All the Feels (Spoiler Alert #2)(94)

He was all or nothing, always. He wouldn’t accept another cohost while she was theoretically available. And even if she could somehow convince him she had no interest in that role, he wouldn’t tolerate her staying in L.A. while he traveled the country. He’d turn down the deal without a second thought, or even much of a first thought, and there simply wasn’t enough time to make him understand the truth: She wasn’t worth that kind of sacrifice.

If they stayed together, he’d willingly cast aside everything for her. Again.

The only way to save him was to leave him.

Her joints ached as if she were febrile, and her chest hitched uncontrollably, but Zach was waiting, so she tried to speak. “I’ll t-talk to Alex before the end of the reception.”

She’d be tearing out her own heart, but she’d do it, because there was no choice.

If his world fell apart again, it wouldn’t be because of her. She refused to be the means of his destruction a second time. Especially since his feelings for her—whatever they were—might not last long outside their little bubble of privacy and constant contact. They’d been friends for months, but lovers for less than a week. A blink of time.

Even if that fleeting moment had felt like an entire life stretched out before her, sunlit and horizonless and hers.

Zach’s head was bowed, his voice thick. “For what it’s worth, I really am sorry, Lauren.”

She nodded, and a tear dripped from her chin to her belly, then another and another. The next time she raised her head, eyes blurry and stinging, nose running, he was gone, and she knew what she needed to do.

She couldn’t tell Alex that Zach had spoken to her, or he’d fire his agent on the spot. But he didn’t deserve lies, and she wouldn’t give him any. Telling him she’d changed her mind about being together was true enough. And if he demanded further explanation, her anger at his unilateral decision-making was genuine, and she could play it up as necessary. Use it to cover the real reason she was leaving him.

She’d selectively tell him the truth and … go away inside. She’d draw down over herself all those layers of remove he’d stripped away and make herself inviolate once again. Impenetrable. Distant emotionally, and then distant physically, once she fled the wedding.

If she left him any hope of a future together, he’d hold out for her. He’d turn down or wait to sign the StreamUs deal in case she might come back.

So she wouldn’t allow any hope.

Not even for herself.





28


AFTER FINDING LAUREN’S SEAT EMPTY AND HER TABLEMATES uncertain as to when and why she’d left, Alex strode for the nearest exit, thumbing out a text as he went: Where are you? Are you okay?

When she didn’t respond immediately, he headed for their room, and thank goodness, there she was.

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?