Bad Romeo (Starcrossed #1)(56)
Author: Leisa Rayven

“But if your child finds something they’re truly passionate about,” I say, “who are you to tell them that they’re wrong?”

He studies me for a second. “So, your parents are happy you chose acting as your career?”

That stops me dead in my tracks. “Well, not exactly happy. But I can guarantee that if they were here tonight, they would have told me I did well and were proud of me. I know that much for sure.”

I watch Mr. Holt’s expression carefully, knowing I probably just offended him, but he doesn’t seem angry. If anything, he seems sad.

“I guess I saw a different path for Ethan. Ever since he was eight years old, all he ever talked about was being a doctor. Then in his junior year of high school, someone convinced him to join the drama club, and suddenly medicine took a backseat to plays and student films. I honestly thought he’d grow out of it.”

“The thing is, Mr. Holt,” I say, “people never outgrow their passion.”

On one hand, I can totally understand why Holt has so much animosity toward his father. But on the other, I know that it’s hard for parents to let go of their expectations and trust their children to find their own way, no matter how much they love them.

“You’d better go after him,” Elissa says, gesturing toward the doors. “He won’t talk to any of us when he gets like this, but you might stand a chance.”

Ethan’s parents look at me expectantly. “Well, it was nice meeting you both,” I say and quickly head off to find Holt.

I push through the doors and run as fast as my shoes will allow, click-clacking on the pavement stones. I breathe a sigh of relief when I see his familiar frame striding toward the Hub

“Ethan! Wait up!”

He turns and looks as me, and for a moment he lets me see how tired he is. How completely beaten down by whatever it is that makes him act the way he does.

“That bastard,” he says as he shoves his hands in his pockets. “He couldn’t say it, could he? Couldn’t just fucking pat me on the back for once and say, ‘Well done, son, I’m proud of you.’ Asshole.”

I touch his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“That theater was full of people who thought I was good. Who fucking loved me. Complete strangers who have more faith in me than my so-called father.”

“It’s not that he doesn’t have faith in you, it’s just that he—”

The words die in my throat when I see the look on his face. “Are you actually defending him?”

“No, I just think that … God, he’s a parent. The uncertainty of a career in acting is scary for someone who doesn’t understand that’s it’s something we’re compelled to do, even if the pay is lousy.”

He stares at me for a moment before dropping his head and shoving his hands in his pockets.

“He didn’t offer me one kind word about my performance, Cassie,” he says, lowering his voice to a bitter whisper. “Not. Fucking. One. He complimented Elissa, and even you. But me? I get the lecture on how I’m wasting my life.”

The hurt in his voice makes my throat tight. I take his hand, and for once, he doesn’t pull away.

“Do you know the last time he said he loved me?” he says to the pavement. “September seventh, two years ago. I remember it clearly, because it doesn’t happen that often. He was drunk. Nice to know that he needs liquid courage to tell his son how he feels.”

“Ethan…”

I move forward and try to hug him, but he takes a breath and steps back.

“I gotta go.”

“What? Where?”

“I need to get out of here for a while.” He starts to walk away.

“Ethan, wait.”

He stops but doesn’t turn around.

I walk around him and put my hands on his chest. He looks at me then, but his eyes are cold.

“Don’t do that,” I say. “Just … don’t.”

“What?”

“Shut down.”

He stares at me, and for a moment I think he’s going to slip into his usual mode of deflect and deny, but the fatigue I saw earlier lingers behind his eyes.

He sighs. “Taylor, you don’t understand. The way I am…” He shakes his head. “I don’t mean to shut down. It just happens.”

“Yeah, well, don’t let it,” I say as I rub his chest and feel the muscles relax a little. “Did you even consider that you might actually benefit from having someone who’s there for you? Who’s willing to listen?”

“You really don’t want that job.”

I sigh in frustration. “Dammit, Ethan, can’t you just trust that I like you? That I want to be there for you. Support you or whatever. But you have to let me.”

He doesn’t say anything. He just looks at me like I’ve requested he jump out of a plane without a parachute.

“Please don’t freak out,” I say.

“I’m not,” he says, but his body is rigid and tense.

“Such a liar.”

“Look,” he says. “Needing things … being needed … only ever leads to disappointment.”

“It doesn’t have to.”

“But it usually does.”

I stroke his frown lines. His expression softens, but only a little.

“I just need some time to cool off,” he says. “I’ll see you at the party.”

He steps around me and walks away.

Just when I thought we were making progress.

THIRTEEN

NOT CARING

Present Day
New York City

Dear God. He’s in my apartment. Like, in my apartment. Not only that, he’s wandering around, looking at my stuff.

Having him in my formerly Holt-free Sanctuary is making my skin prickle with heat.

This is the place where Tristan and I have talked about him. Where I write angsty-emo vitriol in my diary night after night. Where I’ve brought countless men who always ended up having his face. His hands. His body.

And now he’s here. Pulling off his jacket and laying it on the couch. Turning to look at me with a small, nervous smile. Showing me that no matter how many men I bring back here, he’s the only one who truly looks like he belongs.

Dammit.

How did this happen? Why did I let it?

Today’s rehearsal was a crapfest. Ethan was nailing his characterization, while I was still flubbing simple lines. When Marco invited us out for drinks afterward, I didn’t miss how he only finished half of his spritzer before leaving us alone. Subtle.