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 likeyou’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 howrightthey 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.
Hewas 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 andexactlywhat the network wanted. Nate felt it like a fucking cross-check to his balls.
Holly didn’t flinch. Didn’tpull 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
