Method(26)

Tamping down my hurt to his indifference, I realize I have a decision to make. Fight or fuck. I choose neither, drawing a hot bath before going to sleep alone.





“There’s a fine line between the Method actor and the schizophrenic.”—Nicolas Cage





Mila





PRESENT


Pulling up to the inn, I move to gather my things but sit idle in my Range Rover when I hear Lucas’s name mentioned on the morning show.



Casey: Bon! What in the world is going on with Lucas Walker?



Bonnie: Oh no, do we have another Britney meltdown on our hands?



Casey: Seems like it. Apparently, Lucas Walker was nearly arrested last night for attacking paparazzi. Sources said when the pap asked Walker about his wife’s whereabouts, Lucas lost it. One of Walker’s bodyguards broke up the altercation but not before he got a few punches in. When police arrived, no arrests were made, but those close-by said Lucas was slurring and still spewing threats.



Bonnie: That pap is going to get a great settlement.



Casey: Don’t they always? But this isn’t like Lucas. I wonder what in the world has gotten into that man. And where is Mila? We haven’t seen them publicly together in months?



Bonnie: This is bad. So bad. If they split up, I’m literally going to cry.



Casey: Me too. Between the reports from the set of the film he just wrapped and this latest incident, it seems like our good boy has gone very bad.



Bonnie: He can still eat crackers in my bed.



Casey: Bon!



Bonnie: Just saying, if you need a place to stay, Lucas, I’ve got room. I’m all about the damaged goods.



Casey: You’re so bad.



Bonnie: You know it. That boy is fine.



Casey: Truth. But let’s put our hands together and say a prayer for our beloved Lucas Walker, Hollywood. It seems he could sure use them.



“What are you doing, Lucas?” I whisper before turning off the radio. He’s throwing everything away because of my silence while publicly imploding. A part of me wants to go back and try to save him from himself, but the other part of me knows he has to see this side of things in order to hit rock bottom. Funnily enough, neither one of us had any idea bottom was coming. Blake’s death had taken more of a toll than either of us could have anticipated, but Lucas was always stronger than his demons. He’s been battling them for years without giving them any power. When I met him, he was focused, alert, aware of his limitations, and working hard to break through them. He was a force of nature, purely determined to make a name for himself with his unbelievable presence. I’ll never forget the way I felt the first time he picked me up.

When I answer the door, he could knock me down with a feather. While he looked edible in the tux he’d worn the night before, the man could sport a sweater and jeans like no one’s business. The material hangs on him showcasing his incredible build, and it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. I’ve spent my entire day polishing, waxing, and buffing, but I’m still unprepared for what greets me. His Wayfarers dangle from his fingers, his palms on the frame of the door, hip cocked as if he were peering through the peephole before I answered it. His thick, black hair is loosely styled and pushed away from his forehead. The sheer size of him is intimidating. A fucking movie star and last year’s sexiest man alive is at my doorstep to take me on a date. I give myself some grace to be a little awestruck. Breath knocked out of me, I stand stupefied by him briefly before I get my shit together.

“Hi,” he says, thoughtfully surveying my dress with an appreciative gaze as his words come out in a rush. “You look beautiful…so is your mom around?”

I realize he is just as nervous as I am. “Mom?” I ask with a laugh.

He looks past my shoulder apprehensively. More laughter bubbles out of me, and I let out a snort as he cuts his eyes my way. “You came prepared to win my mother over, Lucas, so this can be a real date?”

“You are unbelievable, lady,” he mutters, taking a step back, thoroughly embarrassed.

“You thought I still lived with my mother?”

“It seems expensive to live here,” he says solemnly, which sobers me.

What an odd thing for a millionaire to say. “That’s…thoughtful.”

“Thoughtful, huh? Great, because you already have a knack for making me feel like a jackass. Ready to go?”

This isn’t starting well. There’s an embarrassed edge to his voice, and guilt begins to gnaw at me. It makes sense why he would question why I’m living in a spacious cottage in the Cahuenga Pass in the hills that’s worth well over a million dollars.

“Well, you’re partially right. My parents do own the house. They bought it in the seventies and refuse to part with it. I grew up here.”

He surveys the property, my cottage nestled in the hills with a private drive and spectacular view. “It really is beautiful.”

“Thank you.” I reach behind me and grab the large picnic basket full of wines and other goodies I spent half my day preparing and thrust it toward him, hearing the bottles clank.

“Peace offering?”