Fangirl

Chapter 26

JAKE

Imiss Amy. I really fucking do.

But now that the sharp edge of the hurt has dulled, I can finally see her point—and maybe even the grace in the way she walked away. She didn’t do it to end us. She did it to save us.

Not that I’d ever get tired of her. Never.

But she would’ve, eventually. Not of me but of the man I kept pretending to be. Because if I don’t know who I am, how the hell could she love me fully? How could she trust that what I’m offering is real?

And that’s what it takes to survive in this world—ours, especially.

Full trust. Unshakable belief. The kind of love that doesn’t crumble under flashing cameras or slow-creeping doubts.

I don’t know a single couple in my Hollywood circle who’s made it work long-term. The only ones who’ve survived the storm are both actors living in the same chaos, understanding the same rules.

But Amy and I? We’re not them.

And still, I know it in the pit of my stomach, irrational, stubborn, and fierce—we can make it.

Her birthday was yesterday.

She got the flowers. Thirty rare blue poppies, one for every year of her beautiful, complicated life. I spent ten days tracking them down and flew them in. Paid sixteen hundred dollars. Worth every damn cent.

Because she sent me an email after.

Just a few words.

The flowers meant everything. I’m not whole yet, but I’m getting there. And the love? It never left.

I’ve read it ten times already. And I’ll probably read it ten more.

For the first time in weeks… I breathe. She’s still out there, still healing, and still loving me.

And I’m still doing the work, quietly, patiently, and, most of all, for me.

That’s why I’m now sitting in the aggressively bright yellow chair in the waiting room of my agency, waiting for Landon to be done with his meeting. I can’t even bitch about it—I showed up unannounced. And the news I’m about to drop on him? Might give him a full-blown aneurysm.

But I’ve made my choice.

I’m mid-pep talk when the frosted glass door to Miranda Stone’s office opens—and out walks Bob Nero.

Hollywood royalty.

Seventy years old and still a force. Six Oscars. Five Golden Globes. A career spanning five decades and not a single scandal to his name.

He’s the GOAT.

And more than that, he’s been married to the same woman for over forty years. A unicorn in this business.

I shoot to my feet, flustered as hell. I worked with him briefly, blink and you’d miss it, in his mafia film. I had maybe three lines before getting shot in the head. But he was kind to everyone, even the background guys. Always said no one’s above anyone else on set.

It’s a principle I’ve tried to live by.

And I hope it’s something people feel when they work with me.

He clocks me and smiles wide, friendly and warm. “How’re you doing, kiddo? Waiting on the agent?”

I nod, still trying to play it cool. “Yeah. Just dropping by.”

He chuckles and claps a hand on my shoulder like we’ve known each other for years. Nothing about him feels fake. There’s no ego. No veneer. Just real.

And before I can stop myself, the question tumbles out.

“How did you manage to have it all?”

He lets out a low chuckle, caught somewhere between surprise and understanding. “Ah. Trouble in paradise?”

I wince. “Is it that obvious?”

“To an old timer like me? Probably.” He jerks his chin toward the obnoxiously bright sofa. “Come on. Let’s sit a minute.”

He turns to the receptionist, his voice soft and polite. “Think I could trouble you for an espresso?”

She practically beams and rushes off. He glances at me.

“Same,” I say quickly. Immediate regret. It’s too bitter, and I’m going to hate every sip.

He settles into the seat beside me with the ease of someone who’s lived enough to stop rushing. Then he turns, his eyes clear and kind and sharp all at once.

I notice the worn gold ring on his finger. No flash, no statement. Just a simple band, dulled with time but never taken off. A quiet testament to forty years of love in a world that burns through people faster than it does scripts.

I want that. God, I want that.

“Let me give you a piece of wisdom, kid,” he says. “No one has it all. That’s a myth. A lie, really—sold to you from the day you’re born so you’ll keep chasing something that doesn’t exist.”

I blink. “But… you seem so happy. Content.”

“I am. Blissfully so.” He nods. “But it didn’t come without sacrifices.”

He leans back, fingers tapping the armrest absently.

“Not all the choices you make will be easy. Some will hurt like hell. And you will screw up. God knows I did. But I always tried to choose what I believed in, truly believed in. And people be damned.”

I stay quiet. Listening.

“You come to a crossroads, where the options are disappointing other people… or disappointing yourself?” He looks at me then, dead on.

“Choose them. Every time. You can live with a wrong decision made for the right reasons. But one made to please the crowd, one that betrays what you knew was right?” He shakes his head slowly.

“That’s the kind of regret that festers. ”

“It does, doesn’t it?” I murmur, more to myself than him. I reach for the espresso in front of me, take a sip, and try my best not to wince at the bitter hit. “How did Lola deal with all that? Must’ve been easier without all the social media noise.”

He laughs, the sound low and amused. “Okay, we got married in the early eighties, not the eighteen hundreds. Maybe it wasn’t instant like now, but trust me, those gossip rags were housewife gospel and every bit as venomous.

” He shakes his head fondly. “But my Lola? She’s my rock.

Took a special kind of woman to love a man like me—like us.

