Finn

The walls are mocking me.

You’re as empty as we are. Just another soulless casualty of the Hollywood glitterati.

And you know what, I believe them. I believe the walls.

I would probably sell my soul at this point to land a decent role, to break this two-year drought that is wreaking havoc on my savings, not to mention ripping apart my psyche. Look at the shit I did, jogging up near Frankie’s hotel in hopes of running into her. Literally.

And when I did, that day was the first time in many months that it felt like my luck was turning,

But then last night, it seemed I was just kidding myself. Freaking Maverick Dailey. The dude was giving me a message loud and clear. Fuck him. And fuck Eva, too. Telling me she wanted to stay at the after-party and would find her own way home. My guess is she found her way to Mav’s home, unless Frankie was his plan for the night.

For some reason, I don’t like that thought. It makes me uneasy. Not sure if it’s because that would give him a lock on the part or because I just don’t want him touching her. Testosterone makes us men very territorial. And I’m feeling very territorial about her. Which is freaking ridiculous since we’re only acquaintances.

But that hug when she first saw me. What was that about?

That was real. It was her gut reaction. It might very well have been the only real response of anyone in that building the entire night. She threw her arms around me as if she’d just run into her oldest friend.

Or lost great love.

Hmm, well, I don’t know about that since I am neither.

Hitting the beach for a run, my decision not to run north toward Santa Monica, not to run toward Frankie, is a conscious one. Chances are I wouldn’t run into her anyway, and that’s okay. I just need to try and let go of last night, put it out of my mind, so that damn scene stops gnawing at me. But if there is one thing I know, a good run on the beach can exorcise even the most steadfast of ghosts.

Guess I could sell the BMW, move away from the beach, if I don’t get the part.

Or get my ass out there and start networking as hard as I did in my twenties. Stop being a morose shit, lamenting breaks not going my way. Seriously too early to call defeat, especially with all the new streaming series that are no longer the low-budget, or no-budget, red-haired stepchildren of the acting world. Big, big stars have made the transition to these well-written, envelope-pushing shows. Yeah, time to put a plan together for a comeback. I’m ready. Note to self: Call Sebastian when you get home and see what day he can meet for lunch. It’s time to blow off this gray cloud I’ve been hiding under for way too long now.

What the fuck?

The grasp to my biceps as my arm swings back naturally with my stride is alarming, immediately yanking me out of my thoughts and thrusting me into fight or flight mode with a jarring burst of power-injected adrenaline.

Am I being mugged? Shit!

Without turning, I swing my arm back hard. Over the sound of Moby playing loud from my headphones, I hear and feel the striking of my arm against flesh and turn as the body sprawls backward onto the hard-packed, wet sand, landing with a sickening thud.

Two long, blonde braids cascade like silk ropes in the breeze as I see Frankie’s head hit the sand, her face already smeared with blood from where my arm has made contact with her nose.

“Frankie, holy shit.” Stopping dead in my tracks, confused by the scene sprawled on the sand in front of me, I go running back to her, dropping to my knees at her side. “Don’t move,” I warn her, as she tries to lift her head.

“My leg.” Her voice is no more than a hoarse whisper.

I can see the pain in her eyes and glance down, immediately noting the odd angle of her left foot.

Oh crap. This does not look good.

“I called your name, but you didn’t hear me, so I was trying to catch up.” As she speaks, blood drips onto her lips. Swiping it away with the back of her hand, she regards the red smear as it takes a moment for her to fully realize it is hers.

“I didn’t hear you. Oh God, I am sorry. Your neck and your head, do they feel okay? You went down pretty hard.”

“I think so.” Lifting her head slightly, she nods.

Looking toward Ocean Front Walk, I quickly assess where we are. “I’m going to pick you up, okay. My gym is really close to here. I’m going to get you over there. I know that they at least have first-aid stuff on premises, and we can either call for an ambulance or I can get my car and get you over to an emergency room.”

