METHOD

by Kate Stewart

“Yes, as a couple but you and I both know there’s more to life than that. Lucas isn’t just your husband or an actor. He’s probably finally looking up and realizing where he is in the map of his life, and he might not like it. Seems like he’s lost touch with himself through this career he’s starved for.”

  “He’s never told me that.”

  “Because he probably wasn’t in that frame of mind before Blake’s death. Death changes people, Mila. It can make you question everything. He’s probably terrified.”

  “Afraid of what?”

  “Of where he is.”

  “Why?”

  “We get told our whole lives that these things A, B, and C are what we need to make ourselves happy but obtaining them and seeing them for what they are can be utterly terrifying. One of the things your father told me is that most parents have no idea how to deal with overachieving children when they reach this point because the parents themselves cannot relate. They’re still working toward their own goals, and some never get to the place Lucas is. That’s the crux of the crisis.”

  It makes so much sense, it’s scary. And I hate the fact that my mother may have more insight than I do on my own husband.

  If anything, the past three months have shown me I’m not the expert I thought I was and that hurt breaks the rest of my heart.

  “What do I do?”

  “You can’t do anything but wait, show your support, be there for him.”

  “I’m so pissed off, Mom. So fucking angry he locked me out and didn’t share any of it with me. He broke promises.”

  She harrumphs. “Show me a perfect man, and I’ll prove you a liar.”

  “Dammit. Why did I have to marry an actor!”

  “You married a man. A human man. You study the beauty and rarely notice the cracks, it’s easy to with a man as captivating as Lucas. He’ll point them out to you when he’s ready. And you could be the next one to weigh life out. And when that happens, you’ll need him.”

  “I can’t forget this, Mom. I can’t forget how he shut me out.”

  “But can you love him the same?”

  “I love him more than I ever have.”

  “That’s marriage. On the other side of this is a different future for Lucas and I’m happy for him. Some go through never questioning any part of their existence. I’ve never thought much of Lucas as far as being your equal, but he may just start giving you a run for your money. He’s showing you that what you’ve known isn’t all that he is. It’s kind of exciting.”

  “And what if what he figures out doesn’t include me?”

  “You grow together or apart, and both of you decide at any point in time.”

  “That’s terrifying.”

  “No Mila, that’s life.”

  Mila

  Slipping on my short white gloves, I check my appearance one last time. Thankful for the predictable LA weather, I use large sunglasses to cover up evidence of my lack of sleep. My lips are painted hot pink, but that’s the only hint of color I add to my ensemble. My dress is a vintage Hepburn that I’d picked out six months ago. Inside the fabric, I’m numb.

  Lucas is still calling and texting but hasn’t been at my door in weeks. Some part of me recognizes that we may very well be over. My stomach rolls and I place my palm over it. “Hey, baby, Mommy could really use some help not throwing up today.”

  Before I know what’s happening, I’m in tears at the edge of my bed, holding my abdomen. I can’t feel anything yet, but I feel everything. The knock on my door kicks me out of another pity party, and I answer it to see Paul.

  “Hi,” I say, closing the door and locking it behind me.

  “Good morning,” he says, leading the way to the car.

  I pause at the steps, staring into the limousine, and Paul glances back at me reading my hesitation. “He’s not in there.”

  It would have been the perfect time for him to trap me, but he didn’t. “Okay, let’s go.”

  Once inside the limo, I clasp my hands in my lap and try my best not to ask the questions burning on my tongue, but I do.

  “How is he?”

  Paul’s chocolate-brown eyes meet mine in the rearview, his expression grave. I nod.

  “Is he still drinking?”

  “Mila—”

  “Fuck your NDA, Paul, answer the question. I know you care about him.”

  “Yes, sometimes, he’s drinking. But he makes me drive him. He doesn’t leave the house much since the accident.”

  “What accident?”

  He shakes his head.

  “Paul!”

  “He crashed into a median a week ago, his Land Rover was the only thing that suffered.”

  “Was he drunk?”

  “I don’t know. It was early.”

