Chapter 29
twenty-nine
. . .
Brandon
I've been to a lot of nice places in my life. Growing up in a family that owns luxury resorts all over has its perks. But Jake's Manmorial Weekend setup in La Jolla? This might actually top the penthouse suite at the Grimaldi Grande in Manhattan.
The house sits on the cliffs like it was carved out of the rock itself, all glass and white stone with views that stretch to infinity.
I'm standing on the deck with a beer in my hand, watching the waves crash below as the sun creeps lower in the sky, and for the first time in months, my shoulder doesn't ache.
Maybe it's the ocean air. Maybe it's the fact that I'm not hanging off a building or getting thrown through a fake window.
“Pretty incredible, right?” Jake appears beside me, carrying two fresh bottles. He swaps out my empty without me having to ask.
“This place is insane.”
Jake laughs, but there's something tired in it. “Yeah, well, Lauren got the house in Beverly Hills and half my assets. Figured I might as well blow what's left on something that actually makes me happy.”
I study his profile as he stares out at the water.
Jake's always been one of the good ones.
He's loyal, grounded—the guy who sends reminders in the group chat and actually remembers your sister's name.
He's sharp as hell in a boardroom and somehow still the guy who shows up with beer and snacks when someone's had a bad day.
Seeing him go through the divorce has been sobering, like watching someone who usually runs on pure optimism have to slow down and catch his breath. But even now, even with everything, there's still this quiet steadiness in him. Like he knows he'll be okay. Just needs a minute.
“You doing okay, man?” I ask.
He doesn't answer right away. Just takes a long sip of his beer, his eyes on the water.
“I thought I did everything right,” he says finally. “Loved her. Backed her. Never missed a milestone, a red carpet, a lunch with her agent. I thought marriage was all about showing up and making sure she felt supported and loved, like she had it all.”
He exhales through his nose, not bitter, just acknowledging the reality of the situation.
“Turns out, some people don't want a partner. They want to be bankrolled,” he says.
I glance over, but he's already shaking his head, like he still can't believe how long it took him to see it. I stay quiet. Something tells me he's not done talking.
“Lauren wanted the ring, the house, the husband she could name-drop. She didn't want me. Just the access I had.”
“She was—” I start, trying to tread lightly.
“Actually, a perfect casting option for The Housewives of Beverly Hills,” he finishes, smirking. “Season one, episode tragic.”
I laugh, and so does he.
“But hey,” Jake adds, lifting his beer toward mine. “I still believe in love. But this time, I'm holding out for someone who's there for me, loves me, supports me. Someone who's fine with takeout, a night in, and reruns on the TV.”
That makes me think of Stella and our simple routines. How much I love the peace and comfort I feel with her. And the shame I feel about avoiding her all week because I didn't know how to tell her I want to be her real boyfriend.
He leans his arm on the railing, his gaze fixed on the ocean. “That's the good stuff, man.”
And I don't disagree.
Before I can respond, Lucas calls from inside. “Jake! Your boy Austin's on the news!”
We head back into the main room, where Jess's brother, Austin Lexington, is giving an interview on ESPN, talking about his recovery from Tommy John surgery. He looks good, confident—the kind of confidence that comes from knowing you're about to get back to doing what you were born to do.
“He'll be here tomorrow,” Lucas says. “Flying in after his PT session.”
“Still can't believe Jess's little brother is Austin fucking Lexington,” Jake says from the kitchen island, where he's now assembling what looks like the world's most elaborate charcuterie board. “I've been watching him pitch since he played for USC.”
“Wait until you meet him,” Lucas says with a grin. “Kid's exactly like Jess but with a ninety-seven-mile-per-hour fastball and significantly less terrifying opinions about your life choices.”
Alex Chen, the studio executive from Wonderland whom I met at Lucas's dinner party last year, looks up from the poker game where he's been quietly demolishing Grant and Wyatt. “Speaking of life choices, Grimaldi, when are you going to stop throwing yourself off buildings for a living?”
