Chapter Twenty-seven
Hale
The next morning, I’m dragged out of sleep by the shriek of pipes and the unmistakable sound of the shower turning on, followed immediately by loud, off-key singing echoing through the bathroom. Eric’s voice carries far too much cheer for the state I’m in.
I groan, the sound pitiful even to my own ears, and yank my pillow over my head like it might smother the noise, my thoughts, and me.
My skull feels stuffed with cotton. My body is sluggish and wrong.
I feel hungover without having earned it, which somehow makes it worse.
I didn’t have a drop of alcohol last night, yet my head throbs and my stomach twists like I made yet another series of terrible decisions last night.
I do not want to be awake right now. I kind of never want to wake up again. Even though I’m pissed at Aksel, I still hate that he wasn’t next to me when I opened my eyes. The fact that I want to wake up next to him despite what he did pisses me off even more.
My heart hurts as the memories from yesterday come rushing back, sharp and unforgiving. The cameras. The crowd. That moment when the world narrowed down to one impossible face.
I feel so stupid. So painfully gullible.
Aksel lied to me. About so much. How am I supposed to trust him again after this?
How are we supposed to come back from something this big?
He hid my mom from me. Coordinated it. Let the show reveal it on camera under bright lights and hungry lenses instead of giving me the decency of a private conversation.
It was such a dick move.
And my mom.
My mom, whom I haven’t seen in so long she’s become more memory than person, was there.
Standing right in front of me like she hadn’t spent years choosing everything else over me.
She didn’t rush forward or reach for me the way mothers are supposed to.
She just stares, eyes wide and shining, like she was afraid I’d disappear if she blinked.
She glanced over her shoulder at Aksel’s parents, silently asking permission to exist in this moment.
They gave her gentle nods and supportive smiles, and when she turned back to me, I watched her physically brace herself.
Her shoulders squared, spine straightening, and chin lifting as if facing a judge.
“I’m so proud of everything you’ve done for yourself,” she said. “I always knew you’d be great.”
That look she gave me, hopeful and aching, was everything I had wanted for most of my life. If this had been eight years ago, I would’ve shattered on the spot. I would’ve cried and wrapped myself around her and forgiven everything just to feel chosen.
But she’s too late.
I already learned to survive without her. Learned to take care of myself while she got high and let my dad beat the light out of her eyes. I grew up faster than any kid should have because no one was there for me.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, the words coming out sharper than I intended, confusion and betrayal twisting together in my chest. My gaze flicked to Aksel.
His eyes were hopeful and apologetic all at once, like he was begging me to forgive him before I even understood what he’d done. “Did you know she was coming?”
He nodded slowly, shame dragging his gaze to the floor.
Before he could explain, my mom rushed in. “Don’t be mad at him. I asked him not to tell you. I wanted to see you for myself.”
Of course she did.
Of course she protected him.
What kind of fucked-up Twilight Zone episode is this?
“Do you realize how selfish this is?” I snapped, the pressure in my chest finally cracking. “The finale is this week. I should be focusing on that. Not this… Frankensteined family reunion.” My hands curled into fists, anger surging to cover up years of hurt feelings. “What were you thinking?”
“I -I just wanted to see you,” she stuttered, shrinking in on herself like she expected a blow. “I missed you. So much.”
Fantastic. Now I’m the asshole. Yelling at an abused woman who finally got clean and decided she deserved closure on her own timeline.
“This was selfish, Mama,” I said, my voice shaking with pent-up emotion. Internally, I cringe at how easily I revert to the scared kid I used to be. Seeing her brings me back to a life that doesn’t feel like mine anymore.
Apparently, needing my mom is not something I can grow out of, and that only fuels my anger further. “This was really fucking selfish. You couldn’t have waited one week? Just one?” My throat burned, bile rising. “Do you have any idea how badly this is messing with my head?”
I pushed past her, my shoulder slamming into Aksel as I went. He stumbled back a step.
“And you,” I said, spinning on him, the hurt boiling over. “You’re my husband. We’re not supposed to keep secrets from each other.” My voice cracked. “How the hell did you think it was okay to keep something this big from me?”
“You’re right, Fylgja,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t. Call. Me. That,” I growled. I turned around and stormed toward the exit.
The convention area was deathly silent. The buzz of excitement evaporated, replaced by the oppressive weight of a hundred witnesses. No one spoke. No one moved. Everyone just watched as my life imploded in real time.
Same as always, I’d have to be the one to pick up my own pieces.
I heard a heavy thud behind me and the crowd gasped, sharp and collective, but I didn’t turn around.
I refused.
I wouldn’t cry in front of those cameras. I wouldn’t give the show anything more than they’d already stolen from me.
I made it through the lobby on pure momentum and into the elevators. Before the doors could slide shut, Eric slipped in. I’d been too caught up in my drama to notice that he had followed me.
He gripped the back of my neck in a hard, anchoring hold, his thumb digging into the tense muscles there. “I’ve got you,” he murmured.
And that was it.
As soon as the elevator doors slid shut and the cameras vanished, my composure collapsed completely.
My chest caved in on itself, a soundless sob ripped free as tears poured down my cheeks.
