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“Am I kind?” I ask softly. “I hope I am.”
“Mila,” his voice breaks as he bites his upper lip, tears sliding down his jaw. “I don’t know how to make this up to you.”
“You will,” I say through my own trembling lips. We stand there in silence which gnaws at me. “I can’t give you the words. You have to talk to me.”
He stares at the gravel between us before lifting his eyes to mine. “I don’t know how to say I’m sorry.”
“You just did.”
“I have no right to ask you to come home.”
“Sure, you do. I’m your wife.”
“Come home.”
“I can’t yet. I need more words, Lucas.”
His demeanor sinks and is a bleak contrast to the sunshine that highlights his frame. “Dame,” he whispers. “I don’t deserve you at all.”
“Well, that’s dramatic.”
He coughs out a tight laugh and clears his throat. “Yeah, well, I’m done with that.”
“Done?”
“I’m done acting, I don’t want to do it anymore. That was my last movie.”
“Now that’s dramatic,” I say, alarmed. No matter how many times he’s come back exhausted, he’s never once mentioned quitting. Mom was right. I knew it, but he’d just confirmed it. It wasn’t just the loss of Blake. His death was what triggered it. What happened was a culmination of everything my mother had put a voice to. I owe her because if it weren’t for her, I’d still be lost. But as of now, I refuse to let Lucas get away with minimal statements. He owes me more than ‘I’m sorry, come home.’
“Can you forgive—”
“I already have,” I say softly. Face crumbling, he takes a step toward me, and I shake my head, dying for the touch of his hands, and his apologetic kiss, but the physical contact will have to wait. I need to know where we stand.
“I don’t have it all figured out, but I’m done acting.”
“Why?”
He shrugs. “It’s served its purpose.”
“That’s a big decision you made, and without me. You seem to be doing a lot of that.” Lifting the roses to my nose, I inhale their fresh scent and meet his eyes over the bouquet. “Sometimes I feel like maybe I never knew you, not the way I’m suppo
sed to.”
Shoving his hands in his jeans, he nods, his eyes cast down. “That’s my fault. The boy I was…was raised to be a movie star. That’s all I’ve known since I was eight years old, Mila. It’s the only thing in my life I knew I was supposed to do, and it was the craziest damn road to be put on as a means of survival because it’s the quickest way to fail. But that was my skill set. I still can’t believe I pulled it off,” he says, rolling his eyes upward. “The whole idea was insane in itself.”
“But you did it.”
“Yeah, I did. And you were the only thing I was drawn to just as strongly. I had the same green light inside when I saw you. I can’t explain it any better than that. And you’re right, I don’t have a script for this. And for the first time in my life, I don’t want one.”
Fearful eyes meet mine and then spill over.
“Baby, I’m lost, and I don’t know how I got here,” he croaks, “I don’t know…I don’t know what the point of this is anymore. I don’t know why I’m doing it or if it even matters.”
Nodding, I let the tears flow down my cheeks while he rubs his forehead with his palm.
“I’m just…lost.” He looks over to me with red-rimmed eyes. “This doesn’t feel real to me.” His lips part exhaling a rough gasp. “Do you know what the definition of hell is? Because I do. It’s getting the life you wanted only to fuck it up because you didn’t know how to embrace it and be happy.”
“Lucas, you don’t have to quit, you can take a break.”
