IRL: In Real Life (After Oscar, #1)(80)

And then Wells Grange smiled his boxer-dropping smile—that probably would have impregnated half the room had he truly been a superhero—and told everyone exactly what booth to visit to order their very own custom game pieces as soon as they returned to the show floor the following day.

The crowd applauded again and then began talking animatedly among themselves as they started filing out the door. I stood still, like a rock in a river as they surged around me. I kept my hands pressed to my mouth, as though trying to hold everything inside. Tears. Questions. The insane need to shout Wells’s name at the top of my lungs so that he would know I was here… that I’d heard.

That I loved him.

I shook my head at that, trying to pull my thoughts back together. Only in the movies did people fall in love as quickly as I had. Only in movies did they then profess their love across a crowded room.

I had to remind myself that this was the real world. And in this world happily ever after wasn’t a guarantee. In this world New York and Asheville were too far apart. Our lives were too separate and distinct to merge.

In this world I was afraid that I wasn’t the passionate man Wells had just described to a room full of dreamers.

And even if I was, that Wells wouldn’t want me as desperately as I wanted him.





30





Wells





I finished the presentation on a high, the sound of the crowd’s enthusiasm causing my grin to widen. I was used to giving talks to stuffy conference rooms full of stone-faced business folks where applause wasn’t the usual reaction. My world of boardrooms and business suits was cold and hard-edged—the complete opposite of the friendly excitement infusing the air at ICECon.

I could see why Conor loved it here. Why he felt at home. This was his world. These were his people.

This was where he belonged, and it made me realize even more how right I’d been that I could never ask him to leave this behind to join me in New York. Even if he’d been willing to do so, it wouldn’t have been fair to him.

Giving this up would have been like leaving a piece of himself behind.

I felt a pang of regret that he hadn’t been here to bask in the crowd’s excitement about his company. I could tell from the reaction that this was the beginning of something big for him—I’d been involved in enough business deals to recognize when a product was going to be a hit. He’d worked hard for this success—he deserved it.

I just wished I could be by his side as it happened.

But I had to accept that I likely wouldn’t be. That I’d hurt him too much.

Still, I wished Conor had been here to see the presentation. To hear what I’d said about him.

Which made me realize all the things I should have said to him before. Christ, I’d just made it plainly obvious to a room full of strangers how much I cared about Conor Newell. Why hadn’t I ever told him that directly back when I had the chance? When I knew he was getting and reading my texts. Or when I could speak to him face-to-face.

Now the only way I could communicate with him was through letters, and I didn’t even know if he was getting them, much less whether he was reading them or just throwing them away unopened. After I’d sent the first one, I’d been keyed up and anxious, constantly checking my phone as I waited for him to respond. I became short-tempered and surly at work, which had driven Deb crazy.

Finally after I’d snapped at her through the intercom one too many times, she’d stormed into my office, fisted her hands on her hips, and told me get my ass to Asheville or fuck off.

Then she’d demanded another raise.

As if thinking about him made him appear, I looked up and saw a guy who looked exactly like Conor. So much so it caused my breath to catch. He stood alone toward the back of the ballroom, staring at me as the crowd swarmed around him to the exit.

I blinked in hopes my vision would clear, but he still looked exactly like Conor.

Because it was Conor. He was here. In front of me.

Before I knew what I was doing, I’d jumped from the stage and started toward him. I had to fight the urge to run. To sprint. My entire body vibrated, desperate with the need to touch him. Hold him. Feel him.

I slowed as I approached, afraid he might turn away. Terrified he might not want to see me or talk to me. But he stood his ground, and when I finally reached him, I didn’t know what to say. So many words crowded in my throat—apologies, explanations, declarations of how I felt about him.

But all of that felt like too much, too fast, so instead I asked, “What are you doing here? Is your mom okay?”

His face broke into a shy smile. “Yeah. Yeah she is. She kicked me out. Told me to come to the con and enjoy the fruits of my labor.”

My hands itched to grab him, feel that he was actually here with me, and never let go. I clutched them into fists at my side. “That’s good. I’m glad she’s doing well. So… you got her settled and… everything there is okay? With… with the treatment and…”

Smooth.

Conor took two more steps and slipped into my embrace, wrapping his arms around my waist and holding me as tightly as he could. I didn’t even hesitate to pull him closer. He felt incredible. He felt perfect. And for that moment everything was right in the world.

“Thank god,” I breathed into his hair, holding the back of his head with one hand and wrapping the other around his shoulders. I was about to tell him how much I fucking missed him. How desperately I wanted him back. How much he mattered to me, but he spoke first before I could.