bed a little, my breath catching in my chest even though the pain is duller now thanks to the drugs they’ve given me.
The doctor smiles, glancing at Sadie before turning back to me. “Normally we’d get you on partial weight bear while you wear the boot for six weeks,” he says signaling to the moonboot that’s now strapped to my ankle. “But that’s going to hurt and not do your healing rib any good. So, I’d suggest bed rest for the first two weeks and then slow movements with crutches for the four weeks after that.”
“Bed rest?” I ask, sitting up a little more. “I can’t be on bed rest. I can’t even be in this boot.”
“Paul,” Sadie says, her hand on my arm.
The doctor smiles. “I’m afraid that’s your only option,” he says before turning to Sadie. “You’ll need to make sure he takes it easy, particularly these first two weeks. No lifting, no stairs and no exercise or overdoing it.”
Sadie nods, even as I’m saying, “I can’t do that, I have a job, responsibilities…”
“Paul,” Sadie repeats, cutting me off. “This is far more important.”
“But…”
She shakes her head, turning once again to the doctor as she says, “When can he leave the hospital?”
The doctor smiles at both of us. “As soon as that bag of fluids is done, we’ll see about sending you home. I assume you’ll be able to manage him and a wheelchair. Hopefully your house doesn’t have stairs?”
“What?” I practically shout.
Sadie nods. “Yeah that’s fine. I can manage,” she says. “Thank you.”
The doctor leaves the room and Sadie moves to the small table and pours some water into a cup before handing it to me. I shake my head though, even as she holds it out a second time.
“Sadie,” I say, my gaze locked on her. She busies herself putting the cup back on the table, avoiding looking at me. “Sadie,” I repeat.
She takes a deep breath and finally looks up at me.
“I…I can’t believe…” I say, trying to find the right words to apologize for fucking up her movie shoot. “I’m really...”
“I’m sorry,” she blurts out, surprising me.
“Sorry?” I ask. “Sorry for what?”
She stands beside my bed, arms wrapped around her body as she watches me. She looks scared and worried as her eyes search my face. “I never should have changed the stunt,” she eventually says, her words barely audible. “I…”
“No,” I say firmly. “This is not on you, Sadie.”
“But…”
“Nope,” I repeat, shaking my head. “It was an accident,” I tell her. “Nothing to do with the stunt and nothing to do with you. Just dumb fucking luck that I landed badly, that’s it.”
Sadie takes a deep breath before letting it out in a long slow exhale. “I’ll cover all your medical expenses and of course, you’ll still get paid for the three month shoot,” she says, ignoring what I’ve just said to her. “I’m really sorry, Paul.”
“Hey,” I say, hand out to her. She stares at it before looking up at my face. “Come here,” I add, beckoning her closer. She walks slowly toward me and I reach over and take her hand in mine. “This was an accident, Sadie, nothing more. Please do not feel guilty about this. It’s not your fault and you’re sure as shit not paying my medical expenses.”
Sadie nods her head, her mouth set in a firm line.
I thread my fingers through hers, tugging her closer. “I’m okay,” I tell her. “This isn’t anything major. I’m just sorry you’ve lost a stuntman in all of this.”
Sadie stares back at me, her bottom lip between her teeth, her fingers still linked with mine. Neither of us says anything, even though I can see a million worries, a m
illion questions in her eyes.
Squeezing her hand, I smile at her. “I’m okay,” I repeat.
When I’m finally allowed to leave, I’m forced to do so in a wheelchair, the moonboot on my right foot and a set of crutches across my lap that I’ve once again been instructed not to use for the first two weeks.
I’m not sure how the fuck I’m going to manage that considering I live in a third floor apartment in a building with no elevator.
The car we came over in is still waiting outside and Sadie watches as the orderly helps me into the backseat. I’m rocking some nice painkillers at the moment, so it doesn’t hurt half as much as it did when we first got to the hospital.
Eventually, Sadie settles herself in beside me, giving the driver my address, before glancing at me. I smile at her, but she only nods once before turning to look out the window. We ride over to my apartment in silence and it’s not until the driver pulls into the parking lot in front of my building that Sadie turns to me.