  “What are you doing, Lucas?” I whisper under my breath.

  “It’s a bender,” Paul says simply. “Been there myself for the same reason.”

  “With all your charm, I can’t see how any woman could ever leave you.”

  He glares at me in the rearview, and I glare back before we both burst into laughter. When it subsides, I glance up to see something resembling a smile.

  “So, Paul smiles. Maybe you don’t hate me.”

  “Of course not,” he says, “I’ve been around enough to know that I don’t need to be friends with any of my clients. It’s hazardous.”

  “I get it.” I do. I can’t imagine the things he’s bore witness to over the years.

  He bites the edge of his lip.

  “What?”

  His eyes zero in on my reflection. “Up until a few weeks ago, you two were the most boring of all my clients.”

  “Huh,” I reply, staring out the window knowing his statement is a compliment.

  When Paul opens the door, I hear the telling click of the cameras and school my features. Nova greets me and leads me down the sidewalk alongside two other bodyguards.

  “You look beautiful,” she says, giving me a quick hug. “How are you doing?”

  “Thank you, I’m good. You?”

  “Today is a good day.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Glad he’s back,” she whispers, eyeing me as we walk.

  I nod but gather that she can see the lie on my face and if she can see, then everyone watching can too.

  One hour, Mila. You can do this.

  Determined to bury my emotions, I flash her my best smile. “How’s the love life?”

  Her answering grin is radiant, and I feel a small stab of jealousy at the way it isn’t forced. I used to be that girl, carefree and confidently in love.

  “It’s awesome.”

  “So happy for you, I mean that.” We pass a barricade where the public and paps are held at bay and are led over to a tent on the side of a small stage with a podium. Taking my seat next to Nova, I’m greeted by a few of Lucas’s old co-stars who are seated behind us. Nerves threaten and my stomach rolls as I fight a wave of nausea.

  I’ve spent days trying to decide if I would show up and concluded on every single one to be here for him, to keep that promise, no matter what our future may bring. Lucas’s back is turned to me, he’s talking animatedly to the presenter.

  “What a great turnout.”

  Fans are lined up on all sides of the closed-off tent. “Sure is.”

  “Did he know you were coming?” Nova asks.

  “No.”

  As if he senses me, Lucas turns, and I’m forced to downplay the jolt that hits when our eyes connect. His eyes close briefly, and his throat bobs as ramped up emotion flits over his features.

  I made the right decision.

  Unable to handle the tension, I give him a wink and mouth, “Hey, Hollywood.” Relief-filled eyes shimmer down on me with so much warmth, my chest constricts and my throat burns.

  He’s wearing a fitted navy pea coat—that fails miserably in concealing his biceps—matching slacks, a white button-down, and a gray vest and tie. His hair is freshly cut and styled back. He looks every bit the m
ovie star he denies he is.

  Nova reads my mind. “He looks good. Really good.”

  “Yes, he does, the bastard,” I say, shaking my head with a smile. Eyes still intent on me, I swear he reads my lips, and his lift at the corners with a smirk.

  “Paul said he got into an accident.”

  “Must have scared him straight, because he’s been sober every day I’ve seen him this week.”

  I let out a relieved breath. “Thank God.”

  “He may be beautiful, but I gotta say, after dealing with that man for the last three months, I’m happy to be batting for the other team.” We share a laugh. Looking around, I find my eyes trailing back to his as he studies me, his soul-filled depths trying to convey so much, but I can’t read into it. Today isn’t about us. It’s about the career of a passionate actor.

  The mob goes silent as the president of the Hollywood Chamber of Commerce steps up to the podium.

  “Hello, Hollywood.” The crowd cheers in greeting. “Today, we gather in celebration of the career of one of our most diverse and talented leading men. With such films under his belt as Misfits, Erosion, Cairo, and Drive, he has landed a reputation as one of the most respected and well-known actors of his generation. The Hollywood Chamber of Commerce is proud to honor with the twenty-six hundredth star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, Lucas Walker!”

