31. Marcus

31

Marcus

“I love you, Marcus!”

The declaration rings out above the noise of the crowd, and I turn, flashing a grin and a wink at the fan. She promptly bursts into tears, clutching her friend’s arm.

A sea of faces, phones held high, stretch as far as I can see down the red carpet. The flashes are blinding, a constant strobe threatening to short-circuit my brain.

The Critics’ Choice Awards kicks off the awards season, where Hollywood congratulates itself on its achievements. This awards season, I’m really hoping for a metaphorical pat on the back. The reception to Winter of the Heart has been good, and I can’t help feeling that playing opposite Peter Beauford in a serious period drama is my best chance of getting some recognition for my acting.

But as I make my way down the carpet, stopping for photos and autographs, a part of my mind is elsewhere.

I’m thinking about Seb.

For the last month, Seb has seemed quieter when I talk to him. Which in turn makes me quieter.

I can’t shake the feeling that I’m losing him.

And that makes me panic.

When I’m around Seb, I can breathe. There’s no other way to describe it. It’s like I’m breathing toxic air with a giant weight strapped to my chest most of the time, and then around Seth, I’m suddenly breathing one hundred percent fresh oxygen.

And it turns out I’m not prepared to give up my oxygen supply.

“Marcus! Over here!” A petite blonde from E-News waves frantically, nearly dropping her microphone in her haste to get my attention.

I saunter over, grinning. “Careful there, Cassie. I’d hate to see you pull a muscle.”

She laughs, a blush creeping up her cheeks. “I appreciate your concern, Marcus.” She scans me up and down. “Now, I think the most pressing answer our viewers want after seeing you in that tux—did you leave any handsome for the rest of Hollywood?”

I give my best nonchalant shrug. “I tried to share, but they insisted I take it all. It’s a burden, really.”

Cassie giggles, then composes herself. “All right, Mr. Funny Man. This film’s been described as a roller coaster of emotions. Any scenes that particularly challenged you?”

I lean in, lowering my voice conspiratorially. “Well, there was that one scene where I had to cry on cue.”

“And how did you manage that?” Cassie asked.

“Let’s just say I had to channel my feelings about the Lakers’ last season.”

“Brutal.” Cassie winces sympathetically. “One last question—you’re often described as Mr. Well Behaved in the tabloids. What’s your secret to staying so grounded in this crazy industry?”

For a split second, Seb’s face flashes in my mind.

Seb, who has shown me what unconditional support really means. Seb, who has been the one constant in my life, the one person who sees past the Hollywood facade to the real me beneath.

Which is why I had to tell him the truth about my family. After telling him I didn’t want him to love me, I had no choice but to tell him why.

I trust Seb. I trust him more than anyone else in my life.

And while one small voice whispers in my head that his recent withdrawal is because he’s disgusted over finding out the person I really am, the other, more sensible part knows that is not true.

Seb has always just been so authentically himself. He has no pretenses. And when I was telling him about my mother and sister, there was nothing but compassion and understanding in his eyes.

The problem between us stems from him wanting to help me and me not letting him.

I shut him down when he suggests I go to therapy.

I can’t dig everything up. I’m coping just fine.

But every time I swallow another pill, I see Seb’s face. His worried eyes haunt me.

Fuck.

I suddenly realize Cassie is waiting for me to reply.

“The way I stay grounded is by surrounding myself with people who aren’t afraid to tell me when I’m being a diva. Plus, I make sure to trip on at least one red carpet a year. Keeps me humble.”

Cassie laughs. “Well, here’s hoping you make it down the red carpet okay tonight.”

I give her a wink. “I can but try.”

I saunter away from Cassie into the next interview, where a boyish reporter from Entertainment Tonight is practically vibrating with excitement.

It’s the same charming smile, the same frivolous conversation.

Panic grows inside me as I keep my grin plastered on. A tightness in my chest threatens to suffocate me, my designer tux suddenly feeling like a straitjacket.