“Keys?”
“What?”
“Keys,” she repeats, hand out.
“I’m fine,” I tell her. “You don’t need to come up.”
Sadie shakes her head. “You’re not going up,” she tells me. “I am.”
“What?”
Sadie takes a deep breath, her eyes finally meeting mine as she says, “You can’t stay here, Paul. It’s a shitty apartment, there are stairs and you shouldn’t be alone.”
I chuckle a little. “I’ll be fine,” I tell her. “I’m tougher than I look, remember? And once I’m up there, it’ll be fine,” I add, not sure how true that is. I might be on painkillers right now, but I’m not sure even they are strong enough to get me up three flights of stairs.
“No,” she says, her hand still out as she waits for my keys.
“What?” I ask, still watching her. “Why do you want my keys then?”
Sadie bites her bottom lip, her cheeks turning a little pink as she says, “So I can go and get your stuff.”
“Why do you need to get my stuff?”
“Because,” she starts, swallowing hard before she adds, “you’re coming to stay with me.”
Chapter Fifteen
Sadie
I can’t help but feel responsible for what happened to Paul on my set, on my time, on my direction. The more I think about it the more the guilt pools heavy in my chest and churns in my stomach. I fight back the tears, swallowing hard as I make my way up the steps to Paul’s apartment.
He had given me a list of things to collect and when I enter his apartment I know I won’t have too hard of a time finding them. The place is basically empty and I’m once again hit with a massive feeling of guilt. He’s living in this barely furnished apartment and I’ve just made his life exponentially worse. There’s not a chance in hell he’s not coming to stay with me until he’s fully recovered. He can’t possibly come back to this place with its mattress on the floor and its folding chairs in front of a tiny TV. This is not an environment conducive for recovery.
As I stand looking around and taking it all in, I suddenly grow angry with him for even arguing with me. While it’s been renovated recently and has a lot of nice features, he has no furniture and when I open his cabinets, he has only a single pot for cooking, some utensils and stack of plastic cups. The damn building has no elevator and for some reason I curse the building’s owner for being so irresponsible, despite knowing how ridiculous it is. It doesn’t need an elevator; it’s only three stories.
I’m angry with myself for even letting this happen.
I grab the few things Paul told me to get, putting them into the bag the hospital gave him along with the few snacks he had stashed in the cabinets. I clean out his refrigerator knowing he won’t be back here if I have anything to say about it. Tossing his carton of milk into the garbage can and adding the other stuff to the hospital bag. I tug his small suitcase to the door as I gather everything up.
On my way out, I grab the garbage bag so I can toss it in the dumpster. If or when he comes back here, he definitely doesn’t want rotten milk stinking the place up. I take one last look around, opening the fridge and freezer to make sure it’s empty, and checking the bedroom and bathroom to make sure I didn’t miss anything.
When all is good, I grab everything and head down the stairs, tossing the garbage into the dumpster, then making my way to the waiting car. Opening the trunk I put the suitcase in and close it.
I smile when I open the car door and slip in next to Paul, handing him the bag of stuff. My smile is forced and it makes my cheeks hurt, my teeth pressing hard together as my thoughts continue to swirl. But now I’m plagued with what this means for my career and I hate to even think about it. My life is already the talk of the tabloids with my divorce and Noel’s meltdown, and now I add an injury on my set to the list. The press will have a field day with it.
Guilt and anxiety rip through me, consuming my thoughts and it’s taking everything in me not to break down and cry. I’ve turned this into one fucked up mess.
“You ready?” I ask, my voice shaky and seeing Paul’s face makes my guilt ramp up even more. He’s now out of work and I’m to blame.
“Yeah, but this really isn’t necessary.”
“It is,” I shoot back and the bite in my words slips through. I’m demanding he come home with me because if I couldn’t keep him safe on my set, I can at least make sure he makes a full recovery under my now watchful eye.
