Free Lucky Star: A Hollywood Love Story by Rebecca Norinne Caudill Page A

way.
    Unable to control my anger at her unwillingness to take the discussion seriously, I punched the dashboard and instantly regretted it. The moment my fist made contact with the hard plastic, I jumped back in my seat and howled in pain. Holding my right hand tightly in my left to stem the pain that was even now shooting up my arm, I clenched my teeth in agony.
    Sarah moved to comfort me, to ease my pain, but then she thought better of it and pulled away. Instead she asked on an exasperated exhalation, “How bad does it hurt?”
    I mumbled something that sounded a whole lot like “it-hurts-a-whole-fucking-lot-how-the-hell-do-you-think-it-fucking-feels?” but I may as well not have spoken for all she paid attention.
    “Say, for instance, do you think it hurts as much as it did when you walked out on me? Do you reckon a broken hand can possibly compare to a broken heart?”
    Ah, so that’s it . She wanted me to suffer because she’d been suffering. I’d done this to her. I’d done this to us and it made me the worst sort of asshole imaginable because it never had to be this way. If I hadn’t overreacted everything could have remained good between us. We could have moved on from that night. If I hadn’t panicked, we could have laughed it off as the sort of drunken escapade men and women who claimed to be best friends frequently engaged in, or in the morning, I could have laid my heart on the line and hoped she wanted to be with me the way I wanted to be with her. Either way you sliced it, both were infinitely better scenarios than the one we faced now.
    When I didn’t respond, she started the car, effectively ending the conversation. What more was there to say? After idling the car for a few moments she resumed talking. “You can get out or you can come with me. Right now I don’t care either way. The decision’s yours.”
    I didn’t want this to be the end of things, so I stayed put and she nodded. “Fine, have it your way,” she muttered as she drove out of the garage.
    Once we were on the road, she spoke again. “After the day I’ve had, I want nothing more than to go home, get out of my clothes, and sink into a nice, long hot bath with a bottle of my favorite wine. But I can’t do that. The last time you were in my house could have been one of the most amazing experiences of my life, but instead ended as one of the worst.”
    “I’m sorry,” I said again, even as I realized I needed to stop apologizing and start explaining myself. I’d planned on telling her that we should forget the night had happened the way it did, but it was clear to me now she’d likely never forget. I also feared she would misinterpret my words. It wasn’t that I hadn’t wanted to be with her; I just didn’t want a drunk fucking to be the foundation upon which our relationship now rested. In the end, I said nothing though. Taking in the angry scowl on her face and the tension in her shoulders, I recognized she wasn’t in the proper frame of mind to discuss these things. The best I could hope for now was forgiveness so that’s where I focused my efforts. One I had that, truly had it, I’d broach the other topic.
    Instead of heading into the Hollywood Hills where she lived, Sarah pulled onto the ramp toward Santa Monica. There was no way she’d willingly make that drive during rush hour traffic, but after midnight there was hardly anyone on the road. Se rolled down her window and let the cool night air swirl through the car as her arm bounced on the current.
    “I gave you the option to get out of my car but you stayed. Why?”
    “You’re my best friend. What did you expect me to do?”
    A mirthless laugh escaped her mouth. “Do you really expect me to answer that question after your little disappearing act? Do you really think I don’t have a hundred retorts at the ready, none of which paint you in a very positive light?”
    “Look Sarah, I understand you’re angry.”
    “Do you?”
    “Yes,” I answered