Breaking Autumn: A Bad Boy Stuntman Romance

by Jackson Kane

  Did I come to the wrong trailer? I'd never done that before.

  Claudia straightened her blouse and stepped down the short flight, letting the door carelessly swing closed behind her. She walked past me without turning back and wore a smug, satisfied smile. “You do.”

  Leaning to the side, I checked the outside of the door. The white tape strip, they used to mark all the trailers, was sharpied with the words Stunts Frost. I shook my head and pulled open the door. Of course I had the right trailer.

  “What took you so long? I'm starved, man!” Frost was shirtless and half laying on the couch. He was still wet from the shower too.

  “I got caught up.” I slid both food containers across the small counter by entrance and closed the door behind me. Where I prided myself on my on-set professionalism, Frost was the complete opposite. “I see you did too.”

  I had no idea how he got away with half the shit he did.

  Frost offered up a casual, guilty-as-charged shrug, then reached for his food. With his longer, layered hair and trim, tattoo-less swimmer's body Frost looked more like a surfer than anything. The thing that always got me when I saw him shirtless was his lack of scars. For a man who set himself on fire at least once a week professionally, it blew my mind that his body was utterly unmarked.

  I was both impressed and a little irritated by that, if I was being honest.

  “I have no idea how you can do that,” I leaned against the counter and worked the plastic knife and fork through my now lukewarm bacon-wrapped filet mignon. “Did Dad not teach you anything?”

  “What are you talking about?” Frost objected loudly through a mouth full of food. He chewed, waving his plastic fork around long before swallowing to finish his point. “Before he met Lucy, Dad did this all the time! Hell, that's how he met her.”

  “Remind me. What happened to them?” I asked gravely.

  Frost grimaced from the verbal sucker punch, then glanced away. He knew better than to answer. Instead, he drained half a bottle of water and decided to change the subject. “Any word from Keats?”

  “Me? What do you think?” I scoffed with dismissive sarcasm. In a family of black sheep, our brother, Keats, made us look like fluffy white lambs by comparison. “Last I heard he was somewhere in the Midwest crashing cars in whatever's left of that thrill show.”

  Keats was always distant, but took Dad's death the hardest and hasn't talked to any of us since. Frost hoped that the tragedy would bring Keats back into the family the same way it did for me. I wasn’t nearly as optimistic, especially since I inherited everything from our father, much of which Keats felt he had a claim to. I reached out a few times telling Keats he could have whatever he wanted, but the only response I ever got was for me to go fuck myself.

  “Don’t write him off just yet.” Frost smirked despite his mouth being full, making him look like a mischievous blow fish. His light, carefree tone quickly returned. “After all, even you came back from…wherever the fuck you were. Maybe there’s hope for him yet.”

  “Don’t go holding your breath, Frost.” The stabbing pain in my conscience forced me to look away. I hadn’t become as close with Frost as I’d have liked to these past few years. A small part of me always knew that things would go south and I’d have to disappear so I kept a little distance. “Sometimes you have to just let people go.”

  “What’s going on with you, Dracula?” Frost’s eyes narrowed over the top of the Styrofoam container as he shoveled the last few spoons of rice in to his mouth. “You get anymore broody and you’ll make Keats jealous. “

  “It’s this girl I’m training.” I changed the subject before Frost pressed further. For as bad as I felt for leaving Frost when I was done with Autumn, I knew that it was the right thing to do. It would get so much worse for the people I cared about if Mitch caught ever up to me. He would use them as leverage to get me back.

  “What about her?” Frost asked, drinking the last of his water. Frost could see it on my face somehow. For someone as inwardly focused as Frost, he could be surprisingly perceptive on occasion. His concern fell away to raised eyebrows and the creased lips of a budding smirk. “She's cute. Are you—”

  Then he's got to go and ruin it.

