All the Feels, page 31
That accusation . . . he’d leveled it against himself before. Spat it out like dirt in his mouth.
He’d called himself selfish. An asshole. A self-absorbed Hollywood brat.
Because he’d failed to notice his stepfather’s abuse. Because he’d acted in his show’s final season.
For those self-proclaimed sins, he’d damned himself and scrambled to make amends. But for him, it wasn’t enough. Might never be enough. His continued self-loathing had been heartbreakingly clear that evening in Olema, when he’d nearly collapsed at the sight of his injured mother.
And then, at the wedding, overwrought and grief-stricken and desperate to drive him away, she’d confronted him without even a sliver of her usual caution. Without thinking about his history. The same way—as she’d informed him—he hadn’t thought about hers.
The irony strangled the breath in her throat.
What she’d said, however true, however necessary, had to have confirmed his worst fears. And she’d wielded the accusation without care, after implying they were friends and nothing more, their time together a mere interlude.
Fuck. Oh, fuck.
She hunched in on herself. “God. No wonder he didn’t argue after I said that.”
“Ren . . .” Sionna was rubbing her back again. “Do you love him?”
She hiccupped again, the sound loud and ugly. “Yes.”
There was no point prevaricating. Her best friend already knew, or at least suspected. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have asked the question. And Lauren wasn’t ashamed of loving him.
Alex deserved love. Enough to fill that huge, loyal, lonely heart of his.
And she’d beg, she’d bleed, to give it to him, but—
She was sobbing once more, her body bucking with it. “I can’t—I c-can’t let him d-destroy his career over m-me again. I c-can’t.”
“I understand that.” Sionna’s arms were soft and warm, and they drew Lauren close. “But, babe, I just . . .” She sighed. “I’m not sure that was a decision to make on your own. Especially without telling him everything and explaining how you feel. Without asking him whether he’d rather have a career or you, if he had to choose.”
Lauren took a dozen deep breaths, until her chest no longer hitched so hard. Then she shook her head against her friend’s shoulder, exhausted and so fucking sad, she wanted to sleep for a million years.
“But I knew what he’d say.” She bit her lip against more tears. “I knew what he’d do.”
He’d fire his agent.
He’d turn down StreamUs’s offer.
He’d choose her. Every time.
And then he’d find himself without money or prospects, unable to keep supporting his mother, Dina, and the charity, and he’d hate himself for it. He’d fight everyone who insulted and abused Lauren, and his foes would be legion. Endless.
He’d choose her, and then he’d lose everything but her.
“He deserves more,” she whispered, the words muffled against Sionna’s tee.
At that, her friend went still.
“Ren . . .” Sionna’s own chest hitched. “Sometimes I want to burn down the fucking world for what it’s done to you.”
After that, she didn’t say anything else. She just passed out tissues and rubbed circles over Lauren’s back until both of them had stopped crying.
LATER THAT DAY, Lauren attempted to stop missing Alex and distract herself from her doubts by searching for recent photos of him online.
If her logic was suspect, her fingers didn’t care. They were already clicking to open a new browser window and typing in his name and limiting the results to the past twenty-four hours, because she had to see him. She had to see his face and his expression and know he was fine. She had to know he was better off without her.
Surely he’d realized that too, by now.
Because if he hadn’t—
Firmly quashing that line of thought, she scrolled through the pics, none of which seemed to be from the past day, despite her search specifications.
Alex on a dais at Con of the Gates, his grin bright and savage as he detonated his career. Alex posing for a selfie while washing a car in only a pair of track pants, gleaming with water in the sun. Alex in his Cupid costume, laughing with one of the camera operators on set.
She’d studied all those photos before. Recently. Repeatedly.
God, she’d never spent so much time on social media in her entire damn life. But she couldn’t seem to stop cyberstalking him. Or crying.
She also couldn’t seem to find news of his deal with StreamUs, despite all the rumors still swirling. Worse, he hadn’t posted a damn thing anywhere since she’d abandoned him in the middle of his ex’s wedding reception. Not on YouTube or Instagram, where viewers were clamoring for more travel videos. Not on Twitter, where his followers mourned a sudden lack of shirtless thirst-tweet inspiration. Not on Facebook or—
Wait.
That was new. In a grainy, crooked photo, he was walking along a sidewalk outside a tidy strip mall, palm trees in the background. The shot could have been taken in any California suburb. According to the provided information, though, the picture originated from late that morning in . . . Florida?
If he’d visited his mom, she was glad. Linda had seemed lovely and loving, and he deserved a vacation. That said, the photo truly was terrible. If she didn’t know better, she’d have said Alex looked not good in it, which would be the only example of that particular phenomenon in human history.
She zoomed in, then zoomed in again.
Up close, the image was more than a little out of focus, but shit. Shit, he did look bad. Terrible, actually. Disheveled and haggard, with dark shadows under his eyes. A hobo rather than a Viking, caught in some awkward moment where he appeared stiff and miserable.
If he’d realized he was better off without her, that certainly wasn’t apparent in the photo.
