Chapter 14
Never Have I Ever
“Never have I ever seen The Matrix.”
“Cheap shot,” Theo mutters, taking a sip of his beer.
They’re sprawled out on the floor on a mound of pillows they’ve situated in front of the fireplace. An array of snacks and meat and cheese Sage swiped from the fridge (much to Theo’s chagrin) are on the coffee table behind them, a half-empty six-pack beside them.
The heaviness is starting to dissipate, and Sage isn’t sure if it’s helped along by the beer or the fact that they’ve lit every candle they could find, casting the room in a soft, soothing glow, but either way, she can see the way the tension has seeped from Theo.
She’s also hyperaware of the scant inch between their shoulders as he rests his back against the coffee table, a blanket pulled over them both.
His lips purse, and then he grins. “Never have I ever written a book.”
Sage shoots him a glare. “Ass.”
“You started it.”
“What are you, five?”
“Yes. Drink.”
Sage takes a sip. “Fine,” she mutters. “Real revelations.”
“Fine,” he parrots. “Go on, then.”
She shifts slightly, turning so she can see him better, and bites the inside of her cheek as she considers what to share. “Never have I ever had detention.”
“Really?” he crows, eyes lighting up as he takes a quick sip of his drink.
“Why do you find that so surprising?”
“I suppose I just figured that mouth of yours would get you into trouble.”
She pauses at that, a retort caught somewhere in her throat. There’s a slight flush that runs from his cheeks down to the skin that’s visible where the first undone button of his Henley is, and her gaze lingers there before flicking to his lips and then his eyes again.
She doesn’t clock that she’s taking a nonmandatory sip of her beer until she stills, mouth pressed against the lip of the bottle.
“Maybe,” she finally concedes. “But it’s also gotten me out of trouble.”
A slow grin tugs at his lips. “That does not surprise me in the least.”
She feels her face heat, and she takes another fortifying sip. “Your turn.”
“Right,” Theo says smoothly, as if he’s completely unaffected. “Never have I ever … gotten a concussion.”
“Why do you think I’ve gotten a concussion?”
He shrugs. “Just a feeling. I did pick you up from the hospital with a head wound.”
“Hey!”
She shoves him slightly as a deep laugh bursts from him. It scrunches his eyes and widens his smile, and it has Sage’s own stretching further even as she says, “That one doesn’t count.”
“Like hell it doesn’t! It was a valid entry. I don’t have knowledge of your medical history, but again, based on the damage you inflict when you walk …”
She shoves him again. “Pick another.”
“You’re just telling on yourself, love.”
Sage glares.
“All right,” he sighs, but he looks entirely too fond for her to buy his exasperation. “Never have I ever …”
He trails off, his brow furrowing in contemplation. There’s a long pause, and then his head tilts as a faraway look clouds his eyes. His voice is soft—distant—as he says, “Never have I ever regretted telling someone I love them.”
Sage knows her brain moves too fast. She knows that she’s often too focused on the next thing, too caught up in whatever 2x speed thoughts she’s having—that sometimes she misses what’s unfolding in front of her. The glimpses that tell her to stop. To pay attention.
Like right now.
She’s so lost in thought, so focused on trying to win a game she can’t win because that’s not even how it works, that she almost misses Theo taking a long sip of his beer even though it should be her deciding whether to drink or not, his eyes fixed resolutely on the fire.
Sage sets her drink down pointedly next to her, the soft clunk drawing his attention, and for the first time in a very long time, she embraces the silence.
Theo lets it linger for the span of three breaths. Then he smiles, but it looks more like a grimace.
“Your turn,” he tries.
“Theo.”
He takes another sip. “Out of things you’ve never done?”
“Theo.”
“It just came out. I don’t … we don’t have to talk about it.” There’s a nervous jerk of his hand through his hair and Sage, with that niggling fear of too-muchness that’s had her clamping her mouth shut for years, knows these signs better than she knows almost anything.
But she’s not going to let him do it this time—tuck away the complicated parts of himself. So she lets out a breath and says, “It’s not nearly the same but … never have I ever not had a panic attack after scoring lower than an A in school. Never had I ever?” She shrugs. “You get it.”
It’s delivered with a sort of blasé bravado she definitely doesn’t feel, but it’s also raw and it’s what she has to offer.
She hopes it makes Theo see it’s okay.
She takes a purposeful sip of her beer with her confession—a signal that the game has changed.