I let out a loud exhale and Paul reaches over and rests his hand on my thigh. Any semblance of closeness we built over the last few weeks has been destroyed by this incident and his hand on my thigh just feels more like sympathy than anything now.
“Sadie,” he says, empathy floating between us as if he can sense my unease and again I hate that it’s him consoling me. This is fully my fault.
“It’s the least I can do, Paul. I’m the reason you’re in this situation.”
Paul lets out a hard sigh, shifting his body and his booted leg awkwardly. “I’m not letting you blame yourself for this. It’s a career where injuries are prevalent and if you think you’re the reason it happened you’re wrong. Do you want me to list all the ways I’ve been hurt on a set? Do you want to hear about how many times I’ve blamed the director or the producer or the stunt coordinator?”
While his words hold weight, they don’t hold enough for me to absolve myself of the guilt. I look at him, blinking back the tears, but I shake my head. I would feel terrible if anyone was hurt on my set, but for some reason with Paul the guilt is intense. I can’t help but wonder if it has something to do with my attraction to him, an attraction I’ve been denying since the day I met him.
“It’s a lot, Sadie and never once did I hold anyone but myself responsible. It was careless error on my part. That’s all this was. Nothing more,” he adds, again making me feel as if he’s caring for me and not himself.
I take a deep breath, clearing my thoughts and pulling myself out of my own head. He may be right; things like this do happen, but I’m going to do everything I can to ensure that Paul recovers quickly and is back working even if it’s not on my set.
“Okay, but while you’re with me, you just relax and recover. Eat whatever you want, order food, watch TV, sleep in.”
“As long as you’re doing them all with me,” Paul says, giving my thigh a squeeze and my stomach flutters, desire pushing my guilt to the side. Having Paul stay with me is going to test my resolve and I’m not sure I have the will to say no.
“You know I have to work, right?” I reply, teasing him.
“This is true, but then I can spend my days pining away for you, so when you do come home it will be amazing.”
“Paul, you’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re adorable.”
We pull up the long driveway about thirty minutes later and I’m exhausted, but I’m sure it’s nothing compared to how Paul is feeling. The pain meds he was given at the hospital have to be wearing off and he’s strug
gling to get out of the car without putting weight on his foot.
“Stay there,” I tell him, scrambling to get to the other side of the car to help him. “I’ll take your bags and put them in the house, then I’ll come back to help you. Just wait.”
But Paul doesn’t listen and he pulls himself from the car and wedges his crutches under his arms, ignoring the doctor’s advice and the wheel chair in the trunk as he hobbles his way to the front door.
“Paul, you’re a terrible listener,” I shame, holding the door open for him and helping him to the couch.
He flops down hard, letting out an exhausted sigh, his head falling back.
“What can I get you?” I ask. “Water? More Pain meds? Something to eat? You can have whatever you want.”
“Whatever I want?” he asks, a sly smile on his face and I’m waiting for what’s to come next, my heart racing at the thought of him saying he wants me. “Oh there’s plenty that I want, Sadie, but for now how about In-N-Out?”
“I can do that,” I reply, grabbing my phone to place an order for delivery. “Now what do you want?”
I quickly place our order and given we’re in L.A. delivery times are crazy long, but it’s worth it if this makes Paul feel a little better.
“Why don’t I show you around?” I say, helping Paul up from the couch and handing him his crutches. “Unfortunately the house is big so you’re going to get your exercise, but there’s a bedroom on the main level and you’ll have your own bathroom, the same one you used before.”
“I’m good with whatever,” Paul responds casually as we head down the hall to the bedroom.
When we walk in he pauses and looks around and I smirk at him. “A little better than a mattress on the floor, huh?” I ask, not wanting to make fun of him too much.
“Hey listen, missy, I’m only supposed to be here for three months. I wasn’t about to furnish that postage stamp size apartment.”
“I know. I’m just giving you shit.”
“I know you are and I love that,” he says, his voice low as he takes in the room, his eyes then shooting over to me. “And if we’re giving each other shit, this house is boujee as fuck.”