Ever since her conversation with Sionna, she’d been trying not to listen to the doubts that clamored louder minute by minute. But they wouldn’t be denied now. They were all she could focus on, other than his bookmarked fics and his beloved face.
Maybe a bystander had taken an unlucky, unflattering shot. Or maybe Lauren had grievously injured them both by leaving him so abruptly, by refusing to discuss her concerns or how she felt about him before sacrificing her happiness for his career.
Her happiness, and maybe his too.
In that hotel room, she’d acted unilaterally, just as Sionna had accused. Ostensibly, Lauren had done it for his own good. But even in her own head, that was patronizing as hell, and he’d never wanted her to make those sorts of decisions for him. In fact, he’d lost his shit at the very idea only two weeks ago, after his fan insulted her.
I am the only fucking person in this car and on this planet who can decide what my career is worth, he’d raged, offended fury in every syllable, and it’s not worth my fucking soul.
She had to assume he would say the same thing about his heart.
That is not your fucking decision, Lauren, he’d told her, but she hadn’t really listened. She hadn’t remembered. Not when confronted with his agent’s story, not when wrestling with her own fear and guilt.
Unable to bear the sight of his possible misery any longer, she clicked over to YouTube. To the video they’d taken on Glass Beach, only minutes before debating their relative loudness during orgasm.
Alex stood grinning at someone the audience couldn’t see. Her, behind the camera, rolling her eyes at him as he stripped off his shirt and preened despite the cloudy, blustery day.
He ran a caressing palm down his hair-dusted, broad chest. “Some say going topless on this beach is like finding a four-leaf clover. Guaranteed good luck.”
“Literally no one says that,” her voice informed the audience.
He raised a dark brow. “I said that. Just now, as a matter of fact.”
She snorted, and the image bobbed slightly. “I stand corrected. Literally one person in the world says that.”
When he shook his head chidingly, a lock of hair fell over his forehead.
“You don’t know all the people in the world, Wren.” His wink flustered her even now, a week later. “Besides, it’s already working, ye of little faith. We’ve been here five minutes at most, and I feel really lucky. I can only hope to get even more lucky soon.”
He meant they were going to have sex that night, of course.
But she knew his voice. Even amid all the innuendo and cocky posturing, she could hear the sincerity and affection. The blossoming of . . . wonder, almost. As if he meant it. He considered himself lucky to have her in his bed. In his life.
She paused the film on his bright smile and ran her forefinger over the roundish, green bit of sea glass he’d carried in his pocket for her, then the cloudy blue rectangle and the amber square. The three pieces she’d plucked from the shore that day and tucked carefully inside her toiletries bag. The three pieces that now lay on her nightstand, within easy reach, for when she needed comforting.
She hadn’t been able to stop herself from taking those souvenirs. Even then, she’d known the day was special. Suffused with warmth and beauty and easy affection and laughter. She hadn’t anticipated another day like it, possibly in her entire life.
So she’d gathered mementos for mourning while she could.
How many other wonderful places could they have explored together if she’d allowed them to leave over the weekend, as he’d originally planned? If she hadn’t delayed their trip because she didn’t want him to spend money on her?
Even though he’d told her he had plenty of savings. Even though he’d wanted to spend that money on her, wanted that extra time with her.
Why did she assume she wasn’t worth a few extra hotel bills?
She’d been absolutely determined not to let him give up his career for her. On that awful evening at the hotel, stopping him—saving him, whether he’d asked to be saved or not—had seemed like an imperative, its importance clear and unquestionable.
But why did she assume she wasn’t worth his career?
Alex always had a comeback for everything, and he’d had an answer for that question too. He’d shared it with her before, multiple times. Sorrow and rage in every syllable, he’d tried to tell her what she believed, how she saw herself.
You’re not important enough to defend, even when someone insults you to your fucking face. He’d phrased it as a question, but it was more an angry lament. A condemnation of how little she valued herself. How you feel isn’t important. You’re not important.
She’d told him that wasn’t true.
But even then, part of her knew he was right.
The best thing the world offered an ugly little girl was indifference. Pity stung exactly as much as insults, if not more, so she tried to avoid either. She tried to avoid notice. Even as a child, she’d understood it was important to stay quiet. Unobtrusive. And above all, undemanding.
Fortunately, adults were generally happy to ignore a short, fat kid with a bird’s face, and she was generally happy to encourage their lack of attention.
Other kids, though . . . they couldn’t be avoided, and they wouldn’t be deterred.
But crying over the cruelty of others to her parents only upset them, and nothing her mom and dad did blunted the relentless tide of abuse, so she eventually stopped coming to them. And they never questioned whether that cruelty had actually ceased, probably because they didn’t really want to know. Especially when her tormentor was also her cousin.
They loved her. She knew that.
But they’d taught her that family peace was more important than her feelings.
And since then, she’d spent decades giving away pieces of herself, because she didn’t matter. Not as much as everyone else.