But when she knew me—really knew me—there wasn’t a damn thing anyone could print or say that could touch her. ”

He pauses, looking at me with quiet weight. “But that only works if you show her who you are. All of you. No masks. No stage lights.”

I open my mouth, then close it again. The words sit heavy in my throat, too raw to speak yet.

He smiles gently. “But you asking the question?” He taps the table once, light but firm. “Means you already know the answer.”

“Jake?”

I glance up to see Landon standing at his office door, motioning me in.

Bob claps my shoulder once. “Go do your thing, kid. And if you ever want to talk career or film… go see Miranda. She’ll give you my details.”

“Thank you,” I say, and I mean it. “You’re right. I know what I have to do.”

He nods. “We usually do. We’re just too scared to actually do it.”

I walk into Landon’s office, my spine straight and heart pounding. Bracing for impact.

“It’s actually great you’re here,” Landon says, already flipping through a folder. “Gordon’s team sent over the main contract terms. All we need is your sig—”

“I’m not doing it.”

He pauses mid-sentence, frowning. “Not doing what?”

“Signing,” I say. “I’m not doing the film.”

He scoffs, sitting back like I just told him I’m moving to Mars. “Okay. What is this? Some kind of stunt? You want more points on the back end? A better clause on merchandising?”

“No,” I say again, steady this time. “I’m not doing it.”

He stares at me. Then blinks. “Are you drunk? High? Have you completely lost your mind?”

There it is.

“No,” I say quietly. “I’m just finally doing the right thing. I’m picking Everything That Follows.”

“One hundred and ninety fucking million, Jake!” he shouts. It doesn’t shake me, not even a little.

“And I know what that means for you too,” I add calmly. “Your commission goes from nineteen million to fifty thousand. Let’s not pretend that doesn’t factor into this.”

His eyes flash. “Of course it does. I’ve busted my ass for you—I built you.

You don’t just walk away from this. You will regret this!

Mark my words. You’re turning down a global franchise.

Do you even understand what that means for your career?

You think you’ll ever get another offer like this?

You’ll be blacklisted by half of Hollywood. ”

“Maybe,” I say. “But I can live with that. What I can’t live with is being a coward.”

He throws his hands up, incredulous. “This is career suicide! What happened to the nice-guy act, huh? You’re already on thin ice. You think the fallout from your little white-knight moment with your girlfriend just disappeared? You called a girl a bitch on camera—”

“She deserved it,” I cut in. “And the full video came out. It showed everything.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Landon snaps. “Damage was done. People remember the headline, not the correction. That energy drink sponsor? Gone. PR says it’s ‘not a good look for the brand.’”

I let him vent. I let every last bit of his anger fill the room like smoke. And then I let it settle.

“Are you done?” I ask evenly.

He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Shock, maybe. Or the realization that I’m not bluffing.

“In the six years you’ve repped me,” I say, stepping closer, “how much money have I made you?”

He presses his lips into a tight line but doesn’t answer.

“At the end of the day, this is my career. My life. My choice. And if that doesn’t fit your agenda, say the word, and I’ll find another agent.”

The shift in him is immediate. His bluster evaporates, replaced with something smoother, slicker. And it makes my skin crawl because I’ve seen this act before. It’s the same one I used to perform when I wanted people to like me. To stay in control. To keep the room.

And suddenly, I’m not mad at Landon.

I’m mad at myself for how long I let this slide. For every time I nodded and played along. For letting people believe they owned a piece of me when I never actually gave it.

Not anymore.

“You seem to be under the impression that you’re the boss of me,” I say, calm but razor-sharp. “We need to fix that real fast.”

His brows shoot up like he’s not sure he heard me right.

“You helped me get here, no doubt. Just like Will did. Just like my parents. But I’m me. And if this is the end, then fine. You’re a great agent, Landon. But you’re not the only one in town. Hell, you’re not even the best in this agency.”

His mouth opens, but I don’t let him speak.

“So here’s the deal. Either you go tell Gordon it’s a no, and you get me the contract for Everything That Follows… or I walk straight into Miranda’s office and find someone who will.”

Landon stares at me like I’ve grown a second head.

“You’ve changed, Jake. What the hell happened?”

I think of Amy’s voice in my head, soft but steady. One day, you’ll have to choose.

And this? This is me choosing.

“I didn’t change,” I say, cutting through the noise. “I just stopped pretending.”

I stand and straighten my jacket. “Are we good?”

He says nothing.

I give him a beat. “Are we good?” The words land with weight.

He mutters something under his breath. “Gordon’s gonna be pissed. Nobody says no to him.”

I shrug. “Then it’ll be a humbling experience for all of us.” Especially you, I don’t say.

“So,” I add, “what’s it gonna be? Are you still my agent?”

Landon lets out a heavy sigh. “I’m your agent. I’ll make the calls.”

“Perfect.” I flash a grin. “Now I’ve gotta dash. I’ve got an appointment with a real estate agent.”

His brows shoot up. “You buying something else?”

“Sort of. Selling, actually. LA’s not really for me.”

He narrows his eyes like he’s trying to figure out who the hell I am. “Who are you?”

I smile, slow and certain. “Oh, sorry, forgot to reintroduce myself.”

I tap the table once. “Jake Hollander. The real version. Nice to meet you.”