Collateral Damage

Prologue

More Than A Year Ago…

Calder

Gasoline and smoke burn my lungs as I inhale a sharp, painful breath. The pounding in my head is unrelenting and my ears ring with a dull buzz. I manage to pry open my eyes, only to find that darkness consumes my surroundings. Not that it matters since my lids are so heavy that I have to close them again.

When I’m able to open them, I realize there’s a small amount of light permeating the darkness from the flickering clock on the mangled dash.

1:38 a.m.

I try to remember where I am. Bit by bit I become aware of the crushing pain in my arm—it feels as if it’s on fire. I draw a deep breath, singeing my throat, and look down to see my right arm bent at a funny angle. The constant ringing in my ears and the throbbing of my head have my thoughts moving like sand through an hourglass.

My thoughts are sluggish, but I’m cognizant enough to recognize the all-consuming ache throughout my body. I consider closing my eyes again—all I want to do is forget the pain I’m in, but somewhere in the back of my head it registers that the thick smoke has become suffocating. I cough and bring the arm that isn’t broken up to cover my face.

A strangled breath sounds from my right and I turn inside the crushed metal can I’m in, immediately wishing I hadn’t. Bile rises up in the back of my throat and my breathing becomes even more ragged and shallow than before.

My best friend, Akoni, lies unconscious in the driver’s seat, blood trailing down his face. The steering wheel presses further into his belly than nature should allow.

Guilt consumes me like a tidal wave and I’m flailing on the inside. This is all my fault.

I attempt looking out the front window, but it’s almost impossible to see through the shattered glass. I’m just able to make out the buckled hood of the car and the smoke pouring out from underneath.

I cough again, trying as best I can to get some clean air, but there is none to be had. I need to get out of here.

With my good arm, I release my seat belt and lean over with my left hand to open my door, ignoring the stabbing pain in both my arm and abdomen as I do. After a bit of fumbling, I’m finally able to pry it open enough to squeeze myself out, just in time to see flames rising up from under the car’s hood. I flop out onto the ground clumsily, landing with my broken arm underneath me, my feet still pinned between the dash and the seat.

I cry out from the pain of having my weight resting on my broken arm, and I’m unable to control my body’s reaction. I vomit as I lie there on the grass, a mixture of the evening’s earlier festivities spewing out onto the ground.

Recovering enough from the pain, I pull my legs out. Before I know what’s happening, there’s commotion around me. People are shouting but I can’t make out what they’re saying. Someone pries my legs out of the car and a pair of hands pulls me up, helping me to stand upright.

The image in front of me becomes hazy, black spots edging the corner of my vision. I drop my head down, trying not to puke again, while people on either side hold me steady and help me hobble away from the wreckage.

As they sit me on the curb a ways down from the carnage, my vision and thoughts come back to me more clearly.

Horror twists my insides as I set my sights on the piece of twisted metal. The front of the car is bashed in, the driver’s side almost wrapped around a tree trunk. Flames shoot skyward and lick some low-hanging branches while black smoke illuminated by a nearby streetlight continues to pour out from under the hood.

Akoni! I scream, my voice hoarse, my throat raw and swollen from the smoke. I push away from the helping hands and turn to race back to the car as fast as my broken body will let me.

You can’t go over there! You’re hurt! a faceless person in front of me screams. With my good hand, I push them to the side, adrenaline and maybe the cocktail of other narcotics from earlier in the night surging through my veins, releasing me from most of the pain. I have to get Akoni out before the flames reach him.

I’m not leaving my friend, I shout at no one in particular.

Sirens sound in the distance, drawing nearer. Thank God. The fire department will be here any minute. They’ll put the flames out and get my friend—

The sound of an explosion rips through the night. It’s reminiscent of some of the on-set blasts I’ve heard, only this one is so much worse. So much more terrifying. Because it’s real.

An unseen force pummels me backward until I crash to the ground, hitting the pavement below. Complete and utter terror grips me as I watch the flames engulf the wreckage, the lifeless body of my friend lying motionless in the middle of it.

I scream … and scream … and scream—unable to stop until mercifully everything goes black.

