Chapter 13 Justin
Justin
After a day of meetings at the studio, Doc and I arrive back at my house, and I dutifully wait in the den while she completes her sweep. The tension has lessened this last week since I accused her of bringing drugs into my home.
Accused Doc. Of bringing drugs. Into my home.
My gut coils. How the hell did I jump to that conclusion?
Doc is the healthiest, fittest person I’ve ever been around, drinking nothing but green juice and protein shakes.
But when Mia was sick, I had no idea. And Mia is my sister.
Family members mentioned it, I flew to Seattle to check on her myself, and I still couldn’t see it.
So, when I saw Doc hiding something, I just couldn’t deal. My brain completely glitched. I’ve been in a downward spiral since then, a reel replaying in my head of what I said, coupled with every horrible thing I’ve ever said to anyone.
‘I’m starving. You hungry?’ I try not to show it, but after discovering Doc has diabetes, I’m obsessed with making sure she’s eating.
‘I could eat.’ She grips the corner of the wall in the sitting room and stretches her back.
‘Sushi?’
A crack releases from her back. ‘Sounds good.’
I pull out my phone to scroll through the menu, but my thoughts distract me.
Today, Doc must’ve been bored as hell. She stood guard outside the producer’s office for hours.
I asked one of the assistants to bring her a chair, otherwise she probably would’ve stayed standing in that militant position for the entire three-hour meeting.
What does she think about during those times?
Yes, it’s her job, but I always feel guilty that she’s being inconvenienced.
Oddly, I don’t feel this same guilt with Jack.
After typing in the order, I slump onto the couch in the living area. ‘I’m gonna lay low tonight, watch a movie.’
I’m all tense from today and need to relax.
The producer for my next film is great. So is the director.
But anything besides the actual filming feels like work.
Casting changes, table reads, rehearsals, reviewing script changes, training, eating nothing but plain, unsalted chicken breasts for a week before a shirtless scene.
That’s where I earn my salary. I’d do the filming for free. ‘Do you watch movies?’
‘Are you wondering if I’ve ever seen one of yours?’ She takes a seat on the opposite end and flips open her notebook. It took a full week of daily invites for her to sit by me instead of the chair by the front door, and now it feels natural to have a TV mate at the end of the night.
My back stiffens. ‘Ah, no. But now I’m curious.
’ I want to know but also don’t. When someone in my personal life watches my films, it makes me uneasy.
I feel exposed, almost. Like they’ll be disappointed in me – the person – if I didn’t do a good job.
Maybe this stems from a lifetime of my parents making me feel like I wasn’t good enough.
And maybe it’s inherent and it would’ve happened even if I was raised by people like Doc’s parents.
‘I saw a couple,’ she says, glancing up from her notes.
‘Oh yeah? Which one?’
Doc’s lips tug into a half-smile. ‘Adrenaline Heist.’
‘Oh my God, you’ve seen my ass!’ I laugh. The idea of Doc seeing my naked ass in my steamiest sex scene I’ve had so far is amusing, slightly mortifying and kind of hot.
‘Oh yeah, I forgot about that.’ A hint of rose climbs across her cheeks.
Is she blushing? Doc shifts and bites the side of her lip, only for a second, but she does it. A heat flows down my chest and lands in my lap. I grab a blanket to throw over myself and my hardening appendage.
She scribbles in her notepad. ‘Which movie do you want to watch?’
‘Shawshank Redemption,’ I say, scrolling through Netflix. ‘It’s my favorite.’
‘Really?’ She stops writing. ‘Me too.’
Do we actually have something in common? I just assumed she didn’t watch movies and spends her free hours chasing bad guys or jumping rope. ‘Who do you think was better? Morgan Freeman or Tim Robbins.’
Her smile grows. ‘Sophie’s choice. Don’t make me choose.’
I toss my legs on the ottoman and settle back into the perfect spot. ‘Why do you like the movie so much?’
‘Hmmm.’ She closes her notebook and slides it onto the coffee table. ‘Probably because this man had such resilience. It showed strength and character.’ She pauses. ‘What about you?’
