by S. L. Scott
My heart thunders in my chest. Is my heart reminding me what I already know, answering my own question? Probably. Be cool. Stay calm. Don’t scare her with raging thoughts of how I want to tell her how stunningly beautiful she is. Or how I miss the way her body fit so perfectly, or she would say, “snugly” to mine. Nope, don’t tell her I still relieve pressure with images of her on a weekly basis. Nope, don’t tell her any of that and… Shit. I can’t do this with her looking perfect in her cut-off jean shorts and plaid shirt tied at her waist. Her face fresh and almost makeup free apart from a little light pink lipstick that makes the light reflect drawing my attention right to them. Those lips… I miss them. So fucking much. Standing abruptly, I offer, “Can I get you anything?”
“No, thank you.” A light smile appears as she reaches for her mug. “I’ve got a coffee.”
“Banana bread?” Shit, I sound like an insane person.
“No, I’m fine. Thanks.”
“Blueberry muffin?” Shut the fuck up runs through my head, scolding myself because I sound like an idiot, and for some reason cannot manage to keep my mouth closed.
She shoots me a look. “No, really. I’m fine. Get whatever you want. I’ll be here.”
I walk away, needing to before I make it worse. Not that it could get worse because that was pretty damn awful. This is Jane. I don’t need to be like this. Who cares that at one point months ago I thought we had a chance to get back together. I hoped. Who cares that it fell through? I didn’t tell Jenna to come over that night and Jane gave me no warning. Fucker Lawrence hopped on that fuck up fast and proposed.
None of that matters now. We’re professionals and we can act accordingly. I walk back over and set a piece of lemon bread in front of her. “You always liked lemons.”
She smiles and there’s no irritation there, so I sit as she says, “Thank you. That’s very nice you remembered.”
“I could never forget.”
Her lids drop down as if I’ve caused her pain. Her beauty still shines through the pain, making my heart ache. Leaning forward, I say, “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
She shakes her head and puts on a smile that feels more for appearance than felt from the inside. “It was very thoughtful. Thank you, Luke.”
“You’re welcome.” After taking a sip of coffee, I get down to it. “I thought you knew that my name was attached to the project but didn’t want to talk about work last night.”
“I didn’t know until I opened the papers after I saw you.”
“I was never mentioned prior as a possibility?”
“Not to me.” She tucks her legs under her and looks out the window again. “I’m not mad. I’m just shocked.” When she turns back to me, she lowers her voice and asks, “Why do you want to work on my movie?”
Her hair is golden, looking even lighter next to the window. A few strands have come free, but I like the imperfection. I like her. Still. Too much. “Because it’s a beautiful story and I want to make sure it gets told the way it was intended.”
“Sometimes you say the most amazing things as if it is common, everyday small talk.” With a sigh, she momentarily looks away and it kind of guts me not being able to really read her expression for those few seconds. “You have produced some beautiful films. I’m touched you want to produce mine.” When her eyes meet mine, she asks, “Will we be able to do this?”
I think she’s asking about of the film, but I’m not positive, so I answer both, “We will. We always did make a great team.”
~Jane~
WHAT IS LUKE’S endgame? He sits there very unlike his usual confident self, distracted by something besides our discussion of the movie. Every time he glances toward another customer placing their order, the bell above the door chiming, or briefly, and uncharacteristically, lost in his own thoughts, I look at him.
Really look at him.
The muscle that highlights his defined jaw tenses and relaxes. Tenses and relaxes. I’m not sure if he’s looked me in the eyes since he sat down and I don’t like that. The tension is rolling off him, seeping under my skin, and my foot starts bouncing. “Luke?”
His eyes glance my way, but when they don’t make it to mine, with a plea in my voice, I say, “Please look at me.”
When we connect, my heart begins to race. His alluring eyes make it hard to remember we’re here on business when I wish we were here together like we used to be. The feeling overwhelms me, tears suddenly filling my eyes. I stand up and grab my laptop and bag, knowing I need to get out of here. “I’ve gotta go.”
He stands just as abruptly, his hand grabbing my forearm, keeping me from escaping. “Don’t go, Jane.”
Lowering my head, I shake it. “I can’t stay.”
“Why?”
Summoning the courage to look up and straight into his eyes, I say, “Because I’m weak.”
“If you were weak, we’d still be together.” Taking a step closer, he says, “You’re strong. Too strong when you don’t have to be.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying we’re friends.”
“We are?”
“We are. No matter what happens, I’m in your corner.”
His hand drops down and I already miss the warmth. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because we’re going to be working together. I want you to know that no matter what happens, I will protect this movie, and I will support you.”
My heart falls to the pit of my stomach as his words sink in wishing he had said, “I will protect you and I will support this movie” instead. I exhale softly. “Yes, of course, the movie.” My breathing deepens as I build my walls back up, brick by heavy brick. I mistakenly thought he was talking about us when he so clearly wasn’t. His priority is to protect his investment. I was foolish for thinking otherwise.
