Page 34 of Matched with the Hollywood Heartthrob (Matched for Love #4)

Because all I can think about is tonight. Megan.

My mother.

My heart starts doing that weird, tight squeeze thing it does every time I think about her. I don’t know if I’m going to yell at her or fall apart in front of her. Maybe both.

Hayley laughs again. I blink. Right. I need to focus.

I lean forward and say something funny. She laughs harder. I smile, tip my head the way I’ve learned works best for photos and flattery.

On the outside, I’m Jack Calloway, Hollywood’s golden boy.

On the inside, I’m just a kid hoping his mom shows up—and wondering what he’ll do when she does.

By the time I walk Hayley to her car, it’s already two p.m. I don’t know how I survived three hours of this, because I genuinely can’t remember what we talked about. I’m a big, fat mess.

Hayley slips her sunglasses on and turns to me with a soft smile. “I had a great time today.”

I manage a grin. “Me too. You’re easy to talk to.”

She touches my arm lightly. “I can’t wait to see you again.”

I say the same—because it’s expected—and lean in to kiss her cheek. She lingers for a second before getting in the car, and I wave as she pulls away.

The second her taillights disappear, I feel like I can breathe again.

I text Mia and Nova: Date’s over. Went well.

Short. Professional. Nothing more.

Then I get in my car, not heading home—no. I drive straight to my second apartment. The one no one really knows exists except Harry and my father. It’s where I go when I want to disappear.

I lock the door behind me and drop my keys on the counter.

And then I just… sit.

The silence feels deafening, but I don’t put on music. I don’t turn on the TV. I just sit there, staring at the blank wall, trying not to feel like I’m coming apart at the seams.

My phone won’t stop buzzing. Calls, texts—probably Nova checking in. Maybe Mia, too. Or maybe Harry. I flip the phone over and ignore it all.

I need quiet.

I need to not feel like I’m about to lose my mind.

I try to rehearse what I’ll say. I picture her face. I think of the last time I saw her in person—I was very young, so the image is hazy. Beautiful. Floral dress. A soft touch on my face. I didn’t know she would disappear from my life forever after that.

I want to be angry. I want to be strong. But the truth is, I just feel like that kid again—alone, small, and confused.

When the clock hits 6:30, I finally stand. My legs feel heavy as I make my way to the car. My fingers tremble slightly as I grip the wheel.

The drive is short, but every turn makes my heart thud louder.

By the time I pull up to the address Vera sent me, I’m sweating under my collar, and my hands are cold.

This is it.

Dinner with Megan Hart.

And for the first time in a long, long time—I’m not sure I can fake my way through it. When I arrive at the diner, it’s quiet. Too quiet.

It’s one of those upscale, hidden-away places with dim lighting and walls that mute the world outside.

No music, no chatter. Just silence. A woman in a sleek black blazer approaches me as soon as I step in.

She introduces herself as Vera Samuels. She’s small, graceful, with a polite smile that’s meant to help me relax. It doesn’t.

“Mr. Calloway,” she says softly. “She’ll be with you shortly. Please, come this way.”

I follow her to a table in the far corner of the room. There’s only one chair pulled out. My throat tightens as I sit, my heart thudding loud in my ears.

I try to calm my breathing. Try not to feel like a kid again. A few minutes later, I feel it—that shift in the air, the change in atmosphere. A presence.

I look up.

And there she is.

Megan Hart.

I stand before I even realize I’m doing it. My legs move like they belong to someone else. For a moment, I’m frozen. All the imagined confrontations I’ve played out in my head vanish.

She’s still beautiful—more so in person. Her skin glows under the light, and her hair’s tied back like it always was in those old films she used to make. But it’s her eyes that catch me.

They’re glassy. And full of tears.

“Jack,” she breathes, voice cracking. She steps forward, arms lifting to hug me. I take a step back. Her arms falter. Drop. The pain on her face nearly undoes me.

I’ve told myself a thousand times how I’d scream at her. How I’d throw every bitter word I’ve buried into her face.

But now? I can barely speak.

“You knew the whole time?” I whisper. My voice breaks. “You knew it was me? The whole time?”

Her chin trembles. “Jack?—”

“You knew? And you didn’t reach out?”

“I was too ashamed to reach out. I didn’t know how you would feel.”

