Chapter 20 Luke
LUKE
It had taken every ounce of my self-control to tell Anna I was too busy to hang out. How easy it would have been to stay with her, to give in to the pull I felt every time she looked at me. But something inside me wouldn’t let it happen. Was it fear of rejection? Of letting her see too much of me?
The kiss had left me shaken. It wasn’t just the way her lips felt against mine—it was what the kiss made me feel.
Something raw, something real. Something I wasn’t sure I could handle.
I’d kissed plenty of women in my line of work, but Anna was different.
She had this unfiltered warmth, a vulnerability that was both grounding and terrifying.
She felt real. And that scared me more than I wanted to admit.
Because if Anna saw the real me—the broken parts I worked so hard to keep hidden—would she still look at me the same way? Would she still want anything to do with me? Probably not.
I threw myself into work, trying to drown out the thoughts of her that kept surfacing, no matter how hard I tried to push them away.
Spoiler alert: it didn’t work.
Less than a day later, my resolve cracked.
It was the morning after the kiss when I finally called Bob Reardon, my manager. He had been trying to reach me for days to talk about my new role, and I hadn’t felt up to it. He picked up on the first ring, wasting no time. “Luke, do you know why you’re in this mess?”
I sighed, already regretting the call. “Yes, Bob, I know.”
“Do you?” His voice dripped with sarcasm. “Because, in case you forgot, you punched a guy. In public.”
“He was sleeping with my girlfriend!”
“It doesn’t matter. You got violent.”
“Thank you. Appreciate the trip down memory lane.”
“Oh, don’t mention it,” he fired back. “I play the highlight reel every night before bed. It’s like a bedtime story, only it ends with me needing Tums.”
I groaned. “Can we skip the lecture?”
“Sure, but let’s not skip the part where the studio is freaking out. They’re convinced you’re one headline away from becoming the guy who peaked with The Boyfriend Test. And instead of fixing it, you’re hiding out in Louisiana like you’re auditioning for Swamp People.”
“I’m not hiding,” I argued weakly. “I’m… regrouping.”
Bob snorted. “Sure, if that helps you sleep at night. Meanwhile, Gerald Fargo, the director of this movie—the one that could save your reputation—wants to meet you. In LA. Face-to-face. You know, like normal humans do.” Bob guffawed.
“Let’s be real: They want to see if you can still look them in the eye without punching someone. ”
I stared out at the pool, where Anna had just stepped out of the water, the sunlight catching her in a way that made the rest of the world seem irrelevant. Just then, I made up my mind. “I’ll make them an audition tape. I’m not flying back to LA right now.”
Bob bristled through the line. “What? Did you just refuse to fly to LA? We must have a bad connection.”
I shrugged. “Can’t you just tell them I’m focusing on the character?”
“You mean the character who’s all about redemption and overcoming his demons?
Oh yeah, hiding in Louisiana screams growth.
” Bob sighed loudly. “Luke, listen to me: you need this role. It’s gritty, it’s emotional, and it’s the kind of thing the Academy loves.
But they’re not going to hand it to you on a silver platter. You need to prove you can deliver.”
“I’ll do the meeting with Gerald Fargo over Zoom.”
Bob exploded. “Zoom? Oh sure, let’s lean into this ‘hermit in the bayou’ aesthetic you’ve got going on. Maybe you can wear a swamp hat for effect.”
“Bob—”
“No, no, you’re right,” he interrupted. “Why bother showing up at all? Let’s send them a cardboard cutout of you holding a sign that says, ‘Please trust me, I won’t hit anyone this time.’ That’ll go over great.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Just set up the Zoom, Bob.”
“Fine,” he huffed. “But you’d better be charming. I’m talking peak Luke Fisher, the guy who could sell sunscreen in a rainstorm. Got it?”
“Got it,” I muttered, hanging up before he could launch into another tirade.
I glanced through the window at Anna, who was now lounging by the pool with her nose buried in a book. Bob was right about one thing: I needed to figure out how to get this role.
But looking at Anna, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was figuring out something else, too. Something scarier than auditions and eccentric directors.
Something real.
I couldn’t ignore the gnawing doubt in the back of my mind. Yesterday, in the car, I’d blown her off. Why? To avoid letting her see the mess underneath my carefully polished exterior? To keep her from realizing I wasn’t as invincible as she thought?
Had I ruined something real before it even had the chance to begin?
I had to fix it.