Page 12 of The Star in Room 7

“And talking will help?” I snap. I release a long breath and wipe my hands over my face. “I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need to apologize. Talking might help you process what happened.” Nate leans back in his seat, hooking one leg over the other. “But if it’s still too fresh and raw to talk about, that’s fine, too. We could try something else.”

“What?”

“You called yourself pathetic. Why?”

“Look at me.” I gesture to myself. “I’m not exactly a wimp. I work out. I played an American football jock in a movie, for fuck’s sake. I shouldn’t be scared. I’m the kind of guy people avoid in the street, not the kind of guy who should be cowering because… Because…”

“Because?”

Tears flood my eyes. I turn around sharply.

“Why do you work out?” Nate asks.

“I thought it would be easier to get roles.”

“Your American accent was good. Good enough that I didn’t even realize you were British until Phoenix introduced us.”

I gasp and half-turn to study his face. “You’ve seen my film?”

“Why is that so hard to believe?”

“Because you’re—” I gesture to him, waving my hand up and down.

“I’m—?”

“Too old to watch a teen rom-com.”

“I have a thirteen-year-old niece. She dragged everyone she knows to see Confessions of a Teenage Jock for her birthday.” Nate unhooks his leg and leans forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. “Working out doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to be afraid. It also doesn’t mean you know how to defend yourself. Have you ever taken self-defense classes, done a martial art, or boxed?”

“No. Nothing like that.”

“Then what do you think you could have done differently? Be honest.”

“Nothing… I guess.”

“Everyone is allowed to be vulnerable, Zach. There’s no shame in it.”

“Are you ever afraid?”

“Yes.”

I arch an eyebrow, unsure if I believe him or not.

“I’ve done my fair share of adrenaline-seeking in the past. Surfing, skydiving, and rock climbing. Anything that got my heart rate pumping and made me feel alive. But I always had a healthy sense of fear. If I hadn’t, I would have made silly mistakes. I’d have become complacent about checking my equipment or letting people know my plans. I still let my PA know what route I’ll be jogging each morning, just in case.”

“It’s not the same,” I mumble. “You chose to take those risks. I didn’t choose to have a stalker. I didn’t choose for her to break into my home.” I sigh. “Except, I did.”

“How so?”

“By wanting to be an actor. I basically gave everyone a permission slip to invade my privacy.”

“No, you didn’t.”

I go back to inspecting the plants, running their velvety leaves carefully between my fingers.

“What happened?” Nate asks in that gentle, patient tone that makes me want to crawl into his lap and tell him everything.