Chapter 49
Ava
Well past lunch, edging into early afternoon, we finally head home.
Hannah and her husband, Zac, are taking the kids tonight. We all agreed it was better this way. No long, drawn-out goodbyes. No questions we’re not ready to answer. Just a quick I’ll see you soon before they were whisked away.
Instead, they’re going camping. Something happy. Something light.
And I already miss them so much, every part of me aches.
Harrison and I don’t look at each other.
But our hands have been woven together tight since we got in the car.
“When do you take off?” he asks softly.
Again, with this question.
He keeps asking, like a stopwatch I can’t shut off, counting down to the moment I go back to my life, and he goes back to his.
And I hate it.
I hate it.
I hate it!
He keeps asking because I’ve never given him a straight answer.
So, this time, I do.
“First thing tomorrow morning.”
His thumb keeps tracing slow circles over my hand. Unhurried. Hopeful. “Can’t you stay a little longer?”
Tears burn behind my eyes. I force them back. “I can’t.”
I want to.
God, I want to so badly it hurts.
But I have work. Commitments. A career I fought hard for.
So why does choosing it suddenly feel so wrong?
If I say it out loud, I won’t leave. I’d cling tight with both hands and refuse to let go.
That’s when his hand slips from mine.
He’s hurt. I know he is.
And the space it leaves behind feels bigger than the car we’re sitting in.
Travis slows and pulls to the curb, stopping half a block short of the building. “Sir, we have an issue.”
I lift my head.
“Oh, shit,” I whisper.
The street is crawling with paparazzi. Cameras raised. Bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder. It looks like a premiere night at Mann’s Chinese Theatre.
“We need to go back to the house,” Harrison says automatically. “They don’t know where I live.”
Travis eases forward.
“No, you can’t.” Travis pulls back to the curb. I turn to Harrison. “If you turn around, they’ll follow. They always do.”
“They won’t,” Harrison says. “Drive, Travis.”
“Travis, stop.” I press my hand to Harrison’s leg, grounding myself as much as him. “You have no idea how bad this will get if you lead them straight to your home.”
He shakes his head. “They don’t know where I live.”
“They will,” I say quietly. “They always do.”
I hold his gaze, willing him to see past the instinct, past the need to protect me at all costs. “You’ve built a carefully protected world. The quiet. The routine. The safety you’ve given your kids.” My voice falters. “I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to you. Or them.”
And suddenly, the choice in front of me feels brutally clear.
“Drop me at the front,” I insist.
Harrison blinks. “If you think I am letting you out of this car in front of that mob, you have lost your mind.”
“It’s a secured building,” I say, already reaching for my bag. “I’ll go in, grab my luggage, and come back out. They need to see that.” I swallow. And when they ask where I’m going, I’ll simply say the airport. That I’m going home.”
“Home?” His jaw locks. “I thought you weren’t leaving until tomorrow.”
God. The hurt in his voice makes this so much harder than it has to be.
“I’ll call Kali,” I insist, already texting on the new phone. “I’ll get on an earlier flight.”
He exhales hard, frustration scraping raw beneath the control. “So that’s it? You’re leaving?”
Can’t he see that I don’t want to?
“Your luxury Manhattan building is under siege, Harrison,” I say quietly. “I have to do this.”
“Pix,” he says, tight. “I know what I’m doing. You have to trust me.”
I want to. God, I want to fall into his arms and never come out.
But this isn’t my life. Not like this.
This is the glimpse of reality I needed. Not because we don’t love each other, but because loving him means asking him to live like this. Day after day. And I can’t do that to him.
And I will never do it to his beautiful kids.
“Then call all your security,” I tell him. “Have them meet me at the front. They can take it from there.”
“I’m going with you.”
“No, you’re not.”
“There is no way I’m letting you go out there alone.”
“You have to,” I say, my voice breaking through his stubbornness. I gesture toward the windshield. “If you escort me inside, you’re going to lose it. You’ll punch three of them in the face, end up in jail, and Travis will have to bail you out.”
“She’s right, boss,” Travis mutters.
“Shut up,” Harrison snaps.
Something dark and volatile flashes behind his eyes. Pain. Raw and unguarded. And it guts me.
“I’ll just tell them we’re getting a divorce,” I say quietly.
“What?” he asks, suddenly distant. Detached.
“Can you imagine if the kids had been here?” My voice trembles now, but I don’t stop. “This doesn’t end just because I go back to LA. They’ll follow you. They’ll track you down. They’ll never give you your life back.”
My chest tightens. The tears come, and I don’t fight them.
He frowns, like the words physically hurt.
“We just stood in front of our family. Smiled. Told the world we were happy. Husband and wife.” His voice cracks. “And now you’re telling me it’s over.”
I cradle his jaw. “You’re not the only one who protects the people you love.”
When he finally turns, his eyes are raw and red.
“Don’t do this, Pix.”
I lean in and kiss him. Maybe for the last time.
“I was always leaving,” I whisper.
The tap on the window comes soon after Harrison gives in and directs his men over.
I didn’t want them to drive to the front. It was better this way. No pop will recognize the vehicle that came in.
He opens my door.
“Are you ready, Miss Alvarez?”
“Her goddamn name is Evans,” Harrison says.
No one corrects him.
The guard freezes and glances between us.
“My apologies. Mrs. Evans.”
Two more guards appear behind the first, a quiet formation closing around me. They give Harrison a look that says this isn’t their first rodeo.
I’m about to step out when Harrison’s hand closes around my arm. “Don’t you dare say a word about divorce.”
Shit. What do I do?
I get out, and the guards turn their attention to me. “Stay close.”
I nod.
We move swiftly through the crowd, my heart hammering hard in my chest.
I’m swallowed by bodies and noise, a ladybug surrounded by red ants.
“Back up!” a guard yells.
A camera flashes too close. There’s a sudden shove, and a man nearly goes down.
“Miss Alvarez,” someone calls. “We need a statement.”
“Who is he?” another voice shouts.
“Did you really get married?”
“Is it true the rings are plastic?”
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
I lift a hand, silently announcing that my love-hate relationship with the paparazzi has tipped, just for today, into cooperation.
The noise cuts out, replaced by the staccato burst of flashes. The crowd freezes. Every lens trained on me. Every microphone inching closer.
They’re waiting now.
And it would be so easy.
One sentence, and I could end this. Protect Harrison. Protect the kids. Shut it down before the media circus rages completely out of control.
Harrison’s voice cuts through my thoughts in an instant.
Don’t you dare say a word about divorce.
A reporter pushes forward. “You were just engaged to Pierce Maddox. He claims the two of you are still in love. Why marry this guy?”
And suddenly, it’s simple.
They want a story. I give them the truth.
“When you know, you know.”