I hesitate, already feeling my insides exposed beyond my comfort level. ‘It shows hope.’ Before she can say anything, I get up. ‘Popcorn?’ I don’t wait for an answer.
A few minutes later, after I set a bowl between us, she scrunches her brows. ‘Didn’t you just order sushi?’
‘Let’s call this an appetizer.’ I palm a few kernels, but don’t take a bite.
Fuck. I need to address what happened last week.
Sure, I apologized, a lot, but saying sorry and explaining why I jumped to the most asinine, insulting conclusion while telling her that she was a walking red flag is something different.
I keep bringing the popcorn to my mouth and lowering my hand without eating it when Doc drops her popcorn onto the napkin.
‘Um. Should I be worried?’ She gives me a grin. ‘Did you find mold? Lace this with something? Sneezing pepper?’
‘Nah, you’re good. I would never defame popcorn like that.
’ I clap the popcorn off my hands. Come on.
Just do it. Really, is it that hard to just tell her some things so she won’t go to the grave thinking I need a mug that says World’s Greatest Asshole?
‘When you played basketball, how many games did your parents miss?’
‘That’s a strange question.’ Doc’s not soft.
She’s always positioned like she’s a military recruit and she’s waiting for the staff sergeant.
Even the one time I saw her laugh, she was guarded.
But something shifts when talking about her family and now, as a gentle smile spreads, is one of those times.
‘None. I think watching me play was a combination of being obsessed, their favorite pastime and their social hour. They were the first to arrive and the last to leave. Why?’
‘That’s what I thought.’ God, my shirt’s too tight.
Did I buy this thing? It’s cutting off circulation.
I hook my finger at the collar and tug. ‘My, uh, my parents never attended one of my games until a client said something, and they realized it made them look bad. For years I begged them to come to a game, but I think they were embarrassed.’
Her brows scrunch. ‘Embarrassed? You were a D1 recruit. That’s like Superman level.’
‘Well, before my sophomore year, I didn’t even get to Clark Kent level,’ I say. ‘I was more like Lois Lane.’
‘Hey! She’s kind of a badass.’
‘Agreed.’ I chuckle. ‘Growth spurt didn’t happen until I was fifteen, so all that magic was after my freshman year.
So yeah, my parents weren’t feeling it at all until I got good.
’ I grab a palmful of popcorn and crunch into a few pieces.
‘But when I got my football scholarship, they told everyone they were responsible for my success.’
Her deep, warm brown eyes burrow into me. ‘I’m so sorry. That’d be so tough.’
‘Yeah, I mean, it sucked, but whatever.’ I scratch the back of my neck.
‘This isn’t about my parents’ absence at my teenage sporting events.
Honestly, I barely even remember those days.
It’s more the overall feeling of never having their approval and support.
I could shake it off for the most part, but things like that were really hard on my sister. ’
I have the urge to pace, but I stay sitting and take in a sharp breath. I ball up a napkin and rub my thumb over the fibers. ‘What I said to you the other day, with the needle, wasn’t okay.’
‘You’ve already apologized. Like a million times. Let’s just move on.’
My heart is thudding against my chest hard, almost painful, and I want to bolt from the room. I let a moment pass, then another. Do I really need to do this? ‘I need you to understand why, though. My sister Mia is my everything. Growing up, it was me and her against the world …’
And then, I do it.
For the next hour, over sashimi and sushi rolls, I talk to Doc like I haven’t talked to anyone in a really, really long time.
I never even told Willow this stuff about Mia.
It wasn’t that Willow wasn’t interested.
She was, for the most part. It was that I wasn’t interested in telling Willow.
What starts out as a way to apologize and explain my actions to Doc, turns into getting things off my chest that have weighed me down for a lifetime.
By the time I’ve finished talking about Mia and my family, and we put on the movie, I stretch like I’ve submerged myself into a hot tub.
I’m lighter. Doc made me lighter.
And I’m not positive, but when we were done, it looked like her militant shoulders relaxed, too.
I settle back into the couch, feeling better than I have in a long time, and grab the remote to play the movie. But before I even tap play, my phone rings. When I glance at the name on the screen, my chest tightens.
And all those warm feelings disintegrate.