Chapter 18 Christopher
Tuesday
I’m stunned into silence.
Of all the responses I’d anticipated from Alexander, Finally, was not one I was expecting.
“Oh God. I thought you were room service. I’m sorry.” Alexander is rapidly blinking, his body freezing momentarily, before he takes two steps back and ushers me in.
I’m taken aback when I see Rob occupying one of the armchairs in the living room. Well, that explains in part why there was no one on guard at the door after the Rita incident the other night. His dark-chocolate eyes scan me from head to toe.
“Rob, would you give us the room, please?” Alexander motions me onto the couch, and picks up a packet of peanuts from above the minibar before joining me.
“I’m under strict orders not to leave you alone,” he says. Rob’s glare makes me fidget uncomfortably.
Does he think I’m responsible for what happened last night?
Am I considered a threat to Alexander’s safety? Like the fans downstairs? Like Rita?
“I’ll be fine, I promise. Look, he doesn’t have anything on him.”
Rob gives me another once over before pushing himself up out of the armchair.
“Okay, I’ll be in the meeting room, but the door will be staying open.” He looks back at Alexander, who shakes his head, before leaving us alone.
I reach for the pillow, the same one that I threw off the couch two nights ago to get closer to Alexander, and settle it on my lap as a layer of protection.
“Christopher,” Alexander says, his deep blue eyes widening as he looks at me. He reaches over and sets a hand over my knee. “I’m so sorry about everything. The MNDA, the dossier… I never meant for you to feel like I didn’t trust you.”
The warmth radiating from his hand as it meets my knee sends a surge of electricity through my body. My grip loosens on the pillow.
I catch myself wanting to go down the old familiar path of using sarcasm to fend off my feelings, and stop before the words come out of my mouth. I take a deep breath instead, and I see Alexander’s jaw clench in response.
“This whole dating a pop star thing, it’s a completely different world to me,” I say, slowly.
“I even looked it up online, but there’s no instruction manual, no how-to guide.
So I’m shooting blind here. I don’t know what the norms are, or what expectations come with this.
” I lift my hand from the pillow and wave it in the space between us.
Alexander’s jaw relaxes and squeezes his hand more tightly on my knee.
“I get it. It’s a lot. I appreciate that, and I don’t blame you for reacting the way you did. Heck, I’d probably have reacted even worse if it was the other way round.” The corners of his mouth lift.
The warmth in his eyes melts away the residual resentment that I didn’t realize was still there.
Maybe I underestimated him.
Maybe he can take responsibility and ownership of what he did.
Unlike my father. Unlike Ryan.
“I actually owe you an apology too,” I say, removing the pillow from my lap and spinning to face him. “I’ve been worried sick about you all day. I tried to call, but you didn’t pick up. I thought I caused all this, and that you didn’t want to speak to me.”
Alexander shifts back slightly, extends his arm, and grabs his phone off the table next to us, handing it to me.
“I smashed it in a drunken rage last night,” he says. I take in the shattered screen. “I only got a new phone after the show, but the backup didn’t restore your number. I actually thought that you didn’t want to speak to me.”
His hand trembles slightly as I pass the phone back to him, and I see a slight purple bruising on the back of it as he sets the phone on the table again.
“What happened?”
He follows my gaze down to the mark on his hand.
I guess this is the real test.
If he will open up. Tell me the truth. Be more intimate with me.
After a long pause and a deep breath, he begins.
“After you left, didn’t return my messages, I started to spiral.
Everything from my past came flooding back and I couldn’t deal with it, so I kept drinking.
I wanted to quiet the thoughts. Numb the pain.
Next thing I knew, I was waking up next to a puddle of vomit with a light in my eyes and a drip in my arm. ”
I go to reach for him, to comfort him. But I pull back.
Would I be comforting him or am I just trying to quell the tension in my muscles?
The guilt swirls in my stomach.
His eyes are still locked on the table.
“What came flooding back?” I ask, when he finally lifts his head. He turns his face toward mine. His eyes well up, and I wonder if I’ve gone too far. “I’m sorry, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
“No, you deserve to know. And I need to talk about it, to get it out.” He lets out a heavy sigh and rubs his eyes before continuing.
“I lost my old assistant, Samuel, in a car accident. It was my twenty-first birthday and we were out celebrating. Everyone thinks it happened after he dropped me off at my house, but I was in the car with him.” There’s a lost look in his eyes as his gaze drifts from me to the window.
