Playing at Forever - By Michelle Brewer Page 0,4

role in what would become one of the biggest action series to hit theaters since Die Hard. He’d reprised the role several times, reveling in the stardom and fame that came with each progressive film. Everyone around him had encouraged him to keep going—to keep bringing in the money and the celebrity.

But he was tired of the same roles. He was tired of the same characters. Even when he took roles in other movies, they were all the same—the tough macho man out to save the day.

Was it too much to ask for something different?

Apparently so.

“It isn’t just you.” Of course Graham was lying. It was the one stipulation from every studio he’d offered the script to. They would make the film, but not so long as Tommy was the lead.

He’d worked hard on this. It was his chance to prove himself—to remake himself. Everyone just assumed that he was a mindless drone, carrying on without an original thought of his own.

“Look, Tom. They just don’t think you’re right for the part. You’ve written something really deep here—intense. They don’t think you can pull it off.” Graham took a step closer and the heavy glass door swung quietly closed behind him. “I’m not saying I agree with them—but, I mean—really, can you blame them?”

“They should give me a chance—”

“It’s not just your acting they’re doubting, Tom.” Tommy narrowed his eyes. “You’ve been all over the tabloids—the drinking, the fighting, the accidents. They’d be nervous to cast you even if it wasn’t a challenge.”

“Isn’t it your job to make that a nonissue?” The anger was boiling to life inside him. Who was Graham to say anything? He’d been right there alongside Tommy throughout all of it! Graham knew the tabloids exaggerated—shouldn’t he be defending him?

“Hey, I can only spin so much. You’re out there fighting with paparazzi and driving recklessly, acting like you don’t have a care in the world. Then you show up with this dark, depressing manuscript—”

“You said it was good!” Tommy paced across the room, throwing his arms in the air in frustration. “You told me to shop it around—”

“I didn’t think you were going to take me seriously, man.” It was like a sudden emptiness flooded through Tommy. He stopped dead in his tracks, staring blankly in front of him.

He was so fed up with everything this life had to offer. He was sick of his so-called friends walking all over him, using him for nothing more than a paycheck. He was sick of feeling so uninspired.

How had things gotten this way? He remembered a moment that seemed like eons ago when he’d been so filled with hope.

Her eyes danced into his view, then—such a warm brown, so inviting and comforting, revealing to him her optimism for the future. She’d had faith in him—known that he would make it.

She’d always believed in him—his Penny Lane.

Tommy remembered how she would smile and roll her eyes any time he called her that.

The memory of Penelope Lang was one he could never forget, even if he wanted to. He knew—he’d tried.

Suddenly he was struck with an overwhelming desire. It passed through him in waves, growing stronger with every passing surge and washing away the anger.

“I have to get out of here,” Tommy heard his own voice as if from some far away place, his mind already crossing the distance. He felt his feet carrying him forward, moving through the large, lifeless home as if on autopilot.

There had been an emptiness inside him, growing deeper and deeper every day. And he’d been trying so hard to fill the void—to find something to make it stop. He’d tried everything.

Well, almost everything.

He knew that Graham was following behind him, calling out to him, but he didn’t care. He had to leave. He had to get away from all of this—it was suffocating him.

Memories of a time similar to this danced through his mind. He’d just moved for what seemed like the millionth time. His father had been berating him—as usual. Telling him he was worthless—that he would never amount to anything. To his father, the Colonel, Tommy was nothing more than dead weight.

He remembered the way the walls had closed in on him. His chest had tightened, his vision blurred. He’d darted out of the house and kicked his dirt bike to life, speeding off down the street. There was nowhere to go, though—he hadn’t known a soul, and he knew he couldn’t make it on his own yet.

So he wandered aimlessly, letting