Chapter 38 Lex
Lex
I’m sitting at the piano the next morning, but I’m not playing it.
No music spills from the soundboard. No hammers striking strings.
I just sit on the wooden bench, my hands resting on my thighs, as my chest inflates and contracts with tired breaths.
My thoughts feel distant, my eyes at half-mast. The sky is a canvas of pencil-sketch clouds, swirling outside the sprawl of windows surrounding the room as an autumn gloom hangs over the city.
My eyeballs feel like they were dunked in lemon juice, and my throat is dryer than a desert after a heat wave, head pounding, heart rolling over broken glass.
But the whiskey hangover is nothing compared to the sharp pang of emptiness hollowing out my chest, like a melon baller spooled in barbed wire, scraping me raw from the inside.
My head tips up, and I glance out the window at the silver sky.
A memory washes over me. It was one of our final days filming Come What May , and I’d felt the same hollow ache while everyone around me cheered and cried. I stared zoned out at the gray horizon, the same color it is now, questioning everything.
What was the point? I’d just created something special, something that could touch people—make them hurt and laugh and bleed and love.
But I was empty.
The applause, the tears, the congratulations—all of it felt distant, like it was happening in another room while I stood alone, watching from behind a pane of foggy glass.
Everyone else had found meaning in it, a sense of accomplishment, but I couldn’t shake the numbness.
I had poured myself into something that was supposed to matter, supposed to fill the void.
Instead, it felt like I’d left pieces of myself on the set, scattered across scenes, and when it was over, there was nothing to hold on to.
A soft rustling sound drags me out of the memory, pulling my attention in the other direction. Stevie stands at the edge of the piano room. Her hand is curled around the frame of the archway, as if she needs the support to keep her on her feet.
Her skin is ashen, eyes faded and weary. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
“How are you feeling?”
My hands itch to reach for my phone and spill my true thoughts out through letters and words. I don’t know how to tell her how I’m feeling, how to school my voice into meaning.
Pulling myself off the bench, I scrub both hands through my hair and let my arms drop at my sides. Defeat rips through me. “I feel like shit,” I admit, staring at her bruised and battered face.
There’s a bandage secured to her chin, the swelling evident. Both hands are shredded, red and wounded. And I know her heart hasn’t made it out unscathed.
Stevie’s fingers tighten around the edge of the doorway. “Is there anything I can do?”
“No.” I shake my head a fraction. “Sorry I was a mess last night. Thanks for being here.”
I don’t remember much after downing half a bottle of champagne during the limo ride over to some pretentious club, then promptly inhaling three shots of whiskey upon arrival, just to drown my self-imposed misery.
But the memory of her kiss, hot and sweet, while she whimpered into my mouth…
That stands out.
Then I passed out and woke up to an empty room.
“Of course,” she says softly, wringing her hands together. “I was thinking we could—”
Her phone starts ringing.
She startles, looking around like the sound is coming from some far-off place. Then she blinks, shoving a hand into the waistband of her sweatpants. She glances at the screen with a sigh. “Sorry…it’s my mom.”
I lean back against the piano, trying not to envision the last time I was sprawled across the instrument.
She takes the call. “Hey, Mom. How are you—” A long pause. Her eyes bug out, flicking to me for a beat before she whips around and faces the other way. “What? How did they—” Stevie goes quiet again, then croaks out a noise that sends a shiver down my back. “Oh my God.”
Frowning, I push up from the piano and stride over to her. I can’t make out what her mother is saying, but the voice on the line sounds frantic, distraught.
When Stevie turns toward me, tears coat her eyes. My frown deepens as I wait for details. Worst-case scenarios dance across my mind: a car wreck, a heart attack, a freak accident.
“I’m so sorry,” Stevie whispers into the speaker, shaking her head, dragging a hand through her hair. “I know. Yes. No, don’t worry.” She swallows. “Yes. I love you too. Bye.”
The moment she clicks off the call, I take her by the shoulder, swinging her toward me. “What happened?”
Her cheeks are pink, her gaze wild. “My mom…she said my old address got leaked to the public. The farmhouse…”
“What?”
