my rental car into the parking lot that leads to Capo Brothers Studios and show my ID to the security guard at the gate.
His name tag reads Pete, and when he looks at my ID and then at my face, he tilts his head to the side. “Luca Weaver?”
“That’s me.”
“Holy shit.” His brown eyes go wide with recognition. “You were in that movie…Agent Zero, right?”
“Guilty.”
“And that show…Home Sweet Home!”
I offer a small, friendly smile. “Also guilty.”
“Man, I loved that show as a kid.”
Pretty sure all of America loved that show. The Winstons were everyone’s favorite, idyllic family. What everyone else apparently wanted.
But the process of being a child actor in the middle of fast-paced Hollywood and starring on one of the most popular television shows at the time didn’t equate to idyllic.
It was long days. It was constant working, and then, when Rocky and I weren’t working, we were sitting with our tutor, trying to stay on track to finish school.
And when we weren’t doing those two things, we were on press junkets and appearances and interviews.
We were kids, yet we weren’t actually able to be kids.
We had appearances—aka a façade—to keep up.
We had responsibilities.
We had fucking jobs.
I don’t wish that life on any child.
Pete waxes poetic for another few minutes about Home Sweet Home and another movie I did before I left this town, and I take it all in stride, trying to act interested and stay nice and not turn into a dick like I would’ve eight years ago.
Thankfully, another car pulls up behind me, promptly ending our conversation, and he waves me on through.
I park and cut the engine, and I head toward the main entrance of the large office building with the words Capo Brothers Studios engraved in fancy marble across the center.
The lobby is swanky, and I roll my eyes. An office doesn’t need to smell like lilac and have a goddamn marble fountain in the center, but that’s Hollywood.
Everything is about money. Earning money. Spending money. Showing that you have money.
It’s all so fucking superficial and fake, it makes my stomach churn, but this is the reality I will have to tolerate if I want to stay in this town while I do this movie.
First, though, I have to leave this meeting with the studio on board with my comeback.
Fifteen stories up in the elevator, and I step off the cart and onto, you guessed it, more marble. The floor gleams and shines as I walk across it, and I move toward an office I haven’t seen in nearly ten years.
William and Thomas Capo, brothers who have been in Hollywood for years, have to be in their seventies now.
“Good morning.” A pretty secretary dressed in a black power suit greets me. “How can I help you today?”
“Luca Weaver. I have a meeting at nine.”
She taps something across the keyboard of her iMac and places her hand to the Bluetooth at her ear. “Mr. Capo, I have Luca Weaver here.” Immediately, she looks away from the computer and meets my eyes. “He’s ready for you. You can head on in.”
So, I do. I walk past the secretary and through the large glass doors that lead into an expansive office that overlooks downtown LA.
Besides a few new pieces of art on the walls, this office hasn’t changed a bit since I last saw it.
“Luca Weaver.” William Capo stands up from his desk to greet me. He is in his usual attire of a full, sleek suit, most likely costing more than most people’s cars. But with all-gray hair and more wrinkle lines around his eyes and mouth, a decade’s worth of age has certainly left its mark. “How the hell are you?”
“Good.” I glance around, expecting Thomas to be on the other side of the room, but he’s nowhere to be found. Which is the opposite of the norm. Whenever you took a meeting with the Capo brothers, you got both of them. “Is Thomas coming…?”
William shakes his head. “I guess you didn’t hear, but he passed away two years ago.”
“He passed away?” Shock makes my steps falter, and my jaw nearly hits the shiny fucking floor. “God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
The unexpected news makes me feel like a real asshole, especially since I had no idea.
Fucking hell.
“It’s okay,” William says with a melancholy smile. “Pancreatic cancer. It was all very sudden.”
“That’s awful.” I don’t really know what else to say, but thankfully, William is already all business, gesturing toward the leather chair in