So why this story? Why this role? Why did it feel like he couldn’t walk away?
He drained the glass and set it against the railing.
Maybe because, for once, it felt real—stripped of gloss, free of pretense, nothing he could hide behind. For the first time in years, Jacob wanted. Not the shallow wanting of reputation or money or acclaim, but the kind that gnawed at his ribs. The kind that felt like a need.
***
Not even a full day had passed and the role was already his. They’d called first thing that morning, Ellen’s voice brimming,calling it the best audition she’d ever seen. Jacob hadn’t celebrated, but instead he had come here.
The gym sat at the far end of the house, past the glass hallway and behind a set of soundproof doors. Inside, there was no music, only the rhythm of breath and the scrape of iron.
Jacob racked the barbell with a sharp exhale, sat up slowly, and dragged the towel across his shoulders. Muscles ached in the way he craved—the good kind of pain, the kind that proved he was still in control, still capable of pushing past limits.
Discipline was the only constant he trusted, the thing that steadied him when everything else threatened to hollow him out.
At forty-three, he looked damn good for his age—broad shoulders, lean muscle, nothing soft to betray him. Every inch earned, and every line a testament to his control.
He moved to the cable machine. Pulled. Released. Pulled again. The repetition steadied his body, but not his thoughts. He should have felt good; he’d nailed the audition and landed the part, but instead of satisfaction there was static.
His phone buzzed on the bench beside him. Mason—one of the first real friends he’d made in LA, and one of the few people who knew him without his armor. They’d met through mutual friends, and somehow the bond had lasted.
Mason worked at a high-profile rehab facility where half of Hollywood seemed to cycle through, which meant he always knew the gossip before it hit the trades.
Jacob almost let it ring, then sighed and picked up.
“Tell me it’s true,” Mason said, no greeting, his voice half laugh, half disbelief.
Jacob rolled his shoulders, staring at his reflection. “What’s true?”
“That you tookWingspan. That role in the gay romance series?”
Jacob’s jaw tightened. “Yeah. I took it.”
There was silence on the other end, then a long exhale. “Damn, man. Didn’t think you’d actually go for it.”
“Why not?” His tone cut sharper than he meant it to, the question landing more like a challenge than curiosity.
“You’ve built a whole brand on a certain kind of leading man. This… is a different kind of bold.”
“It’s a good script.” His answer came low, final, as if that was all that mattered.
“I’m sure it is,” Mason said quickly. “I’m not saying it’s bad. I just—” He hesitated. “You know you’re gonna catch heat for this, right?”
“I can handle it.”
Mason gave a dry chuckle. “Yeah. You probably can. I’m not so sure about everyone around you.”
Jacob let the towel hang around his neck, eyes fixed on the mirror. His PR team was probably flipping out by now, running damage control before the headlines even dropped. Caroline had told him she supported him, but there had been hesitation in her eyes, not disapproval, not doubt, just that quiet caution that said be careful. He couldn’t blame her. This wasn’t the kind of role you walked into without setting a few fires.
He watched his chest rise and fall. “You think I’m making a mistake?”
“I think you’re making a choice most actors wouldn’t have the balls for. And I respect that. But I also know how fast people can turn when something doesn’t fit their idea of you.”
Jacob twisted the cap off his water bottle, taking a slow drink before answering. “I’m doing what I’ve always done—chasing the best work. I’m not here to fit anything.”
“Yeah. That’s what I’ve always liked about you.” Mason’s voice dropped, edged with something between admiration and worry. “But, shit… this is big.”
Jacob didn’t answer right away, and Mason didn’t press further or offer advice he knew Jacob wouldn’t take. He only said,“Alright.”