“Their property was vandalized last night. Windows were broken. Tires slashed. Farm equipment was stolen, graffiti was written all over the siding in black spray paint—awful things, calling me names. God…Lex…” She cups a hand around her mouth, her shoulders shaking.
“I never thought about this. How my family could be affected. I just…”
My chest caves in.
Heart shatters.
Stevie collapses against me, but I just stand there, a brick wall, my brain fritzing out. I can’t will my arms to lift, to hold her back, to offer anything of value.
I knew it.
I fucking knew it.
Everything was going to reach a breaking point, and our future would become crystal clear.
She sniffles against my shirt, her arms tightening around my middle. “Why would someone do that?” Moisture leaks through the fabric of my T-shirt. “They’re good people. I don’t understand how anyone could be so horrible. It doesn’t make sense.”
It makes perfect sense.
This is the fallout of my actions. The inevitable wrecking ball.
I’ve let her down.
I was selfish, pulling her into a mess not meant for her, and now her family is caught in the cross fire.
I take a step back, rubbing a hand over my mouth. “Go pack. I’ll book you a flight.”
She wipes wet streaks off her cheeks, blinking up at me. “Are…are you sure?”
“I’m sure. You need to go be with them.”
Nodding, she glances around the room, still sniffling, her emotions frayed at the seams. “Okay,” she whispers. “Okay…I should go.”
“I’ll get you the first flight out to Chicago. Adrian will take you to the airport.”
She rubs her lips together, face chalk white. “Did you want to come with me?”
My jaw clenches. “Can’t. I have a meeting tomorrow.”
A look of confusion crosses over her face, her heavy green eyes trying to read me. “Oh.” She glances down at the floor. “Okay. I’ll…um…just pack a few things.”
I send her a tense nod before she races up the staircase, then I pull out my phone to book the flight.
Stevie returns to the living room fifteen minutes later, one small suitcase rolling behind her.
She’s dressed casually in jeans and an oversize sweatshirt, her hair pulled up in a loose ponytail.
But nothing else about her is casual as she ripples with anxiety, her face flushed, eyes bloodshot and misted over.
I stand from the couch when she approaches. “Text me when you land.”
“I will.” She swallows. “Thank you for getting me the flight. Let me know what I owe you—”
“You don’t owe me anything.” I gesture over her shoulder. “Your check is on the counter.”
Blinking slowly, she glances behind her at the slip of paper left on the kitchen island. “Right,” she says, pivoting back to me. “I’ll grab it when I come back. Let me know when the return flight is supposed to—”
“It’s a one-way flight.”
The words register like thick molasses. Stevie stares at me, her grip tightening on the suitcase handle. “What do you mean?”
“It’s not round trip,” I tell her, voice splintering. “You’re not coming back.”
Color drains from her face.
She parts her lips to speak, but only a little wheeze falls out. The suitcase drops from her hand, tipping backward. “Lex…”
“It’s for the best.”
“Don’t do this.”
My mouth dries, cotton balls sticking to the back of my tongue. “I have to.”
She shakes her head, takes a step toward me, lips quivering and eyes blooming with white-hot tears. “Please.”
“I have to let you go, Stevie.” I swipe both hands down my face, tenting them at my jaw.
“I have to let you go for the same reason I let you go four years ago. Because it’s right.
Because it’s in your best interest to live a good life—your best life—and I’m convinced, without a doubt, that the best life for you is far away from me.
Not because I don’t want you. Not because I don’t care. But because I do.”
She’s already dimming, sharing her light with me until one day, there will be nothing left of her to shine.
I can’t think of anything more tragic.
Stevie reaches for my trembling hands, a soft cry breaking free. “Lex. No. I can’t leave us like this,” she pleads. “You can’t put a fire out with lightning.”
No.
But I can burn along with it.
“It’s the right call.”
“What are you going to tell the press?”
I can hardly keep the devastation out of my voice as I rub a hand over my face. “Rudy will make something up. People will find a new thing to obsess about. It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“It does matter,” she breathes out.
“You were right about everything.” I glance away, my chest ballooning with black tar. “I’ve been selfish, dragging you in and out of my life, desperate for something real to hold on to. And that’s not fair to you. I won’t do it anymore.”
“I only said those things because I was angry.” She grabs hold of my wrists.