Chapter 12
Asharp shake to my leg forces me awake and I pry my eyelids open. Andrew’s face comes into soft focus at the bottom of my bed.
“Ugh,” I mumble, pulling the covers over my head in a juvenile attempt to block his cheery disposition.
Granted, it’s a nice reprieve from the heartbroken and somber Andrew I’ve been living with the last few weeks, but if I hear one more positive affirmation coming from his speaker in the bathroom, I’ll smash it.
I’m rising above the challenges, and I’m stronger than ever.
I am love; love is me.
I’m grateful for everything in my life, big or small.
A smirk flits across my face when I hear the last one. Andrew is a lot of things, but grateful for small things is not one of them. A small tip. A small portion. And least of all, a small dick.
“It’s already nine a.m.; shouldn’t you have already left for work?” He leans back against the doorframe, and reaches for his phone when the sound of Grindr pings from it.
His words slap me in the face like a wet fish.
Nine a.m.? Fuck! How the hell did I sleep through my alarm?
I fling back the duvet, pushing papers and an envelope off the nightstand to retrieve my phone. My jaw tightens when its blank screen stares back at me.
Shitting hell.
Why must my wireless charger continually play up on me?
Note to self, buy a new charger.
“Why didn’t you wake me earlier?” My eyes widen as I wipe the dust from them.
“Just because I work at a hotel doesn’t mean I offer wake-up calls.”
“Clearly.” My gaze is drawn to his phone and the onslaught of Grindr pings emanating from it.
Andrew huffs and turns on his heels to leave, though not before throwing a whole load of side-eye my way.
As I step out of bed, my feet are greeted not by the warmth of the grey carpet, but by the strewn papers from my nightstand. There’s barely legible writing scrawled across them.
Alexander’s letter.
A wave of nausea rises in my throat before I swallow it back down.
Seven weeks.
Seven fucking weeks it’s taken him to get in touch.
He’d criticized me for not returning his calls, his voicemail, but then didn’t have the decency to return my message. To let me know he was okay after what happened. And now he thinks he can write one letter and all can be forgiven, after nearly costing me my job again.
Fuck him.
I look at the stress ball next to my bed and knock it away.
And fuck you too.
I head to the bathroom and turn on the shower, strip out of my pajamas, and turn to the speaker.
“Alexa, play disappointing affirmations.”
Certainly, playing disappointing affirmations.
I step in the shower, the steam rising along with my anger. The sight of Andrew’s silicone douche kit, next to the shampoo and shower gel, reactivates my gag reflex.
You can’t kill my vibe, it’s already dead.
I will outlive my enemies.
Every day, I get in my way.
What doesn’t kill you gives you trauma.
Ain’t that the truth.
An hour later, I’m rushing into the office boardroom to join the Zoom call, firing up my laptop to quickly scan the revised schedule for Brewed’s in-store promotion events.
Albuquerque, New York, Oklahoma, Las Vegas, San Diego, and Los Angeles.
The third week of November.
Six stops. Five days.
Paul gave me the greenlight for in-store appearances with Alexander last week, but he’d wanted to go over the finer details this morning.
He’d initially requested to do it in person, but I pushed back.
I said I’d do it online only and in coordination with the Brewed team.
The distance and additional people in the meeting provides an additional layer of protection.
Though for whom, I’m still questioning.
My breath just about catches up with me while I connect the laptop to the HDMI cable. Julie enters the room and hands me a glass of water, giving my mismatched look of grey sweatpants, white T-shirt, and a blue flannel shirt the once-over. She shakes her head disapprovingly as she leaves.
“Morning everyone, sorry to keep you all. My last meeting over-ran.”
My attempt to take deep slow breaths is immediately thrown out the window as I see Paul and Connie sitting next to each other.
The hairs on the back of my neck rise and my fists clench.
My body has the same visceral reaction every time I think of Paul, and by proxy, Connie, even though I have softened somewhat toward her after her apology.
