Method

Lucas needs closure for that guilt, that’s apparent. He’s waged war on himself because of it. How do you make it up to your best friend for the fact you weren’t there for both his downfall and ultimately his demise? How do you turn his tragedy into something you can make peace with?

Lucas had colored every part of himself in the insignia of Blake West.

Mind scattered, I pull up to my cottage as the weight settles. I may have broken my own rule but I’m pregnant, and I have more than myself to think about. So far, every part of this revelation has felt like a betrayal, but I will not subject the well-being of myself or that of our child for any part in this lunacy. I’m breaking apart piece by piece trying to sift through the ashes of three lives. My husband is sacrificing himself and our marriage in some sort of effort to redeem Blake. He’s gone much too far, and maybe he trusted me too much. But it isn’t Lucas I’m leaving, it’s Blake I’m abandoning. Or perhaps it’s both.

And what a performance.

Lucas

“Hey, man, you want another beer?”

“Yeah,” I say, sprawled on the large beach mat next to him looking across the water. It’s hot but the bleached sand is deflecting it nicely, and there’s just enough of a breeze where it’s comfortable. “This is beautiful.”

“Not bad,” Blake says, taking a sip of his beer. “Peaceful.” He pops the top of a Corona and hands it to me as he looks on at Mila and Amanda frolicking in the ocean. They’re wearing brilliant twin smiles and occasionally looking back at us. I bite my lip at the sight of my wife’s beautiful ass in her new bikini, the curve of her hips, the lines of her neck, the loose tendrils of hair that have escaped her sloppy bun. She’s in her element in the sparkling surf.

“You really do love her,” Blake says, eyeing me as I admire her. “Like soul-deep love.”

“I do. And you’re one to talk,” I nod toward them, “that redhead has you by the balls.”

“That she does. I didn’t like her at all when we met. She had those fucking judgy eyes. I thought no way in hell would she be the type I’d get along with. And back then, on the show, I don’t think she was. But meeting her the second time, she was the opposite, just so laid-back, with dancing skeletons in her own closet, and she was honest about it. Didn’t give two shits who knew about them, and I love that about her. She’s beautiful, and she’s brave. I admire her. I truly do. I just…I just, damn, I fell hard. There’s no going back.”

“I’m relieved.”

He smirks. “Why, because you’re done babysitting?”

“It’s not that, man. It’s just so much easier when you find someone that understands you.”

Blake is already nodding. “Yeah.”

“I don’t think I’ve been honest enough with Mila about my past life.”

Blake’s eyes train on a seagull. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve told her some about the conditions but not all. The circumstances of when I was young. When she asks for more, I shut her down. I save it for film. And in a way, I feel like she doesn’t need to know.”

“Then don?

?t. You don’t want her pity. You don’t have to always put a voice to the shit that hurt you. Therapy is a fucking joke. Especially for actors, when we get enough of it every day. We get to work through our own shit. That’s the beauty of it, we get to hide in plain sight.”

“I’ve never looked at it that way.”

“No, because you do it every day already.” He swallows. “Just don’t let the therapy spill into your real life too much. Save the rage for the stage.”

“Nice,” I say, tipping my head toward him as we clank bottles.

“That’s a West original, you can borrow it.”

“I just might.”

Another minute of waves and seagulls lulls us into where we are, a piece of paradise.

I broach the subject that’s been bothering me for years. “It may be a West original, but you don’t follow it.”

He takes a sip. “That’s true.”

“Why do you let yourself spill over so much?”

The breeze drifts over us, grabbing the hair away from his forehead as he stares down at his bottle. “I think the better question is: why haven’t I ever heard my internal director?”