Chapter 44 Healthy Scratch from Her Life
HEALTHY SCRATCH FROM HER LIFE
Nate
"You don’t get to be angry when you’re the problem."
He found out the way he found out most things these days: too late, and already halfway to letting his guard down.
The rehearsal communal break area was quiet, the hum of early call time buzzing through the air.
Nate stood at the coffee machine, hoodie half-zipped, sweat still clinging to the back of his neck from warmups.
He’d just let his shoulders drop when Sophie breezed past him.
“Heads up,” she said, cool and clipped like always, skipping over any pretense of small talk. There was a glint of amusement in her eyes, the kind that usually meant she was about to set something on fire and pretend it was strategy. “We’re throwing a little gasoline on the narrative fire today.”
Nate’s jaw tensed. He didn’t look up from his coffee, but every muscle in his back went wire-tight. “What kind of fire?”
“The Tango flopped,” she replied airily. “The press thinks you and Holly split. Socials are spiraling. People are asking if the Paso was fake, if the romance was just bait. It’s a house of cards waiting to fall. So, we’re pivoting. Giving them something else to chew on.”
Sophie didn’t give him time to brace.
“We’re staging a moment between Lars and Holly. A little flirty. A little loaded. Pap shots, a few vague captions, enough to muddy the waters. Something we can leak by noon.”
The mug in his hand was forgotten. His heart didn’t race. It dropped, low and sharp, like he was standing center ice again and watching a hit come three seconds too late to dodge.
“You’re what?” he said, careful in the way he had to be when every impulse wanted to put his fist through drywall or Lars’ face.
“Don’t start.” Her voice sharpened, just a little. “This is what she signed up for. And you, for that matter. This isn’t ballroom rehab, Nate. It’s reality TV,” she scoffed. “You two were electric for six weeks. But now? You’re tanking the narrative.”
His jaw clenched. “And Holly’s okay with this?”
“She’ll manage.” That faint, infuriating lilt again. In other words, Holly didn’t know yet. “She’s a pro. She’ll get it done.”
The words dropped like ice into his bloodstream. Not just anyone. Not just some rando plucked for heat. A walking red flag with smarm in his teeth and bad intentions in his back pocket. The irony was that less than two months ago, he’d been a very similar fucking person himself.
To a point.
“Why not Nick?” Nate fired back, clutching at straws. “Doesn’t have to be Lars.”
Sophie chuckled. “Oh don’t worry,” she advised, her voice thick with innuendo. “If this doesn’t work, we’re not above trotting Marlowe out, or anyone else we think’ll work.”
Nate’s jaw flexed as he bit back the fuck you he wanted to spit in her face. But Sophie was already heading toward Holly’s rehearsal studio.
“Try not to sulk, babe,” she called back over her shoulder. “You’ve had the spotlight long enough.”
For a second he just stood there, processing as though a dozen equations were floating in front of his eyes and he didn’t understand a single fucking one of them.
It cut to realize Sophie was right. He’d been in LA long enough to know when the story needed a new villain.
And when production needed a spark, they never lit it under the golden boy. They lit it under guys like him.
He pushed off the counter, huge hand curled around his mug like it was a stand-in for some smug Danish fucker’s throat.
He followed Sophie into the rehearsal space, seeing that everything was already in motion.
That her heads-up was more of a let’s see how fast he comes running.
Which only confirmed his suspicion that they wanted him to play a role.
They wanted a fucking bad boy?
Okay.
He stood in the dim light at the back of the studio, his gaze finding Holly like she was his anchor in this whole damn mess.
There she was, being fussed over by makeup.
Hair loose and curled to glossy perfection.
Lips painted red, eyes winged and glossy.
Smiling on cue like the pro she was, camera-ready, charisma bottled and branded. But not herself.
Not the Holly who danced in socks and cursed when she missed a beat.
Who’d feasted with him on pasta and slightly warm beer in a playground, and whispered things like you’ve got this.
The girl who’d rented private ice for him was nowhere to be seen now.
Replaced by a woman wearing a mask that was presumably hiding her urge to throw up all over a dude who had no business even being in the same damn room as her.
Lars leaned into his role, all overwrought charisma and precision placement. One hand was braced above her head against the wall, the other curling low around her waist like they were in some CW reboot and about to make out before a commercial break.
Nate’s jaw locked so tight it ached. He drew himself up, filling his huge body with sheer, hockey-menace presence as he prepared to stalk across the floor and give Sophie the fight she was clearly angling for, but he stopped himself.
Even though he told himself it wasn’t real and that she didn’t want this, he couldn’t stop the ache blooming in his chest. And yeah, Nate knew Lars was the biggest piece of shit on set. Which is why he felt so guilty for thinking how right they looked together.
Lars didn’t have to fight to be accepted in her world. Didn’t have to scrub blood from his record or explain his way out of a penalty box. He was polished, charming, and knew the score. Nate felt a spike of heat coil behind his ribs like rage trying to learn patience.
He was the cautionary tale. The guy they put on the show as a rehabilitation project. The guy who still had to remind himself not to throw a punch as soon as someone raised their voice.
Holly tilted her head, laughing on command for the photographer. Lars touched her cheek, cocky and exactly what the network wanted. Nate felt it like a fucking cross-check to his balls.
Holly didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away.
And that’s when he decided he couldn’t watch.
He just walked. Through the door, down the corridor and out the side entrance.
Into the alley where the catering van usually idled, past a couple of PAs whispering together over an iPad.
And past the sun-drenched studio parking lot that smelled like heat and oil.
Maybe it was selfish or cowardly, but he didn’t go back to rehearsal.
He walked until his lungs hurt. Until he could almost forget what it felt like to stand twenty feet away from the only person who’d ever looked at him like he might be more than a liability and watch her pretend to belong to someone else.
Sigrid
bro.
i say this with love and also deep psychological concern:
if you let FUCKING LARS steal your girl i am personally flying to LAX to fight you in arrivals.
also
those photos are FAKE as a woman i can tell
holly looked like she wanted to crawl inside a couch cushion and die.
so unless you’re planning on moving to alaska and living in a cabin alone for the rest of your life, GET IT TOGETHER.
p.s. pls hydrate
p.p.s. mor saw the photos. run.
Nate
Okay, first of all…
Pls don’t throw hands in an airport again. I still have a lifetime ban from Zurich thanks to you that fucking pretzel cart.
Second. I know it’s fake. But seeing her laugh with him felt like taking a puck to the chest with no pads on
I messed it up, Sig.
I pushed her away when I should’ve pulled her in. I thought I was protecting her, and now I don’t even know if I have her anymore.
What do I do? Srsly. Show up with flowers? A five-point apology powerpoint?
Storm the next rehearsal and lay myself on the dance floor like a sacrificial offering?
Help me, goblin child. you're my only hope.
Sigrid
good news! this is fixable. bad news? you’re gonna have to use your WORDS
you want romcom advice?
here it is, loser:
10 Things I Hate About You = grand gesture
While You Were Sleeping = emotional honesty and forehead touching
Crazy, Stupid, Love = take off your shirt strategically but only AFTER an apology
Notting Hill = tell her you’re just a sad hockey boy standing in front of a ballroom queen asking her to maybe not hate you with her entire being
honestly?? you don’t even need a plan.
just go to her. show up
say:
“i messed up. i’m sorry. i miss you. i don’t care about the show, i care about you.”
or maybe write it down so you don’t forget it and then SHUT UP and let her speak
also
maybe don’t punch anyone? unless it’s Lars.
in which case, aim for the hair.