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CHAPTERFORTY-TWO
London
“I’m off the show?” I ask Sal after I arrive for the afternoon taping.
“I told you this yesterday,” he says.
“I don’t remember you saying anything.” I scratch my head, having no idea what the hell he’s talking about.
“I did,” he retorts with a scowl. “Austin is the new bachelor.”
“Wow. What did I do?”
“You fought with a contestant,” he hisses.
“I did not fight a contestant. I would remember that.”
“You did. If you don’t believe me, go to the hospital and ask Marty yourself. Ask Beau. You need to get your shit together. Maybe we can try again in a later season, but you’re not right in the head right now.”
“Fuck you. Nothing is wrong with me.” I ball my hands into fists and storm off.
I slam open the door to Scott’s trailer, making him jump.
“What’s wrong?” His trailer is small and sparse. He didn’t bring anything from home. It gives me “serial killer with cats” kind of vibes. It’s clean, like OCD clean. I bet if he killed someone in here, you could lick the floor the next day—not that I would. I’ve been in here before, just never really took the time to look around.
“I’m kicked off the show,” I growl, raking my hand down my face.
“They can’t do that. You’re the bachelor.”
“Apparently, they can. He told me I got in a fight.” I pause, confused, and meet Scott’s gaze. “Did I get in a fight?”
“Not that I know of.” He shrugs. “But this will be okay. We can leave, go back to the city. You don’t need the show or them.” He gestures to the house.
“You want me to come with you?”
“Yes,” he says. “I’ll take care of you.”
“Can we hang out and think on it?” I lift my hands to my head, interlacing my fingers. “I’m tired and just want a beer.”
“I’ll go grab you one, just lay down, and find a movie,” he says as he goes to the fridge.
I find a horror movie and lay my head back on the couch.
And Scott takes care of me.
