Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 72945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
He grimaces. “I’m sure you did. That wasn’t my best moment.”
“Wait, listen. He told me something totally different.”
His eyebrows slowly raise and he takes another long drink. “What did the fucker say?”
“He told me that everything he did was because he’s been filming us like we’re in a reality TV show or whatever. That the movie was never about the script or Rodrick or whatever, but it was always about me and you. Like we were his stars, but we didn’t know it.”
He lets that sink in for a long moment before he bursts out laughing. I smile awkwardly, not sure how to react, but I can completely understand why he’d think this is funny—or at least why he’d be so fucking flustered and confused that he’d laugh. Slowly, he gets himself under control, shaking his head.
“Of course he told us two completely different stories, and now we get to try to figure out which one is true. And you know what? They’re probably both wrong. Or maybe they’re both right. I’m sick of playing his game and I don’t care anymore. I’m finished with worrying about what Cowan thinks or wants.”
I chew on my lip and run my finger down the side of my glass. It’s wet and cold and bubbles rush to the top. “I don’t know. The story he told you seems beneath even him, and he’s pretty damn petty. But can’t you see him doing something like secretly recording us as he throws us into insane and uncomfortable situations?” I don’t mention that he implied setting up the entire thing, start to finish. The ramifications of that are a little too uncomfortable to consider.
“It does sound like film student bullshit, and Cowan does love him some art house nonsense, but come on. If any of that’s true, don’t you think we would’ve seen cameras at some point? He’s clever but he’s not omniscient. He couldn’t have predicted how we’d react to everything, much less fake some of that stuff. Like this alleged aunt and her shotgun, those bullets were real. You felt it.”
“You’re right, it felt real, but still. It’s possible if he was careful and he had a really good team around him that we don’t know about. Heck, he could be filming us right now.”
His eyebrows raise as he holds up his glass. “Well then, here’s to Tony Cowan, the most brilliant piece of shit in the world.” He drinks and watches me, face slowly falling. “It doesn’t really matter which story is true though, does it?”
I return his gaze. “No, it doesn’t.”
“We’re done with him.”
“Yes, we are.”
He pauses for a long beat before he lets out a slow sigh. “Which means we’re done with the production company. It’s over, Webb.”
That hits me harder than I expected. It’s like a knife in my gut and I have to look at the bar and blink rapidly to keep myself from crying. My cheeks flush and I take several deep breaths and small sips of my drink, and barely manage to halt the sobbing that’s building up in my chest.
All this work. All this struggle. We got so close—but we were never really that close, were we? It was always a lie, always bullshit, from the very beginning.
It doesn’t matter how badly I wanted it. I could’ve done anything, anything at all, and the movie never would’ve happened. Wanting something isn’t always enough—sometimes, the universe spits in your eye anyway and kicks you in the guts while you’re down on the ground.
“I need to tell you something,” I whisper, still not looking at him, hands clammy, trembling. Nothing matters anymore. I’m too far gone to care and now there’s only one last secret to rip into the light. I wish I could drink right now—but I can’t. My fingers drift to my abdomen. I guess that means I’ve finally decided what I want to do with this baby.
He leans toward me. “What’s that?”
“I should’ve told you sooner. I should’ve told you the second I found out.” I close my eyes, blinking away tears.
“Found out what?” He’s frowning at me, holding the drink to his lips, but frozen. “What, Webb?”
Anger flares through me. Anger at myself, at the situation. Anger at Cowan and yes, some anger toward Baptist. “I’m a coward, okay? I was afraid that if I told you sooner, it would ruin everything we’ve been working toward. Everything we’ve been building. And I don’t just mean the company and the movie. I mean everything between us, the feelings, the closeness, and, god, I’m screwing this up already, but—”
“Webb,” he says softly, putting a hand on my thigh, then adds, “Blair. Come on. Say it.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and take a steadying breath before I look back at him. My Baptist, beautiful and strong and tortured in ways I’ll never understand. Tears roll down my cheeks. Tears of weakness and of strength, but most of all, tears for what we’ll never have.