“Sometimes. I almost did, after I left the show.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No.”
“Because you weren’t in love with him.”
She paused. “No.”
He glanced over at her, holding her gaze for a moment before turning back to the television.
“But you kept getting back together.” His tone was measured.
“Yeah. I mean, we were so similar. Too similar, probably. But it was…familiar. And it was nice that he wasn’t famous, that we’d known each other since before…it made it feel normal, almost.” She pulled one of the decorative throw pillows onto her lap and wrapped her arms around it. Shane didn’t say anything, just kept flipping channels in silence.
“He really looked down on the show,” she said quietly after a moment. “He’d always tell me I was wasting my talent, which I was deluded enough to think was a compliment. But he just thought he was better than all of it. Me included.”
“What did he think you should be doing instead?”
“I don’t know. Making a hundred dollars a week in some experimental off-off-off-Broadway play, probably.”
“So he was an insecure snob who couldn’t handle the fact that you were more successful than he was.” He said it so matter-of-factly that she couldn’t stop herself from grinning.
“Well, if you want to put it that way.”
Shane finally put the remote down, settling on a rerun of an old reality show that centered around a group of bros hitting one another in the balls with various items. Lilah opened her mouth to protest. Instead, she asked, “Did you love her? Serena?”
He was still looking at the television, but she could tell he wasn’t really watching it. His chest rose and fell, heavily, slowly. “I loved being with her, yeah,” he said. “She’s an amazing person. But she was kind of…impenetrable, I guess. I think being that famous for that long messes with you. And I know it got to her, what people said about us. About her. She didn’t let her guard down much, even when we were alone. It was like she was always performing.” Finally, he turned to face her, fixing her with a stare that made goosebumps scatter across her skin. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe you can’t really love someone unless they let you.”
Lilah swallowed hard but kept her gaze steady. “Sounds like you have a thing for emotionally unavailable women. You should probably talk to someone about that.”
He snorted a little, shaking his head wearily. “You’re tellin’ me.”
The defeated edge in his voice made her heart squeeze. He wasn’t looking at her anymore.
She turned back to the television, looking at it without absorbing anything.
“Shane?”
“Hmm?”
She hesitated. “Did you try to quit? After we…after the first season?”
He didn’t say anything for a long moment, his face in profile, eyes in shadow. Finally, he exhaled heavily and shook his head, but she could tell it was a gesture of resignation, not denial.
“I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking. I was just…I was out of my mind. After everything. The thought of showing up to that set again every day…I’m just lucky it was big enough that they offered me more money, instead of suing my ass for breach of contract. Really put into perspective how ungrateful I was being, trying to throw it all away over…” He trailed off, glancing at her uneasily, then back at the TV.
Lilah sat with that for a moment, unsure what to do with it. “Why did they givemea raise, too, though?”
He shrugged, but she could see the tension in his gesture, the feigned nonchalance. “It just didn’t seem right. Me getting paid more, when we’re doing the same job.”
Even though she’d been expecting it, sort of, it felt like the air pressure in the room dropped. Lilah blinked, fighting to get her next words out.
“But you hated me.”
He stretched one of his arms across the back of the couch, finally looking straight at her. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Lilah,” he said quietly.
She held his gaze, her stomach churning with unease. There was something about the look on his face—helpless, almost—that only made it worse. After a long beat, she turned back to the TV, and so did he.
