Free Without Scars by Ayla Jones Page A

had died, but falling asleep behind the wheel after not sleeping for days could’ve caused the same kind of accident. Plus, I remembered what my stepdad always said: “The world can do with one less cruel heart.”
    I’d thought of her all morning after Coco’s as I wrote these new pages. She’d bared so much to me—a stranger, but maybe with a secret that dangerous, anyone she told was a stranger. That had to be so lonely. Did she have a Chuck? Who was there when makeup was all over her face and her clothes were a mess?
    “Dude, are you trying to launch my kid into outer space? Quit bouncing her so hard,” Samira said. Lux was screaming with joy when my knees went down one final time. She didn’t seem as worried as her mom. Shit. Samira knew me. She knew it wasn’t like me to be so hyper. I had to calm the fuck down. At least the high would smooth out by the time we talked to the folks from Hillington. “Is this script Nikki related?”
    “You’re making her sound like a medical condition.”
    “Well, I’m just trying to understand what spurred this. I mean, I like those changes, but you can’t keep this up, Charlie. You’re working too hard.”
    “But they have to approve them, and I just want them to be good. They don’t feel like they are. No matter what I do. And I keep thinking about some editor, with his goddamn Microsoft Word comment box and fear of offending their audience, scribbling snarky notes all over the pages. Then I’m gonna have to fly to L.A. and beat the shit out of someone…” I was joking.
    Kinda.
    Samira snorted. “Stop worrying, Charlie. Oh! I downloaded the pilot scripts for Confessions of a High School Dealer and Traitor from our cloud storage. We should pitch those.”
    My heart skittered to a full stop. I stood with Lux pressed to my chest with one arm. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. They aren’t ready.”
    She glared at me. “ Yes, they are. I already emailed them to HMD. End of discussion. Now, don’t drop my baby and let me day-drink in peace, please.”
    Within the hour Patrick came to pick up Lux, and Samira and I drove to our new office space in Coral Springs. We shared it with another company during the week, but it was cool as shit to have a business address. Right now we only had a white board, a conference table with a few chairs, and a landline number that used to belong to a guy named Ahmed (we knew because people still called for him sometimes), but it was ours.
    We’d never done one of these official table reads before Hillington got involved. Normally, I just emailed scripts and we did a dry run of the entire episode on set and then turned the cameras on. Without the meds I would’ve been far more anxious. I never stopped hating hearing my words read aloud, especially when I didn’t have technical filming issues to distract me, but my brain had a gentle, relaxing buzz the entire time.
    Kenny Chappelle, our new agent, came a while later, when the cast was gone. Several of his clients had landed deals with Netflix over the last year and HBO for several years now, so he was good at his job, but we just needed to see it. That was why we’d insisted on a Sunday call, to be present when he talked to Hillington. We wanted a script-to-series deal for both or either of the new shows, meaning they had to buy the entire series if they approved the pilot script. By the time the meeting was over, Kenny had gotten the proposed deal for us.
    A few minutes after Patrick arrived for Samira, a group text popped up with a picture of Ghost and a chick he’d met last night.
    Ghost: She’s gonna introduce me to her agent at LCM.
    Nikki Johnson: The modeling agency? Oh that’s awesome. Have you modeled before? I could see that.
    Everyone else either LOL’d or WTF’d.
    Deek: OH, COME ON. Who the fuck is that? Who the fuck is telling Ghost he can model? I don’t know the number. This is Deacon. Stop that shit, whoever you are.
    Nikki Johnson: Uh oh. Wasn’t supposed to say that?