Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
“That’s not true. It’s just different for me. But back to what you were saying… Dreams changing or realizing they aren’t what you thought they would be doesn’t make you an asshole. I feel like a lot of situations are that way. If that’s what you decide, you shouldn’t feel bad about that. People are allowed to change. And second, you’re not lucky—you worked hard.”
“Other people work hard too.”
“True. You’re not just lucky, then. There’s a degree of luck to it as well, but if you weren’t good, you wouldn’t be where you are. It’s not like you were handed this. You defied the odds and earned it.” He took a drink, again turning quiet.
“What about the other stuff I asked? About wondering how your life turned out the way it did?”
“Yeah, I wonder about that too—how this is my life. I sure as shit wasn’t supposed to be where I am. I was supposed to be nothing…and have nothing. I don’t let myself forget that.”
My chest got heavy all of a sudden. I didn’t know Declan’s history, but I could tell he didn’t see himself clearly, that he thought himself less than he was.
“I do have a very sultry gaze, though.”
“You do, Declan. It’s all sex. I kept coming back for more of it.”
He waggled his brows. “My evil plan worked.”
I sighed. “But there’s more to you than your looks. You know that, right?” Because it was important to me that he did. Declan was a good man.
“Obviously,” he replied, but I didn’t think he knew it. Not at all. I decided right then that this was one of the things I wanted out of our friendship—for Declan to know how special he was. “So did you ask me over to try and depress me or what?”
I chuckled because you would think so from the conversation. “Nope. I was thinking I’d cook you dinner and we could hang out and talk. Is it strange that I feel like I don’t remember how to do this? Just be or make friends with someone?”
“I’m sure it’s hard, being who you are. People deciding who you are based on what they see online or the roles you play. People just wanting to be close to you because you’re famous.”
I knew he would get it. It was weird that I felt like Declan understood me in a lot of ways. “Exactly.”
“So what are we making for dinner?” he asked, surprising me. I hadn’t expected him to offer to help.
“A balsamic grilled chicken with pesto, tomatoes, and avocado. Is that okay? I guess I should have asked if you like those things.”
“You’d be hard-pressed to find something I won’t eat. Food is food.”
Because he hadn’t always had enough? Or maybe he just liked to eat. “Let’s do it, then.”
I’d already cleaned the grill, and it was gas, so all I had to do was turn it on when the time came. We went inside, leaving the glass doors open, but I lowered a screen so bugs didn’t fly into the house. The back door was off the kitchen, so we were able to go freely between the two spaces.
“What kind of music do you like?” I asked.
“Anything, really. I like nineties and early 2000s rock and grunge music a lot.”
“Me too. I like anything, though. I’ll go from Pearl Jam to Britney to Tupac and end the night with Billie Holiday.”
“You’re into music, then?” Declan asked after I called out for one of my ’90s playlists to turn on.
“Not as in ever wanting to be a musician or anything like that. I don’t sing or play an instrument, but I used music as an escape a lot when I was younger—that and acting.”
He nodded, and I was curious about him. What did Declan use for an escape? What did he like? I wanted to know everything about him. What made him tick, why he was a loner, why it seemed like he would never let anyone into his life the way he had his podcast friends. “What about you?” I asked him. “What takes you away from everything else?”
Declan shrugged. “I used to draw a lot, I guess.”
“You don’t anymore?” I went over to the sink to wash my hands, and he followed.
“Nah, I haven’t for years.” He moved to the sink when I stepped back.
“Why not?”
“I’m not sure. It just seems weird. I don’t really have a reason to sit down and draw.”
“Hobbies are a thing. Plus, we’re allowed to have stuff that’s just for us. You don’t have to have a reason to do it. Sometimes I wonder if that’s why I don’t like acting the way I used to—well, not the acting, I love that, but my passion being my job makes it difficult. Maybe I was never supposed to combine the two.”