What does he mean? It can’t be his house. He couldn’t afford something this expensive.
Chapter 10
“You bought this house with your own money? Yeah, right. This house is worth millions.”
“I started working when I was a kid.” He pulls out of the driveway. “Grew up in LA and got my first acting job when I was five.”
“You’re an actor?”
“Not anymore. I used to be. My dad’s a director. I grew up in the industry. When you’re around those people, the jobs come to you. You don’t even have to work for it.”
It reminds me of the offer I got this morning. Brock’s agent could’ve got me an audition for a TV show even though I have no acting experience. It’s like Brock told me that day at lunch — show business is all about who you know.
“And you made enough money to buy this house?” I ask.
“The house. The furniture. The car. The money didn’t all come from acting. A few years ago I invested in some start-ups that took off. Tripled my investment.”
“How did you even know how to do that?”
“I knew the right people. I tend to hang out with people older than me. People who can teach me stuff.” He slows down. “Which one is it?”
We’re at the end of the street. I look back. “We passed it. Sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.”
“I’ll turn around.” He goes through the intersection and turns into someone’s driveway. “So why are you here? You never said.”
“I needed a place to live. My uncle offered to take me in, but it’s only for a year.”
Why didn’t I tell him about my mom? Why is it so hard to say those words?
“You needed a place to live?” He chuckles. “Your parents take off like mine?”
“Um, kind of.”
He was about to pull out onto the street, but stops, his eyes on me. “What happened?”
I look out the side window. “My dad’s in rehab.”
“Then you’ll fit right in around here. Half the people I know have a parent in rehab. What about your mom?”
“She died,” I blurt out.
“Recently?”
It’s not the response I was expecting. Usually, people do the whole ‘I’m sorry’ thing and then get quiet.
I turn and look at Jackson. “A little over two weeks.”
“So that’s why you’re here.”
“Yeah.”
“How’d it happen?”
That’s another question people usually don’t ask, but I kind of like that he’s asking these questions. I like that he’s not afraid to.
“Brain aneurysm.”
He’s looking at me, and I’m looking back. Normally, I’d look away, but I don’t. I keep searching his face for the usual response. Pity. Sadness. Avoiding eye contact. But I don’t see any of that with Jackson.