1

Calder

Remember, they’re not to ask anything about the accident, my manager, Chelsea, said to the production assistant of The Diane Gayle Show.

Diane is aware of the parameters of the interview, he assured her.

Yeah, well make sure it stays that way during filming, Chelsea said, flicking her blond hair behind her shoulder. You’d never know looking at what I was sure was a heavily Botoxed face, but she’d been in the biz long enough to know that interviewers sometimes forgot which topics were off-limits when the cameras started rolling. They didn’t refer to her around town as ‘The Barracuda’ for nothing.

I sat in the make-up chair, sipping on water, while a bunch of other people primped me before I’d head out for my interview. In truth, I would’ve loved to have a beer, or hell, a whole bottle of Jack in my hand, but managing the cravings was what I was supposed to be able to deal with now.

My nerves were frayed at the edges. This was it. This was my one and only chance to redeem myself in the eyes of the public and filmmakers alike, to convince them I’d changed my ways. After all my fuck-ups, no one wanted to hire me for their movies anymore. If I wanted to change that, the world needed to believe that I was a different man. And make no mistake—the world was watching.

No pressure, right?

And she can only discuss Calder’s life since being out of rehab. Let’s not dwell too long on why he was there in the first place, Landon added from behind me. Landon Steele was the owner of my new PR firm I’d recently signed with, and they were the ones that had landed me the interview. Every penny I paid them was worth it for that reason alone, since The Diane Gayle Show was one of the most watched primetime interview programs. However, the way the press spun my appearance today would make all the difference.

I inhaled a deep breath, trying to steady myself. You alright? Landon asked, clamping a hand on my shoulder from behind.

I’m good, man. If we were defining ‘good’ as being scared shitless.

Just remember how we talked about handling her questions. You’re going to do great, Landon said.

Five minutes until showtime, someone yelled from the hallway.

The production assistant with the receding hairline turned to face me. You’re the first guest up. If you want to follow me, I’ll take you to the set. Wait until Diane introduces you and then you can head out.

I nodded, took another sip of water, and stood to follow behind, giving Chelsea and Landon a weak smile before I left.

Standing there in the darkness at the side of the stage, I felt every ounce of the weight on my shoulders. After everything I’d been through, all the ways I’d screwed myself and so many others over, this could very well be the defining moment in my life.

I was determined that all the pain I’d caused others wouldn’t be in vain. I’d do something good with my life, achieve something, give something back. Even if I didn’t know what that something might be, it was the least I could do.

2

Francesca

Unbelievable. I stared at the screen in front of me displaying the taping going on at The Diane Gayle Show as Calder Fox sauntered onto the set. He was as attractive as ever—of course. He seemed to have lost some of his usual arrogance, but my guess was it was just a PR ploy. God, I couldn’t believe I’d ever fawned over that guy when we’d worked together as teens.

I turned to my manager, Brock. Did we ever find out how Calder got top billing on this instead of me?

He offered an exclusive to Diane—won’t be taking any more interview requests after his appearance here.

I leaned back against the green room couch and crossed my arms like a petulant child. Figures. What Calder wants, Calder gets. It doesn’t hurt that he’s the son of Hollywood royalty.

Brock shrugged. Frankie, you know as well as I do that no one will turn down an exclusive, especially with someone like Calder Fox. Besides, if he doesn’t get his shit together, it’s not going to matter who his parents are—no one will work with him.

I didn’t respond. I’d been taught by my mom and my PR camp that if I didn’t have anything nice to say, to say nothing at all. Calder and I had only worked together once before—both having bit parts in a TV sitcom where we played brother and sister. We’d only been seventeen at the time, but he’d consistently shown up late to the set and always hungover—hell, he had probably still been drunk most of that time. He’d acted like the pompous ass that he was, ordering people around and treating them like shit, like he was better than everyone there because his daddy happened to be a big-time director and his mother, a famous actress. I’d been like most of the other idiot girls in this town at the time, thinking his attitude was cool and wishing he’d pay attention to me. Now I was able to see him for what he really was—extremely entitled.