It’s one I know all too well. “We were having an argument, and he wasn’t paying attention to the road.
A car came at us, he jerked the wheel, and we collided with a palm tree. ”
Alexander’s chest begins to rise and fall quickly, and he reaches for his eyes again. Tears start to roll down his cheek.
“The rest was a blur. The way I handled it was all wrong. I left him there to die. Paul said—” he pauses, but doesn’t finish the sentence. “The guilt has consumed me ever since, but I couldn’t talk about it to anyone. So, I started drinking instead.”
Jesus.
The poor guy.
I lean across, putting my arm behind him, and rub his back reassuringly.
There’s a steady stream of tears falling down his cheeks now.
“Eight months later, my team lead an intervention when my drinking got out of control. I’d been sober ever since.
Up until last week, when my team gave me a two-year sobriety chip.
Everything came flooding back. Then when we argued last night and you left, and I thought I’d lost you too. ” He wipes his eyes again.
“You’re the first person I’ve actually cared about since Samuel. I’ve already lost one person who can see beyond all the pop star business and see the real me. I don’t think I can handle losing another.”
His words set off a number of fireworks in my chest simultaneously.
Fear, hope, excitement, trepidation.
I’d assumed this was just a tour romance for him.
That I was just a quick hookup.
That he probably had a different guy in every city.
But judging by the longing in those blue eyes, I’m starting to get the sense that this, whatever this is, means more to him than just a casual fling. And I also get the feeling that Samuel must have been more than just an assistant to Alexander.
I hesitate, debating whether or not to ask about Samuel, when the doorbell rings.
“That must be room service,” Alexander says, rolling his eyes before pushing himself up from the couch.
Rob emerges out of the meeting room, but Alexander waves him off.
“I got it,” he calls. He checks the mini-TV screen at the side of the door, quickly rubbing his face before opening the door.
“Sorry for the delay, we’re short-staffed tonight.” Imani wheels a trolley through the entrance, making me slightly less frustrated at the interruption. Two plates, covered by silver domed lids, sit on top, along with some cutlery and a range of condiments.
“Where would you like me to put them?” she asks.
Her eyes briefly meet mine, and a soft smile appears on her face before she turns to Rob. A pang of guilt hits me. Maybe I shouldn’t be here. I’m not sure if I should try to justify it… blurt out that I’m Alexander’s dialect coach, but Rob steps forward and pushes the guilt away with his movement.
“You can place the rib eye down there, and I’ll take the rest in there,” he says, nodding at the office behind him.
“Do you want anything?” Alexander asks me as Imani puts the dish down on the table. She lifts off the lid, and the smell of steak hits my nostrils.
“I’m good, thanks,” I say, as he returns to the couch.
Rob retrieves a fifty-pound note from his pocket and hands it to her. He shows her out of the suite before returning to the other room.
Alexander digs into his meal, bypassing the knife like so many of my American friends do, and using the side of his fork to cut the steak. He inhales it, barely chewing before swallowing it down and then grabbing a handful of fries, scarfing them down too.
And I thought Stephen was bad when it came to food etiquette.
I’m unsure where to pick up. Doubt lurks in the suburbs of my mind.
Where do I start? Should I reassure him he hasn’t lost me? Clarify who Samuel is? Acknowledge my own guilt that I’ve been living with? Or explain why I was so triggered by the trust issues?
I tap my fingers on my knee, and realize that if I’m expecting him to be more intimate and open with me, then I need to be too. I readjust myself on the couch.
“I know what it’s like to live with the guilt of feeling like you’re responsible for someone’s death,” I say.
Alexander almost chokes on a french fry. I immediately reach over to pat his back as he coughs it out. Rob comes racing out, only for Alexander to hold up the offending food item.
“Just a fry,” he says, waving it at Rob.
“Eat slowly,” Rob admonishes him. He scowls, shaking his head as he returns to the room.
Clearly I’m not the only one who has noticed that Alexander’s eating habits are carnal.
“Some people choke under pressure—you choke on carbs.” The wry smile on my face gets a side eye and a shake of the head from Alexander.
“Too soon?” The smile drops from my face.
“Too soon,” he says, grabbing another french fry, this time chewing more slowly. “How do you know what it’s like to feel responsible for someone’s death?” His brows furrow as he cuts another piece off of his steak.