Chapter Thirty-Three – A.J.
I’ll be the one (I’ll be the one)
Who will make all your sorrows undone
I’ll be the light (I’ll be the light)
When you feel like there’s nowhere to run
I’ll be the one to hold you
And make sure that you’ll be all right
The One - Back Street Boys
Alexandra didn’t leave her room on Monday.
On Tuesday, I didn’t see her at breakfast, but I knew she’d eaten because the dishes were in the dishwasher. A silent message: she needed space .
Yesterday, she had breakfast while I was at the gym, which was unusually early for her.
In an attempt to figure out whether Alex was mad at me or just embarrassed by everything that happened, I cooked pasta for lunch.
After eating, I washed my plate and left a few minutes later, slamming the door just loud enough so she’d know I was gone.
Then I headed to a coffee shop wearing a high-collared coat, a baseball cap, and sunglasses.
A good enough disguise to call Daniele on a cold afternoon in New York.
I still hadn’t told my best friend what had gone down between me and Alex., and honestly, I was bracing for a scolding for keeping it from her.
But the scolding never came.
For the first time ever, Dani didn’t joke or tease. She just stared at me through the screen, eyes soft with pity, and said she hoped Alex and I could go back to the way we were. I smiled and nodded — because I wanted that too. Desperately.
We talked about the band, about her and Richard, and how much she missed him since he was spending Christmas with his parents.
It was a relief to shift the focus for a while, but it made me sad too.
They’ve been hiding for so long, and I hate knowing how much Daniele fears ruining her brother’s dream band just by loving someone.
When I got home, I found a Post-it on the counter saying “Burgers in the oven”. I reheated one and ate in silence. These past few days have been weird, but yesterday… yesterday was something else. It felt like torture to realize Alexandra wasn’t mad at me, she just didn’t want me around .
So today, I stuck to the routine. I left even earlier, went to Brittany’s clinic for my massage, gave Alex space to have breakfast in peace. I came back, hit the gym, made lunch, and left again. All so she wouldn’t have to see me.
But now, after throwing out half of my lunch – a pizza she made with pita bread dough that tasted better than most restaurants – I realize I can’t keep doing this. Avoiding her. Avoiding the house. Avoiding whatever this is.
We have a show tomorrow, and this situation makes no sense.
I grab two pillows from the couch, walk up to the door, and slammed it hard. Then, I place the pillows on the floor and drag myself over them until I sit carefully on the couch, feeling like a damn intruder, or worse, someone who doesn’t belong in their own home.
She doesn’t come out right away. But five minutes later, the door opens, and there she is, flannel pajamas, hair in a messy pineapple bun I’d usually make fun of but now kind of ache to fix. Her eyes land on me like daggers, sharp and cold, and I know: she’s not mad. She’s hurt.
She says nothing. Just turns around and walks back into her room.
“Alexandra, we need to talk.” My words stop her. She doesn’t turn back, but I notice her take a deep breath.
“You remembered?”
“Why is it so important to you that I remember?” I ask, because I don’t have the answer.
“It’s not,” she says quickly. “I just thought maybe...”
“No, I didn’t remember, but this situation is ridiculous,” I confess, swallowing hard. “This is not.. us .”
Her shoulders drop as she turns to face me and exhales slowly.
“Not this isn’t,” she says, crossing her arms.
My foolproof plan ends here. I wanted to get her out of the room and make her face me, but I didn’t think through the next steps.
“Do you want to eat pizza with me? We can watch a movie, hang out here in the living room…”
“I already ate, A.J.” She walks toward me, slow and hesitant steps. “But you’re right, we need to talk.”
Her gaze flicks to the frames above me, to the coffee table, to the floor—anywhere but my face.
“We can sneak out from the security guys, grab overpriced coffee, and talk…” I offer with a shrug, and the fear in my voice makes me cringe. But her lips twitch just slightly, the hint of a smile breaking through.
“Give me ten minutes?” she asks, gesturing at her pajamas, and I nod, relieved. “Pick a place with decent coffee. None of that overpriced trash.”
“I have a better idea,” I assure her, and I do. But it almost doesn’t involve coffee. “Go get dressed, I’ll stall Hammer.”
A pang in my heart signals my fear that Alexandra might not come back, but for the sake of both of us, I bury the feeling.
If a “maybe” made her like this, imagine if she knew how much I wanted our time in that basement to never end.
