Page 110 of The Golden Scoop

Be casual, I tell myself.

Don’t forget you owe me a rematch.

Mills

I won’t. Don’t worry.

Too late. I already am.

The article felt like the perfect solution at first. Answers to my problems landing right in my lap. Should’ve thought a bit harder. Never mix business with pleasure, right?

What We Carry could cast someone else. Funny how quickly that puts life into perspective, to realize I don’t care if it costs me everything, as long as I don’t lose Emma. I could end up on reality TV and wouldn’t blink twice if she was by my side.

Emma doesn’t have a safety net. No list of endless opportunities lining up at her doorstep. If this assignment goes south, it could be the end of a writing career she hasn’t even started.

Fuck. I can’t believe I’ve been this naïve, jeopardizing her when I know exactly how Hollywood press works.

I try to shake it off. Change into some gym clothes and hit the treadmill until my legs threaten to give out. When my muscles start trembling, I cut the machine and lean on the sidebars to keep from collapsing.

For a moment, I wonder if that’s the only way to burn the ache out of my chest.

Instead, I grab my phone, scroll through my contacts, and hit call.

“Hey, mate,” Harrison answers after a few rings. “How’s your day off?”

“Not good.”

“I’m listening,” he says, immediately.

“Something’s wrong with Emma.” The words fight me on the way out. “She got some news from work and bolted mid-breakfast. I’ve never seen her like this before. She went pale, Josh.”

He hums on the other end, letting me dump it all out.

“I’ve been trying not to jump to conclusions. But her work is about me. I texted, she’s off,” I continue. “Two years, I’d been waiting for her to see me. I’ve opened up to her more than I have with anyone else before. What if the mere fact that she knows is putting her in a vulnerable position?”

“Maybe it’s about time the world finds out about you. The layers under the action. Not just Emma.”

“Yeah, in an ideal world that wouldn’t be an issue. Be real. The press takes the raw and cooks it until it’s burnt,” I groan. “I should’ve told her how I felt at the wedding. Or any of the dozen chances I had. Now she’s stressing, doing who knows what to keep herself afloat because of me.”

“This might seem too simple to work,” Harrison says, “but why don’t you go see her?”

“If she wanted to talk to me, she wouldn’t have left.”

“Don’t push. Show up. Be there for her,” he suggests. “I get that work complicates things, so pretend it’s not about you. What would you do if this was another regular, bad day at work?”

I’d make some popcorn. Let her pick the movie. Rub her feet while we curled up on the couch. Distract her every so often to feel her lips against mine.

“Good pep talk,” I tell him. He hums knowingly.

Yeah. That’s exactly what I’m going to do.

The wait after I decide to head over is excruciating. I want to make sure she has plenty of time to deal with whatever this is on her own before swooping in. I throw myself back into the workout. It only makes me more anxious.

As soon as the sun starts to dip, I hop in the car and head to the nearest store. I buy an excessive amount of popcorn and a bag of chocolate drops to sprinkle on top.

“There’s nothing like the mix of sweet and salty,” she’d said once. Immediately, it went into the Emma-shaped folder in my brain.

I turn onto her street, and I’m praying she doesn’t send me away. Emma’s the kind of woman used to handling everything on her own. I’m hoping she lets it not be that way anymore. With me.