She’d given herself away at work, with every overtime shift she took, every holiday she worked in place of a colleague, every time she chose to ignore her increasing misery and work harder. She’d given herself away to her parents, who’d learned she would drop everything to help them at any time, no matter what they wanted. At their urging, she’d given herself away to her asshole cousin too, even though she hated him—shit, she really did hate him—and she’d desperately needed a real vacation, not a job babysitting a man who required love rather than supervision.
Eventually, she’d given so much of herself away, there’d been almost nothing left by the time she boarded that flight to Spain.
Sionna had tried to tell her, tried to help her, but Lauren hadn’t listened.
And then Alex had given her back. Piece by piece.
By prodding her to speak, to respond and make her voice heard. By encouraging her—as Sionna had—to be a shrew, to demand her due and act in her own best interests. By paying constant attention to her. By offering gifts. By defending her with all the love and rage and loyalty in his enormous, reckless heart. By glorying in her pleasure fully as much as his own. By insisting that her feelings and her safety and her happiness and her presence in his life mattered, always.
More than a random fan. More than even his career.
She hadn’t asked for anything from anyone in years. Hell, she’d volunteered to give away more of herself and rejected receiving anything in return.
Alex had forced her to take. For her sake, and for his too, because he was a generous soul, and her happiness made him happy in return.
But even he couldn’t make her take that goddamn hotel money. Even he couldn’t make her accept the most loyal heart she’d ever known, despite how desperately she wanted it. Even he couldn’t make her believe she was important and worth all his sacrifices.
In the end, there was only one person who could do that.
And she was terrified out of her fucking mind that she’d ruined everything.
From atop the nightstand, her cell rang.
The number on the screen baffled her. She’d broken his best friend’s heart, so why in the world was Marcus calling her?
Well, if he wanted to yell at her, she deserved it. And maybe once he was done and she’d groveled a bit, he would tell her when Alex planned to return from Florida.
Or . . . had something gone wrong during Alex’s vacation? Had there been some sort of accident?
She snatched up the phone and stabbed at the screen. “Marcus? Is Alex okay?”
He paused before answering, and the thud of her heart filled her skull, the room, the entire world.
“I don’t know.” When he finally spoke, he sounded troubled. “I was hoping you did.”
Shit. Shit. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know,” he said again. “He’d planned to fly into LAX this afternoon, stop home for a few minutes, then drive to meet April and me in Malibu. His flight landed safely, according to the airport website. But he was supposed to arrive at the hotel a couple of hours ago, and we haven’t seen him.”
That . . . wasn’t great. “Could he have missed his flight?”
“Maybe.” Marcus’s voice was tight with worry. “But no one’s heard from him since the plane took off. He’s not answering his phone or responding to texts and emails.”
Alex would typically send his best friend a billion bored texts during a transcontinental plane ride. No wonder Marcus was anxious. She was too, and becoming more so by the second.
“He probably just forgot about our plans, but I want to make sure he’s not sick or hurt.” After the click of a door closing, the quiet buzz of background noise went silent. “Normally, he always responds to my messages. Even when he ignores everyone else.”
In the ER, countless scared, sad families had shared some tear-choked version of this story. Nevertheless, she genuinely didn’t think Alex would harm himself. Not directly.
But he was so reckless sometimes, and if he was hurting as much as she was—
She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to think. “Have you called his mom?”
“She’s the last person he contacted before the flight. As far as she knows, he’s not in Florida anymore, but she honestly has no clue.” He made a frustrated noise. “I was hoping he’d reconciled with you and lost track of time and space and human existence, which was the best possible scenario under the circumstances.”
God, if only. She’d give anything. Anything.
More important, she’d take anything.
“Um, no. I haven’t heard from him since . . .” When she swallowed, she tasted bile. “Since the wedding.”
“Fuck,” Marcus muttered. “I’d check with Dina, but I don’t have her number. Do you?”
“I don’t. I’m so sorry,” she said helplessly.
Another frustrated sound. “Then I should probably drive to his house tonight to make sure he’s there and okay.”
She didn’t hesitate. “Let me do it. I can leave right now, and I’m much closer than you are.”
Once more, Marcus went silent for a disconcerting amount of time.
“Thank you for the offer, but I don’t know if that’s such a great idea.” He sighed. “He wouldn’t thank me for telling you this, but he misses you terribly. If he’s already in a bad emotional state to start with, seeing you . . .”
Although he trailed off, she understood precisely what he meant.
Now he needed to understand her.
“I love him, and if he’ll have me back, I’ll never leave him again.” Her face went hot, but she spoke the sentence like the simple truth it was. “So if that’s your main concern, I’ll go. I still have the keys to his house, and I can check inside and around the grounds.”
Alex had insisted she keep the keys when she moved out of the stables, and she couldn’t seem to mail them back after the wedding, no matter how many times she told herself to do it.
“Oh, thank fuck.” Marcus let out a slow breath. “Whether he’s there or not, please call to let me know. As soon as you can.”
“I will.” She hit the floor running. “I’m on my way.”
As soon as they exchanged brief goodbyes, she yanked on her leggings and thrust her sockless feet into sneakers.
In less than a minute, she was out the door and on her way to Alex.
She hoped.
Please, let him be there.
