He’d like to believe both of them. The two women he loved most.
Had he terrified Wren like he’d terrified his mother? Was that why she’d left?
His legs were unsteady beneath him as he staggered to the living room and collapsed onto his mother’s couch. He buried his face in his hands and tried to think.
“Lauren worried about my future more than I ever did.” God, his eyes stung. “Do you think—do you think I scared her too, and she was trying to save me from trouble by breaking up with me? Before I could blow up at the next asshole who insulted her and wreck my career for good?”
His mother sat beside him on the sofa, and repositioned him with gentle insistence until he was resting his head on her shoulder again. “I don’t know, baby. But for what it’s worth, I saw genuine affection between the two of you. On both sides.”
That night in Olema had felt like more than affection. It’d felt like love.
On both sides.
“Maybe give her a little time and space to miss you.” She squeezed him. “And then, if she truly doesn’t want you or won’t let herself have you, let her go, sweetheart. You deserve someone who’ll fight to keep you in her life, because you’re a catch. And that has nothing to do with your money or fame or the volume of thirst tweets directed your way, and everything to do with your enormous heart.”
Her palm patted that general region of his chest.
He sighed and held his mom tighter. “I wish you didn’t know the phrase thirst tweets. Especially in reference to me. Especially especially since I’ll be posting more shirtless pics soon.” He paused. “I really enjoy all the attention and retweets and flame emojis.”
“I know that too, sweetheart.” Snorting softly, she kissed the crown of his head. “Believe me, I know.”
THE AIRLINE AGENT at the check-in counter cringed when she processed Alex’s ID and saw which flight he was on. Or, rather, which flight he would not be on.
“I’m so sorry, sir.” She handed back his driver’s license. “Passengers have to check in at least thirty minutes before departure.”
He sighed. “Then I’ll take a first-class ticket on the next available flight to LAX, if there’s still an open seat.”
Between his tear-choked, long-overdue conversation with his mom and his impulsive plans later that morning, he’d run absurdly late the entire day. Which wasn’t a huge surprise, since time management had always been difficult for him, but he normally had his virtual PA to keep him on schedule. Or, in recent months, Wren.
Where was she? What was she doing?
Did she miss him?
Fuck, he hurt. His heart and his arm and his bloodshot eyes and everywhere.
Still, he offered the check-in agent a tired smile when she found him a ticket, and one relatively enormous credit card purchase later, he was going through security and walking to the business lounge. Along the way, his carry-on rolling smoothly at his side, he checked his phone.
His mother had sent a new text. Great visit, sweetheart. Love you. Don’t forget what we talked about, or else I’ll have to ground you. Safe travels. Then, minutes later: Thanks for letting me be your mom again. I missed that. ?
His lips tilted, and he blinked against the prickle in his sinuses.
Love you too, Mom, he wrote back, pausing at the side of the concourse. I won’t forget. Less atoning, more thinking. ???
He’d been thinking all afternoon, as a matter of fact.
Instead of scattering his thoughts, the pain had focused them.
If he wasn’t irredeemably selfish, if he didn’t need to atone, if he didn’t have to prove his love through heedless self-sacrifice, then his path forward was clear. Finally, finally clear. No matter what did or didn’t happen with Lauren.
He unblocked his agent and sent another text before he could change his mind.
Zach: I’m accepting the StreamUs offer, albeit with certain demands we can discuss tomorrow. He hesitated, but kept thumbing. That said, this is our last deal together. Although I appreciate all you’ve done for me, it’s time for us both to move on. Thanks.
Because if he wasn’t a terrible person, if he could believe both his mother and Wren when they said he was a good man, he deserved an agent who respected him, even when he was annoying. Which he would be. Often.
Maybe Francine, Marcus’s agent, wouldn’t mind that so much.
After another few gates, the business lounge entrance came into view. As he entered the quiet, expansive space, he began a text asking his best friend for Francine’s contact information, and his phone’s battery died three words into the message.