Paul’s decision to push forward with the VMAs and Alexander’s behavior had nearly cost me my job for the second time in four months. If it wasn’t for the fact that we were already down two team members, I’d be hitting the streets with my resume.
Everyone exchanges pleasantries as I glance back at Paul’s agenda.
Logistics.
Campaign update.
Requests.
“So, we’re all in agreement on the routing and dates for the activation events?” Chloe jumps straight in, brushing her brown locks off her shoulders.
“Yes, we’re happy to proceed with your recommendations,” Paul says, smiling. His tone is cheerful as Connie nods beside him.
My jaw slackens. That was easier than expected. A little too easy.
“Great.” Chloe is seemingly as caught off guard by Paul’s response as I am.
“And the final edit for the commercial. Are you happy with all the revisions?”
“All signed off on our side.”
I nod my head in agreement, shell-shocked at Paul’s response.
A growing discomfort rises inside my chest.
In the little time I’ve known him, Paul’s never been this agreeable. Something must be up with Alexander. Either that, or Paul wants something in return for being so amenable.
“And the proposed start date for the campaign launch is still today?” Paul asks, grabbing his pen and opening his diary in front of him.
“Yes,” Caryn states firmly.
“Ah, right.”
Paul places his pen down and clasps his hands together.
His absent tone sends a jolt of anger through me.
I’ll be damned if they continue to mess with this campaign and my life.
“Is that a problem?” I interject before Caryn can respond. I pull the stress ball from my pocket and imagine Paul’s throat as I squeeze it.
“No, no. Just, Alexander isn’t due out of the treatment facility for another week and a half. The social posts from his account might need to be pushed back, that’s all.” He reaches for his pen again as his nose crinkles.
“How is he?” Caryn asks, addressing the elephant in the room.
I instinctively lean forward, wanting to know.
“We’re heading down to see him next week. He seems to be in good spirits,” Connie says, looking directly into the camera as if she’s focusing on me.
The contents of Alexander’s letter are at direct odds with Connie’s comments.
The regret. The trauma work. The desire to fire Paul.
But which one of them is lying?
Alexander? He might be doing it to make me feel guilty. Expecting me to absolve him from his sins like a priest in confession. Or is it Paul, trying to cover up the reality that all is not well?
I zone out while they cover the rest of the campaign details. I’m grateful that the AI companion is recording and summarizing the session for me to review later.
“Christopher, do you have a moment before we jump off?” Paul asks as Caryn and Chloe disconnect from the call.
My finger hovers over the End Meeting button as I stretch my feet under the table. The last thing I want right now is to be stuck talking to Paul. To be part of whatever he has to say. To ask.
“I’ve got to run to another meeting, but drop me an email and I’ll get back to you.” I quickly push down to close the meeting.
I will not relinquish my power to that man. Not again.
Saturday
The warm sensation of the laptop coming through the duvet on my legs does nothing to thaw the iceberg lodged in my gut, put there by the email Paul sent through mere seconds before Kelly’s face appeared on the screen.
To: Christopher Foster
From: Paul Daniels
Subject: Brewed Activation Events
I was hoping we could meet next weekend and iron out the last few details regarding the Brewed activation events discussed on yesterday’s call. Both Alexander and I would be appreciative of that.
Midday. Saturday November 9. I’ll follow up with the logistics.
Paul
The sheer audacity of the man. Assuming I’ll agree to his request. When what this email’s really about is Alexander’s request for me to come visit him at the Meadows.
I’ve barely had time to process everything in his letter, even after rereading it for a third time last night. And he’s taken seven weeks to contact me, yet expects a response to visit him in what, two days?
I glance at the letter, sitting on my nightstand, before turning back to Kelly on the screen.
“He’s getting bigger,” Kelly says, tilting her phone down to her exposed belly.
The sight of it is enough to begin defrosting my gut.