  “You know I'm not.” I cut him off too quickly to maintain my passive reserve. I gave up on the useless plastic cutlery and took the round cut of steak in my hand. I sank into the plush couch opposite him, laid my ankle on my knee in an easy figure four position and draped my arm along the top of the headrest. Still, I couldn't get comfortable. Glancing out the window, I thought of Autumn.

  Frost leaned forward, propping his elbows onto his knees and studied my face with intense skepticism, then loudly cleared his throat.

  “Any more.” I relented, tearing into the juicy steak like an apple. “I didn’t know I’d be working with her again.”

  “Completely innocent mistake. You nailed her by total accident.” Frost shrugged. Content, he leaned back into his couch and put his hands behind his head, smiling. It was the annoying small victories that siblings reveled in.

  “Either way, that’s not the issue.” I raised an eyebrow, glaring at him. Then I finished the steak and reined the conversation back on topic. “It's her training.”

  “So, what's the deal? She dragging her feet?” He asked, only now focusing on what was important because he'd won a game I wasn't playing. “I got three days in Scotland next week for the new James Bond, but after that I'm free if you need a hand.”

  “Two people yelling at her aren’t going to help anything.” Wiping my face with a napkin, I made my way to the trailer's sink to clean up.

  “I wasn't going to yell at her, Professor Snape.” Frost chuckled, shaking his head. “You and I train much differently.”

  “Clearly.” I dried my hands and cocked my head toward the door the actress left by. Frost wore a proud-almost-beaming smile at being called out for his indiscretions. “My actress is off limits.”

  Frost put up his hands in proud mock surrender.

  I placed a hand on the wall and looked out the window at all the industry veterans rushing around. There was a method to their madness. They understood and embraced the chaos, they thrived in it. Autumn would be lucky to survive it all.

  “Autumn doesn't belong here, Frost.” I felt a pang of regret as my conscience tried to claw out of the mound of justifications I buried it under. The girl was in way over her head, but what could I do about that? I needed her to be ready just as much as the studio did.

  “She hopeless?” He picked at his teeth

  “She's not hopeless. She's works hard and technically she's learning the skills. Given six months I could make her into a force to be reckoned with. I need to give her the appropriate foundation, layer in her skills—fuck there’s so much she needs to learn.” I tapped lightly on the trailer wall with my fist, irritated that the studio didn't give me the time I needed to make any of this work.

  Autumn had to be screen ready within the month. Most actors had six times that amount of lead before a project started. And those actors were typically seasoned from years in the industry, not completely green like Autumn. Autumn didn't have to just become a stuntwoman, as if that wasn't hard enough, but also a real actress as well.

  What we were doing wasn't just difficult, it was borderline impossible. I felt like I was bashing my head against a wall here for all the difference it was making.

  “The passion isn't there for her.” I turned back to Frost. “She's not like us.”

  “No shit. Not many people are, man.” Frost grinned, satisfied with his own superiority. He had a habit of missing the forest for the trees. “That's why we get the work.”

  “That's not what I mean. It feels like she's here because she has to be not because she wants to be.” I didn't like being vague, but this was difficult to quantify. A lack of conviction always bled into the camera. And studio executives were trained to smell blood. Frost knew that better than most. “There's no way she's going
to be ready in time. Autumn's nowhere near where I need her to be. Hell, the girl doesn't even have her driver’s license.”

  “Wow, really?” Frost’s head snapped back in disbelief. “And you’re teaching her flying nineties and one-eighties. Ha!”

  “I—” I exhaled sharply, organizing my thoughts. “I don't know if I can do this.”

  Frost's eyebrows scrunched together, forming a deep, surprised V. He could see the uncertainty written across my face. Maybe that was the real reason I came here? I needed a place to vent.

  And Frost was all I had.

  When people put their lives literally in my hands, they were counting on me to always be in control with everything I did. So much of my career rode on my reputation for being confident under every circumstance. That lie inevitably bled into all aspects of my life. I could never fully open up to anyone because of that. If word got out that I took on a job I couldn't handle... That was it. All that trust was gone.

  I’d never get another call again.

