Only … what the ever-loving fuck?
Her skin wasn’t just pale anymore, but pallid. Those beautiful eyes had turned red-rimmed, and her eyelids and nose were both puffy and pink.
Worst of all, she had that expression again. The one he hated and hadn’t seen in months. Neutral. Removed, despite all the evidence of emotional turmoil.
He now recognized it for what it was: protection. But protection from what, he couldn’t say.
“What the fuck happened, Wren?” It was a snarl as much as a question, because whoever had upset her this much was going to fucking pay. “Tell me.”
As soon as she was within touching distance, he reached for her hand. After a single weak squeeze, she let him go and backed away a step, and … something had gone wrong. Very, very wrong.
Her lips tipped in a small smile that didn’t reach her blank eyes. “I need to go.”
Go where? To another hotel? Back home?
“What the—”
“Alex.” Her throat worked, but she sounded entirely unbothered. “Let me explain.”
Dread continued to unfurl in his belly, and he dropped abruptly onto the low couch, his legs unsteady. “Did someone say something? Because I swear to God, I’ll—”
“I have to cut our trip short.” Her wide mouth was white around the edges, but she was still smiling, still so calm he wanted to shake her. “I’m flying back home tonight.”
It was a punch to his chest, so brutal he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak. All he could do was stare, dazed, his gut roiling.
“I’m so …” She paused, swallowing. “I’m so grateful for your company over the past few months. You’ve been … such a good friend. When we met, I was burned out, and now I’m better. Because of you. Better enough to work again. So thank you.”
Another blow. Another whoosh of air from his laboring lungs.
A good friend. A good fucking friend.
No, he was more than that. After these past three days together—
“Wren.” He clasped his hands between his knees, hard enough that his knuckles cracked and his joints ached. “You’ve been crying. Tell me what fucking happened.”
“Sometimes when I don’t feel well, my eyes get bloodshot.” She hitched her shoulder, the movement jerky. “Anyway, before I left, I wanted to tell you how much I appreciated all your kindness. I’ll, um—I’ll miss you.”
He huddled in on himself, shoulders hunched, shaking, because—she’d miss him? As in, she didn’t even want to see him anymore?
Swiftly, she turned away from him and headed for her closet. Her suitcase.
Maybe she hadn’t been crying, but he was, openly, because fuck pride. Fuck anything that didn’t bring her back to him somehow.
“What about—” He dragged in a hitching breath. “What about us, Lauren?”
She stilled, her back to him. “I—I care about you. You know that.”
“Yeah.” He laughed, and it was loud and ugly and bitter enough to hurt his ringing ears. “I thought I did. I thought I knew that.”
Her head bowed, but her words were uninflected. Emotionless.
“This—what we had …” Another pause. “It was an interlude. A vacation from reality. But vacations end, and we have to return to our real lives. Yours is in Hollywood. Mine is in the ER.”
From everything she’d told him, her lengthy stint in the ER hadn’t been a life. It’d been an existence. Self-abnegation for a paycheck, and the thought of her returning was like having his heart gripped in a vicious fist.
“It doesn’t have to be just a goddamn interlude.” He surged to his feet and paced in front of the sofa, his pulse hammering at his temples. “I got an offer for a travel show today, and I want you to be my cohost. We could explore the world together, Wren. That could be your real life. I could be your real life.”
She was still bent over her suitcase, unmoving, and he rushed on before she could respond. Before she could refuse him and cast him aside.
“Or if you’d rather be my PA, if you don’t want to be on camera, we can make that work instead. I don’t care. As long as you’re with me.” He raked his fingers through his hair and fisted a handful hard enough that several strands ripped free. “I need you, Wren. Please.”
Her chest expanded with a deep inhalation. Then, finally, she turned to face him again, and her features might have been carved from stone. Those round cheeks were bloodless but dry. Her gaze landed somewhere over his shoulder, off in the distance, where she evidently saw something more important than him.