Method(7)

Covered in sweat, I revel in the burn of my biceps and calves as I wade to nowhere, while memories of hidden hill houses and foggy nights behind the gates trap me with more questions. I’m not such an open book anymore because I don’t fully know my own story, not the parts that include missing chapters with Blake. I have my suspicions that he was a rag doll for the business, maybe more of a puppet than the rest of us. And I wasn’t there to protect him. He was the one who needed it, who always needed it.

My cell rings as a welcome distraction, and I tap my headphones to answer.

“Lucas,” my agent, Shannon, coos over the line. “I’ve got something. Wes wants you for this part, and I think it’s what you’ve been waiting for.”

“Wes?” Wes Nolan is one of the most respected directors in the business but is heavily into big-budget trilogies.

“I’m done with franchise for the moment. I’ve made that clear.”

“This is a departure for him, Lucas, and for you. Silver Ghost.”

I stop my movements. “Nikki Rayo’s story?”

“That’s the one,” she pipes enthusiastically.

Rumors have been circulating that Wes was going to write a script. He must have been keeping it under wraps because no one has been talking about it as of late.

“Who picked it up?”

“Paramount. The offer is your standard with incentive. I’ll courier the script over.”

“Sounds good, thanks, Shannon.”

“You doing okay?”

“I’m living.” Which is more than I can say for Blake.

“Look, I know this isn’t the right time, but I’ve gotten in touch with Leann just as a precaution.” Leann Shear is my publicist who is hell-bent on making sure Blake’s “incident” doesn’t harm my career. Having an entanglement with a Hollywood has-been who just committed suicide is apparently bad press. I couldn’t give a shit. Anyone who knows me knows my brand and also knows that Blake West was my best friend. It’s not news. People can speculate all they want about his demons. My reasons for being silent about what he did aren’t because I’m some asshole who can’t admit we were close, it’s because I have no fucking idea what to say.

“No comment, that’s our stance. I mean it. No matter what surfaces. I’ll make the call on this.”

“Lucas—”

“Shannon,” I bark, “this isn’t negotiable.”

She pauses over the line. “Understood. Look, I hate to pressure you at a time like this, but Wes is anxious to get started.”

“How long?”

“As soon as they find the lead. Everyone else has been cast.”

“Who’s signed on?”

I hear the clutter of paperwork in front of her. “Looks like he went with a few up-and-coming for younger parts, Adriana Long as the wife and Matt Roth signed up too.”

I’m impressed. Both have grabbed gold in the last few ceremonies.

“Send the contract so I can take a look.”

I hear the click of her keyboard. “Done. Wes wants to set up a meeting for the day after tomorrow.”

My cynical brain wins. “Who dropped out?”

Her silence confirms it.

“Shannon, if they’re already pre-production, who the hell do you think you’re fooling?”

I’m not pissed at being second choice, I’m pissed at the way my agent thinks I’m still too fucking na?ve to figure it out. Years ago, I wouldn’t have blamed her. It’s a different story now.

“Shannon? Who dropped out?”

“Will Hart. Schedule issues or something.”

“I’ve told you a thousand times this shit makes you look shady,” I snap.

“Sorry, Lucas, I just…you know how it is.”

I shake my head in frustration though she can’t see it. “I don’t need my ego stroked, I need honesty. You think you’re capable of that? I don’t want to have this conversation again.”

“Jesus, Lucas,” Mila whispers from behind me. I don’t know how long she’s been there, but her tone tells me it’s been long enough.

Shannon’s silence confirms she’s just as shocked by my bite. “Sorry, Lucas, it won’t happen again.”

“Make sure it doesn’t, or I’ll find someone else to take a percentage to fucking translate.” I end the call and continue rowing. I can’t bring myself to look at my wife. I’m pissed, and I just want to stay that way. Somewhere between answering my phone five days ago and this moment, my confidence has been shaken in a way I can’t grasp, and I don’t want her to see.

“You’re not ready,” Mila whispers behind me.

“I’m not going to just sit in the house and wait for the egg to crack.”

“Then let’s go somewhere,” she pleads. “Anywhere.”

“I want to work.”

She circles me to stand in my line of vision. Every time I see this woman, the epiphany strikes much like the first time I saw her. For me, she is the very look and definition of love. There’s nothing I should be afraid to tell her, she’s fully aware of my insecurities because she worked hard to unveil them and embrace them. I knew she was the one mere hours after I laid eyes on her.