My shoulders shook violently as my knees threatened to give out, and Eric tightened his hold, bracing my weight with his body, making sure I didn’t fall.
I cried hard. Ugly, broken, gasping tears. But Eric didn’t rush me. He didn’t tell me to calm down. He just stayed beside me, murmuring soft reassurances in my ear. He told me I could scream, cry, throw shit, or burn the whole world down if I needed to. There were no cameras. No expectations.
Just me falling apart and Eric holding my pieces together.
He told me it was okay to hate my mom right now.
That it was okay to be furious at Aksel.
That what they did was fucked up, full stop, and I had every right to be angry.
He reminded me, gently but firmly, that feelings don’t always have to make sense to be valid.
That I could love them and still be pissed.
That forgiveness didn’t have to be immediate or automatic.
“I’m here,” he said, over and over. “I’m not going anywhere.”
He brought me back to his room, one hand still at my neck, while he continued whispering reassurances the whole way. Every time my thoughts began to spiral into that familiar pit where depression waits, he pulled me back.
It’s moments like this that I keep in mind when Eric pisses me off.
Moments where he showed up when no one else did. Birthdays. Holidays. Big milestones that should’ve been crowded but ended up being just us. Moments where it really was us against the world, and somehow that was enough.
I appreciate his friendship more than he’ll ever know. And I’ll probably never tell him that outright, because he’d cry dramatically and make it weird.
The present drags me back when I hear the shower shut off, followed by the sink running. Eric gags loudly as he brushes his tongue, making retching noises that could be heard in space.
Yup. Still Eric.
A few aggressive clanks later, and everything goes quiet.
Then the pillow is ripped off my face.
I squawk in protest as Eric looms over me with a maniacal grin. “Wakey, wakey,” he growls in a demonic voice.
“No, thank you,” I reply primly, grabbing another pillow and attempting to smother myself again.
He snatches that one away, too, and hurls both pillows across the room.
“I’ve let you wallow in your pool of self-pity long enough, babes,” he announces, flicking nonexistent hair over his shoulder as he straightens. “It’s time to get on with your life.”
Before I can protest, he yanks the curtains open.
I hiss like a vampire as sunlight scorches my retinas.
Fantastic. I’m blind now. Exactly what I needed today.
“It’s been less than twenty-four hours,” I snap, glaring at him, “since I found out on camera that my mom is alive, sober, and hanging out with my fucking in-laws. Oh! And my husband, who I used to hate, then kind of fell in love with, and now hate again, knew about it the whole godsdamned time. I think I deserve a teeny bit more time to wallow.”
Eric freezes, genuinely considering that. He taps a finger against his chin, squinting in thought. “Had it really been less than twenty-four hours?”
“Yes.”
“Huh.” He shrugs. “Oh well. No time like the present.”
“Eric, I’m not ready to be around people. Hell, I’m not even ready to put on pants,” I whine, my voice muffled as I half-bury my face in the mattress. “Please do not make me do things today.”
If pouting were an Olympic sport, I would take home gold.
Eric snorts. “Buck up, buttercup.”
I crack one eye open in time to see him clapping his hands together with the kind of enthusiasm usually reserved for kindergarten teachers sending their students home at the end of the day.
“We are going to have breakfast downstairs at the coffee lounge,” he announces briskly.
“We will not be speaking to cameras or husbands.” He emphasizes the word husbands like it’s a slur.
“When we are done eating, we will be gambling a massive amount of money, I’m talking tens of dollars, and then spending our winnings on a new outfit for you to wear the next time you see Aks-hole. ”
“Aks-hole,” I repeat, my mouth twitching in amusement.
“I will be aggressively throwing clothes around until I find something that screams ‘hot, mysterious, and emotionally unavailable’. I should have something that says those things,” Eric says as he rummages through his clothes.
Fabric flies through the air as he digs. Shirts, jeans, and something with too many straps streak past me.
I side-eye him, suspicious. “You promise I don’t have to talk about it?”
Eric pauses mid-rummage and turns to face me fully, expression suddenly serious. “If anyone even tries to talk to you about it, I’ll punch them in the face just like I did Aks-hole yesterday.”
I blink. “You punched Aksel in the face yesterday?” “Yup,” he says proudly. “No one hurts my bestie.”
He crosses the room and sits on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. The bravado softens as he takes my hand, squeezing it once. His thumb rubs over my knuckles in a comforting motion.
“I won’t ask you about it today,” he says quietly. “I won’t let anyone else ask you about it today either.” He meets my eyes, gaze steady. “But tomorrow? Tomorrow we’re going to address the giant polka-dotted elephant in the room.”
I sigh. “The elephant being my mom…”
“And the polka dots are your sneaky husband,” he finishes gently.
“Do I get coffee first?” I ask, resigned to follow his plan.
Eric grins, squeezing my hand once more before standing. “Obviously. I’m not a monster.”
Maybe I can do this. Just not today. Today, I’ll eat pastries and drink shitty coffee. I’ll lose thirty dollars and buy some clothes. I’ll let Eric distract me from the dumpster fire that is my life.
Tomorrow is when I’ll deal with the elephant.