Spoiler Alert (Spoiler Alert #1)(98)
That was Marcus’s cue. “Okay, I’ll be back soon. Try not to get fired while I’m gone, please.”
“No promises,” Alex muttered, and bent over his phone again.
The conference hotel was built around an atrium that rose to skylights far above, the hallways on each floor open to that central square and looking down on the madness below. According to the hotel map on the inside of the door, the ice machine was located on the exact opposite side of his floor’s square, as far away as possible.
Fine. He could use a few minutes of quiet.
The door shut behind him with a bang. Bucket tucked under his arm, Marcus wandered to the other side of the hallway and glanced idly down at reception. Most of the Gates cast and crew in attendance at the con should be arriving shortly, so he checked for familiar faces.
The chances were infinitesimal, with thousands of people crowding the hotel.
Still, there she was. Tiny but recognizable down below. Almost at the front of the check-in line, suitcase by her side, waiting patiently as the discreet lobby lighting set her hair ablaze.
He’d desperately hoped she’d come. Prayed she wouldn’t.
But he’d known what she’d decide to do, in the end. April wasn’t a woman to abandon her responsibilities, and she’d agreed to moderate Summer’s Q&A session and meet their—her—friends from the Lavineas server at the conference. She wouldn’t skip the event, even if she wanted to.
And maybe she wouldn’t mind being near him again. Maybe her gut hadn’t been seething with almost-constant nausea since their confrontation. Maybe she didn’t find herself sleepless and replaying their last conversation in her head, searching for what she could have said differently, regretting the choices she’d made weeks and months before.
She might be fine. On his less selfish days, he even hoped she was fine.
He was not.
After that horrible car ride, he no longer visited the Lavineas server, even invisibly. Seeing her name, her avatar, turned his lingering nausea acute. Even writing fanfic evoked too many memories now—of Ulsie’s careful, cheerful beta-reading comments, of April’s glee at particularly smutty stories, of the community he’d helped create and then lost.
April hadn’t posted a story on AO3 since he’d left. He didn’t know if he’d have the heart to read it if she did.
The sources of joy and meaning in his life seemed to be extinguishing one by one, and he had only himself to blame. No wonder his stomach was roiling, his head throbbing daily.
From his spot far above, he watched her take her turn at check-in. He watched her wait as they ran her credit card and checked her ID. He watched her accept her room keycard and head for the elevators, where she passed out of his sight.
Then he trudged down the halls to the ice machine, filled the bucket, and tried not to remember why his life had become as cold and hard as the ice rattling with each step he took.
Moments after he returned to the room, though, his own wretched, unceasing heartbreak dulled in the face of fresh disaster. This time, in the form of a single, terrible email.
“How long does it take to get ice?” Alex asked as the door swung shut. “Did you personally trek to the Arctic tundra and cut the cubes yourself?”
He was still on the bed, still hunched over his phone. Still, evidently, determined to fill every spare moment with conversation.
“The machine is on the other side of the—” Marcus sighed. “Never mind. I’m sorry I took so long.”
A quick check of the bedside clock dashed all remaining hope of a nap. The two of them had, at best, ten minutes to rest before heading downstairs for their first scheduled appearances.
“Fuck,” Alex groaned. “I have a new message from Ron. The subject line is ‘Inappropriate behavior and possible consequences.’ As if I don’t know what horrible things they could—”
Abruptly, his mouth slammed shut, and his brows drew together.
As Marcus watched, concerned, Alex scrolled down. Then back up again, apparently rereading the message, and down a second time.
His breathing changed, becoming rough and fast, until he was blowing out air like that maddened bull Ron and R.J. had incorporated into the fourth season for no good reason.
Red flags of color stained his cheeks, which was never, ever a good sign.
“Those motherfuckers,” he whispered. “Those cruel motherfuckers.”
Alex was going to tell him all about it anyway, probably at an uncomfortable volume, so Marcus took his friend’s phone and slowly, painstakingly, read the message for himself.
Unacceptable rudeness to a fan, in violation of behavioral expectations, blah blah blah. Contractual obligations, blah blah blah. Nothing too surprising or untoward, and nothing that would elicit the sort of reaction Alex—
Oh.
Oh.
At the bottom of the message, Ron had added a less legalistic addendum.
P.S. I suppose this is our fault, for saddling you with such an ugly minder. Tell Lauren to put a bag over it, if she has to, but stop letting her face get you in trouble. Although that doesn’t fix the rest of her, right?
Ron had added a crying-laughter emoji to the end.
They’d also cc’ed Lauren. Those cruel motherfuckers, indeed.
Shit. Marcus needed to fix this, or at least buy them some time. Without giving his friend’s phone back, if at all possible.