Winning Hollywood's Goodest Girl

“Us, you, whatever,” he responds, his irritation more than apparent by the harsh tone of his voice. “Don’t try to justify this with semantics, Rock. We agreed that this wasn’t going to happen.”

“Can I talk to you privately?” I finally say, losing my temper as Heidi looks on with a smirk.

Harrison turns and walks back to the bedroom without saying a word, and I follow.

I step inside behind him and close the door, and he doesn’t hesitate to fire the first shot.

“I can’t believe you would even entertain that shit, Rock. For fuck’s sake, have some fucking backbone.”

My spine, called to arms, straightens on demand. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me, baby. You let that woman walk all fucking over you. Spike heels, boots, the tread doesn’t matter. As long as you get your money and so does she.”

Get my money? Seriously?

“Hey!” I shout. “What the fuck?”

He turns to face the other side of the room and runs both his hands through his hair, and I turn him back with a jerk at his elbow. “Are you kidding me right now?”

“That’s what I’m asking you,” he says. “I thought we were beyond this, but apparently not. You’re still her little fucking puppet.”

“I think you need to leave,” I tell him, feeling like everything is crumbling around me and leaving me no way out. I don’t want to fight with him, but he doesn’t understand the position I’m in either. And no matter what, I don’t need him to speak for me. I don’t need anyone to speak for me but myself.

Christ, he’s the one who taught me that.

“Leave?”

I nod. “Maybe we both need a little distance and time. We should just take the day and try again tomorrow.”

“You really want me to leave?” he asks, clearly hurt.

“Yes,” I confirm. “So we don’t end up saying things we can’t take back. I don’t start shooting tomorrow morning until eleven. Come here beforehand, and we’ll talk everything over once we’ve had time to cool down.”

“Rocky—”

“Just…go,” I say, voice quiet. “You cool off. I’ll cool off. And we’ll talk tomorrow.”

He opens and closes his mouth a few times, but words don’t come out, and I’m so close to giving in and telling him not to leave. But ultimately, he grabs his phone and wallet and keys from my nightstand and walks out of the room without looking back.

I swear, a little piece of me crumbles right there.

Tears threaten to fill my eyes, but I blink them back with a tight squeeze.

Ugh. This sucks so hard. But the conversation had already twisted down this awful, irrational path, and we need to wait until we’re calm to talk about this again.

I know I’m doing the right thing—forcing us to take a step back until cooler heads prevail—but watching him walk out of the room angry feels like I’m hacking off my own arm.

Tomorrow, I tell myself. It’s just one day. We’ll fix everything tomorrow.

Harrison

Sometimes, the best thing you can do is admit when you’re the asshole.

My eyes are bloodshot, and my chest feels like lead as I walk down the hall toward Rocky’s apartment. I slept like shit and I know I probably should’ve waited until it was at least eight in the morning to show up at her door, but when the clock struck seven, I couldn’t wait any longer. The way we left things yesterday doesn’t sit well with me at all, and I’ve been replaying it in my head all night, and now, all morning too.

I’m not comforted by the conclusion that I was an asshole, but I know acknowledging one’s faults is the best step. But dang, this one stings. Going an entire night with the weight of our argument on my heart was worse than any kind of injury I ever acquired while playing rugby or staying fit at Tommy John’s. And trust me, neither of the two is a gentle sport.

It took everything inside me not to call her or text her or just show up at her apartment last night, but she wanted us to take a day, and I wanted to respect that.

Still, I know Rocky and I know myself, and I’m sure after we talk it out this morning—and I apologize profusely for being a stupid, arrogant, asshole-ish man, we’ll put it behind us and move on to the next stage of our lives.

My eyebrows draw together as I knock on the door for the fourth time with no answer. Worry covers me like a blanket as a list of horrible worst-case scenarios flashes through my mind.

Rocky slipping and impaling herself on an unattended knife.

A stray bird making its way in an open window and startling Rocky just as she was about to get in the tub, making her slip and fall and hit her head, subsequently ending up underwater.