Page 41 of And I Love Her

Chapter 9

Jake ran, his lungs burning and muscles aching. Sweat trickled down his temples. A cold morning wind blew in from the ocean. The only sounds were his hard breath, the seagulls circling and squawking overhead, and the push-and-pull rhythm of the waves.

As the rental cottage came back into view, he slowed to a walk. He dragged in gulps of air, letting his heartrate slow and his breath even out. He worked out regularly with a trainer at the gym, but the treadmill and weight-lifting couldn’t compare to the exhilaration of running on the beach just after dawn.

After showering and changing, he grabbed his camera and headed back outside—this time to take video of the birds diving over the churning whitecaps and the waves crashing against the rocks. He climbed the wooden steps to the boardwalk, a historic seaside stretch of shops, restaurants and carnival rides alongside Pelican Beach.

The boardwalk had been built as a resort in the early twentieth century and continued to be both a popular tourist attraction and a local hangout. Jake had many memories of spending weekends there with his buddies.

He’d had his first kiss on the carousel with Annie Watkins. A shocking thrill of excitement had ricocheted through him before his horse and Annie’s horse had bobbed in opposite directions and broken their split-second kiss.

But not even the thrill of hisfirst kiss evercould compare to his first kiss with Callie Prescott. Just remembering it sent electricity crackling through his veins. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her all night, and that made him feel like a kid with his first crush. The pleasure of it diluted his angry frustration over the publicity shitstorm and theFatal Glorymess.

Not until now had he realized how much he just wanted to feelgoodagain. As long as he didn’t forget that his time here was limited, he could enjoy all the heady anticipation and excitement of his attraction to a woman he’d once thought he would never see again.

He paused to take more photos and video, appreciating the charcoal-colored desolation broken by the sun’s glow. At dawn, the shops and game booths were shuttered, the still carnival rides—roller coasters, Ferris wheel, Tilt-a-Whirl—silhouetted against the reddish sky. Birds fluttered around the railings, seeking scraps.

Jake walked past the souvenir shops and restaurants, descended the steps on the other side, and headed into the neighborhoods sprawled out beyond the harbor where the fishing boats docked. His family had first moved here when he was ten, and back then, this had been the more low-income area of town.

He came to a halt. Across the street was a modest blue ranch house with white trim and a picture window overlooking the front yard. A kid’s bike, plastic car, and garden hose cluttered the grass.

Jake lifted his camera, then stopped just short of taking a picture of the house. He turned away.

What had he expected to feel? He hadn’t seen the house in fifteen years. Three years after they’d moved in, his father had left. Months had passed before Jake realized that he wasn’t coming home.

But on that day, he’d turned from a boy into a man—one who’d made a vow to take care of his mother and sister in the way his father hadn’t. Though he’d succeeded beyond what he’d ever thought possible, something inside him still believed he’d give up all his success to have had a good father. One who had known how to treat and care for his family. One who’d stayed.

He started the trek back to the cottage. His youth had been his first big performance—he’d kept up his role at school as the well-liked popular kid, while coming home every night to a drunk, deadbeat father and an exhausted mother.

After his father left—both to Jake’s relief and fear—his mother had found a minimum wage sewing job with a sail-making company. Jake had taken on two part-time jobs to help, but they’d struggled.

Until the lightning bolt of Hollywood success had changed their lives forever.

Guilt pushed at his chest. Countless actors would have sold their souls for even a fraction of the success he had. He hated feeling as if he were being ungrateful for wanting something different.

His phone buzzed, and he pulled it from his pocket. A text from Richard popped onto the screen.

Jake ignored it. Both he and his agent had a crap ton of leverage in the negotiations—yeah, the studio could hire another actor to play Blaze Ripley, but the fans wouldn’t react well, and they’d have to do a whole campaign just to get a new actor accepted in the role. Jake had originated the character, and even outside of a film set, he was more likely to be calledBlazeinstead ofJake.

So, even if they did solve the script and director issues, why the hell was he waffling over signing on for a seventhFatal Glorymovie? Why did the idea of stunt training and green screens leave him feeling flat rather than excited and eager?

And why had he been thinking so much about his damned father lately?

He went back into the cottage. As he copied the photos from his camera to his laptop, his phone buzzed again. The name Marina Waters flashed on the screen. Jake hadn’t talked to hisFatal Gloryco-star in weeks. He accepted the call with pleasure.

“How’ve you been, Marina?”

“Great, but worried about you.”

“I’m fine. How are the rug-rats?” Affectionately, he remembered the days when Marina brought her two young children to theFatal Gloryset, and they’d played things likeCandy Landand Patty-Cake in-between takes.

“Simon’s a bee in his upcoming kindergarten play, and he’s decided he’s a method actor, so he buzzes around the house all the time.” She laughed. “Mandy is just into everything, as toddlers are. It’s crazy and wonderful all at the same time.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“I won’t keep you, Jake, but I called to let you know I’m opting out ofFatal Glory 7.”

“It’s a ridiculous script, I know.”

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