I finally looked at her. Something about the way she was watching me made it easier to keep going.
"Then Dylan announces it. Right there, live. Takes her hand and tells everyone they're together.” I let out a short, humorless laugh. “The host freezes. The crew doesn’t know whether to cut or keep rolling. Half the audience gasps, half of them clap. And I’m just sitting there, trying not to look like I’m falling apart on national television—thinking about the plane tickets burning a hole in my wallet.”
Anna’s hand found mine and squeezed.
“So I hit him,” I said simply. “Right there on set. Not my best moment, but I’m not sorry either. I’ve dealt with bad scripts, impossible directors, PR disasters. But that day?” I shook my head. “That day, something just broke.”
Anna let out a breath. "After what you saw, I don't know how you even made it onto that stage. That took courage."
"Courage?" I laughed, sharply. "More like shock. And maybe I didn't want to give them the satisfaction." I turned back to the fire. "But I lost it anyway. Just did it on camera in front of millions of people."
Something about the way she listened to me without judging made my chest tighten. It was as if she saw me—the parts of me I worked so hard to keep hidden. Not the Hollywood version, not the polished, carefully managed persona. Just me.
I continued, “I don’t miss her. I miss the idea of her—the comfort of having someone to take to premieres and talk about on talk shows. But deep down, I always knew we weren’t right for each other. She wanted Luke Fisher, the movie star. Not me. But I stayed with her because I thought that’s what I was supposed to do, play the role, keep up appearances.”
I cleared my throat, glancing away. “Anyway, that’s why I’m here. Not just to dodge the tabloids or the fallout. I needed some space. To figure out who I am when the cameras aren’t rolling.” I winced inwardly at my deflection, feeling the words ring hollow. Anna didn’t need this canned explanation. She deserved more, but giving more meant unraveling parts of myself I wasn’t ready to face.
Anna studied me for a beat, her eyes searching mine. I could feel her seeing through the cracks, and it was unsettling in a way I couldn’t quite explain. I cleared my throat. “Okay, hypothetical, if you could have any superpower, what would it be?”
She smiled, as if she understood that I needed to move on, to stop talking about my pain. “The power to stop time. What about you?”
“Teleportation,” I answered immediately. “No more red-eye flights. No paparazzi waiting at the airport. Now, tell me something about you that I don’t know.”
“I can hula hoop for hours.”
I looked at her, surprised. “Really? That’s pretty impressive.”
She chuckled, nudging me with her elbow. “Your turn.”
“I’m a pretty decent juggler.”
"Really?" Her eyebrows shot up. "You've got to show me!"
"I don't know. It's been a while since I've juggled."
"Oh, come on. 'Pretty decent' jugglers don't just lose the magic."
"The magic fades without practice."
She stood up and looked around the bathroom with exaggerated determination. "Well then, let's see how much you've got left." She opened a drawer and started rummaging. "Aha!"
Out came a fancy bar of soap, a small decorative shell, and a toothbrush still in its packaging.
She handed them to me with a teasing smile, her eyes glinting with challenge. "Stand up and show me what you've got, hotshot."
I hesitated. “No promises. I haven’t done this in years.” I tried to sound casual while inwardly bracing myself for disaster. I weighed the soap, shell, and toothbrush in my hands, feeling like I was about to audition for the world’s weirdest talent show.
I managed to get a few rotations going, and I thought I could pull it off. But the bar of soap was slippery, and the toothbrush felt weirdly off balance, as if it were defying the laws of physics to mess with me. My rhythm faltered. I lunged backward, desperately trying to catch the rogue toothbrush as it flew out of sync.
I lunged backward, arms windmilling like a cartoon character, and slammed into the sleek glass shower enclosure. My hand shot out to catch myself, only to find a touch-sensitive control panel.
The rain showerhead erupted above me.
"No, no, no—" I slapped at the panel. Side jets fired horizontally like I was in a car wash. A wall-mounted waterfall feature joined the party, drenching me from a new and completely unnecessary angle.
"Luke, move!" Anna called out, laughing so hard she could barely stand.
She stepped into the enclosure to help, which would've been heroic if she hadn't immediately hit a button that activated the steam feature. Thick mist engulfed us both.
