Chapter 10
Complicated
The Sharpe family’s vacation cottage is gorgeous in the most unassuming way.
It’s nestled in the middle of what looks like rolling hills—at least from what Sage can see in Hank’s headlights.
The outside of the home is a mixture of bright white stucco and aged wood, and there’s space for a garden and a fire pit with a picnic table for the warmer months.
The house is dotted with several black-trimmed windows, illuminated by the uplighting the Sharpes must have installed at some point, and the inside feels open and airy and warm all at the same time.
The hardwood floors are scuffed in a well-loved way, the walls adorned with various photos Sage tries to not get caught looking at as Theo leads her through the mudroom and into the living room.
The furniture there is mostly worn leather that looks like something she’d want to sink into on a rainy day like this.
The couches and armchairs are complete with cozy-looking throws, and there’s a wood burner that has fresh ashes in it.
The kitchen sits on the other side—open concept—and it’s right around there that Theo stops and turns back to her, a hand pushing his wet hair off of his head.
“Right. Do you mind if I change?” They’d shed their coats and boots on the way in, but he’s soaked. Sage tries not to focus on just how much she can see with his gray sweater plastered to his skin like that.
“No, go ahead.”
He nods once and starts for the kitchen before he pauses and turns back to the living room.
“I’ll just …” He trails off as he darts across the space and piles logs into the wood burner.
“Right,” he says again as he straightens and takes in the flames.
“Are you cold? Do you want a jumper or something?” He strides back across the living room, a whirlwind of nervous energy.
“Theo.”
“Yes to the jumper?”
“Theo.” He freezes at the insistence in her voice. “I’m fine.”
He opens his mouth to retort, but he catches himself. She watches the tense rise and fall of his shoulders with the deep breath he forces.
“Right,” he says one more time, but it’s quiet this time. Calmer.
“Go get changed,” she urges. “I’m fine out here.” And then, because the moment is filled with so much tension that she has to resist from squirming, she adds with a tight smile, “I promise not to snoop.”
He waves her off. “Snoop away. It doesn’t bother me in the slightest.”
Sage doesn’t—not really—but she does allow herself to take in the framed photos sitting on top of the old wooden sideboard nestled against the far wall.
There’s an array of family shots—a few of what Sage assumes are Theo’s parents, and various pictures of Theo and Oliver around the island.
Most of the photos are of the boys from when they were young, but there are a few of them in what looks like their late teens or early twenties.
There aren’t any after that. Of anyone.
“We tried to come out here about a year after the accident,” Theo remarks as he walks up beside her, as if he knows she’s reached the end of the timeline.
He picks up the last photo—one of him and Oliver with gummy smiles and sweat-slicked hair glinting in the sun—and frowns down at it.
“It was too hard for Dad. Too many memories, I suppose.”
He returns the photo, and Sage’s gaze catches on a small enamel pin.
“The American flag?” she asks.
Theo laughs. “Mum was American. She insisted we have a tiny flag in the house in honor of her roots—this was Dad’s compromise.” He hands her a bundle of clothes. Sage raises her brows at the gray Cambridge sweatshirt and black sweatpants.
“At least put on the jumper,” he sighs. “You’re wearing short sleeves and it’s bloody freezing.”
He has a point. She hadn’t thought to change when she’d left the cottage, having been so focused on getting out and away from her drab draft, and even though the house is warm, a chill has settled into her bones after standing in the rain.
“Cambridge?” she questions as she tugs on the sweatshirt. She leaves the sweatpants on the table.
“I went to university there. Studied English,” Theo explains as she follows him to the sunken leather couch, staunchly refusing to think about how his scent surrounds her: a mix of the sharpness of his cologne and the crisp smell of what must be his detergent.
“Where did the acting come in?”
“Footlights. It’s a drama society there.”
“Mm.” She settles on the sofa, tucking herself into the far corner, but if Theo picks up on her leaving ample space between them, he doesn’t let on or seem bothered. “When was the last time you were here?”
“A couple of years ago. Dad wants to sell it. I offered to come prepare it for the sale. There’s quite a bit to pack up, and I didn’t think he would … well, I don’t want anything to be missed,” Theo explains.
“Oh.”