  “Aright. Let's break this down. We can figure this out.” Frost cleaned his hands off, rubbed them together and blew on them. “How're you training her?”

  “You know how I train people. I trained you.”

  “Oh.” Frost scoffed, hanging his head for a moment before looking back up at me with a shit-eating grin. “So like an asshole drill sergeant then? No wonder she can’t keep up.”

  I let my narrowing eyes speak for me.

  “Training with you was a fucking nightmare and that was when we were kids, before you left. You're always so goddamn intense, Dante. Even back then. We mere mortals can't be pushed as hard as you push yourself, man.” He wore an easy smile. “How bout—crazy idea—you try backing off.”

  “C'mon. You know I don't have the time for kid gloves.” Talking with my brother could be so exhausting sometimes. I rubbed my suddenly aching eyes. “We've barely covered the basics, let alone falls and weapons training. We haven't even started most of her fight choreo. If anything, I need to push harder.”

  “Hold up.” Frost raised a hand for emphasis. “In what universe do you actually see that working?”

  Peaking over my hands, I looked at him, but remained silent.

  “I'm serious, man. Your way isn't working, so you're going to do what? The same thing, but more of it?” Frost chuckled easily, then stood up and stretched. “How does that make any sense?”

  “Fine.” I exhaled all the air I had in one long burst and humored him. “What would you do?”

  “Take a day off.” He opened his hands as if presenting a cornucopia of wisdom. “Do something entertaining. Maybe go see a movie. Not one of ours though, something animated and fun.”

  “Dammit, Frost.” I glared at him. My little brother was chronically—frustratingly—lax about everything. “This is serious. Stop fucking around.”

  “I'm not!” Frost laughed, falling carelessly back into his sofa. “Listen. There's no way to teach her if you don't know anything about her. You can't open a Starbucks without knowing which pretentious-ass coffee to sell and to do that you need to know your customers. You said she doesn't have a passion for this, right? So find out what she is passionate about.”

  “I'm not her high school psychologist, Frost. I'm her trainer and her coordinator. I don't want to know her. I just want her to know the material.” I was already thinking about Autumn too much as it was. Ever since saving her on set and the night on the boat I couldn't get her out of my head. I even gave her my parent's bedroom; something I would never do for anyone.

  If anything I needed to distance myself from her more.

  Never get involved with the people you work with. It's just too dangerous. It makes you sloppy. What happened to Dad was always fresh in my mind.

  “Hey.” Frost tossed his hands up in a defeated gesture then scratched his head. “If you're not going to hear me out then why did you even bother coming?”

  I sighed, closing my eyes. Was I too close to this, to her, to think straight?

  “Alright. I'm listening.” I glanced over at him, a begrudging smirk marring my face. “You are such an incredible pain in the ass.”

  “We all have our talents.” Frost rolled his hand forward and bowed his head. Then, to my surprise, he took on a more serious tone. “I don’t understand why you feel the need to keep everyone at arm's length. But I’m telling you that's not going to work this time. Not with her. You said it yourself. She's not like us, so don't treat her that way. If she's not invested in you, then she won’t be invested in what you're trying to teach her. You have to take the time and actually figure this girl out.”

  “You’re serious?” It was more of a realization than a question.

  “You're in an impossible situation, Dante.” Frost shook his head slowly. “Maybe you need an impossible solution?”

  “So what your telling me—” I carefully considered what he was saying, recapping it all in my mind. “Is to stop training my client and take her out on a date.”

  “Yup.”

  Chapter 15

  Autumn

  “Hello?” I called out; stumbling in a clumsy rush down the stairs in what I hoped was at least most of my exercise gear. I was still groggy and disoriented from my alarm not going off. Eight AM! I was mortified. How the hell had I slept in for so long? The thought of Dante waiting, cross-armed and glowering at my lateness quickened my steps. I could only imagine the kind of horrific workout I'd have to do to make up for lost time!

  Blasting through the kitchen, I was already apologizing when I opened the patio door. “I don't know how that happened. I always set the—”

  Empty.