“I’ve got to go.” I walk away before he can stop me again. I can’t let him. Because if he stops me again I can’t promise I won’t tell him more than I should. I can’t guarantee I won’t tell him I left Lawrence. And I definitely won’t be able to hold back and not tell him that I might still have feelings for him. No, I can’t tell him any of that.
Not now.
As I leave, the bell above the door rings, ending the second round, and leaving me feeling worse for wear. Or maybe it’s the third or fourth round for us? I’m losing track at this point. It’s best I go and leave the memories of us behind as I prepare for the next round: a professional relationship as our future. Perhaps the only future I can survive in this battle of heart vs. head.
CHAPTER 5
~Luke~
JANE WALKS OUT of the coffeehouse and as much as I want to go after her, not only to spend more time with her but also to fix whatever made her expression fall, I don’t. Instead, I sit where she was, the seat still warm, and watch her walk down the sidewalk.
There’s something between us, so much unfinished business, making me wonder if it was a mistake taking on this project. I talked myself into going after this movie when I read the script as if that could justify the personal situation I’ve purposely put myself in.
This isn’t going to be easy, not with all these feelings that aren’t just lingering but strangling me.
Focus.
Perspective.
I need both right now. I need to do my job. Set personal feelings aside and concentrate on this film.
First or last resort, I’m not sure, but I know I’m owed a truckload of bro-favors, so I make the call.
* * *
“WHAT THE FUCK am I doing?’’
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“Why can’t I just let her go?”
“Why can’t you just let her go?”
I send Danny a hard glare. “Why are you mimicking me?”
“Seemed about as helpful as what you were doing.” He takes his glass and tops it off with beer from the pitcher.
“I have no idea what I’m doing. I need advice.”
Danny pushes my
beer closer. “Drink. That’s the only advice you need right now.”
I drink, but I don’t feel better.
He refills my pint glass and then signals the bartender for another. Eyeing me cautiously, I think he can tell I’m on the brink of… of… What the fuck am I on the brink of? Fuck. Jane’s got my mind all fucked up.
Danny takes another sip, and then sets his glass down loud enough to make me look up. He leans back, and smirks. “There’s nothing I can say that you don’t already know. Sure, I can tell you what you want me to tell you. Let’s try that route first. Hey Luke,” he starts, “stop fucking around and go after the woman. You can lie to yourself all you like, but your feelings for her run deep. They always have and they always will.”
“I can’t just go after her. She left me once. Why would I set myself up to let that happen twice?”
“But you just answered your own question. You didn’t argue the fact of your feelings for her. You argued setting yourself up to be hurt again. No one wants to be hurt. It sucks. I get it. But,” he says, “you don’t get the good without working through the bad. So you have to decide if this is your shot at getting her back or if it’s your chance to close that book and move on.”
“I hate when you get all real and sensible on me. I was hoping you’d tell me to fuck her to get her out of my system,” I deadpan.
“There’s that option too.” He laughs. “Do you know your shooting schedule?”
“The finances are basically in place since—”
“Since you got a loan to make it happen.”
“It was worth it.”
“Does she know?”
“It’s only a small part.”
“How much?”
“Two hundred K.”
He whistles. “Will you see it back?”
“Definitely. It’s a good film, which makes it a good investment. With the right cast in place, it will do well.”
“When do you start?”
“I start working full-time this Monday and I told the other producers that we can start soon if they get us a director.”
“That seems fast.”
“Indies. We don’t have the overhead like big studio movies.”
“Where does it shoot?”
“Austin for the main shoot and New York if we get the financing for the exteriors.”
“Ahh. At least it’s a city where you only have to be as close as you want to be.”
Close.
Very close.
“I’m fucked, right?”
He taps his pint against mine, and smiles. “Sounds like it.”
We polish off two baskets of hot wings while watching the rest of the game. Just before the final two minutes on the clock, he says, “Let me ask you something.”
“Okay.”
“I know the basics of why you broke up, but what really caused the breakup with Jane? I mean, you guys didn’t seem to fight much so I was surprised when she left.”
Jane shouts from across the living room, “Ten years. I’ve wasted ten years of my life waiting on you. Are we not committed? We live together, Luke. We’ve been together since we were sixteen. You either see a future together or you don’t.”
“I do. I just—”
“You just what? What could possibly be holding you back at this point?”
“I’m not ready to start a new life. I finally feel like I’m in control of this life. What if we change and it changes us? After marriage, it’s kids. I’m not ready for that.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I don’t want us to change. What we have is good.”
With tears streaming down her face, she lowers her voice, the fight gone from her body as her shoulders slump. “That’s where you’re wrong. It’s not been good for me for a while and you haven’t even noticed.”
“I was building a career,” I tell Danny. “She was building a life. I used to think those were one in the same. That we were working toward the same goal.” I turn my gaze to the pint, my life as murky as the beer. “Once she left, I realized how wrong I was. But by then it was too late.”
