Chapter 8
Bryce
I slowly pull the car into the familiar driveway, my hands tightening on the steering wheel. The house looks just the same, yet so alien to me now.
My heart is pounding against my ribs, and I take a deep breath to try to calm my churning stomach. Facing my parents again after all this time twists my insides into knots.
We get out of the car, and Marissa follows closely beside me, her footsteps hesitant as she takes in the grandeur of the foyer.
The Alston family home is the epitome of wealth and privilege, a vivid indication of the world I left behind when I set out to pursue my dreams in Hollywood.
Ringing the doorbell, I stand there, trying to act tough when I'm a mess inside.
My heart’s pounding, and I feel like it's going to leap out at any moment. Finally, the door swings open, and there stands my mom in a blue dress that matches her eyes, looking like she's just encountered a ghost. Her brows jump to her hairline, and her face slowly morphs into a look of lucid incredulity.
My dad materializes by her side, and the look on his face isn't any better than my mom’s. Deep eyes identical to mine stare back at me, and I catch myself wishing I didn't look so much like him. With how dumbfounded they are, it's obvious they can't quite believe that their wayward son has returned home after all these years.
"Bryce, is that really you?" My mother exclaims, her voice tinged with disbelief as she rushes forward to envelop me in a tight hug.
I force a smile, trying to mask the unease that gnaws at the pit of my stomach. "Hey, Mom. Yeah, it's me. Surprise."
My father studies me carefully, his eyes roving over my face as if searching for something. His brows draw together ever so slightly, and he presses his lips into a thin line. "You look ... different, son. Hollywood has certainly left its mark on you."
I resist the urge to roll my eyes, knowing that any mention of my career choice is sure to spark a heated debate. "Yeah, well, life in the fast lane will do that to you."
Beside me, Marissa shifts her weight from one foot to the other. I don't have to look at her to know she feels out of place here. I shoot her an apologetic glance, knowing that she must be feeling out of place.
My parents turn to her as if only realizing she's here as well.
"Marissa, my dear, how're you?" Mom asks in an overly cheerful voice, absolutely trying to dissipate the tension.
"I’m fine. Thank you, Mrs. Alston. Yourself and Mr. Alston?"
"Well, let’s just say we're getting old and looking forward to the young ones taking over."
Right.
We both know what he's talking about.
Just as the tension threatens to suffocate us all, Cindy breezes into the living room. Her eyes widen slightly in surprise at the sight of her best friend by my side.
"Marissa …"
"Erm ... Bryce invited me."
I shrug nonchalantly, trying to play it off as no big deal. "Relax, Cindy. We were both heading in the same direction, so I offered her a ride. It's not a big deal."
She narrows her eyes, clearly not buying my casual explanation. "Uh-huh. Well, come on, dinner is ready."
The aroma of Mom's pot roast and buttery mashed potatoes fills my nose. Marissa's arm brushes against mine as she takes the seat beside me at the table. I tense at her touch, wishing I could lean into her warmth and escape the chill of Dad's stare.
As we start to eat, my parents make small talk with Marissa, asking her about her job and how she enjoys the city. I add a few comments, talking about our time on the set and some of the challenges of the film industry. But it all falls apart when my father looks at me, his voice full of concern.
"So, Bryce, how's your acting career going?"
I grip my fork tightly, pressing my lips together to hold back the bitter words rising in my throat. "It's going fine, Dad. Just fine."
"I heard about your latest movie," he begins, his tone measured. "Another action flick, I presume? You know, Bryce, you've made quite a name for yourself in Hollywood. But have you ever considered taking on more serious roles? Something that showcases your range as an actor?"
After years of dismissing my passion, now he wants to offer advice? I grip my fork tightly, the metal biting into my palm.
"I'm happy with the roles I've been doing, Dad. Action movies are what I'm known for, and I enjoy the challenge," I reply, my voice tight with defensiveness.
