Page 34 of Off Script

And worse—for what he still wanted to do.

***

Liam hadn’t planned on falling apart today, but he wasn’t ruling it out either.

The makeup chair felt too bright, the lights too harsh, and the crew too loud. Every cheerful good morning scraped across his skin like sandpaper. Nobody mentioned the video, but the omission felt worse than words, as if the entire room had agreed to pretend.

He was tired of pretending.

What the hell are we doing?He had sent it like a question, but it had felt like a scream. Jacob had stayed silent. He probably slept fine, woke up early, and ate breakfast with his kids. Meanwhile Liam was over here trying not to unravel in front of everybody on set.

There were no intimate scenes on the call sheet today, just dialogue-heavy pages that kept them three feet apart. It should have felt safe.

Hours dragged by, each one heavier than the last, but he managed to keep it together through the morning—barely. Jacob looked steady as stone, his expression carved into that practiced calm, as if nothing had ever happened.

By the time lunch rolled around, Liam couldn’t take it anymore. He caught Jacob just outside the soundstage. “Can we talk?”

Jacob paused a fraction too long. “Now?”

“No,” Liam said, forcing his voice steady. “After wrap.”

Jacob studied him a moment, then gave the smallest nod. “Fine.”

When the day finally ended, Jacob led the way into his trailer and shut the door behind them with a soft click. He didn’t sit. He stood by the small table near the window, one hand resting on the back of a chair like he needed the anchor. The trailer was neat, stripped of anything personal, no trace of Jacob left lying around.

Liam stayed near the kitchenette, picking at the seam of his sleeve, nervous energy shifting through him. “I’m not here to make a scene,” he said, the words catching slightly. “I just… need to say something.”

Jacob didn’t interrupt.

Liam ran a hand through his hair until it stuck up in uneven angles. “I just—I’m not good at keeping things in. And this—whatever this is—it’s been stuck in my head since the chemistry read.”

Jacob stayed quiet.

Liam let out a laugh that didn’t sound like one. “None of it feels like acting to me. It’s too… real. It’s messing me up. And now the media frenzy, the comments, the edits—it’s too much.” His gaze dropped to the floor before flicking back up. “I can’t stop thinking about it. About you… I don’t know what to do with that.”

The words had tumbled out before he could decide if he should have said them at all. “I’m not asking you to fix it, okay? I just had to say it out loud, because pretending it’s not happening—yeah, I can’t do that. I’m not built like that.”

The quiet that followed was unrelenting. Liam braced for the worst—a nod, maybe a clipped dismissal, but instead Jacob’s voice cut the quiet. “You’re not the only one.”

Liam froze. “What?”

“I’m done denying it,” Jacob said, voice steady, though his eyes betrayed the fracture beneath. “The attraction. It’s real. I know that now.”

The breath Liam had been holding bled out of him all at once, his chest loosening in a way that almost hurt.

Jacob’s tone hardened. “But that doesn’t change anything.”

Liam flinched.

“We’re both married,” Jacob continued, quieter now, but no less firm. “There’s no room for this. If I could keep my distance, let it fade—I would. But we can’t. We’re under contract. No exit without blowing up the show and both our careers.”

He met Liam’s eyes without wavering. “So we adapt. Denial doesn’t work, so we keep it professional. No more blurred lines.”

Liam’s voice scraped raw. “Adapt how?”

“No more tongue,” Jacob said, as if it was a simple business decision. “We agreed to it because a real kiss reads better on camera, but it’s not safe anymore. We fake it. Cheat the angles. Keep it clean.”

Liam blinked. “You think that’ll fix this?”