Chapter 39 Stevie
Stevie
A mangled sob catches in my throat as I wheel my suitcase behind me through the main level of Lex’s condominium.
The space is empty. The lights are turned off, and the sky’s fire has burned down to a smoky gray.
I pause in the living room and glance out the balcony doors, feeling like my grief is a tangible thing staring back at me from the somber skyline.
My heart is broken.
I’m transported back to that hospital room on day ten, confined to a stiff, joyless bed postsurgery, wondering why Lex hadn’t come to visit me.
No flowers, no phone calls—only Mr. Hamlin perched at my bedside with his bundle of white tulips and awful words: “I’m so sorry, Stevie.
Lexington was pulled from Hollow High this morning. His family must be relocating.”
The moment my car collided with that tree, my dreams fell like empires. Dreams of stardom, of dancing across stages and colorful sets.
The dream that maybe Lexington Hall and his electric blue eyes would take the starring role in my real-life love story, following me to the other side of “The End.”
Foolish, silly dreams.
And still, my heart had the audacity to believe it for a second time.
I realize now why Lex left so suddenly. He did something. Made a deal with his parents, trading his future for mine. A parting gift he’d never planned to tell me about.
Lex is why that DUI charge never landed on my record. He was protecting me.
Just like he’s trying to do again.
But he doesn’t understand that protecting me from the harsh truths of life doesn’t keep me safe.
It only keeps us both stagnant, locked in a bubble of unrealized potential.
By trying to shield me from pain, he’s kept us from growing, from learning, and from confronting the very realities that shape who we become.
Shaky fingers curl around the handle of my suitcase as I trudge forward, my hair sticking to wet cheeks.
There’s a check in my hand, crumpled and slick with sweat.
A payment for my time here. The dollar amount is higher than anything I’ve ever seen, and I almost abandoned the slip of paper on the countertop where he’d left it for me.
But my parents need this money. Every cent is going to them, a repayment for all they’ve done for my sister and me. They’ll use it to pay off medical debt, upgrade the farm tools, fix up the family home in the wake of inconceivable cruelty, and hopefully take a vacation somewhere warm.
They’ve earned that. They deserve that.
A cry spills out as I reach the front door, slipping the check in my back pocket. My sorrow echoes through the huge space, bouncing off walls and slamming me in the chest. My tears fall harder, sliding down my face and neck, dampening my collar.
When I make it outside, I don’t remember moving. I’m in a mournful daze, this new reality slowly edging its way inside me the closer I make it to the limousine and to Adrian standing there with his hands clasped in front of him.
“Hello, Stevie,” he says kindly, his warm brown eyes twinkling against the misty morning. He takes my roller bag. “I do hope we can meet again one day. Your time here has been a pleasure.”
“Thank you. You’ve been so wonderful.”
“Just doing my job, miss.”
Sniffling, I shuffle past him toward the vehicle, hesitating as I glance back at the complex, at the groups of people hovering outside the entrance, watching, snapping photographs. I peer up at Adrian as he waits by the door. “You’ll look out for him?”
A frown creases. “I’m sorry?”
“Lex,” I whisper. “You’ll make sure he’s okay?”
Adrian’s frown deepens for a moment, then softens into understanding. “Of course,” he replies. “I will do what I can. Just know…he is stronger than he believes.”
I nod, my throat tight as I fight back more tears.
Adrian studies me for a long moment, as if weighing the unspoken burden we both feel. “Do you have everything you need?”
“Yes, I—” My hand clasps around my empty neck, a thought striking me.
I left something in Lex’s room last night.
My necklace.
“Wait…I did forget something,” I say, stepping away from the limo. “I’ll be right back.”
“Take your time.”
I can’t bear to leave any more pieces of my heart behind, so I dart from the sidewalk and plow through the doors, winding through the complex until I’m back inside the unit.
When I enter Lex’s bedroom, it looks exactly how I left it. Rumpled bedcovers and muted light seeping in through the large window. My locket still rests on his nightstand in a delicate pile, the gold heart glimmering back at me.
Wetting my lips, I pad across the floor and scoop up the chain. I take a moment to flick open the scuffed heart, my gaze sweeping over the tiny photograph inside: Mom and Dad on their wedding day, grinning ear to ear, their dreams on the cusp of a new beginning.
I slip the piece of jewelry into my front pocket, then glance down before turning away.
His nightstand drawer is cracked open.
I squint, peering into the drawer as an old, familiar trinket catches my attention. It takes a moment for realization to settle in.
And when it does, I gasp.
It’s the star pendant I gave to him on opening night.
My heart spasms as I stare at it glowing in every color of the ocean. Lowering to my knees, I open the drawer all the way, reaching inside and pulling out the long-lost treasure.
God …I’d almost forgotten about it.
Once upon a time, it was my good-luck charm. My sister gave it to me on my twelfth birthday—a memento to keep our baby brother close. Joplin knew the sea-green face was my favorite color, and the star shape reminded me of Morrison.
My Morrison star.
It was attached to a necklace at one point but kept slipping loose, so I removed it from the silver chain and kept it in my own bedside drawer, often bringing it with me to important outings and events. It always gave me what I needed in the moment: courage, peace, good fortune.
And then I gave it to Lex.
No part of me ever imagined him still hanging on to it for all these years. I figured it had been tossed in the trash or donated.
Tears coat my eyes as I finger the pendant and tuck it inside my palm. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I take another look inside the drawer. Lex probably doesn’t have much in the way of personal items, given the sterile state of his room.
But something does catch my eye.
There’s a stack of white papers lined with typography and a few handwritten notes.
My breath catches when I read over the title font.
Come What May
It’s his manuscript.
I’ve seen the finished project—along with the rest of the world—but my eyes itch to read through the pages, to find the words he was never able to say out loud. The ones he buried between the lines, hidden in dialogue and description.
My fingers hover above the title page, tracing the faded ink.
I hesitate for a moment, then turn over each page, skimming through the screenplay. That’s how I spend the next half hour. Reading his innermost thoughts and feelings, seeing them in a whole new light. His pain, his guilt, his insecurities, his self-hatred.
The bitterness I felt when I first watched the series fades. Snuffs out like a firefly at dawn. Tears trickle down my cheeks, and I swipe them away before they spill over and warp the ink.
And then, when I flip through the last few pages—reaching the heart-stopping ending that shook the nation—my own heart nearly flatlines.
I hold my breath.
My eyes fly back and forth.
Reading.
Rereading.
Oh my God.
I glance up from my place on the floor, peering over the empty bed, as the manuscript falls at my feet.
It’s an alternate ending.