Page 4 of The Road Trip Romance

I can’t remember the last time I flew commercially. It’s not that I’m against it. It’s just hard to logistically do since I get accosted by paparazzi everywhere I go. And Lord knows those paps are salivating right now, waiting to get another photo of me losing my shit. Somehow, I managed to get through security at LAX without anyone recognizing me. For the first time in my life, I’m thankful my real first name Brooks is on my identification. Going by my middle name had been my agent’s idea and it’s great, but right now, I’m content being Brooks because no one knows him. I’m also thankful that the old couple sitting next to me for the last few hours had no idea who I was. I pretended to sleep for most of the flight and I am now completely famished since I chose not to spend money on the subpar meal they were selling on board.

I grimace at the memory of me screaming at Warren Johnson just seventy-two hours ago.Does the douchebag deserve it? Hell yes! Should I have waited until we were alone? Probably. Fuck.

It was bad enough that Lacey wasn’t there. She’s agreed to keep our breakup private for a few more months. Of course, it’s already been six months since she moved out and started staying with her friend Camille. And all because I brought up the dreaded “m” word. Hell, we’ve been together for over two years. In Hollywood, that’s like a decade.

She knew how I felt. I never once hid the fact that I wanted to get married and have kids. I wanted what I never had. And in the end, she wanted no part of that.

“Can’t you just be happy with me and what we have together now?” she sobs. “I…can’t do that. I just want us to stay how we are, baby.”

“But don’t you want more?” I ask as I stare at her from across our kitchen island.

“I want this,” she says, motioning between us. “Just you and me. Just like we are now. Why do we have to change?”

“I don’t want to change, I just want…more,” I reply as I search her eyes.

She looks away and wipes a tear with one of her long fingers with perfectly manicured nails. “I can’t give you any more.”

I didn’t know that argument would be the beginning of the end. Hell, I don’t want it to be. I still love her. I loved us together and now…I have nothing.

I glance down at my phone. I removed my SIM card in LAX and bought a new one and then reloaded my phone with all new information. There is no way I’m letting my agent, Carol, or anyone else try to find me, not even my head of security or my personal assistant. I need to disappear for a few days, and the address saved in my phone’s notes might be just the ticket to make that happen. At least, I hope it will be.

Feelings of guilt surround me like a swarm of angry bees. My friends are going to kill me when they find out what I’m doing. Jordan had texted me about a dozen times. Rex and Penn had too. All of them begged me to come see them, to answer their messages, to let them know I was alright, or if they could do anything to help me. In the end, I sent a message to the group chat, telling them I needed some time off and was taking a vacation. Those three are the closest thing I have to family and lying to them feels like shit. I’m the shittiest friend ever. I decided when I figure out what the hell I’m doing, I’ll call them. But not until then. I don’t need them trying to fix me like I’m some kind of wounded animal. That’s all they’ve been doing lately and it’s not fair to them.

I tuck the book that I’ve reread multiple times, under my arm and head toward the front of the airport. I am vaguely aware that somewhere out there, taxis are waiting, or they used to do that. Shit, I hope they still do that.

I see a sign overhead for taxis and breathe a sigh of relief. Keeping my head down and putting on my sunglasses as I exit the airport, I get in a short line and quickly duck into a taxi as soon as it’s my turn. I give the man the address and lean back to watch the world go by as he drives me to a house where I sure hope someone is home.

I have zero backup plans. I’ve put every egg in this one basket. Four days ago, I would have told my current self that I was being irrational and borderline unhinged, buttoday meis fucking desperate to evaporate from the microscope slide that is my life. I’ve felt it for months now. All through the end of filming, the media tour that followed, and even the few weeks since then. I want more. I don’t just want to act. I want to direct. I want to be…more.

The driver turns into a residential area after twenty minutes and I watch the neighborhood become increasingly like a television set. Tree-lined streets with identical-looking single-family homes pass by my window. Kids play in yards or ride bicycles on sidewalks. Men and women mow perfectly manicured yards. An elderly couple sits on a front porch talking. I feel like I’m in some sort of strange episode of theTwilight Zonebecause places like this cannot be real.

I cringe internally as I remember the shit stain of a building I lived in as a child. How I’ve managed to keep most of it from the media, I’ll never know. They know that my mom died in a car accident and that I was raised by my grandparents before being discovered while on scholarship at NYU, but they don’t know everything that happened before my mom died. They don’t know the half of it. Hell, not even my best friends know.

That’s not totally true, Rex knows a bit. He once told me to be more open about my past, that I could use it to help others, but I’m not sure I’m ready to think about it. Hell, I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready to talk about it.

The car comes to a stop in front of a short driveway. I look out at a cream-colored two-story home with dark blue shutters and a maroon front door. Two kids’ bicycles lie near the front walkway. A basketball sits by a hoop that’s seen better days, pieces of the basket rope hang loose. I chuckle as I see a mask of the superhero Penn plays in the movies sitting on the front porch on a worn wood bench. I played a small role in that franchise, a superhero that hasn’t yet gotten their own film, although studio execs have spoken about it recently, or they had before my outburst last week.

The house isn’t big, but it looks…like a home, like a home of a family. I’ve never really been part of a normal family; I honestly don’t know what that feels like. I only know what I feel when I’m in friends’ homes and see them with their own families. Jealously mostly, that’s what I feel.

I pay the driver and get out of the car, standing in the driveway for a long moment as I decide what to do. I watch the taxi pull away.

No turning back now.I take a steadying breath and walk up the driveway to the front steps. I stand on the small front porch for a moment before I step up to the door. It needs a new coat of paint. The brass knocker is worn from use. Who uses a door knocker? I hear voices coming from inside.

My nerves start to fray, and I walk back down the driveway. What am I doing here?

“You looking for Sophia?” an older man asks from a hedge to my right. I glance over at him. He’s got to be near eighty. He’s wearing a baseball cap with the local team’s logo on it and he’s holding a pair of hedge trimmers in his hands.

“Uh, I…” I trail off as I try to figure out what to say. I’m never at a loss for words, but right now, I can’t even string two together.

“She’s home. Probably just getting dinner together for the kids. Maybe give her a call on your cellular phone,” he suggests as he motions to the phone in my hand.Cellular phone? Who says that? Seriously, have I stepped into a time portal?

“Oh, uh, right,” I state as I try to formulate a sentence unsuccessfully.

“Or you could just ring the doorbell,” he says with a knowing look.Shit, am I getting called out by a senior citizen?

“Yeah,” I answer with an awkward chuckle. I swallow and turn back to the house.

“Stop pestering that young man, George. He’s probably just trying to make an honest living. Are you selling something, dear?” a raspy woman’s voice calls out from behind George.

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