Finally, I get the go-ahead to get settled in the car and prepare for the shot. The director tells me where he would prefer my hands during the shot and where to put my hand on the shifter. He points to the internal camera embedded against the roof in a stabilizer.
The pressure would suffocate most, but I’m thriving. This is my element. And I’ve got one hell of a prize waiting for me at the end.
From the small rearview mirror, I watch as the crowd grows along the fence. And I’m sure that I’m seeing things, but I catch a glimpse of blonde hair blowing in the breeze and I imagine that it’s Larsen standing front and center.
The clapboard slaps shut and I take off, handling the car with ease. I follow the path just as discussed and the car moves around the track like second nature. At one point, I fear that I won’t make the turn, but I expertly slide the back of the car into a drift. It’s more than the director has called for, but I’m sure he isn’t disappointed with the artistic outcome.
The endpoint comes into view and my body tingles beneath my suit. I’m practically crawling in my skin in my haste to get to Larsen.
As I approach the crowd waiting on the track to take the car and assist me I work the brakes, but the vehicle never slows. I depress the pedal repeatedly, but the car doesn’t brake on the downhill descent.
“Fuck,” I shout, knowing that this is going to hurt. Due to the filming inside the car, I’m not wearing a helmet and I’m not sure if the airbags will deploy in the modified vehicle.
I’m left with two options: head toward the fence with the onlookers or steer toward the concrete barrier. Jerking the car to the right, I skid the car across the grass until the car crashes into the hard surface.
My neck aches from the whiplash, chest burning from the seatbelt, pulling me away from the steering wheel.
During the spin, the driver’s side of the car collided with the wall, and as I pull on the handle, the door doesn’t budge. Fear spikes and for a split second, I wonder if this is how Larsen felt during her accident.
Fuck, this is probably taking her back to that moment. I think to myself.
Trying not to panic, I unhook the harness and move across the center console toward the passenger side. That’s when the smell of gasoline reaches my nose.
Despite my aches, I work quickly to open the passenger door and crawl away from the car toward the back, the ambulance and crew making their way toward me. The sound of the sirens is muffled by the burst of the explosion. I watch in fascination as the flames engulf the front of the car.
One of the on set EMTs reaches me first and asks if I’m okay or if I’m hurt. I assure him over and over that I’m fine, just shaken up.
The director and Tessa are the next to greet me, my cousin sliding down to the ground where I sit as she checks me over herself.
“I’m sorry, sir,” I tell the director as he approaches. “I had no brakes and I couldn’t risk driving into the crowd. I can replace the car and pay for the reshoot,” I try to explain.
“I don’t care about the car, I care about you. No brakes, you say?”
“Yeah, the stunt team and I discussed how to drive the course with very little brakes, just using the natural flow of the car, but when I pressed the brake pedal, there was nothing.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll get it figured out. I’m glad that you’re okay. And as for the shot, I’m almost positive that we got it. Get checked out and then take the rest of the day off.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You’re probably going to need to call Quinn,” Tessa adds as the crowd begins to disperse.
I ignore my cousin, my need to see Larsen growing with every second. “Take me to her, Tessa. After this, I need to see her.”
“Yeah, okay. She’s waiting for us at Craft services.”
Instead of riding the golf cart back off the track Tessa and I opt to walk. I need it to stretch my muscles and clear my head. And Tessa isn’t going to let me out of her sight for the next few days, I fear.
The crowd parts for us as we advance, and for a moment, I feel like Moses parting the Red Sea. My eyes seek out Larsen, my soul seeking its mate.
I don’t see her at first glance. And after a second sweep my blood starts pulsating in my veins when I don’t see her.
“Tessa?” I call out to my cousin who is doing her best to search through the crowd with me.
“I don’t see her, Devyn. Maybe she found Quinn or Trevor? They were watching in the production trailer.”
I don’t tell her that something doesn’t feel right. That something prickles the back of my neck in dread. It feels like spiders crawling across my skin.
Together we move through the gathering of people toward the largest trailer. As we weave through the lines of large white masses, a door opens to my right and Quinn steps out.