The mood between us was different. Jay didn’t crack a joke or try to ease the discomfort of the situation. The question hung in the air as he tore open the bag.
“Um, yes,” I said quietly. “Just a minute ago.”
“Talked to my therapist just a minute ago too.”
I waited for him to elaborate because he wouldn’t have said it if he didn’t mean something by it.
“She thinks I have to let my emotions unfold sometimes without worrying about keeping those close to me happy. Sometimes I have to make myself happy.”
I narrowed my eyes. What was he trying to say? There was something deeper there. He wanted me to understand that something was coming. I just didn’t know what it was.
He turned to go into his en suite bathroom.
When he returned, the cup was full and the test strips showed that it was clean.
I put my hand on his shoulder. “You’re doing amazing.”
I wanted us to get back to who we were before the kiss in LA. I wanted him to smile like there weren’t twenty different things on his mind, a rollercoaster of feelings, none of which we would want to experience ourselves.
He nodded, put his hand on top of mine and squeezed. “I’m getting there.”
He grabbed the cup and took it to the bathroom to dispose of. I glanced around to see what he had been doing. His script was on the bedside table and some of the takes were on the TV screen.
Working.
Jay had always, always worked harder than he played. I had wondered when he was getting it done because he hadn’t ask me to read the last part of the script they would be filming. The main actress would be flying in soon, and the film crew hoped to get their scenes taped in two weeks’ time.
When he walked back in, I pointed at the pages. “You’re working?”
“On the scenes we’ll do here.”
“I should help you.” I grabbed the packet and looked over the lines. I’d read them all. I knew the movie inside and out. I hadn’t provided much feedback because the script was better than anything I could have written. I was in awe of it.
“Not giving me an option?” He chuckled a bit. “You love that script.”
“It’s a good script.” I acted nonchalant as I sat down on the bed and reread the part they were filming here. “Do you think Lela can handle this?”
“She’s more brilliant than people give her credit for.”
“God, this scene is going to wreck people.”
“‘I’m going to kill him.”’ Jay paced back and forth, and his whole body morphed into a man on the brink of rage, so different from the type of character he usually played. I felt the edge in his voice, the intensity in his walk, the urge to inflict bodily harm.
I immediately knew women would react to him in a whole new way after seeing him as this character.
“‘You don’t have any ground to stand on.’” I glanced at the paper. “‘I want your love. Not your protection.’”
“‘You get both. Always.’” He walked up to me, pushed himself between my legs and lifted my chin. “‘I’ll die for you.’”
He paused to stare down at me with a look of love, of complete sacrifice, like he was giving his whole heart to me.
He was just acting. They were lines from a movie, a movie written by someone else. He was repeating words he’d memorized, looking at me the way he would look at the actress.
Still.
I got lost in them. I found myself swimming in the blue, blue color of his eyes, treading through all the emotions he felt. Being on the receiving end when he opened up the amusement park of his soul was like being pummeled by a waterfall of pain and love and determination. He pushed all those feelings onto me with just a look.
Then he whispered, “I’m going to die for you. You and I already know it. I intend to take that man with me when I do.”