He nods, cutting into his steak with deliberate movements. "Of course, of course. But you have so much potential, Bryce. I just don't want to see you limit yourself. You could be taking on more complex characters, and exploring different genres. Don't be afraid to step out of your comfort zone."
"I don't need you telling me how to handle my career, Dad. I've gotten this far without your input, and I'll continue to do so," I snap, my voice rising with each word.
My mother attempts to diffuse the tension, her voice is gentle but firm. "Now, Bryce, there's no need to be defensive. Your father is just asking out of concern."
Memories of countless arguments flood my mind—the constant criticism, the lack of support, and the overbearing attempts to control my life choices. The tightness in my chest grows, a mixture of anger and despair threatening to consume me.
I scoff, pushing my plate away with a sudden surge of anger. "Concern? Spare me the lectures, Mom. You both wanted me to take over the family business, but I had other plans. I wanted to be an actor, not some corporate drone."
My father's jaw clenches, his frustration mirroring my own. "We just wanted what was best for you, Bryce."
The words hit me like a sucker punch, dredging up old wounds that refuse to heal.
Marissa reaches for my hand under the table. But I'm beyond reason, my anger fueling the flames of mutiny that have always burned within me.
"I'm done with this," I declare, pushing back my chair with a loud scrape against the floor. "I’m not a kid, so I don't need to sit here and listen to you belittle my choices anymore."
My parents exchange a worried glance as I storm out of the house, the door slamming shut behind me with a resounding thud. I don't look back, my footsteps echoing on the pavement as I disappear into the night and head straight for my car.
I've spent my entire life fighting against the expectations placed upon me, forging my own path in defiance of those who sought to control me.
Sometimes, I wonder if my career path is worth the price of my family's love and acceptance. Maybe I sacrificed too much in pursuit of the life I wanted. But it's moments like this that make me realize I was right to leave home.
The cool night air envelopes me like a shroud as anger courses through my veins, a fiery inferno fueled by years of pent-up frustration and resentment. I'm about to get into the car when I hear her voice, soft and gentle.
"Bryce, wait."
Her voice pierces my fury, stopping me in my tracks. I spin around to find Marissa on the sidewalk behind me, wearing a look that blends worry and resolve. Lost in my anger, I'd forgotten I was her ride.
"What do you want? I don't need your pity."
"I'm not here to pity you. I'm here because I care about you. I can see that you're hurting, and I want to help."
Her eyes are pleading, and it's obvious that she cares. Yet, I shake my head, the weight of her words sinking in like a lead weight.
"Help? What could you possibly do? You can't fix me."
She reaches out a hand, her touch a soothing balm against my raw emotions. "Maybe I can't fix you. But I can listen. I can be here for you."
Being powerless is a foreign concept, one that I've spent my entire life avoiding at all costs. But at this instant, with Marissa standing before me, I can't help but feel it creeping in, threatening to shatter the walls I've spent so long building around my heart.
"I'm sorry," I whisper, the words escaping my lips before I can stop them. "I didn't mean to lash out like that. It's just ... difficult to be around my parents."
Marissa nods, her expression softening with understanding. "I know. And it's okay. We all have our moments."
Her compassion washes over me, and I draw in a shaky breath. I'm glad that she agreed to come tonight.
"Thank you for being here. For caring."
She smiles, and it's like a radiant beam of light in the darkness that is my life.
"Anytime. That's what friends are for."
Friends. I know that's what we are, but something about the label doesn't feel right. But as she continues staring up at me with big, blue eyes, I realize that maybe, just maybe, I'm not as alone as I thought.
Her compassion washes over me like a soothing balm, easing the tension in my shoulders and the turmoil in my heart. I draw in a shaky breath, blinking back tears.
"Thank you," I whisper, squeezing her hand. "For being here. For caring."
She smiles, and it's like a radiant beam of sunlight piercing through the bleak fog that perpetually shrouds my life. In this moment, I feel less adrift. An anchor. A lifeline.