Today I was appearing on The Diane Gayle Show at the tail end of a press junket for my latest indie film. I supposed that wasn’t as interesting as confessions of the rich and famous. Poor little Calder had issues. Boo-freaking-hoo…what else was new?

I let out a huff as I settled back in my seat to watch his interview until I had to head to the set.

Diane had on her sympathetic face—she must be getting ready to try and pull some heartstrings. So Calder, you recently left rehab for substance and alcohol abuse. What was your experience there like?

It was eye opening, that’s for sure, he responded with a nervous laugh. Diane gave him an encouraging nod and he continued. I needed to be there. My life had spun out of control. It was difficult, but…it was healing at the same time.

I rolled my eyes as I watched Diane take his hand, fully buying into his apologetic act.

I know this is difficult to talk about, Calder, but I have to ask…the public will want to know. What specifically were you addicted to?

Calder ran his free hand through his shoulder-length, sun-bleached locks. I ignored the way the dark roots peeked out here and there and just how hot it made him look. Hot guys in Hollywood were usually douchebags and Calder was no exception.

He sucked in a big breath before answering. I’ve been drinking since I was about thirteen years old. When you grow up in show biz, there isn’t much that isn’t available to you. Looking back now, I can see that I’d been an alcoholic since the time I was sixteen or seventeen. Back in the day, I used to just drink when I was chillin’ with my friends, but it developed into an everyday thing I needed to feel normal. Calder used air quotes around the word normal, while Diane nodded her head like she knew exactly what he was going through. At some point in my early twenties, the booze wasn’t enough and I started dabbling in cocaine and other recreational drugs. I’ve probably tried everything under the sun, but coke was my drug of choice.

Calder’s neck flushed a bit and he played with the collar of his shirt, seemingly embarrassed by his confession. I hated to admit it, but I understood. The limelight was not an easy place to be, even when you were an up-and-coming media darling like myself. I couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to have all your darkest secrets laid bare in front of the world, up for discussion and dissection for anyone with a Wi-Fi connection. I shivered, my hair standing on end as I considered for a moment what the press would say if they ever got hold of my secret.

You cold? I can ask if there’s a blanket or something you can use. Brock’s voice brought me back from my reverie.

No, I’m fine. Thanks. I gave him a weak smile and focused my attention back on the monitor.

What’s been the most difficult part about all of this for you? Diane asked Calder.

He answered without hesitation. Losing my friend in the accident. Being sober allowed me to see all the mistakes I’d made over the past several years with complete clarity…to recognize all the people I’ve hurt along the way. He swiped at the tears building in his eyes. That’s hard for me to accept and work through. Calder looked up to the ceiling and blinked back tears, blowing air from his mouth in a rough exhale.

He seemed sincere, I’d give him that. But with actors, you never really knew what was genuine and what was not. Diane gave his hand a squeeze and turned her attention to the camera. We’re going to take a break. We’ll be back in a minute to talk some more to Calder Fox and find out where it all went wrong.

Calder immediately sprang up from his seat and shoved a hand through his long hair, then paced around the set taking deep breaths with his hands on his hips. It genuinely appeared as if his conversation with Diane was affecting him. Could I have been wrong about him? Maybe he had grown up since the last time we worked together. It had been years, after all.

Brock rose from the couch and turned to face me. I’ll be right back. I’m gonna see when you’re up.

I nodded absentmindedly, watching as everyone on set scattered to get out of the camera shot except for Diane and Calder, who had now taken his seat again.

Diane flashed her veneers at the camera and began. We’re back and still talking with Calder Fox, the reigning prince in Hollywood’s royal family and everyone’s favorite bad boy. She turned to face Calder once again. Before the break, we were discussing what it was like for you in rehab. What are your plans moving forward now?

He drew in a breath. Well, I plan to make amends with all the people I’ve wronged in the past and I’m going to continue living the healthy lifestyle I am now. More than anything though, I want to get back to work. I’ll bet he did. I know I’ve burned a lot of bridges with my on-set behavior in the past, but I’m determined to show that I can act like the professional I am and get the job done.

Anything in the works right now? Diane looked like a pit bull, salivating to get the inside scoop and dig her teeth into him.