It's a fair question. One I've been asking myself more and more lately. “Maybe sooner than I planned.”
“Your shoulder still bugging you?” Jake asks with genuine concern.
I roll my shoulder experimentally. It's better than it was a month ago, but not the same. Probably never will be.
“Among other things,” I admit. “The stunt work's been good to me, but I don't know how much longer I can keep crashing through windows and getting lit on fire before my body calls it quits.”
Grant leans forward, his eyebrows raised. “You ever think about what's next? I mean, if you're serious about shifting gears, I know people. I'm happy to make a few introductions.”
“Same here,” Wyatt adds, sipping his drink. “You've got the chops. If you wanted something more behind the scenes—coordinating, consulting—there's plenty of work that won't land you in physical therapy.”
I nod, genuinely touched. “Appreciate that.”
Grant grins. “Besides, you'll never get domesticated if you keep risking your life for a paycheck. Women love a man who comes home in one piece.”
“Speaking of women,” Alex says with a knowing smile, “I know the whole thing with Stella was supposed to be fake, but it looked anything but fake at that FlixPix premiere. What's actually going on there?”
I feel my chest tighten. “Nothing's going on. We're just friends. Her mom left last week, so the whole fake-boyfriend thing is over.”
“Come on,” Lucas says, grinning. “I saw you two at that premiere. If that was acting, you deserve an Oscar.”
“Yeah,” Grant adds. “I've seen you with actual girlfriends, and you looked less invested in them than you did with Stella that night.”
Alex nods. “The way you two moved together, the little touches, how you kept checking to make sure she was comfortable? That wasn't acting, man.”
The guys exchange looks, and I realize they're not buying my deflection for a second.
“Look,” I say, running a hand through my hair, “maybe there were some moments. But it was just the situation. Playing house for a week, you know? Things got a little blurred.”
“Blurred how?” Wyatt asks, and there's something knowing in his tone that suggests the wives have been talking.
“It doesn't matter,” I say quickly. “She's not interested in anything more than friendship.”
“Are you kidding?” Lucas laughs. “Brandon, the woman looks at you like you hung the moon. Whatever you're worried about, it shouldn't be whether she's interested.”
“You don't know that.”
“We all know that,” Wyatt says.
“So,” Jake says quietly, “what are you going to do about it? Because, from where I'm sitting, you both want the same thing, but you're too scared to say it.”
“It's complicated,” I say finally.
“The best relationships usually are,” Jake says quietly.
I think about Stella, about how she felt in my arms that morning, about how right it felt to wake up with her tangled around me. About how empty my apartment has felt since she moved back across the hall.
Before I can respond, my phone buzzes with a text notification. For a split second, I hope it's Stella, but it's just my sister Nina asking about my weekend.
The guys have moved on to other topics, but their words echo in my head.
Maybe they're right. Maybe it's time to stop pretending that what happened between Stella and me was just acting. Maybe it's time to figure out what we actually are when we're not performing for her mother.
“Enough relationship therapy,” Jake says, clapping his hands together. “Grimaldi, I need to know about the fight choreography in that Roadhouse remake. That bar scene where you take on four guys at once? How the hell did you make that look so real?”
Now this, I can talk about. I spend the next twenty minutes breaking down the choreography, explaining how we used the environment, how each hit was calculated for maximum visual impact with minimum actual damage.
Jake's eating it up, asking technical questions that prove he knows what he's talking about.
But even as I explain the technical details, part of my mind is still on Stella. On what I'm going to say to her when I get back. On whether I'm brave enough to risk our friendship for the chance at something more.
Because, sitting here with these guys, all of whom have found their people and built lives worth living, I'm starting to realize that maybe what I want isn't just someone to pass time with.
Maybe I want what they have. Partnership.
Someone who's there for the good days and the bad.
Someone who makes everything better just by existing.
Maybe I want Stella.