It’s an empty response, but she doesn’t know what else to say to his revelation. There’s not a moving box in sight, and the house seems perfectly maintained for having been dormant for years. She has a million more questions, but she swallows them all.
Theo braces his elbows on his thighs, hands clasped between his knees.
His gaze is wary as it cuts to her. “Before I get into all of this … I want you to know that none of it is an excuse. My behavior at Comic Con was reprehensible, and while there’s an explanation for it, that doesn’t make it all right.
I shouldn’t have—” He cuts himself off with a shake of his head.
“Well, let’s just say there’s plenty I regret.
But I’m grateful you’re willing to listen. ”
She is willing to listen because she hates not having the answers. But Theo has also already told her she’s one of the regrets, and hearing it again isn’t something she’s looking forward to.
But she nods, and Theo sucks in a steadying breath as he fixes his gaze on the coffee table.
“I don’t know how much you know about the film industry, or my place in it,” he says slowly. “My family’s place in it.”
Sage twists the sleeves of the sweatshirt around her hands. “Given I didn’t know who you were on the plane, I think we can assume I know very little.”
He grins crookedly, but the levity disappears as quickly as it comes. “My father used to be an agent. One of the best, actually. He represented a ton of big names back in the day.”
She cocks her head. “Does he represent you?” She doesn’t remember reading anything about Theo’s dad on Wikipedia. Then again, she’d exited the tab right after she’d read about the accident, so it’s entirely possibly she’d missed it.
“No,” he responds softly. “He stepped away from that side of the business a while ago. He’s a manager now.” He lets that hang for a moment, and Sage, with her propensity for filling any sort of silence, closes that gap for him.
“He’s your manager.”
“Indeed.” Theo sighs as he leans back against the couch, shifting slightly so he’s facing her. “He managed Ollie, too. Before …”
The sentence hangs again, but this time, she doesn’t need to finish it.
Grief carves firm lines:
Before.
After.
“He wants the best for me. And he has a lot of opinions on how to get it. What films I should take, what we should share with the press. Christ, even what rumors should be allowed to flourish.” His mouth twists in frustration, and something in Sage’s chest tightens.
“Your dad planted those relationship rumors?” She had flung that accusation in frustration, in anger. She hadn’t really thought his team—god, his father—had purposefully lied in order to drive buzz.
Theo’s laugh is hollow. “No. But he doesn’t feel strongly about us stopping them, especially if they … how did you put it? Keep me interesting?”
There’s something hot pooling in Sage’s gut. Shame isn’t quite right, but the sickly feeling trickling down her throat and into her stomach feels an awful lot like it.
She had said that, hadn’t she? Worse, she’d accused him of going right along with it. But there’s an obvious ache in his eyes that tells her he despises being packaged for the press as some sort of fascination.
She’d hit his own bruise, then, just like his fans had hit hers.
“He didn’t used to be so hands-on,” he continues.
“Back when I was taking smaller roles, just trying to carve out my space in the industry, he wasn’t so involved.
Or maybe he was—maybe Oliver got the brunt of it because he was the one with the career taking off.
I don’t know. Ollie always had a thing for shielding me from the worst of the world.
” Another hollow laugh, one that clearly says, And look what happened anyway.
Sage twists the sleeves of the sweatshirt tighter.
“Things have been tense since this summer. We disagree a lot. A few weeks before Comic Con, we got into it over my next project. We’ve never argued like that before. We didn’t speak for a few weeks.”
Theo swallows hard. “Things got better. I see where he’s coming from now, and I think he sees where I’m coming from, too.
The point is … it’s difficult for me to push back on my dad because I’m …
” He shakes his head. The crack in his voice mirrors the one in Sage’s chest as he says, “I’m his second chance.
He didn’t get to do all of this with Oliver—not like this.
And I can’t … I can’t take something else away from him. ”
The words are like a knife, carving out Sage’s anger and leaving room for overwhelming sadness.
There’s so much to unpack from what he’s told her, so many implications that settle like a weight.
Her mind is already deconstructing each sentence so she can rebuild them with arguments against the burden Theo shouldn’t have to carry.
It’s not fair. It’s not right.
But it isn’t her place to say so.
“So at Comic Con,” Sage rasps, “when you said you were pressing your manager about making a statement, you were arguing with your dad.”