Nothing I can talk about at this point. He flashed her a panty-melting smile that lit up his blue eyes and caused a shiver of need to run through me. I refused to even examine what the hell that was about. Sure, it was no mystery why A-list celebrities dropped their drawers for the ‘Hollywood Fox’, but it pissed me off to know I could be affected by his charm. I didn’t like the guy. Not even a little.

He’d basically been blacklisted for the past year so whichever director and studio took him on next deserved whatever they got.

You’re up in six, Frankie. Brock strolled back into the room with a sheet of paper in his hand. I’ve cleared the list of questions they’re going to ask you. Take a look for yourself though.

I leaned forward and reached for the paper, giving it a quick once-over. Same shit, different day. That was the thing about doing a press junket. You were asked the same questions a hundred different times but only in ten different ways. By now I’d perfected all of my answers and could do these interviews as drunk and high as Calder on a Saturday night.

I mentally scolded myself…that was mean. I didn’t know what it was, but something about Calder brought out my bitchy side.

Handing the paper back to Brock, I said, Got it, and rose from the couch, smoothing my skirt over my thighs when I was upright.

He led me down the hallway until we stood at the side of the stage to wait for my turn. We didn’t have long to wait. Calder came sauntering off stage, appearing completely relaxed and not at all like he’d just been forced to discuss what was supposedly one of the hardest times of his life.

His gaze inched slowly up the length of my body before he met my eyes, a small smirk forming on his lips. My traitorous nipples pebbled underneath my silk shirt, and I was sure he could tell given the fact that I wasn’t wearing a bra. Note to self—avoid backless shirts around attractive men. I pressed my teeth together, more irritated than ever that I found him so physically appealing.

Have we met? Calder asked me with that stupid grin still on his face.

I’m sure I looked like I was trying to catch flies with my mouth. Was he shitting me? I schooled my reaction as best I could and responded through clenched teeth. Francesca Leon.

Oh, right. You’re that chick that does all the indie films.

Seriously? He was going to act like we’d never met before—like we’d never worked together? Why did that grate on me so much? It’s not like I should care one way or the other what he thought. I gave him a quick nod, not saying anything.

He put his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. Well, good luck out there, he said before walking past me. His cologne wafted by as he passed, a mix of the outdoors and the ocean. I resisted the urge to close my eyes and breathe in deeply. I would not let that idiot’s charm affect me like it did so many other women. I was smarter than that.

A production assistant walked up, a frantic expression on his face. You’re due on set.

Coming, I said. I swept all thoughts of Calder from my mind, remembering why I was here. This was the final push for my film that would be releasing next week, after which I’d be starting production on my first mainstream, big-budget studio film. This was is it…the one I was determined would launch my career and make Francesca Leon a household name.

3

Calder

I looked out toward the angry ocean, more than happy to be staring at the grey sky and the wind-tossed waves with their whitecaps standing out against the darkness of the water. The sea today matched my mood. Admitting to the world what a complete and utter fuck-up I was wasn’t an easy thing. It was even harder to do sober. Add that to the fact that I was still holding something back, something that had the guilt eating away at me piece by piece, day after day, and it became almost too much to bear.

I’d wanted nothing more than to leave that studio this morning and go on a bender. After spilling my guts to the world and then not recognizing Francesca right away—as if I needed any more proof of what an asshole I could be—I’d reached my limit. I wasn’t sure if I was to blame for the latter though, because she sure as hell hadn’t looked like that when I’d worked with her all those years ago. Was it my fault it took a minute for her name to click?

For a bit I’d imagined heading over to my favorite liquor store and buying out the place, calling up a few of my so-called ‘friends’ and telling them to round up the troops for a party at my place. I’d get shit-faced, maybe snort a line or two, and then bang whatever stupid female with zero respect for herself was available.

But I couldn’t do it. They’d warned me in rehab that emotional turmoil would make me want to fall back into old habits. I was told to find something to clear my mind, a healthy way to deal with all the self-loathing.

And so I found myself standing in front of the turbulent ocean, surfboard in hand, fine crystals of sand whipping me in the face from the wind. It was a nasty day