Page 62 of Beyond the Fame

“I never hated you, Rebecca.”

She scoffs. “You did a good job of pretending you hated me. Makes sense. You’re an actor, so pretending can’t be hard, right?”

“I still didn’t hate you.”

“You said I made your job a lot harder.”

“You did, but I understood why you were fighting against the changes.”

“If you understood, then why were you always such an asshole to me? Why did you push me away at the end of negotiations? You saved me from having a mental breakdown, then you acted like consoling me was the most horrible thing you’ve ever done.”

“I’m sorry. I thought I was doing what was best.”

“For whom?”

“For me.”

“I don’t understand.”

I take Rebecca’s hand and rub circles in her palm with my thumb.

“Because it’s how I grew up. I told you how the word love was never said in my home. It was never shown. My parents never hugged me, never told me how proud they were of my acting career, which began when I was five. I was good, especially for a kid. Even being overweight, I was landing role after role. They never took me out to celebrate. I’m talking no celebration: birthdays, holidays. When I won the Oscar for Tyler’s Team, I got a text from them. A text. Can you believe it? I had a nanny who was more of a parent than Jack and Julie Boliver ever were.

“For my fifteenth birthday, my cousin came over to hang out with me. He was two years older than me, and I'm pretty sure his parents forced him to show up. Anyway, his father and my father hate each other. My cousin told me he overheard his dad saying that my dad and mom didn’t even want to have kids. That I was a mistake.”

“Oh, Jensen.” She lifts our embraced hands and kisses my knuckles. I close my eyes at the gentle, caring gesture.

“They were forced to become parents, and I paid for it. I honestly believe the reason they never told me they loved me is because they don’t. Or maybe they just don’t know how. Or maybe they also grew up in a home where the word love didn't exist. So, they show their love through material things like buying me whatever I want. I used to let them, too, thinking it would make me feel better. It never did. Now I accept nothing from them unless absolutely necessary.

“So, when I found you in that bathroom and held you... you hugged me back so strongly, as if you’d never let go. You needed me, and I wasn’t used to that. But it felt so right. Then my thoughts turned against me, convinced me I could never offer you, or anyone, love because of how I grew up. Stupid thoughts, really, but I didn’t want to take the chance. I shut down, shut you out. I always do with women. This is something I’m working on with my therapist. She says I’m making progress.

“Then working with you on the movie… I saw a lost soul. The more I was around you, the more I wanted to fight with you because in those moments, you blazed with life. I’m just as lost as you, but when we’re together, I don’t know… I don’t feel so abandoned.”

“Yet you still pushed me away.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Why?”

“Because I worry I can’t give you all of me. I worry I can’t care for anyone anymore after Mylan...” I swallow the lump in my throat. “I worry I’ll become my parents, and you don’t deserve that.”

She sits up in the chair and closes the space between us to palm my cheek. I close my eyes, melting into her touch.

“Jensen, you are nothing like your parents. You said they didn’t have an ounce of love in their bones. Yet, here you are, on the beach with me, building sandcastles and watching the sunrise. You sought me out that day of negotiations to make sure I was okay. You offered me a ride last year when my driver got a flat tire. And you offered me a room when the hotel lost my reservation. People who lack the capacity to care don’t do stuff like that.”

She kisses me before I have the chance to argue. Was I going to argue? Honestly, I have no words. She's right. I’m nothing like my parents. Still, the pit of my stomach rumbles with unease. Putting myself out there for someone is terrifying.

Especially someone who, for the first time in my life, I can see myself building a life with.

The thought is unhinged. Who am I?

Rebecca and I are just fucking. She wouldn’t want something more, would she? The easiest way to find out would be to ask, but my fear of abandonment settles into my stomach and stops me. I don’t want to scare her away. This is new. We may have known each other for over four years, but this part of our relationship has just begun.

After an intense make-out session on the beach that caused us to miss the sunrise, we walk hand-in-hand back to the resort, our bodies covered in sand and suits still wet since we forgot to bring towels. We're in the lobby waiting for an elevator when the middle one dings open. Lana, Mylan, Gram, and Pa walk out.

They freeze the moment they spot us.

“Well, what do we have here?” Mylan says like he’s a detective from an old black and white cop movie.

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