Page 14 of The Holiday Fakers
The job I want isn’t a lead role, but it’s different and complex. An opportunity to show what I can really do. But Marv’s right. The chance of the showrunners wanting anything to do with me right now is slim-to-none.
“Bro, can I be real for a sec. Like,reallyreal?” Marv’s voice is hesitant.
I brace myself, a sick feeling settling in. I’m pretty sure I know exactly what he’s going to say.
Marv takes my silence as an affirmation, leaning forward, his hands open.
“We’ve been together twelve years. That’s longer than most marriages. I see your hunger, your talent, where you want to go, and who you want to be. But you’re running on sand. There’s no foundation because you won’t deal with your past.”
My jaw clenches, holding back emotions I don’t even want to acknowledge.
“I know how much the Locke family means to you. How much Pi?—”
The ferocity of my gaze cuts him off and I spring to my feet, wanting to run away. I’m still reeling from seeing her again yesterday. All those feelings I thought I’d buried, leaping out of the ground and smacking me in the face.
“The longer you leave this, the worse it’s gonna get. The Lockes are family to you. They?—”
I sit back down and hang my head. “It’s been too long now,” I manage, my voice scratchy and raw. “I’m too late.”
“You’re not. I’ve never met them, but I know they’re good people. Sure, this fake-dating thing isn’t real, but your relationship with the Lockesis.”
“Was.”
“You need to go back to Hideaway Harbor this Christmas. Yeah, I hope the good press will land you this gig, but that’s not the most important reason. You need to remember who you are under all this famous actor crap. Right now, you’re lost.”
I shake my head, even though I know he’s right. How the fuck did I get so caught up in the fame game that I let my true friends go?
My stomach twists like I’ve got an ulcer. I can’t face Piper and her family after so long. I’d be like the prodigal son on steroids, and I doubt even the Lockes would celebrate my return.
“And anyway, Piper’s on board.”
Marv’s words cut through the fog of regret and self-disgust, and my heart misses a beat.
Piper.
I clear my throat of the remorse that’s clogging it and deflect.
“A printer? She wants me to advertise a fuckingprinter?”
Marv shrugs. “She works for an office supply company.”
“Doing what?”
“Graphic design.” He takes out his phone, jabs at the screen, then hands it to me. “She even drew the company mascot, Stanley the Stapler.”
“Huh?”
Marv keeps talking, but I’m not taking any of it in. I’m just staring at the photo of Piper on the company’s website. Hersmile. Like she wants to be there. Is proud to be there. Has a purpose.
“They’re in the Poop Building.”
I tear my gaze from the phone. “Thewhat?”
“You must know it. The big brown building with ‘POOP’ painted across the side?”
Marv throws his hands in the air at my confusion. “What the fuck does it matter, anyway? Just say yes, for Chrissakes.”
“And how do you think that’s going to help my reputation? My career? Standing next to a printer with a stupid grin on my face?”