“Finn, I don’t…” she begins to protest.

“Yeah, Frankie, you do.” I can see the pain in her eyes, even though she’s trying to be so tough. Pulling, my t-shirt off over my head, I place it under her nose, careful not to do any more damage than I’ve already done. “I’m going to put an arm around your upper back and one under your knees. I want you to put your arms around my neck, okay, until I get you up, and then try to put slight pressure on your nose with my shirt. Maybe we can get the bleeding to stop.”

As she reaches up and wraps her arms around me, I hoist her up, and straighten to my feet, careful to jostle her as little as possible.

“I’m going to try and get you there as quickly as possible, but let me know if the motion is too much, and I can stop.”

“Okay,” the word is muffled by my shirt.

“Frankie, I am so sorry. I didn’t know it was you there when I swung back. I am so sorry.”

“I’m sorry, Finn. I was trying to catch up to you to tell you I was sorry.”

“For what?” What could she possibly be sorry about?

“Last night. It was so uncomfortable. I wanted to apologize for that.”

Glancing down at the painfilled eyes gazing up at me over the now blood-soaked, yellow shirt, I tell her, “Frankie, you have nothing to apologize for. You didn’t do or say anything wrong. It was weird, for sure, but my being uncomfortable was really based on Eva’s behavior.”

“And Mav’s.”

“Yes, and Mav’s”

“I’m sorry about that, Finn.”

“Frankie, you are not responsible for other people. The only one here who needs to be sorry is me.”

“For what?”

“For this.” I can feel my eyes widen.

“This was an unfortunate accident.”

“I’m so sorry, Frankie.” Taking a deep sigh, mostly for strength, I yank open the front door to L9, my health club.

The receptionist looks up, “Finn,” she greets me, before processing the scene and the injured woman in my arms.

“I’m going to need some help.”

Out of nowhere, Henry Clark, the guy who runs the show, appears. “Follow me.” He directs me and quickly orders the receptionist, “Page Carlos, he’s an EMT and tell him to come to my office immediately.”

Following Henry through a door and down a hallway into an area of the facility I didn’t even know existed, he leads me to his office and points to a black leather couch, where I lie Frankie down as gently as possible.

Behind me someone enters the office. “What’s up, boss?” The man’s voice is slightly accented.

With a slight movement of his head, Henry motions to where Frankie is lying.

“Hey there, what happened to you?” The man approaches the couch, crouching down next to Frankie.

“I hit her,” I mumble, before she can respond. “Her head hit pretty hard. And her foot.” I point to her left leg, aware all eyes are now on me with that admission.

“Let me look in your eyes,” Carlos’s voice is soft. “Your pupils look good. That’s a good sign, but it doesn’t necessarily mean you don’t have a concussion.” He nods and smiles at her. “I’m going to ask you a couple of questions, okay,” he says, as he moves the bloody t-shirt from her nose.

It appears the bleeding has stopped on its own, and I’m glad for at least that.

“Can you tell me your name?”

“Francesca.”

“Hi, Francesca, I’m Carlos.”

“What’s your last name, Francesca?”

“Simonelli.”

I hear muttering from a few people standing behind me near the door to Henry’s office. Oh, Christ. They all know who she is.

“Where do you live, Francesca?”

“Houston.”

“Wow, you are far from home. What are you doing out here?”

“Making a movie.”

Carlos laughs. “This is LA. I should have guessed that.”

“Can you tell me what day it is?”

“Monday.”

“Good. Now, can you describe to me what happened?”

My stomach knots.

“I was running on the beach and I saw Finn. But he couldn’t hear me with his headphones on. I was behind him and I grabbed his arm to get his attention and his arm swung back and hit me in the face, then I went backwards.”

Standing with my arms crossed over my blood-stained, bare chest, I internally take a relieved sigh upon hearing her explanation. It doesn’t sound as bad as it feels in my own head.

“I’ll bet that foot is hurting pretty badly, huh?”

