Total pages in book: 244
Estimated words: 236705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1184(@200wpm)___ 947(@250wpm)___ 789(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 236705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1184(@200wpm)___ 947(@250wpm)___ 789(@300wpm)
Talk about backstabbing. No wonder Jude was suspicious as fuck. “Shit. I do need to take out a hit on them,” I say.
“What happened next is on me,” he continues, self-loathing in his tone as he runs a finger over the old leather of a gray jacket on the rack. “I didn’t realize it at the time. But I stopped truly giving my emotions to my roles. I shut down my feelings. I didn’t want to get hurt again. But I hurt myself because I didn’t put any of my heart or my hurt into auditions. I didn’t work. I didn’t get cast in any parts. I was a mess,” he says with a heavy sigh.
“I hate that you blamed yourself. But don’t beat yourself up now,” I implore him.
He lets go of the soft leather. Meets my eyes unflinchingly. “I’m okay now. At the time, though? I was in a dark place. It wasn’t till Pillow Talk that I got my act together and realized I needed to be honest with my emotions on stage and in front of the camera, or I’d never make it,” he says, then takes a moment, maybe to center himself. “So, I understand your need to keep secrets. I kept my own for a while too. I was ashamed of what I’d done in those two years—by not trying. I was hurt and angry, and I turned off my emotions. I didn’t want anyone to know it was my fault I hadn’t worked. It was my fault I didn’t get any roles. When I saw you last year, I was ashamed to tell you. I didn’t want you to know how I’d stalled out my career.”
“I wouldn’t have been disappointed in you, though. I’ve always believed in you.”
He meets my gaze, his blue eyes full of gratitude. “I know that now. I maybe even knew it then, but I had a chip on my shoulder. I think that’s all part of why I handled everything with you so badly last year. I was really insecure. I didn’t think I was good enough for you, and you tried to assure me it wasn’t a race, but I couldn’t handle it.” He exhales in deep regret.
My heart hurtles to him. I know what it’s like to beat yourself up. “I’m my own worst enemy too. I didn’t write for ten fucking months after Los Angeles. I felt like a failure, and then you came into my world again and reminded me I wasn’t.”
“I’ll remind you anytime,” he tells me.
I glimpse his smile sneaking through. That smile is like the sun warming my soul.
But I want to make him feel good too. “You’re Jude Fucking Fox.” I curl a hand tightly around his shoulder. “You’re the man who touches people with your performances. Like the woman on the plane who had to tell you what your movie meant to her, like that British blogger at Food who said she was gutted by your performance.” I take a beat. “Like me.”
He dips his face briefly, then raises it and smiles. “You’re the reason the movie was so good.”
“You mean you put the hurt and anger into the role?” I ask, though, of course, I wish I’d never hurt him.
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “The opposite. The way you showed up for me at Pillow Talk. The way you laughed during the performance. And then the thing you said backstage. You make me believe. That’s what I held onto when I went into the If Found, Please Return audition. That’s what I held onto when we were shooting too. Make them believe.”
“You’ll keep making people believe for a long, long time.”
“We both will,” Jude says, and he’s confident but not cocky. He’s self-assured now, where before he grappled with insecurity. I love this change in him. But I love it for him. Jude’s happier with who he is.
He tips his forehead to the register. “Now, let me buy you this scrummy shirt. I can’t wait to see you wear it tomorrow night. And we’ll just keep looking for foxes,” he says, then spins around to head to the counter.
“There’s a great—”
I swallow the rest of the sentence. There’s a great shop on your street in Manhattan. Want to go shopping there?
As he pays for the shirt, my heart squeezes painfully, aching with unsaid things. And don’t forget I’ll fix your laundry room door. And I want to take you to a baseball game. And play pinball at my favorite arcade. Maybe it’ll become your favorite too.
I want that future badly, but I have to get through the here and now. Tomorrow night will be here soon, and we’ll need to play the part of boyfriends at the concert—the roles our agency wrote for us to fix the messes we made of our careers.