Chapter 17
675 Words
Chapter 17: A Moment in the Dark
Leo’s POV
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I hadn’t thought about that night in years.
Maybe because I didn’t want to.
Maybe because I couldn’t.
But memories have a funny way of creeping up on you when you least expect them.
Now, driving home, headlights slicing through the darkness, I could feel it pulling me back.
Back to a time when things were simpler. When we were simpler.
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Seven years ago
I was sitting on the floor of my shitty L.A. apartment, back against the couch, a bottle of whiskey between my legs.
The script was still in my hands, crumpled at the edges, marked up with notes.
Didn’t matter.
None of it mattered.
Because the role was gone.
The role.
The one I had bled for. The one I had built my dreams around.
And someone else got it.
Not because they were better. But because they were safer.
A familiar name. A bigger following.
And I was just Leo Hawthorne, the almost-was.
I laughed bitterly, rubbing a hand down my face.
I should’ve been used to it by now.
But it never got easier.
A knock on the door snapped me out of it.
I ignored it.
Then it came again, sharper this time.
I groaned, dragging myself up. "Go away."
"Open the damn door, Hawthorne."
Her voice.
Sienna.
I hesitated, then unlocked it.
She stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, arms crossed, eyes sharp.
I knew that look.
I was about to get my ass handed to me.
"You’re drinking alone." She took one look at the whiskey bottle on the floor and sighed. "Jesus, Leo."
I scoffed. "I’m fine."
"You’re an idiot."
I dragged a hand through my hair. "What are you even doing here?"
"Jake called me."
Of course he did.
Fucking Jake.
She walked over to the couch, sat down, and patted the space next to her.
I hesitated.
She arched a brow. "I don’t bite, Hawthorne. Sit."
I sat.
For a long moment, neither of us spoke.
Then, quietly, she asked, "Was it bad?"
I let out a slow breath, staring at the floor. "They gave it to Miles Carter."
I felt her tense beside me.
Miles Carter.
The golden boy. The safe bet.
The guy I lost to.
She didn’t say, "I’m sorry."
She didn’t give me some useless it wasn’t meant to be bullshit.
Instead, she leaned back against the couch, stretched out her legs, and said, "Tell me about it."
I frowned. "What?"
"The role. The audition. The scene. Everything. Tell me about it."
I exhaled, rubbing my face.
But I told her.
I told her about the audition. About the way the casting director smiled when I read my lines, the way I could feel it in my bones that I had them.
I told her about the callback. How I walked out knowing I was born for that role.
And then—
Then I told her about the call.
The one where they told me I was their second choice.
That I was great, but not quite enough.
And the entire time, she listened.
Not with pity. Not with empty reassurances.
She just listened.
And when I finished, when my voice was raw and my chest was tight, she turned to me and said,
"Screw them."
I blinked. "What?"
She grinned. "Screw them, Leo. If they can’t see how f*****g brilliant you are, that’s on them. Not you."
I stared at her, something in my throat tightening.
She wasn’t saying it to make me feel better.
She meant it.
And for the first time since that stupid phone call, I felt like I could breathe again.
I didn’t know what to say.
So I just looked at her.
And she just looked back.
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Now
The memory hit me so hard I had to pull the car over.
I sat there, gripping the steering wheel, heart pounding.
God.
How the hell had I let things get so messed up between us?
How the hell had I lost her?
- Writer