Marissa has a way of making me feel like there's hope for me yet. Hope for redemption, for healing, for a future I never dared to dream of.
Without thinking, I reach out and pull her into a hug, the warmth of her embrace comforting me as I inhale her sweet scent.
She stiffens at first, surprised by the sudden display of affection, but then she relaxes into my arms, her breath coming in soft, steady waves against my neck.
For a second, we stand there, wrapped in each other's embrace, the world falling away around us.
And in that fleeting moment, something shifts within me—a sense of peace, of belonging, that I've never known before. A warmth blossoms in my chest, and for the first time in years, the knot in my stomach loosens ever so slightly.
What am I doing?
I release her from my grasp, my arms dropping limply to my sides. The knot in my stomach tightens once more, and the fleeting warmth in my chest turns to a bitter chill. I avert my gaze, unable to meet her eyes, the certitude of my actions crashing down on me like a ton of bricks.
"I'm sorry," I stammer, my voice hoarse with emotion. "I didn't mean to ... I shouldn't have ..."
Marissa shakes her head, a soft smile playing at the corners of her lips. "It's okay. Really. I understand."
I hold the door for her, and she gets in without another word. The drive home is quiet, the hum of the engine the only sound in the car.
As we pull up in front of our building, I kill the engine and turn to her. My heart races as I struggle to find the right words. "Um … Marissa, about that night I left ... I know things got a bit tricky ..."
Marissa stares at me, her eyes wide and searching. I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks as I meet her gaze, the awkwardness of the moment hanging heavy in the air between us.
"Oh, no, it's fine," she says, her voice wavering slightly. "I don't even remember."
Before I can respond, she quickly opens the car door and climbs out. I watch as she hurries away, disappearing into the apartment building.
But there's no time to dwell on such thoughts, not when my phone rings, jolting me back to reality. I glance at the screen to see Chris's name flashing, and I quickly answer the call.
"Hey, Chris, what's up?" I greet him, the weariness of the day evident in my voice.
"Bryce, buddy, long time no talk!" Chris's voice booms through the phone, his enthusiasm is contagious even through the receiver.
"Yeah, sorry about that. It's been a hectic few weeks," I reply, sinking back into the comfort of my car seat.
Chris chuckles, "Tell me about it. So, what's new with you? Any juicy gossip I should know about?"
I roll my eyes, already knowing where this conversation is headed. Chris is my best friend and the only person I was in contact with during my time away from the city. We go way back, and he’s always had my back no matter what.
Despite the distance and the years that have passed, Chris has always been a constant in my life.
"Nothing much, just the usual. Working on a new project, trying to stay out of trouble."
"Ah, come on, Bryce. You know you love the drama. Speaking of drama, have you heard about the rumors circulating about you and that model, Sheila?"
I sigh, the mention of the rumors bringing a sour taste to my mouth. The media loves to sell crazy stuff like that about me, and Sheila knows it, so she's using it in every way possible. The things people do for fame.
"Yeah, I've heard. Some tabloid nonsense about us dating or something."
"You know how these things can spiral out of control, right? You should set the record straight before it gets out of hand."
Even though I can hear the worry in his tone, I scoff, dismissing his worries with a wave of my hand.
"Please, it's all just a ploy for attention. Trust me, I'm not losing any sleep over it."
The media loves to talk about my rebellious days, always casting me as the bad boy. Every single scandalous headline, every rumor of a fling, they all help to create a persona that’s easy to sell. They love to paint me as a bad boy, and the public loves it.
Chris sighs, clearly unconvinced. "Well, just be careful, okay? You know how the media loves to twist things."
I nod, even though he can't see me through the phone. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Thanks for looking out for me, man. I appreciate it."
What must Marissa think of me now, with all these rumors swirling around? Does she believe them? Does she see me as the man the media portrays me to be?
The very thought of her soft blue eyes looking at me with distrust and disappointment makes my stomach churn.