Chapter 50
LUKE
The trailer door creaked as I slumped onto the worn couch, staring at the crumpled script in my lap.
The day on set had been brutal. Gerald had lost his patience hours ago, barking orders into his ever-present megaphone: “Luke, you’re killing me here.
Where’s the pain? Where’s the heartbreak?
You look like you just lost a parking spot, not your family. ”
My co-star, Brielle, had started avoiding me entirely.
I couldn’t blame her. Her publicist’s stunt of planting those photos to make it look like we were a couple had caused a lot of tension.
I’d called Mabel, furious, demanding she fight back against the narrative.
But the damage was done, and now Brielle was done with me, too.
Earlier, she’d stormed off, muttering, “Keep your drama off my brand.”
To top it off, the production team had pulled me aside to deliver an ultimatum: “If you can’t nail the monologue tomorrow, we’re cutting it. We need to move on.”
I sat in the suffocating silence of my trailer, scrolling through my texts with Anna. Her words felt like a lifeline, even if they were from weeks ago. I typed I miss you, but my thumb hovered over the delete button.
I stared at the unsent text, then at my reflection in the mirror. The perfect Hollywood image stared back: tousled hair, chiseled jawline, just the right amount of exhaustion to look rugged. I felt sick.
The phone buzzed, and I answered without checking the caller ID. It was Bob. “Luke, great buzz about you and Brielle. People are eating it up. Chemistry off the charts.”
“It’s all fake,” I spit out, my voice cracking. “None of it matters.”
Bob paused, and I could feel his confusion through the phone. “Uh, what?”
I didn’t wait for an answer. I hung up and threw the phone across the trailer, watching it bounce harmlessly off the padded wall.
I chose this, I thought bitterly. I chose my career over Anna. I thought I could have it all, but I’m still pretending.
A knock on the door pulled me out of my spiral. “It’s open,” I called hoarsely.
Topher stepped inside, dressed in a bespoke suit.
He looked like he’d just closed a billion-dollar deal, which, knowing him, he probably had.
“You look rough, man,” he said, dropping into the chair across from me.
“And not in the ‘gritty, tortured artist’ way. More like the ‘guy who spent the night locked in a vending machine’ way.”
I shot him a look. “Thanks for the pep talk.”
He smirked. “Hey, I call it like I see it.”
I tried to brush him off. “I’m fine.”
“Fine?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow. “You’re about one bad take away from a meltdown. You’re spiraling. And it’s not because of this movie. You’re miserable because you left Anna.”
“I don’t—”
“You’ve been running your whole life.” He leaned forward. “Hiding behind fame, charm, and that ‘aw-shucks’ smile of yours. And now you’re too scared to stop running. But guess what? You can fix this. It’s not too late to stop acting like an idiot.” He slapped me on the back.
“But, Toph, I asked her to move to LA with me, and she rejected me. Why would she stay in New Orleans? It’s a place of heartbreak for her. It’s where she lost her mother. I mean, she can write from anywhere.”
Toph shook his head. “Look at it from her point of view, man. She’s probably terrified. Look at what happened the last time she tried to leave. Her mother died in that evacuation nightmare. That kind of trauma doesn’t vanish.”
I blinked, taken aback. “Trauma,” I echoed.
“That’s right. Love isn’t always moving forward. Sometimes it can mean just standing still and surviving.”
For the first time, it hit me. Not just intellectually, but in my bones. Anna wanting to stay in New Orleans didn’t mean she didn’t care for me. It was a lifeline she couldn’t let go of.
Topher let the silence hang for a moment before clapping his hands and standing up. “Okay, enough brooding. I’ve got a meeting to crush, and you’ve got lines to learn. So figure out what you want, Luke. Seriously.”
He gave me a pointed look, adjusted his tie, and strode out the door like he’d just delivered the keynote speech at some Fortune 500 conference.
I sat there for a while, staring at the door.