An entire week.

Without her.

It’s been hell, but I’ll never admit it. I read the book and told Trina to try again. I’d have to be a masochist to make a movie that portrays me that way. I bought five hundred copies and had a bonfire.

When I walk into Marisol’s hospital room, my footsteps stop. Quinn is lying down on the couch, watching some daytime television show.

She hurries to her feet immediately. “Marisol just dozed off,” she says, her sunken eyes taking in my appearance.

I’m wearing my usual three-piece suit with gelled hair and bronze skin. I show no evidence of how much she hurt me because that would be weakness and I’m not weak, no matter what her book says.

“I’ll come back.” I circle around on my heel.

“No. I’ll go. I’ve been here long enough.”

I turn back around, keeping my hands in my pockets as she reaches for her computer bag. She’s wearing shorts and a tank top, a sweater tucked under her purse strap. Other than her eyes, she looks good. Just like I envisioned her last night when I came to the beat of my own hands. Believe me, it irks me to have to admit that.

She starts to leave the room, then stops next to me. I’m not ignorant to the fact that it would only take a brush of my hand to feel her silky, soft skin.

“Her brother is due in tomorrow. Isa said you had a lot to do with that.” She touches my arm and I flex my jaw and swallow so I don’t react. “You’re…well, you’re not that guy in the story.”

When I don’t speak or even glance her way, she continues walking out of the room.

Once I don’t hear the squeak of her shoes on the linoleum floor, my head falls forward and I breathe for the first time. After a beat, I lift my head back up, to find Marisol’s eyes wide open. They’re bearing a yellowish tint and the fissure in my already fragile heart deepens a little. Her brother can’t come soon enough.

“Sweetie,” she softly says, her fingers stretched out for mine.

I go to her, taking her cold hand in both of mine, trying to warm it between them.

“How are you doing? I heard your brother will be here soon.”

She nods. “Thank you.”

“Always. You’re my mom.”

A small smile graces her lips. “Don’t do this.”

“I’m good. Your boy is good.” I pat her hand. “Never better.”

She slides up in the bed, and I help her position the pillow to make her more comfortable.

“I’m a dying woman,” she says.

“No, you’re not, because the transplant will work, and you’ll live a long, happy life of retirement after this.”

She shakes her head. “Listen to me for a second. Get all that wax and ego clogging your ears out and really listen.” She eyes the edge of the bed and slides over.

I take the hint, sitting down.

“You’ve loved her your entire life. You just got her back and now you’re going to lose her? All over a book? You seem to forget your part in this.”

I glance out the window, not really interested in hearing the same bullshit my friends flung at me the other night. “I apologized. I told her why I did it. It was for her own good.”

She lets out a deep breath. “That doesn’t mean you didn’t hurt her. Put yourself in her shoes, Jagger.”

I shake my head. “She wrote a book about me. She portrayed me as an asshole.”

One thing I haven’t and won’t tell a soul is how great a writer she is. How she really did nail me…or the hero. The only thing missing from her book was me breaking my own heart.

“Stop.” Her voice is firmer now. “Stop making it about you.”

“Hello? She attacked me. And if that’s what she really thinks of me, why the hell would she wanna be with me anyway?”

Marisol shakes her head. “You’re going to regret this. One day you’re going to be where I am now, and you’ll be wishing you put that ego aside, that you fought for her.”

“No. I won’t. I’ll have ten gorgeous women in my bed.”

She remains quiet, patting my hand. “I hope I taught you that it’s quality, not quantity when it comes to life.”

Her head falls back to the pillow and she closes her eyes, shutting all communication off.

Quality over quantity? Crock of shit. Always has been. Quality breaks you down, quantity keeps you going.

Positioning the blanket over her, I tuck it under her arms and make sure none of the wires are twisted, then get up from the bed.

“Too bad you can’t take care of Quinn like you do my mom.” Isa saunters in, a Diet Coke from the cafeteria and a cookie in her hands.

“So, you’re on her side?” I deadpan, not expecting anything less.

“No. I think she was wrong.” She sits down in the chair, taking a bite of her cookie and then sipping her drink.

“Yeah, this whole reverse psychology thing isn’t going to work.” I twirl my finger around in the air.

