Page 107 of PR Stunt

I groan. “First Italy with Juno, and now you in Fiji!”

He laughs. After a moment, he glances at me. “So, how’d you get into acting?”

I pause. “Film has always been appealing to me,” I say. “I’ve been an avid reader my whole life, and seeing my favorite stories come to life on screen, it just clicked. I knew I wanted to be a part of that.” After a beat, I continue.

“But it’s more than that. I love becoming different people. Stepping into their lives, their emotions, their choices. Every role I’ve played has felt like a small part of me. Some version of myself I might never get to explore otherwise.”

Grayson watches me silently, taking it in.

“I begged my parents in ninth grade to let me take acting classes, but there wasn’t much in Bellingham. Small town, not exactly an entertainment hub.”

He nods, waiting for me to continue.

“But with us being a border town and Vancouver being Hollywood North, I convinced them to take me to classes there. Every Sunday, for years.” I let out a small breath, shaking my head at the memory. “And then I booked my first gig. After that, it just…kept going.”

I glance over at him. “Moved to l.a. for convenience. Most importantly the sun. Haven’t looked back since. What about you? I know you’ve been acting your whole life, but was it a family member who got you into it? Or just…growing up in l.a.?”

His fingers tap lightly against his beer bottle, his attention turning toward the horizon. For a second, I think he might brush off the question, but then he exhales, running a hand along his jaw.

“My mom put me in when I was a baby,” he says, voice even. “Commercials at first and then tv spots as a kid. I’ve been working ever since.”

That’s it. No elaboration, no warmth behind the words.

I study him, noting the shift. The way his usual easy confidence dims just slightly.

I tilt my head. “So, you didn’t choose it?”

His mouth twitches slightly. “Not at first.”

I watch him, waiting.

He takes a pull from his beer, swallowing before adding, “Didn’t really think about whether I wanted it back then. It was just…what I did.”

I hesitate. “And now?”

A beat passes. Then he smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Now I don’t know what I’d do without it.”

This is the first I’ve heard about his mom. Guilt creeps in. I really haven’t even tried to understand him.

I hesitate and then ask, “Are you close with your mom?”

“No, not really.” He exhales, rolling the bottle between his palms. “I see her every once in a while. When she needs something.”

Something clicks into place, slower this time. I reach for it, but he rolls the bottle once more between his palms and says, quieter now, “That’s actually who you overheard me talking to after the mud race.”

“Your mom?”

He nods once. “Yeah. My relationship with my mom is…complicated.”

Not wanting to overstep, I ask a different question. “What about your dad?”

“Don’t know him. I was a knock-up baby.”

I blink, caught off guard by his bluntness.

He stretches his legs out. “My mom’s originally from a small town in Nevada. Came to l.a. when she was twenty-one, started working at a high-end hotel bar. Hooked up with some guy she was serving, and…here I am.” He lifts a shoulder like it’s no big deal. “That’s all I know.”

I stay quiet, unsure of what to say. I am so lucky. I have parents who have always been hands-on, supportive…present. The parents who showed up for every school event, who drove me to acting classes in another country every weekend without a blink. Who still check in, who still care.