Page 136 of Love Me Like You Do

Everyone liked Cole. The press had only good things to say, but he was essentially alone.

When his dad saw him, his expression lightened. He parted from the crowd and came at him, arms open wide. “Great game.” He drew his son into a hug, slapping him on the back.

“Thanks.”

“You’ve got some extra fire, huh?”

“Guess so.”

When his dad pulled back, he noticed the tension around his eyes. “Hey, can we talk somewhere privately?”

“Of course. Let’s go into my office.”

As they crossed the living room, one of the guys pretended to trip, dropping to the floor and holding out his camera to get a shot just as Trevor walked by in his kilt. It drew a lot of laughter.

Cole just shook his head. Once in the office, he leaned against his desk. “Does it ever get old?”

“Does what get old?”

“The joke about what you’re wearing under that kilt.”

He waved a hand. “Nah.” But then, his features tightened, and he had a thoughtful expression. “Actually, yeah. It does. That’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about. You know how I just finished reading the script for the fourteenth film?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I don’t think I’m going to do it. I’ve pitched them another idea. Told them I’m stepping back—”

“You’rewhat?”

“—and think it might be time to start a next-generation franchise. We’ve had the same characters for all thirteen films. Might be time to shake things up. Only so many bloody battles a man can act out.”

“What will you do?”

His dad hunched a shoulder. “Retire.”

Out of nowhere, a rush of anger had him pushing off the desk. “Oh, now you’re going to retire? When I’m twenty-eight and don’t need you anymore?”

Pain flashed across his dad’s features.

“Sorry. I’m sorry. I don’t know where that came from.”

“Sure, you do. Everything that’s happened with the girls has dredged up all the feelings we never talked about when you were a kid.” He placed his hand on Cole’s desk. “I can’t change the past, but I’d like to make a different future for myself. For us.”

“No, I shouldn’t have blown up like that. I never resented you for your job. I saw how important it was.”

“The first film was important. The second and third were, too.” His dad watched him carefully. “You know how I grew up.”

“Of course.”

His dad was an only child of farmers who worked their fingers to the bone to put food on the table. They were good people, but they never caught a break and died with nothing but debt.

“I was a kid when I found out I had a son. Twenty-two. I’d had a lot of walk-on roles, and I’d done a few commercials, but that movie was my big break. And you know the film industry. You know, with one flop, I’d have been yesterday’s news. You know because it’s the same for you. One injury, and everything you’ve worked for is over. You slow down, and you’re replaced and forgotten.”

He did know that. “If you’re ready to retire, then I think it’s great. Just…don’t do it for me. I love you, Dad. We’re good. You know that, right?”

“No, I don’t know that. I wasn’t there for you, and if I go off and do this next film, I still won’t be there for you. You might be twenty-eight, but you still need your dad.”

“Where is this coming from?”