“I’m serious. She shouldn’t have written a book. She shouldn’t profit on your messed-up relationship. And she shouldn’t have kept it from you. I mean, you’re the most understanding guy I know.”

“Our relationship wasn’t messed up.”

“Can you imagine what book two will say? Whoa.” She pays no attention to me, eating her cookie and drinking her pop. “I mean, did she really think you guys would run off into the sunset? The worst thing that happened to you and her, is finding each other again. Isn’t karma a bitch? Throwing a wrench at you two right after you both healed.” Her eyes zero in on me.

I narrow my eyes at her. “Give it a rest, Isa.”

“You were clearly over her. I mean, with the number of girls you screwed. And she got over you by writing the book. Then bam!” she says loudly, and I look back at Marisol to make sure she doesn’t wake up. “There you two are again. That spark and false belief in a happily ever after. She should have written your story as what not to do. Or when to run, not chase.” She places her drink down to position her hands in the air like it’s a title of a movie. “Way to go though, bro, I really thought you guys were going to think it was fate and believe that crock of shit.”

She stops her lecture and I roll my eyes. “Thanks, sis, for that heart-to-heart.”

She takes a big bite of her cookie, smiling over her mouthful. Standing up, she pats me on the shoulder. “I expected nothing less from my brother than to give up on her, on the two of you.”

“What do you expect me to do?”

Isa raises her hand in the air, waving it. “Nothing. Didn’t I make myself clear a second ago?” She flips around, her eyes serious and furious. “I bet there’s a cute single nurse to take home tonight. You know, work Quinn out of your system.”

I inhale a deep breath before venom unleashes from my mouth. “You don’t understand,” I bite out.

“I don’t?” A hollow laugh echoes in the quiet room. “You’re going to throw away a woman you were lucky enough to get a second chance with because you’re too prideful to accept the fact there’s truth in that story. You were so set on hating that book and seeing the bad, you missed the good. You want to know why that book was a bestseller?”

“Because everyone likes it when the torch lands on the rich kid?”

She huffs, shaking her head. “Because they believed you were the guy you are. The reader got fooled just like Quinn. The book made them fall in love with you before it made them hate you, but they still believe in the good. They want a book two because readers all over the world believe that deep down, you really are a good guy. Do you really think Quinn would risk her heart again if she didn’t believe you were the hero she wrote about at the beginning of that book? That’s what I find so funny.”

“Please enlighten me.” I grip the edge of Marisol’s bed.

“That people who don’t even know you believe something about you that you don’t even believe. See, big brother, you are that man. You are the prince on the white horse to Quinn. You just need to lower your sword and take off all that armor you hide under. It’s okay to be vulnerable because as much as you love her, she loves you, too. She’ll protect you just as fiercely as you protect her. But you have to give her the chance to do that.”

I hate when Isa’s right. Hate. It.

But her words worm themselves into my head and I can’t help but wonder…is that what I’m doing? Am I pushing Quinn away not because she wrote a book about us, not because the ending painted an unfavourable picture of me, not because she kept the book a secret, but because I’m afraid that all the bad things she wrote in there about me are true? Because deep down it crushes me to know how badly I hurt the woman I love?

My head falls forward and my shoulders sag. I swallow hard.

“What do I do now?” I ask, my underlying thought silent—that I once again didn’t fight for Quinn and prove what she means to me and I need to fix us.

“Why, the big finale, of course.” She places her hand on my shoulder. “The one where you win over the girl and ride off into the future.”

I smile at her and pull her into my arms. “Thanks.” I swing her around and place her back on her feet. “Shit, I gotta do something huge.”

“One last piece of advice?” She holds her fingers a tiny bit apart.

“What?”

“Don’t mix up spending huge amounts of money with doing something huge from the heart.” She places her hand over my heart. “Let this speak, not your wallet.”

I nod. “I gotta go.” I jog out of the room, then grab the doorway and run back in. My feet freeze when I see Marisol and Isa high-fiving each other. I wiggle my finger between the two of them.

“What would you do without us?” Isa asks, and I walk over and kiss Marisol on the cheek.

Marisol’s hand lands on my cheek. “Go get your girl, sweetie.”

“I intend to.”

Nothing will stop me from fighting for us this time.