Looking up, I see the sympathy in his eyes. He understands, which is why I called him. He also lets me sit in my own admission a bit longer, knowing I don’t need the commentary.
He finally says, “All of that is in the past. It’s the present and the future that matter. You have a choice to make.”
“I have no more options. She’s engaged.”
“I think it’s a ring of convenience, not one of love… you know that soul mate kind of love, and I’m pretty sure you guys qualify.”
“Way too sappy, man.”
“At least we don’t have to hug it out again.”
Standing up, I say, “Yet.”
He pays for the food and drinks, and replies, “Don’t threaten me.”
“Ha! Like that one time wasn’t for you.”
Knocking my shoulder as he passes, he chuckles. “Me? That was all you, bro.”
It’s true. It was. But I can’t let him know that. “Thanks for the brews.”
I smile as he rubs his stomach. “I leave for a shoot in three days, so I had to squeeze in the good stuff before I have to show off these abs.”
“You live a hard fucking life, my model friend.”
“Eh.” He shrugs. “Someone’s got do it.” Starting to walk backward, seriousness takes over his jovial nature. “And for the record, you don’t need my advice or anyone else’s. You know what you should do. You just need to let yourself do it.”
“So I should break up an engagement?”
“I didn’t say that, but you sure did.” He gives me a small salute. “See ya when I’m back in town.”
“See ya.”
On the drive home I wonder if what I did was the right thing for me and for Jane. Going after this project means more time with Jane and I can’t help but wonder if subconsciously, I planned it that way. The script is solid. Her best work yet. I know it will be a success, but deep down I start to think seeing her daily may be torture for the soul.
It’s too late now to worry about that.
When I get home, I print out the manuscript. The best thing for a scattered brain is work. Pulling out my tabs and markers I start marking up the script. I have a method to my madness and color-coding is the glue to it.
* * *
THIRTY DAYS SLIP away with no personal contact with Jane. I’m sure she’s had a million things to do like I have. My personal life has become non-existent. My sex life is the worst it’s been in years. I’m edgy, but for some reason unable to make myself go out, and my little black book of numbers stored on my phone doesn’t appeal. I did email her a few times with questions regarding the script, but we don’t talk.
Professional.
We keep it professional.
I miss her.
Financing is secured and an up-and-coming director is brought onboard. I lose my salary in order pay for him. It’s a gamble just like the loan, but I’m confident it will pay off in my favor.
Ian Burke is young and ambitious, a little cocky from what I’ve seen in interviews and at Sundance, so basically me a few years ago. His films are artistic in style—the magic caught in the details. As for lead actors, a couple names have been tossed around and two have already passed. I think I can get one actress. I know she would do a solid job, but she comes with personal entanglements that concern me.
“Jessica Pyles,” Ian says. “We’ve got to have her.”
“I’m still working on it.”
“What does that mean? Where exactly are we in discussions with her?”
“She hasn’t returned my calls.”
He looks at me. “So nowhere?”
“I’ll get her signed on.”
Ian walks out of the office and I pick up my phone again to call her. This time she answers. “What do you want?”
“I want to talk.”
“You didn’t want to talk the last time I saw you. As a matte
r of fact, I think your words were ‘Get out of my house before I call the cops.’”
Clingy is an understatement. She was ready to marry me after one night. I briefly feared for my life when I found out she had called my mother to tell her we were coming for a visit. It wasn’t a pretty morning for either of us after that. “I thought it was a one-night stand, Jessica.”
“What gave you the impression that I do one-night stands? I’m a celebrity, Luke.”
Distinctly remembering how she grabbed me at the Vanity Fair Oscar after-party, telling me to take her home and fuck her might have given me that impression. However, right now I need her, so pissing her off might not be the best route to go. I suck up my pride. “I’m sorry.”
“You are?” Her voice perks up.
“I am. I’m also happy to hear you and Ryan are so happy together. Actually that’s what I’m calling about. You and Ryan.”
* * *
ONE WEEK LATER, the deals are sealed. We have our stars signed on.
Ian tosses the script down on the conference table. We’ve been working on it for hours. He pushes it toward me, then leans back in his chair and rubs his eyes. “I’m wiped.”
I drop my head into my hands, my eyes burning from the above fluorescents. “It’s late. I’m tired. Let’s pick up where we left off tomorrow.”
A knock on the door draws our attention.
Jane.
Seeing her in the doorway, my body is on alert, my heart racing just from the sight of her. “Jane?”
“Sorry for interrupting.” She shifts uncomfortably.
Ian pushes back from the table after spying her over his shoulder. When he gets a good look, he stands, his hand out as he moves closer. “Hi, I’m Ian Burke.”
She smiles, the act itself reminding me of how much I missed her. “Hello. I’m Jane Lewis. You’re the director.”
“And you’re the screenwriter,” Ian replies, suddenly seeming wide-awake with his eyes locked on Jane. My Jane. “The pleasure is mine. We have a meeting this week, right?”
“Yes, we do.” she says, glancing to me.