  Tears surface, but these are different. They’re tears of pride. Lucas stands humbly beside the podium, his gaze mostly averted as praise is bestowed on him from all sides. It’s then I realize what a gift it’s been to know him so intimately, to have witnessed his talent firsthand. To have loved him through the bad days and been present on the good.

  Audrey’s words hit me harder than ever as I look up to meet my husband’s waiting gaze.

  It’s a choice. Every. Single. Day. You make a choice.

  I might not have been present for all of his career, but we share years of the same memories. In a blink, I’m back in front of those pyramids, crashing into his arms outside his SUV, slapping his chest in the limo, yelling at him for leaving the toilet paper roll empty, rolling underneath him in bed as he pins me down and tickles me with his hair. We’re playing in the ocean on our own strip of beach and making love by the fire after. I’m laughing as I catch him spitting out the wine at dinner that took me all day to cook, and in the next thought, he’s yelling at me for buying an expensive washing machine right before I cover him in detergent. It’s still my favorite fight, along with the hour-long make-up shower after.

  Today I choose him, I choose those memories—over hurt, over mistakes, over miscommunications, over all of it. I don’t want it anywhere near this moment. Because in a way I share it with him. Those moments have happened, but this one is just as significant, even if it’s one of our last. I choose him, so I don’t miss this day.

  After the thought settles into me, I’m able to enjoy the ceremony. A few of his old co-stars come up and speak about what it’s like to work with him, about what an amazing man he is. I laugh through stories I’ve heard and some that I haven’t. Lucas stands idly by, humility leaking from him in the aversion of his eyes as he stares down at the carpet listening to all the kind words spoken. His lips upturning here and there and a laugh escaping him when it’s appropriate.

  And then it’s his turn. He’s introduced one last time and takes the podium. “Thank you. Thank you so much.” He pauses and glances out into the street a million miles away. “It seems like just yesterday I was walking down this boulevard with a friend dreaming up big things.” His eyes go murky, but he recovers and smiles at the crowd. “It’s been a crazy road to get here, one I’m certain is less traveled but sprang from circumstance as most of life’s gifts do.” He looks directly at me when he says it, and then he’s speaking again. “When I was eight years old, I met a woman by the name of Madelyn Rosera Darling.”

  Lucas speaks of Maddie fondly for a few minutes telling anecdotes that have us laughing and emotions swelling. He’s an amazing storyteller, that’s his gift, and it’s why we’re here. Pride pours out of me as I listen to him speak, his speech brief. “So, thank you for this honor, and I accept this along with thanks to the women in my life. Thanks to Maddie; my mother, my teacher, my best friend. Thanks to my beautiful wife, my Dame, Mila.” He smiles over at me. “Thanks to the team of incredible women, who keep me,” he says, nodding toward each of them, “Leann, Shannon, and Nova.” I grip Nova’s hand and see she’s tearing up. “Basically, all the ladies in my life that try every day to keep from committing their first homicide.” The crowd laughs, and Lucas gives a devilish grin I recognize now as Blake’s.

  “I’m honored, thank you.” He steps back and is led down to the red carpet with the co-stars who spoke before his star is unveiled. When he looks down, I see it then, the crack in his armor, he’s thinking about Blake, and he didn’t mention him at all in his speech. Melancholy washes over his features, and in a flash, it’s gone. His smile is back, and he’s posing for pictures.

  Once it’s my turn, he tugs at my hand pulling me to him, and we embrace for long seconds. I inhale his clean cologne, revel in his hold. “I’m so proud of you,” I whisper. Pulling away, I melt in his gaze. The world may be watching but the gentle kiss I return when he presses his lips to mine is genuine. He searches my eyes, and I admit the truth. “I couldn’t miss it.”

  He crushes me again into his arms and whispers in my ear, holding me tightly to him. “Thank you so much for coming. Mila, I—”

  “Not today, none of that today,” I whisper softly, pulling away with what I hope looks like proud tears shimmering in my eyes. “I’m so sorry he’s not here.”

  Blake was originally supposed to be one of those who spoke at his unveiling. Our collective hearts aching, I urge him to have his moment. “Go on, give them a few more minutes, then you’re home free.”