***
While Hammer and two other security guards search the parking lot after I made sure I saw strange movements out there, the ride Alexandra ordered picks us up at the building’s gate.
“Good afternoon. Top of the Rock?” the man with a Spanish accent asks, and I nod.
“I feel like a criminal,” Alexandra comments, sitting as far from me as possible, and I know she’s talking about our clothes.
I repeat my disguise with the cap, glasses, and high-collared overcoat.
Alexandra has red lips from her lipstick, a high classic bun with dark jeans, a white turtleneck underneath her beige wool-lined overcoat.
She’s the most beautiful criminal in all of Manhattan. Instead of commenting on it, I say:
“It’s supposed to feel like that, you called the car, I can claim I was kidnapped.”
“Oh, sure, because I would kidnap the guy who lives with me,” she says, holding back a laugh, but less tense. “Anyway, if this place isn’t nice, maybe you’ll be without a ride back.”
“Challenge accepted!”
Alex takes her phone out of her pocket trying to look busy. I stay silent, aware that this is an attempt to fill a space that would otherwise be taken by our usual banter.
We leave the edge of the Hudson River and head through the streets of Manhattan, the windows closed, muffling the hustle and bustle around us.
I watch her as the cityscape passes by the window.
As we approach Rockefeller Plaza, the intensity of New York fades behind us, and the car takes us to a quieter, more intimate place.
“Dani and Bia invited me to do something next week…” She stares at her phone like it’s a venomous creature. “Do you have anything with the boys?”
“We have a photoshoot and a cocktail with the label people in L.A. on Wednesday. But we’ll be back that night, we need to try on the wardrobe for the rest of the tour, and Friday we have a show here in NY,” I mention, and just thinking about it, I already feel tired.
“Wow, the life of a popstar,” she jokes. “I had no idea that your clothes were chosen by other people.”
“They’re not chosen, they’re sponsored. We’ll be changing the wardrobe for winter.”
“And that won’t mean anything, right? Because I don’t think you guys will perform in hoodies or Michelin-man coats.”
My laugh fills the car, and even the driver chuckles quietly when she mocks the puffer jackets, which, for sure, will make her look like a very charming snowball.
“We wear these clothes outside the stage too, but stop stalling me, let’s talk about your date with the girls. Where are you going?”
“I don’t know yet... I would have to go to L.A. with you, they’ll be there too,” Alexandra says it in that tone: the one people use when they’re just waiting for the right moment to pull out last-minute plans and cancel.
“That could be really fun, you know? They’re great.”
“I know, I just found the invitation weird.”
“I like that they invited you,” I say, touching her face, and she tilts her head to look at me. “You’re family now. Go with them and have fun.”
“That word doesn’t make things very exciting, but I should go.”
Alexandra pulls her face away from my finger, adjusts herself on the seat, and without saying anything else, she watches the street for the rest of the ride.
We arrive at Rockefeller Plaza just before five, and I smile — everything according to my plan. We walk toward the building, farther apart than I’d like, and I’ve never thought that our silences, which have always been so comfortable, could hurt.
The elevator that will take us to the top of the building awaits us in all its grandeur, but I promised a coffee to my girl.
To her I mean.
We walk to one in the Rockefeller Center, and I order two hot chocolates. The best thing to order when we’re not sure about the quality of the coffee.
Alexandra takes the cup and brings it to her lips, but I touch her hand, shaking my head.
“Not yet.”
“You’re going to tell me when I can drink my coffee?” she laughs, confused, an honest laugh, for the first time today.
“Just a few more minutes and I’ll let you drink, okay?” I wink at her and tap the tip of her nose with my finger, and Alexandra rolls her eyes at me.
For two seconds, it’s just the two of us again, and I place my hand at the base of her waist to guide her toward the elevator as soon as she looks away awkwardly.
On the sixty-ninth floor of this building is the most beautiful view of all of New York, and when the door opens, we’re greeted with a panoramic view of the city, tinted in orange and golden hues as the sun begins to set behind the skyscrapers.
Even though we’re not alone, the place isn’t crowded like it would be on the weekend, and Alexandra stares at me, then looks at the view, stunned, laughing and rubbing her eyes as though she can’t believe what she’s seeing.
“Wow, you outdid yourself, A.J. This thing doesn’t even need to be good.”
“It’s beautiful, right?”
I move closer, my eyes on her hypnotizing smile.
“I’ll run away from you more often if our reconciliation coffees are here,” she jokes, looking at me for the first time.