All the Feels (Spoiler Alert #2)(103)
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.