That hits like a slap. I blink, swallowing hard. Somehow, that makes it worse.

“Wow,” I mutter, shaking my head. “You rejected me as a child, and now you’re afraid of being rejected as an adult?”

She flinches. Sniffs. “Can we sit and talk? Please. There’s a lot I need to say.”

“I don’t want to sit.”

I sound like a petulant child. I know it. But I don’t care. I’m holding it all in by a thread, and if I sit down, I’ll either lose it or fall apart.

“I can’t believe you’ve known all this time and kept silent. You knew, Megan .”

I almost called her mom. But that’s never going to happen.

She wipes at her cheeks, smearing her makeup without realizing. “I’m sorry. I hate myself every day for what I did. I try to help other kids now, hoping maybe it’ll ease the guilt—but it never does. I failed you. I’m not worthy to be called a mother.”

“You’re right,” I say quietly. “You’re not.”

She doesn’t defend herself. Just nods like she’s been waiting for those words her whole life.

“When I tried to reach out years ago,” she says, voice trembling, “your father stopped me. He made me promise not to. He said you were finally over me… that he didn’t want to hurt you again. That broke me, Jack.”

My stomach twists. “Dad said that?”

“Yes. And I understood. I did. I really wanted to reach out to you, but I had to respect his wishes. But now I can’t do that anymore. I want to be in your life, Jack. If you’ll let me. I can prove I’m not the same person.”

I laugh, but it’s humorless. Bitter. “You want me now? Now that I’m a famous superstar? You left us so you could chase your dreams. You walked away. And now what—you want back in because I’m finally someone worth loving?”

Her lips part, but nothing comes out.

And God, I hate that I still care. That even now, all I want is for her to say something—anything—that will make this ache go away.

But there’s no magic sentence for that.

Only pain.

And history.

And the part of me that never stopped wondering why I wasn’t enough. I take several steps back from her.

“I only came here to confirm it,” I say, my voice flat, the hollowness in my chest starting to spread. “That you knew who I was. That all this time, you knew.”

She flinches like I’ve slapped her.

“My father was right. I didn’t need you then, and I sure don’t need you now.”

Her lips part, her face crumpling.

“I’m finally at peace. Not every story needs closure.”

I turn, done.

“Jack, please—” Her voice cracks open, a sob already pulling her under.

I don’t turn around, but I don’t stop. All I want is to comfort her, and that’s how I know she’ll always be a part of me.

“I was stupid,” she cries behind me. “I was greedy and self-absorbed. But I was young. I was barely twenty when I had you, and I had dreams. Ambitions. I wanted more than what our small life offered. And when I turned twenty-six, someone reached out to me with a movie role. A real shot.”

She’s shaking now. I hear it in her voice, like she’s unraveling.

“Your father said I shouldn’t go. That it would break us. And he was right. But I didn’t know how to stay. I thought… I thought if I left, maybe I’d make something of myself and come back stronger. But I was wrong. Everything happened all at once; it was too much, and I got swayed. I got lost.”

I turn to look at her.

“Jack, all these years, I’ve watched you, I’ve loved you from afar.

I watch all your movies, your award shows, wondering how to reach out.

How to turn back time and do the right thing.

It was a mistake I regret. It’s the only thing about my life I wish I could change.

Apologizing is not enough, I know, I wish I could do something.

Anything. You can punish me all you want.

In any way that’ll make you feel better, but please, give me a chance. ”

Tears streak her cheeks. She’s not the poised screen goddess people worship. She’s just… a woman. Crying. Crumbling.

I shake my head. “That’s not good enough.”

Her breath hitches.

“You made one mistake when you left,” I say, my voice low and hard. “But the bigger mistake was staying gone. All those years. Watching me on TV. Knowing who I was. And staying silent.”

She takes a step forward, but I lift a hand and she stops.

“You knew who I was.” The pain is raw. “You could have sent a text the moment you found out about me. A call. A social media shout-out, for crying out loud. Anything is better than this, at this point. I can never forgive you for this.”

Her shoulders slump, like the words knock the wind out of her.

“And as much as I want this role…” I look away, jaw clenched. “I can’t do it. I can’t stand you. Stay away from me.”

And with that, I walk out the door.

Not looking back. Not even once.

Even though my chest feels like it’s about to split open.