Page 46 of Stay for Me
“So, you were a lone wolf?”
Brenna grins and then leans her butt against the desk. “I’m going to let you do the psychoanalyzing again.”
She looks relaxed, and her smile is easy. It’s so alluring that I have to fight back the urge to put my arms on both sides of the desk, trapping her there and leaning in to see if her lips would be easy against mine. I’ve imagined kissing her since our lunch together.
Last night, while I was in that shithole of a box reading my next script, I pictured her as the woman my character could be in love with, even if he doesn’t have one. I saw her deep blue eyes and long red hair before me as I spoke my lines aloud.
After I slapped myself, I threw the script across the room, which was about four feet, and mentally beat myself up because my character is single—as am I.
She’s not in the plan. She’s not a woman I need to think about like this. Brenna is a single mom who definitely doesn’t need some asshole from Hollywood coming around to fuck things up for her. Stability is not what I will provide.
I slip into myself, using every skill I’ve honed over the years to keep from making a mistake or letting my dick do the thinking. “I see. I think you were an academic. You liked studying, reading, but did a sport to keep yourself from seeming like a nerd. Maybe even top of your class?”
“Definitely not, but you’re somewhat close.” Her head tilts to the side, and her gaze fixes on mine.
“Hmmm.” I purse my lips. “Which part?”
“The academic part.”
“I figured. No one wants to go to school to be a psychologist if they don’t like learning.”
She laughs softly, cheeks reddening in the most adorable way. “Not while raising two kids and being married to a man who is never home.”
It’s crazy. I don’t think she understands how amazing that accomplishment is. “I didn’t even finish college.”
Brenna pushes off the desk and moves toward me. “And look at all you’ve done, Jacob.”
“I make movies and play pretend all day.” I need to sound like it doesn’t matter. I need it not to matter what she thinks.
That was one of the last things my father ever said to me. On top of telling me I was worthless and stupid, he said that if I dropped out of school to pursue acting, then I was a disgrace to my mother.
I’ve never forgotten that. I’ve heard those words over and over again. I’ve worn them like a tattoo in my heart, reminding me that she would’ve thought I was a fool.
However, Brenna’s voice is soft and comforting. “You make little kids believe that there’s more in life than all the crap hands they’ve been dealt. That means something. It’s...well, it’s heroic.”
“I’m not a hero, Brenna.”
“Maybe not.” She shrugs. “But to them, you are.”
“My character is.”
I am no one’s hero. I’m a fuckup from Sugarloaf. I’ve done nothing other than land a role of a lifetime. I haven’t been a good brother, uncle, or friend, and I damn sure was a piece-of-shit son. I’m smoke and mirrors, and glass always breaks. I’m a guy who is fighting so hard against the urge to pull this gorgeous woman into his arms and show her just how destructive he can be to the people around him.
“If you think that your being here today wasn’t epic to every kid in that auditorium, then I don’t know what is.”
I do. I run my hand through my hair and turn my back on her. “Luke was a hero. He fought and died for this country. I give nothing. Trust me, that story about my father? That was only a fraction of it.”
“We all have pasts, Jacob. Every one of us have made mistakes, but it’s what we do now that matters. Luke wasn’t a Saint. Believe me.”
Luke was a good guy. He wasn’t a man who would lust after a widow who lost everything.
“Maybe so, but he sure as fuck wasn’t from the pits of hell.”
“Sure, maybe Luke was a hero, in his own way. He fought for this country, and he died on a routine flight. A mechanical failure that cost him everything. It’s easy for us to think what we do doesn’t matter, but it does.”
“I thought he died overseas?” I question.
“No, I’ve heard that a few times since being here. He was home. He was supposed to be home that day and went into work. There was nothing heroic about it. Look at me, I’m a school psychologist. What the hell makes me special? Nothing. Except, to that kid who comes into my office when he’s at his lowest and I give him something to hold on to, I might be everything. Heroes don’t wear capes or save the world, they do the right thing. Heroes don’t get to define their moments, the people they save do.”
