Page 155 of Reckless Hearts
“And you need to be a good big sister to him. Check in with him, let him talk to you about what’s happening in his life. This breeding season for the fairy terns isn’t going very well, and he takes it really hard whenever they lose a bird. And he’s got a big submission against the proposal to build a golf course, which will be stressing him out because he doesn’t like confrontation and politics, but he’s going to push himself to do it because he believes it’s so important. So maybe you could help him with that? And he needs reminders to eat properly because he tends to get so absorbed in his work that he forgets about basic self-care.”
The shock on Saskia’s face has faded. And now, her eyes fill with unexpected warmth.
“Please, just look after him. Make sure he’s okay,” I say, aware my voice is raw and pleading.
“Don’t worry, Marcus. I’ll look after him,” Saskia says softly.
A week passes.
Two weeks.
Three weeks.
A month.
Two months.
I keep seeing Seb everywhere. In the curl of a stranger’s hair catching the sunlight, in the quiet enthusiasm of a barista explaining the science behind coffee brewing, in every nerdy T-shirt that passes me on the street.
Los Angeles surrounds me with its parade of perfect faces, so many sculpted by the finest surgeons money can buy, yet none of them have that shy smile that lights up my world.
“The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else,” Jake advises me after three months.
But I can’t.
Because every time I even think about trying to hook up with someone, all I can think about ishim.
I throw myself into my work instead, treating scripts like lifeboats in an ocean of regret.
If your heart is broken, make art with the pieces.
Jake’s advice echoes in my head.
I’ve got nothing but my career left. So I better make it worthwhile.
The waitingroom for the audition ofThe Invisible Threadis a sea of nervous energy, with actors pacing and muttering lines under their breath. Annie obviously believes in old-style auditions with no video submissions or Zoom calls, just thirty anxious actors crammed into a room that smells of coffee and desperation.
My appearance causes some raised eyebrows from the other actors. I’m not exactly an indie film regular, more used to scripts that come with CGI instructions than profound silences.
I sit still, letting the chaos wash over me. For once, I welcome the nerves. They’re a distraction from the constant ache in my chest.
Annie Harlow greets me with a firm handshake and piercing eyes that seem to see right through me. “Glad you could make it, Marcus. I’ve been looking forward to this.”
As I begin the scene, something shifts. The world narrows to just this moment, this character. I’m no longer Marcus Johnson, heartbroken Hollywood star. I’m James, the artist facing his own mortality. The grief I’ve been carrying becomes fuel, lending authenticity to every line, every gesture.
There’s a pivotal moment where James realizes he’ll never finish his life’s work. I let the weight of that sink in, feeling it in my bones. The silence stretches, heavy with unspoken loss. When I finally look up, I see Annie leaning forward, completely engrossed.
There’s a beat of silence when I finish. Annie’s face is unreadable, but there’s an intensity in her gaze that wasn’t there before.
“Thank you, Marcus,” she says softly. “That was…unexpected.”
I leave the audition room feeling oddly light. For the first time in months, there’s a flicker of something inside me that doesn’t hurt. I may have lost Seb, but maybe, just maybe, I’ve found a way to channel that pain into something meaningful.
I’m in my house two days later, staring at my phone, willing it to light up.
Which is ridiculous, I know. Even if Seb calls, I’ve promised I won’t respond. And I plan to keep my promise. It is the least that I can do.
My phone finally rings, but it’s not Seb’s name that lights up the screen.
