Method(86)

I dress, get in my car, and leave.





“All it takes is a beautiful fake smile to hide an injured soul and they will never notice how broken you really are.”—Robin Williams





Lucas



Walking toward the Chateau Marmont where Blake’s been holed up the last six months, I stop short when I see him and Amanda just inside the entrance. He’s holding her tightly to him, whispering words of comfort while she crumbles in his arms. It’s painful to see. A few years ago, they were the picture of happiness. Blake still hasn’t been forthright about the reasons behind their divorce, and it irks me. If I were a betting man, I would have placed my money on the two of them. They’d been a good influence on me in finding my other half to complete my own picture. I’d envied their effortless connection as I’d watched them come together. In the front row, I’d witnessed their linking as it flowered and stood at Blake’s side at their wedding while they tearfully pledged themselves to each other. It was easily the most romantic wedding I’d ever attended and not because of the setting, but because their love for each other was tangible. They made me want for something more and taught me not to settle. I’d tried my first hand at a relationship with Laura. The night of their wedding, I’d made us official. Thinking back, I knew it was due to the sentiment of the day. But when it had turned out to be nothing more than convenience, we called it off. I waited for Mila, and it turned out to be the best decision of my life. Somewhere inside, I knew the choice Blake made to end his marriage wasn’t about love lost.

Blake has calmed Amanda to the point he could get her into the car as the valet pulls up. I stare on as he shoves his hands in his jeans and watches her drive away. He hadn’t asked me to be there, but he’d told me they’d be signing papers today and I’ve shown up just in time to witness the soul-crushing end of it. Blake wipes his face repeatedly, looking the way the car had left long after it was out of sight. He spots me as I walk toward his car which the valet had already parked. Briefly, he pauses when he sees me approaching.

“Come to get me drunk, bro? Amazing suggestion. Your blessed universe couldn’t have delivered a better friend today. What’s your poison? I’m thinking tequila.”

“This is a mistake,” I say without apology.

Without a response, he walks around the side of the car, and I climb in before he has a chance to protest. In the driver’s seat, he sits idle collecting himself. He’s on the edge of breaking, and I can feel it in the dense cabin of his Ferrari.

I speak first. “This is a mistake.”

“I know,” he says. “But I can’t be married to her anymore.”

“What the hell are you talking about? You don’t love that woman any less than you did when you married her.”

“You’re right. I love her more, that’s why I had to set her free. I’m not what she needs.”

“Isn’t that for her to decide?”

He swallows hard, his eyes glazing over. “Things got bad behind closed doors. Six months ago, I got blackout drunk and destroyed almost everything in our house.”

“Did you hurt her?”

“She says I didn’t.” He turns to me. “But do you think she deserves that? You know Amanda, she couldn’t hurt anyone like that. There’s not a menacing bone in that woman’s body. She’s perfect. I can’t have a hand in destroying that. And I fucking won’t. I love her too much.”

“So you seek counseling, and you shrink it down to manageable, you don’t divorce a woman you’re still in love with.”

He laughs sarcastically. “There’s no cure for being me. Haven’t you learned that yet?”

I scoff. “Guess not, I’m still here. What makes you think she wouldn’t be?”

“I don’t want that woman to ever hate me.”

“I don’t hate you.”

He glances my way. “Yeah you do, a little. You resent me for the messes I’ve made. It was only a matter of time before she realized she wasted her youth, her beauty, on a piece of shit incapable of being who she wanted. I’m tired, Lucas. It was more exhausting being her husband than any other job. She’s the only woman I’ve ever had to answer to, and I couldn’t hack it anymore.”

“So, this martyring you think you’re doing is all about the asshole?”

“It’s freedom,” he says, turning the ignition, “to be exactly who I am without constantly having to apologize for it.”

“You honestly think you’re that toxic? This isn’t healthy.”

“Never said it was.” He pulls a cigarette from a pack on his dash and lights it up.

“So you divorced her to protect her? This is bullshit, man. She could help you.”

He shakes his head impatiently and glares at me. “All right, you want the skeletons? Here they come,” he says, taking a long drag of his cigarette before looking at me pointedly. “The day after I destroyed our house, I went on a coke bender and snorted lines off a whore for two days while I fucked her bareback. So, you tell me, Boy Scout. Is that a good enough reason to set her free?”

“Jesus Christ, Blake.” I’m sick thinking about it.

“Thought so,” he says, tearing out of the parking lot. He makes a hard right, and the rev of the engine draws heads our way. Paparazzi who were ready at the curb manage to get a few shots in. Blake is oblivious as he glances my way. “You love me with the same blind fucking eyes, Lucas. I’m never going to change, no matter how much I need to. She couldn’t change me either, that’s why I’m divorced,” he says, wiping at his face trying to hide the hurt that’s leaking from his every pore.