“You’re not lost, Trenton. You’re just traveling in a circle,” she said gently. “And you don’t ask for directions. Typical man.”
“Let me guess…your cards will show me the way.”
Lame joke, but she didn’t take offense. “Maybe. Did the producer turn out to be a dickhead?”
“No. He’s a good man,” I replied softly. “A very good man.”
“But…” she prodded.
“No buts. Can I have more of that?” I held up my plastic cup hopefully.
She poured the stingiest dribble of tequila and pushed the bottle aside. “No more. I’m gonna tell you somethin’, and then I’m gonna read your cards.”
“Do you have to?”
“Yep. Listen up, Mackay. You’re gettin’ something wrong if you think life is a bus stop. You’re supposed to be the one doing the driving.”
I wrinkled my brow. “What the fuck does that mean?”
Macy shrugged as she continued shuffling. “It means you have to get behind the wheel and sometimes, you have to fight for what you want.”
“How do you fight for someone who won’t fight too? You have to both be invested.”
“Sure, but you also have to be patient. Now let’s see what the cards say. Cut the deck and pull a card.”
I did as instructed, then slumped in my chair. “Do I need more tequila for this?”
She shook her head and smiled kindly. “No. I’m not going to tell you anything you don’t want to hear. You do that to yourself too much.”
I furrowed my brow. “What do you mean?”
“You’re unkind to yourself, Trenton. You undervalue…you. I don’t like it, but I understand how it is. You’re a sensitive guy who got burned once and is afraid it’ll happen again. And when you see something coming your way—like a sexy man—you pull yourself out of harm’s way before that bus runs you over.”
“I don’t—”
Macy held a hand up. “You do. It’s human instinct to shy away from danger or the possibility of hurt. Fuck knows I’m guilty of it, and I bet your silver fox is too. But remember who you are.”
I scratched my head and squinted. “Who am I?”
She put the cards on the desk and smacked my arm playfully. “You’re a good man, a brave man. I can’t tell you if he’s the one or—”
“It’s over.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“Me too.”
Her expression softened. “You’re gonna be okay, Trent. You’re a tough guy.”
“I don’t feel very tough right now. I’m sad and I hate feeling so…impotent. Like history is repeating itself and I’m playing a shitty part in a craptastic play I didn’t remember auditioning for. The worst part is…I think he feels the same way.”
“This is where one of us recites a line from Shakespeare, right?”
I smiled. “Maybe.”
“I’d have to google one and I’m outta time. So let me tell you this…it’s okay to be sad. Just be sure you remember that you’re worthy.”
I set my hand over hers. “Thanks, Mace.”
“You’re welcome. Now let’s see what we have here,” she purred, turning over the card I’d chosen. “The Ace of Cups. Oh, how fortuitous. This love card can have many meanings, not just romantic love. It can be about connection in a general sense. Maybe the need to forgive the sins of the past and be free to form new connections. It could also be…”
I tuned her out when she branched into a “trust your feelings” and “allow great possibility into your life” spiel. My mind had quieted just enough that I could think without being engulfed with panic or intense sadness. I needed to regroup and reassess.
See, at the end of the day, Seb hadn’t done anything wrong or out of character. He was who he’d always claimed to be…a Hollywood shark. His business model was based on positive manipulation fueled by an intense desire to succeed. To prove his parents wrong. To prove that the past had no power over him.
Maybe that was the disconnect.
Maybe my past ruled my present too. Maybe it had been this way for so long that I didn’t know how to move forward anymore. Who was I now? An actor who didn’t want to be famous, a bachelor who wanted a family, a curmudgeon-fucker who loved dissecting the finer parts of English literature. I wasn’t sure any of those things defined me, but maybe there was some nuance in the details.
Maybe not wanting to be famous was more about a desire for privacy than a lack of ambition. Maybe family was the operative word, and maybe the truth I found in Shelley and Thoreau was a strength, not a quirk.
I didn’t like to think I was a coward, but the last time I’d taken a real risk was the day I’d faked a British accent in the hopes of impressing a producer. I wasn’t sure what that said about me. Macy was right. It was time to take the wheel and put some real thought into what came next.