  “Dame,” he whispers roughly, his eyes shining with unmistakable reverence, “you represent your title well.”

  “And you’re still a good man, Lucas. An infuriatingly good man.”

  I push up on my toes and kiss his jaw like I did the night we met. “I’ll see you, Hollywood.” I walk away before my legs have a chance to give out.

  Lucas

  “Turner and McNeil, please hold. Turner and McNeil, please hold.”

  As the minutes tick by, I can’t help but look around the posh office and grin. She’s made a name for herself.

  “Mr. Walker,” the receptionist addresses me, her cheeks heating when I approach her desk, “she’ll s-see you now. Last office on the right.”

  “Thank you.” I stride toward her office and knock before opening the door.

  She stands, a bright smile lighting her face.

  “As I live and breathe, Lucas Walker. Have you finally fucking come back to take me to prom?”

  A laugh escapes me as Jessie comes toward me and we pause briefly before we hug. “Damn,” she muffles into my shirt, “you couldn’t have worked out like this when we were together?”

  Chuckling, I pull back and take her in.

  “How are you, Jessie Soto?”

  “I,” she drawls out, “am kicking ass.”

  “Looks like it,” I say with a grin.

  “We’re the only two people in the graduating class who did shit for ourselves.”

  “I didn’t graduate,” I remind her.

  “Yeah, well, you’re still a hero in those parts. You didn’t do so bad,” she says. “I mean I saw The Willing.”

  I cringe. “You’re the only one.”

  “Really, Lucas, what in the hell possessed you to make that piece of shit? It was the worst.”

  She rounds her desk, and I take a seat opposite her. “Food was enough incentive back then to take any job.” I exaggeratedly roll my eyes. “Everyone’s a critic.”

  “At least it was ahead of its time with the zombie apocalypse.”

  “What about you, ballbuster, you never told me you moved to LA? I don’t remember get
ting a phone call.”

  “Well, that’s because I just so happened to fall in love with the biggest piece of shit to attend Harvard. I got two souvenirs,” she nods toward the picture at the edge of her desk, “and seventy-five percent of everything else.”

  “You mean half, right?”

  “No,” she grins deviously. “I mean seventy-five percent, that’s why I’m the best divorce lawyer in this state.”

  I pick the picture up and study it. “Cute.”

  “No, they aren’t,” she says with a laugh. “They’re in that weird, awkward stage where they’re losing teeth and making dumb ass fart jokes. But they were beautiful babies, so I have faith they’ll be decent-looking adults.”

  I’m grinning from ear to ear. “It’s no wonder you were my first love.”

  “I was your first everything.”

  “Sorry about that.”

  “Don’t pity me, not many women can claim they stole a movie star’s virginity.”

  I raise a brow. “And how many people have you told?”

  She rolls her eyes. “None.”

  “And that’s exactly why I’m here. I trust you.”

  “Flattery will get you everywhere,” she says, giving me a wink. “But I have the feeling you aren’t here to reminisce or pick up where we left off. Unless…oh, hell, Lucas are you getting a divorce?”

  Letting out all the breath in my body, I look over at her.

  She reads my expression perfectly. “Oh, this isn’t good.”

  “I need your help.”

  It takes me an eternity on the 405 to get home, and as the early hours blur into afternoon, I find myself alone on our balcony. Scripts sit in piles next to my chair, and I can’t bring myself to open a single one. The ocean pours onto the shore, and I study the waves that no longer seem tranquil to me. What I once considered a sign of freedom now feels like a border. Sweat trickles down my back at the idea that this is the extent of the life I have left, trapped behind a wall of ocean, my only task to bury myself in someone else’s words.

  I love you.

  I send the text daily now. It’s all I have. It’s the truth. I’ve done everything I can to get her to talk to me. We’ve never gone this long without the other, for any reason. Six years of marriage is slipping through my hands, and she still refuses to give me permission to bridge the gap. I’m losing her, daily, every minute that ticks by is agony.