Chapter 6
Bryce
The morning sunlight filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. With a groan, I drag myself out of bed, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.
Another day, another chance to show the world what I'm made of—to prove that I'm not just another pretty face in the sea of Hollywood starlets.
Acting is more than a job; it's a passion that ignites every cell in my body, a fire that consumes me from within. It's the one thing I know I'm good at.
I grab my phone from the nightstand, blinking away the remnants of sleep as I scroll through the notifications.
Among the barrage of messages, what stands out are the headlines from the media about my escapades with the ladies.
Most of what these gossip-hungry blogs say about me isn't true, but I don't have it in me to debunk the rumors.
Shuffling into the kitchen, I grab a pan and get ready to make pancakes when the persistent ringing of my phone pierces through the quiet morning. With a sigh, I retrieve it and glance at the caller ID—Cindy. I debate ignoring it, but guilt tugs at me like a persistent child.
No one knew that I was coming back because I didn't mention it. In fact, I haven't been in contact with them for years because I wanted to avoid the drama while I built my career. But Cindy never offended me in any way, so reluctantly, I answer.
"Hey, Cindy," I greet, trying to inject some semblance of cheer into my voice.
"Bryce, you didn't tell me you were back in town! I had to hear from Marissa to know you were back." She scolds, her tone a mix of annoyance and concern.
"Sorry, it's been a bit hectic."
"Well, you should've called. I'm worried about you. Mom and Dad are worried too. They want you to come over for dinner."
I scoff. "Worried? About me? Please, they've got more important things to worry about. Besides, you know I'm not exactly the poster child for family gatherings."
Cindy's voice softens, a hint of sadness creeping in. "They're your parents. They just want the best for you. Also, Dad is actually proud of you. He's seen how far you've come and how happy you are pursuing your passion. Mom says he regrets being so harsh on you in the past."
I clench my jaw, the mention of our parents being concerned about my well-being stirring up a familiar mix of resentment and defiance.
"Yeah, well, I don't want to see them. End of story."
Cindy sighs. "Come on, Bryce. It’s been ages since we had a family dinner. Mom’s been anticipating seeing you, but she says you won't take her calls, and Dad ... well, you know how he gets."
I groan, already dreading the thought of facing our father's disappointed glares and thinly veiled disapproval. It's exactly the reason why I left home in the first place, and I don't think I'm ready to put up with his shenanigans all over again.
"I don't know, Cindy. I've got a busy schedule."
"Please. Just this once. For Mom's sake, if not for mine."
Despite our strained relationship, Cindy knows a great deal about what I went through living in that pathetic excuse for a home.
And as much as I hate to admit it, she's right—Mom deserves better than a son who avoids his family like the plague. But they didn't exactly give me much of a choice.
"Fine," I concede, "I'll be there."
Cindy's sigh of relief is audible through the phone. "Thank you, Bryce. It means a lot."
I grumble, "Yeah, yeah. Don't get too sentimental on me."
She chuckles. "I'll see you tonight, then. And don't be late."
Family dinners—the bane of my existence. But for Mom's sake, I'll put on a smile and endure the inevitable interrogation from our father.
I end the call and drop the phone on the counter with a clatter. Breakfast. I stare blankly at the frying pan on the stove, motionless. Childhood dinners creep into my thoughts, those tense affairs around our modest little table.
Dad's eyes follow my every move, his brow furrowed, lips pressed into a firm line. Another deep sigh escapes him, and he shakes his head—that familiar gesture of disapproval.
Beside him sits Mom, eyes darting between us, pleading silently for a ceasefire. Her hands fidget in her lap, fingers twisting the napkin.
I've always been the black sheep of the family—the rebellious son who dared to defy his father's expectations.
Dad's always been a person who won't settle for anything less than perfection, especially from me. He had it all mapped out—me following in his footsteps, taking over the family business—a real estate empire, and living the life he chose for me.
But I had my own dreams. My choice to pursue acting instead of the life he prescribed has strained our relationship ever since. I don't need his approval.
Family dinner will be another painful reminder of the chasm that separates us. For Mom's sake, I'll plaster on a smile and play the dutiful son,
I turn abruptly from the stove. My appetite is gone. I shower and throw on a pair of jeans and a white shirt. Grabbing my keys, I head out the door, steeling myself for another day in the spotlight.
I step out of my apartment, my mind still clouded with thoughts of the upcoming family dinner. I need a distraction, something to ease the tension that coils within me. As if on autopilot, I wait outside the apartment building and lean against my car, waiting for her to emerge.
The air is crisp, a hint of autumn lingering in the breeze. It's a picture-perfect morning, the kind that makes you forget about your issues for just a moment.
I glance at my watch, tapping my foot impatiently as I wait for her. When she finally appears, a vision of casual elegance, my breath catches in my throat.
There's something about Marissa—an effortless grace, a quiet strength—that draws me in, despite my best efforts to maintain a safe distance.
"Morning, Marissa," I greet with a casual smile, offering her a charming grin.
She returns the smile, albeit with a hint of surprise. "Morning, Bryce. What are you doing here?"
Shrugging, I attempt to play it cool.
"Just thought I'd offer you a ride to work. It's the least I can do for my favorite neighbor."
"Favorite neighbor, huh? More like the only neighbor, you know."
"Just expanding my social circle. Plus, I don't want you to be late."
She hesitates, clearly torn between accepting the offer and asserting her independence.
"I appreciate the offer, Bryce, but I'm good. I can drive myself."
"We're both going to the set anyway, and it would be great to have the company. What do you say?"
She sighs, clearly tired of my persistent insistence. But with the slow smile making an appearance on her plump, pink lips, I can tell that her resolve is slowly crumbling.
"Fine, but only because you're so persuasive."
I grin triumphantly, opening the passenger door. "That's the spirit. Now, hop in, and let's hit the road."
We fall into an easy rhythm as she talks animatedly about the show she saw last night.
I relax into my seat, the tension leaving my shoulders as I breathe deeply. Marissa's calm energy washes over me, a soothing balm that smooths the jagged edges of my restless mind.
The car slows to a stop. I turn the key and the engine sputters off, leaving us in silence. Marissa's laughter trails off as the engine sputters to silence. Her gaze meets mine for a fleeting second before darting away.
I glance at her, taking in the furrow between her brows. She's avoiding my eyes.
With a sigh, I reach over and help her unlock the buckle. She stiffens at my touch, her shoulders tensing and eyes darting away.
I pause, uncertain if I should continue, but the buckle finally gives way with a soft click. Her hands smooth down the fabric of her dress, fingers worrying the hem.
"Thanks for the ride," she murmurs.
"My pleasure," I reply, lingering in the moment a little longer than necessary.
Unease wells up in my chest. She's never acted this way around me before.