When I get inside the theater, I head straight to the restroom. My hand shaking, I pull an inconspicuous vial from my inner pocket.

It’s a gift from Jake, ketamine in the form of a white powder.

I lean over to sniff it, the sharp, chemical scent burning my nostrils as I inhale deeply.

It soothes my nerves, a warm numbness spreading through my body, pushing the panic to the background.

Seb’s concerned face is in my mind again as I stash the vial in my pocket. But I don’t have a dangerous habit. I have an incredibly demanding career. No one could be expected to cope without some artificial help.

The theater is already buzzing when I enter. The plush velvet of my seat feels surreal, the faces around me blurring into a sea of expectant smiles. Jake materializes beside me, his hand squeezing my shoulder.

“This is your night, kid,” he whispers, his breath warm against my ear. “That award has your name on it.”

Fuck, I hope he’s right.

So far in my career, I’ve won the People Sexiest Man Alive award. I’ve won the Teen Choice Award for Best Kiss, MTV’s Best Shirtless Scene, and Buzzfeed’s Top 10 Celebrity Abs of the Year.

But I’ve never won any awards for my actual job, which is acting.

This is my best chance.

As the ceremony progresses, I catch glimpses of myself on the giant screens flanking the stage. I look the perfect image of a Hollywood star, poised and confident.

But inside, my stomach is a churning mess, my palms so sweaty I’m afraid I’ll leave damp handprints on my designer suit.

When they announce my category, Jake squeezes my arm, his grip almost painful. I lean forward, heart pounding. This is it.

“And the Critics’ Choice Award for Best Actor goes to…” There’s a pause that feels like an eternity. “Eli Hawthorne for The Silent Hour !”

The applause hits me like a physical blow. I force my face into a mask of gracious defeat.

As Eli walks to the stage, each step he takes feels like a personal rejection, a reminder of my inadequacy.

There’s a voice in my head, eerily sounding like my father.

You’re not good enough. You’ll never be good enough to make up for what you did.

I manage to get through the rest of the ceremony and the after-party by keeping the same brittle smile on my face and popping a Xanax discreetly in the restroom, washing it down with champagne.

All I want is Seb.

But when I finally get home and he answers my video call, his face is drawn, a deep furrow between his brows. He’s biting his lower lip, a habit he only indulges in when he’s truly upset about something.

“What’s wrong?” I immediately ask.

“We lost one of our birds today. A stoat killed it.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“It was one of our best breeding pairs too,” Seb says. He rubs at his temples, no sign of his usual enthusiasm. “Sometimes, it feels like we take one step forward, two back in this fight. That the odds are stacked so high against us.”

My stomach lurches. Because it almost feels like he could be describing our relationship.

“It was just a crappy day all round,” he continues. “I found out tonight that the couple in my soccer team broke up. You know, Tim and Jamie, the ones I told you about?”

“Why did they break up?”

“Jamie’s going to move to London to do some traveling, and they decided not to do the long-distance thing. They thought it would be too hard,” Seb says in a flat voice.

“Long distance can be hard,” I offer weakly.

Hard is actually not the word to describe it. There is no word that accurately covers what it feels like to wake up after dreaming of Seb, reaching for my phone to see another science pun that would normally make me groan but now just makes my chest ache.

But the thought of stepping away from this life is impossible.

If I based myself in New Zealand, I’d lose so many roles. Hollywood moves fast. If I’m not here, constantly visible, constantly available, I’ll be forgotten in a heartbeat. There are a hundred other actors ready to take my place.

And who am I without my career?

Nobody.

“Yeah, I’m finding long distance hard at the moment.” Seb blows out a breath, raking his hands through his hair. “It’s much harder since you spent so much time here. Because now I know exactly what I’m missing.”

The pain on Seb’s face. I’m causing that.

I hate hurting him. I hate watching the light dim in those blue eyes, knowing I’m the cause. Every time he tries to hide his pain with a science joke or a forced smile, it feels like someone’s taking a scalpel to my insides.

But I have no idea how to stop hurting him.