Theo’s eyes are a vibrant blue as they bore into hers. Slowly, he brings his own bottle to his lips. His throat bobs as he swallows.
“I cried after my first botched audition. And the second.”
Sage sips. “I’ve had night terrors since I was eleven.”
Theo sips. “Sometimes I feel like I’m watching myself from a distance. Like I’m not even really experiencing anything.”
And god, it’s morbid, but it’s real and it’s messy and he isn’t shying away from it.
“Sometimes I think I’d be happier if I weren’t an author,” Sage confesses, and she’s so taken aback by how easily the admission comes that she forgets to take a sip.
“Sometimes I know I’d be happier if I weren’t an actor,” Theo answers immediately, his lips lifting in a sad smile.
She sucks in a long breath, holding it until she can feel the pressure against her ribs.
“But we do it anyway,” she says on an exhale, tilting her bottle toward him.
“But we do it anyway,” he agrees, and he clinks his bottle against hers. They both take a long sip, and when Theo places his beer aside, he leans back against the table and shifts so his arm is pressed to hers.
“I’m deathly afraid of needles,” he offers as he looks down at her with a crooked grin.
Sage laughs. “I’m allergic to pineapple.”
Theo lifts a brow. “There’s a very immature joke here about bodily fluids—”
Sage chokes on her beer, her head whipping to the side as it sprays from her mouth. “Fuck, Theo!”
His laugh bounces off the walls of the living room, rich and full and carefree. She pauses their game so she can get napkins and clean up her mess.
He helps, because of course he does.
And when they collapse back down on the pillows, a comfortable silence falls over them, soft and calm like the falling snow they watch through the window.
Sage’s gaze moves to where Theo’s arm rests against her leg, the press of his shoulder a grounding touch against her own.
Maybe it’s the quiet of the moment, or maybe what they’ve just shared has emboldened her.
Either way, she lets her gaze flit across his profile as she says, “Can I ask you something?”
He hums his consent.
“You mentioned you and your dad argued over your next role.
How so?” She hadn’t wanted to push him, but … she’s curious. The more Theo pulls back his layers, the more she finds herself wanting him to keep going until she sees what’s at his core.
Theo lets out a long breath as he tips his head back and takes in the dancing shadows the fire casts on the ceiling.
His throat bobs as he swallows. “My dad wants to focus on more mainstream roles. Things similar to Legends. He’s convinced that’s the path forward—that the exposure would be unbeatable. ”
“And you don’t agree?”
“It’s not that I don’t agree,” he sighs. “I’m just not sure I want to box myself in like that. I’d love to do something different. Some out-of-the-box indie film, maybe. Something that forces me to grow as an actor. I don’t want to be one thing.”
“And your dad doesn’t get that? Wouldn’t he not want you to be typecast?”
Theo lets out a humorless chuckle, his head rolling to the side as he takes her in.
“You’d think as much, wouldn’t you? I don’t think he sees it that way.
And I suppose it isn’t. It’s not as though he thinks I should only be in blockbuster action flicks, or anything.
But big studio, big budget—that’s where he wants me focusing.
It’s safer. More reliable. Anything else is simply me faffing about. ”
Theo sighs and straightens, reaching for his beer.
He takes a long sip. “He’s so fixated on making this work.
On making sure I ‘make it.’ That I get to take advantage of the opportunities that Oliver never did.
That I get to keep doing my dream.” He frowns at the window, his shoulders slumping as he stares at the snow. “How do I argue against that?”
The question is so soft, so vulnerable, that Sage’s hand clenches around her beer bottle as something in her chest aches.
It must get exhausting—trying to outrun the ghost of his brother.
Carrying the weight of a life unfulfilled.
Sage lets herself settle against him a bit more, lets him know she’s willing to hold some of that weight, if he’s willing to share it.
“I don’t know,” she admits quietly. “But as the president of the My Parents Want a Different Path for Me club, I do know that you deserve to choose your own direction. It’s your career, Theo. Your dream. Your life. Living it for your dad … it’s only going to cause resentment.”
Theo looks at her, his eyes darting across her face as if he can uncover some truth she’s kept pressed into her skin. “You’re not just here because of your book, are you?” he finally asks.
Perhaps it’s obvious, what with her breakdown in the ER and the chicken tikka masala on Thanksgiving and the fact that she’s thousands of miles away from where she’s supposed to be today.