“How are you finding it?”
“My endo cramps have completely gone, and the cravings for pickled food too. But enough about the baby. Tell me—what’s new with you?” Kelly pulls her vest down to cover her belly back up and heads over to the microwave to retrieve her food.
I glance again at Alexander’s letter.
Should I?
Kelly’s the only available sounding board I have when it comes to Alexander, but I’m too emotionally charged right now to think rationally about his request.
I hesitate a little too long and Kelly puts down her bowl of chili con carne.
“It’s Alexander, isn’t it?” Her pupils dilate.
“He wrote to me,” I say after a beat, and stretch across the bed to grab the pages, holding them up to the screen. Kelly’s Cheshire cat grin stares back at me.
“Finally!” Kelly grabs her spoon and shovels in a mouthful of chili. “What did he say? Tell me everything!”
Her mouth widens more and her eyes well up with each paragraph I read.
I stop before reading the last line. She doesn’t need to know that part.
“That’s the most heartfelt and heart-wrenching thing I’ve ever heard,” Kelly says, wiping a tear from her eye.
Jesus.
I drop the papers and reach for my forehead, rolling my eyes underneath my hand. The way Kelly’s describing it, you’d think he’d written Romeo and Juliet.
Must be the pregnancy hormones.
“You’ve got to go visit him, Chris. You owe him that after he just spilled his heart out to you.”
“I’ll think about it,” I sigh.
“God, you are so stubborn, Christopher.”
“I am not.” The laptop nearly topples off my legs when I push myself upright against the headrest.
Kelly’s forehead wrinkles, the way it always does just before she’s about to lecture me.
“Remember when you wouldn’t talk to me for a whole month, just because I told dad it was you that ate his pie? Or when you wouldn’t speak to me for a week when you thought I’d stolen your watch, only to find it behind your bed? Need me to continue?” Her voice takes on a pedantic tone.
I swear, she’s turning into our mother more and more with every passing day.
“The view must be great up there on your high horse,” I snarl.
“Says the man locked away in his tower, looking down on everyone else.”
Touché.
“He deserves a response,” she says.
“Yeah, but not when he commands it.”
Right now, I just want one weekend where I can hang out with my friends and not be consumed by thoughts of him. I can have the conversation he wants when he’s out of rehab and we’re forced to spend time together in a few weeks.
A message from Jason, one of my friends from the gym, pops up on the screen.
Jason
We’ll be there in fifteen.
Damn.
I haven’t showered yet or packed my bag for our hike near Malibu Beach.
“Right, gotta go. I’m off shortly.” I push the laptop off my legs to get out of the bed.
“I don’t need to be seeing you in your boxers,” Kelly says, covering her eyes.
“And I don’t need your attitude, yet here we are.” I blow her a kiss before closing my laptop.
I grab my phone and fire off a response to Jason’s message, then quickly scroll through my unread messages while heading into the bathroom.
There’s three from my mum, complaining as usual.
One from Julie about Monday’s meeting. Another from Brad, confirming that Jason’s picked him up and they’re en route.
I grab my toothbrush and stop on the two messages from Stephen, sent at 3 a.m. I shake away the instant thought it’s a drunk text from my best friend when I work out it would be 11 a.m. in London when he sent it.
Stephen
Can we talk? I need to get your advice on something.
That won’t be a quick conversation. It never is with Stephen. His voice notes are like mini-podcast episodes, and that’s when they’re played on double speed.
He can wait. He’s already reached his agony aunt quota for the week.
I quickly shower, change, and chuck my swimming trunks, suntan lotion, and towel into my bag.
My phone pings with another message from Jason telling me they’re outside.
I quickly straighten my duvet, move my laptop to the nightstand, and grab the letter from Alexander to put it to the side, stopping to read the last line one more time:
Tell me you don’t still have feelings for me, and I promise after the Brewed events are done, I’ll never contact you again.