Her eyes speak volumes as she wordlessly nods her head.

“I’m going to take a quick look, okay, and I’ll try my best not to hurt you anymore than you are already hurting.”

As Carlos focuses on Frankie’s left ankle, her eyes focus on me.

“You’re going to be okay,” I mouth the words, trying to reassure her and feeling like shit. I freaking did this to her.

“I got you all bloody,” she says, looking at my bare chest.

“Lara, go bring Finn a wet towel and a club t-shirt,” Henry instructs one of the girls standing by the door.

“Do I get a club t-shirt?” Frankie attempts to smile at Henry, but I can see the pain she’s trying hard to hide.

“Sweetheart, you get a free lifetime membership. It’s not every day a gorgeous woman in distress gets carried into my office.”

As Lara returns with the t-shirt, she hands it to me, and smiles at Frankie. “Maybe that will make it into your next book.” She is clearly fangirling.

“You’re a writer?” Henry smiles at her.

“Henry, this is Francesca Simonelli.” The girl is aghast that her boss doesn’t recognize the woman on his black leather couch, who, with her hair in braids, looks more like a college student than a famous author.

Henry just shrugs and smiles at Frankie, clueless as to who she is.

Turning to me, Lara gasps slightly and puts her hand over her mouth. “Oh my God, you’re going to be Griffin Chase.” She looks from me to Frankie and then back to me again. “And you carried her in here.” The girl is going into swoon mode.

“No, no, no. I’m not Griffin. Frankie and I are friends.”

“You are Griffin. You look like Griffin. Actually, just like I pictured Griffin.”

“Really, I’m not.”

“He’s not.” Another female voice from near the door, interrupts. “Maverick Dailey is going to be Griffin Chase.”

My eyes momentarily lock with Frankie’s, and I’m trying as hard as I can not to show anything. This doesn’t hurt. Nope. I’m okay with it, because it is inevitably going to happen. No matter how perfectly I nail this role, the studio is going to want him, and they will pressure her until she acquiesces.

I see a new kind of pain on Frankie’s face and it’s not from the mishap on the beach. She feels like she’s hurting me. I can tell. I can see it in her eyes. This woman does not belong in this town. She is way too decent for all this. By the time the film releases, she’ll either be destroyed or so hardened that this Frankie, the one I’m seeing now, will be hidden by a rock-solid shell.

I’m not sure which is worse.

“The role hasn’t been cast yet,” she quietly corrects everyone.

“It should be this guy.” Lara points to me.

Yeah, Frankie, listen to her. She’s a reader and she sees me as Griffin.

“Would you like us to call an ambulance for you? You really need to get to the ER and have that leg and your head looked at.” Henry’s manner is soothing, but I feel like he’s picked up on the tension in the room that spiked from the previous exchange.

Frankie’s eyes immediately dart to me. I can see her anxiety rise at just the mention of an ambulance, and interject, “How about if I go get my car. I can be back here in about ten minutes?”

She nods, and I swear I can feel her relief. An ambulance to an unknown hospital in a city that is not home has got to feel stressful, and I can’t let that happen.

“Where are you going to take her?” Carlos inquires.

“Cedars-Sinai in Marina Del Rey is closest, but I’m thinking UCLA would be the best place to go for orthopedics. The Lakers and Rams team doctors are on staff there.

“I think you’re right,” Carlos concurs. “That’s where I would want to go for an injury like this.”

I knocked the woman to the ground and broke her leg, the least I can do is make sure she gets to the medical facility with the best orthopedic surgeons in the city. Because she is going to need surgery, of that I have no doubt.

“I’ll be right back,” I tell Frankie, giving her a long look, hoping that I’m conveying that she’s going to be okay. “Take care of my girl,” is my instruction to the L9 staff as I leave Henry’s office.

“Take care of my girl,” Lara repeats, as I walk out the door. “I’m sorry, but that man is definitely Griffin Chase.”