Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 96284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
“So that’s it,” I muttered. “I go back and play happy family with Sandra, and you…”
“I try to figure out who the fuck I am.”
I swallowed hard and eased back, feeling an internal guard slam up.
He would eventually get there—with someone else. At some point, he had to…explore.
“And you and I,” I said, gesturing between us, “we pretend we don’t want each other.”
“That ship has sailed.” He quoted me. “I’m done pretending. But I’ll keep my hands to myself if that’s what you want.”
I didn’t know if that was worse.
Even if he wasn’t outright suggesting an affair, it sure felt like it would be up to me to keep the lines uncrossed. If that’s what you want. Hmpf. Motherfucker.
I stared at him and wondered if I was seeing a new edge to him.
“If that’s what I want?” I cocked a brow.
He offered a one-shouldered shrug and scratched his bicep. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Roe. I’ve tried my best to be who you want me to be around your wife, but every goddamn second is a ruse. She’s not right for you. You’re definitely not right for her.”
Whoa. Yeah, definitely a new edge. I wasn’t a fan—though, that might have something to do with the fact that he was telling me shit I didn’t wanna hear. Regardless of how true it was.
“I’m not sayin’ I’m right for you,” he admitted. “I know right from wrong—I know this right here is wrong because you’re married, and I don’t give a fuck. Because I don’t care about Sandra. I never did. So…I don’t know. Maybe I’m not a good guy. I never actually thought I was.”
That…didn’t sit well with me either. Jake was a wonderful man. An amazing dad, the best friend I could ever ask for. He was generous and caring…to…everyone but my wife? Christ. I scrubbed a hand over my forehead, frustrated and fucked in the head.
In the end, it was my moral dilemma, not his. And I knew right from wrong too.
Feeling too unsettled, I slipped off his lap and sat on the edge of the bed instead.
“I’m sorry, Roe. I genuinely am. I wish I could…I don’t know, take care of all our problems.”
I knew he did. Because he was a good man—who might be interested in doing a bad thing.
That couldn’t happen. Right? No. No, it would be too much. We had a full year ahead of us. We were wrapping up Currahee. We’d be in LA most of the time, with our families around us, which was kind of rare. In between edits and narrating the series, we only had a couple travel dates for Nomads and some promo shit. Now we obviously had a clusterfuck with the Coast Guard too. Who knew when we’d see our footage again?
“Our friendship and business have to come first,” I said quietly. “I can’t lose you. But I gotta think. I made a promise to Sandra, and I don’t know that I would like the man I’d be if I broke it.” Repeatedly. I was already feeling like shit.
Jake scooted toward me and pressed a kiss to my shoulder. “Unfortunately, that’s one of the reasons I can’t get you out of my head. It’s the right call.”
I closed my eyes and shook my head.
If only right didn’t feel completely wrong.
I can’t do this anymore.
Shut up, get through the day.
I’ll tell her tonight.
The fuck you will. You made your bed.
I flushed the toilet and washed my hands, then walked out. Jesus, my stomach was seriously cramping. Thank fuck it was our last day. We had a reshoot of the one scene Jake and I appeared in and approximately one hour left in Ortiz’s studio. Then we’d be done. Well, we’d be done filming and recording. We were balls deep in postproduction too, the stage where a project’s credits grew to be miles long.
Ortiz had made it big in Culver City. I remembered when his studio was a rented lot in Reseda. Now he had his own three-story building with his company logo on the side. The second floor was all recording studios, and we were in studio number four.
Just as I was about to open the door, Jake and Ortiz came out.
“Change of plans,” Jake said. “Nikki got here early, so we’re gonna do the reshoot downstairs now.”
Oh. Oh, okay. That was good. It was always better to do sound last, but sometimes we had to be creative with timing. Sort of like we’d had to be all fucking summer until we’d gotten our footage back from the Coast Guard. In the meantime, we’d locked the footage from Chicago, Boston, and Philly.
On the first floor, Jake went to meet up with Nikki in the lobby, and Ortiz and I continued to his smallest stage, nicknamed the black room. Our equipment was already set up, including the lighting.