  I looked around to be sure, but Dante was nowhere to be found.

  “Huh.” I went back inside. The undisturbed room was sleepier than as I was. Dust motes in the air did agitated spirals in the yellow beams that cut across the kitchen from the yawning morning sun. By now I’d have just lost yet another round of The Game. I was so close to hitting him last night that the frustration of it even made it into my dream.

  Quietness had become unnerving to me. It made me feel late for something. Nearly two weeks of structured, rigid routine made the Pavlovian dog in me uneasy at the change. I crept across the floor, scanning the rest of the room like I was Indiana Jones warily sniffing out traps in some forgotten crypt.

  The only sign that anything had changed since last night was a folded card on the bar.

  “Take the day off,” read the card. “No training until tomorrow. Your breakfast is in the fridge.” I turned the card over, agonizing over every word.

  A whole day off?

  I wasn’t buying it. This had to be some crazy test. With my thumb and forefinger on my earring stud I lingered around the adjacent room’s small breakfast table, listening intently for...something.

  I ate the food that was prepared for me just in case. It felt like a crime heating the omelet and asparagus in the microwave, but it was a testament to the amazing cooking prowess of whoever made it that it still tasted amazing. After I finished up, it became painfully obvious that Dante wasn't going to spring out of one of the cabinets. Regardless I called out his name once more. Again, nothing.

  Huh. Maybe this wasn’t a test. And here I figured he thought yesterday’s fittings and table read was a day off and he would train me extra hard today to make up for it.

  Apparently not.

  Ok. I had a full day off apparently. I was thousands of miles from any kind of familiarity, in a strange new place that also happened to be the heart of the entertainment capital of the world; what was I going to do with myself?

  It was no contest. I did something I’d wanted to do for weeks; I went upstairs and crawled back into bed for a few more hours of sleep. I woke up later at a much more civilized hour in the early afternoon. It reminded me of my old routine. I was always a night owl before I came here.

  All the intense workouts made the muscles in my thighs throb as I slowly made my way down the stairs. It w
asn’t half as bad now that I’d been doing it every day, but the first week was hell on my body. I just wanted to die. Every step had a painful little reminder of that I wasn’t cut out for any of this.

  What was I going to do with my few hours of freedom? Most of my fleeting downtime had been spent inside the house talking to Mom, recording my show or reading. I needed something more than that; a total break to recharge. What would make me feel like my old self again?

  Overpriced coffee, that’s what I needed!

  It had become a ritual for me. Each day before I recorded my show I’d stop over at the Blue Electric café, where my friend who worked there would totally hook me up. We called it the poor girl special. That’s what I wanted, I decided, that and maybe something decadently unhealthy to eat.

  I needed to find Dante to have someone pick me up. I didn’t care that the nearest one was two hours away; the taste of the flaky, buttery croissant and creamy, slightly too sweet coffee was already on my tongue. The urge to escape this place for a little while intensified by the second.

  Walking out into the naked, cloudless sunlight at such a leisurely pace felt jarring. I wasn’t jogging or sprinting anywhere. For the first time in weeks I didn’t have to be anywhere specific. I was stopped by a stiff, arid breeze as I searched the estate for Dante. It ruffled my sundress—something I never thought I’d get to use here—sending streams of hot air and grains of sand nipping at my calves. I closed my eyes, letting a small, honest smile settle across my lips, and basked in the sereneness of it all. The warmth, wind, and even the subtle exfoliation were all so disarmingly relaxing.

  For a little while it cleared my near-constant state of panic.

  I walked around in a haze until I found myself gravitating toward parts of the property I hadn’t seen much off, or at all, like the one place that was off limits.

  Dante’s workshop.

  Up close the plain L-shaped wooden building was much larger than I realized. From my window I could only see the vacant trailer bay, the opening to some kind or workshop and what I thought was a closed, empty barn. A shuffling sound drew my attention toward the closed doors. A nagging hesitation slowed my hands from pulling the door’s handle.