Mark didn’t watch her walk to the door. Instead, he climbed back into his sports car and drove to Beau’s place. He’d probably end up crashing there tonight. Without Chloe, the house was just an empty shell of a home.
Shaking his head, he struggled with not having her around. He never should have married Jasmine. What he’d believed was support for his career was actually greed. She’d eagerly hitched her wagon to his star and done all she could to propel his career forward—including sleeping with a producer early on, which he hadn’t found out about until they were in divorce court.
Once Chloe was born and the pictures of the three of them leaving the hospital went out, Jasmine learned that a baby can bring a lot of attention. She’d petitioned for full custody, and since Mark was often out of the country for weeks at a time filming, she’d won.
Beau, wearing a pair of baggy sweats and a Braves T-shirt, let him in. “Is Anthony here?” Mark asked.
“Nah. Leticia didn’t feel well, so he canceled.”
Mark shrugged. Anthony’s wife was expecting their first child. She’d spent the last few weeks with Hugo Francois turning one of their spare bedrooms into a nursery fit for a prince. At the auction, Anthony and Leticia had talked nonstop about the process, smiling away.
If Anthony wasn’t a stand-up guy and a good friend, Mark might have to hate him for being so happy.
They made their way down the stairs to the ornate pool table located in Beau’s man cave. In all honesty, the whole house was a man cave. Beau had gone through two wives, Hollywood starlets who fell for the dashing hero of the big screen but didn’t love the drama that came from being married in the limelight. Every fight, every sour look, every makeup was handed to the fans like a sample chocolate at the candy counter.
Just like his own failed marriage. Mark knew there were two sides, but having seen the heartbreak firsthand, he stuck by Beau. Since he’d been painted as a playboy, Beau had decided to play. He hosted parties that went into the dawn’s early light, kissed dates for the cameras, and drank what he wanted.
Mark had never seen him so hollow.
The walnut wood pool table was shiny and the green felt top smooth. Mark removed his jacket, tie, and shoes. He pulled out the ends of his dress shirt and rolled up the sleeves.
Beau grabbed his cue. “Mind if I break?”
“Go right ahead.”
Mark’s thoughts went back to the conversation he’d had with Aspen. They’d gone to the same event and talked to the same people, yet her version of the evening was completely different than his. He missed having someone to really talk to—someone with a heart. He also missed an easy shot and sank one of Beau’s balls instead.
“You okay tonight?” asked Beau.
Mark shook his head. “You ever feel like you’re missing something?” “Like what?” Beau lined up to knock the seven ball in the corner pocket.
“Like real life?”
“I don’t know how you can get any more real than that.” Beau pointed his cue at the image on the far wall. The picture was taken in Africa, where they’d dug their first well for Waters without Borders. Covered in mud and surrounded by dark-skinned children in brightly colored shirts and shorts, Mark and Beau grinned.
“I mean, an everyday real life. Is it strange that the only time I feel like a real person is when I’m in a well or with Chloe?”
“So what? You want to quit acting and become a plumber?” “I want substance. Someonereal.”
“No one is real.”
Mark thought of the teens that he volunteered with on a monthly basis. “Kids are real.”
“I don’t recommend that you date a child.” Beau dropped the seven ball in the corner pocket.
“Thanks for that,” Mark griped.
Beau leaned on his cue. “What are you really after?”
Mark considered the question. “I guess what I really want is someone who doesn’t want anything from me.”
Beau slid his cue back into its holder on the wall. “If you’re not going to be realistic, then I can’t help you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Everyone, and I meaneveryone, wants something. Your ex wants alimony. Your assistant wants a paycheck. Heck, even Chloe wants your time and attention. You’re looking for a fairy tale.”
Mark stared at the floor, his heart dropping into a side pocket as easily as one of the balls on the table. “Maybe I am.”
