Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Avery
T he Athens sun was doing its best to fry us as Brody and I sprawled in our hotel's courtyard.
The air smelled like a fancy cocktail of orange blossoms and bougainvillea, which was a nice change from the ‘eau de sweaty tourist’ we engaged with all too often.
Brody's arm was draped over my shoulders, and I was snuggled up against him. His muscles made a pretty comfy pillow, I had to admit.
“You know, Spark,” Brody murmured, “I could get used to mornings like this.”
I tilted my head up, taking in his sex-hair (it had been a long night, thank the gods of bliss) and those damn eyes that made me want to climb him all over again. Down, girl. DOWN.
“Me too,” I said, grinning. “Who knew Mr. Adventure had such a soft, cuddly center? You're like a Twinkie in hiking boots.”
He chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Don't tell anyone. I've got a reputation to maintain, you know.”
“I do know,” I mused, tracing lazy circles on his chest. “But I bet your female followers would eat this up. We could start a new hashtag; #CuddleWithBrody. It'll go viral, I'm telling you.”
Brody opened his mouth, probably to deliver some smartass comeback, when our phones went off like a pair of angry bees. Way to kill the mood, technology.
Brody's brow furrowed as he glanced at his screen. “It's my manager,” he said, his voice tight. “I should take this. Probably wants to know why I haven't posted a shirtless pic in the last 24 hours.”
I watched him walk away, admiring the view. My own phone buzzed again, and I looked down to see a message from Rebecca, the words on the screen making my stomach drop:
Avery, we need to talk. Urgently. Call me as soon as you can.
I stared at the message, my mind racing. Rebecca wasn't one for cryptic messages or unnecessary urgency. If she said it was urgent, it was. And given the tone of our last conversation, I had a sinking feeling that it couldn't be good news.
When Brody came back, he looked like someone had just told him they were banning selfie sticks worldwide.
“What's wrong?” I asked, already dreading the answer. “Did they discontinue your favorite hair gel?”
He didn't even crack a smile. Double shit.
Brody ran a hand through his hair. “My followers,” he said, his voice strained. “They're dropping like flies. My manager's threatening to drop me if I don't go back to posting shirtless pics and death-defying stunts,” Brody continued, ignoring my comment. “Apparently, my 'heartfelt bullshit' post was bad for business. Who knew authenticity could be so damn unprofitable?”
My heart sank. I knew how much Brody's career meant to him, how hard he'd worked to build his following. And now, because of one genuine post—because of us—it was all crumbling.
“Brody, I'm so sorry,” I began, but he cut me off.
“What about you?” he asked, eyeing my phone like it might spontaneously combust. “I saw you get a message too.”
I swallowed hard, looking down at Rebecca's ominous words again. “It's Rebecca. She wants to talk urgently. I… I don't think it's good news.”
The realization hit us both at the same time. Our careers, the things we'd worked so hard for, were in jeopardy.
“This is my fault,” I said, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. “If I hadn't pushed you to be more authentic?—”
“No,” Brody interrupted, his voice sharp. “If anything, it's my fault. I'm the one who made that sappy post without thinking about the consequences. I might as well have captioned it ‘Goodbye career, hello unemployment line!’”
Before I knew it, we were arguing, each of us trying to shoulder the blame, our voices rising with every exchange. It wasn't until I noticed an elderly couple at a nearby table staring at us that I realized how heated we'd become.
“We need to get out of here,” I said, standing up so fast I nearly knocked over my chair. “Let's take a walk. Clear our heads.”
Brody nodded, his jaw clenched tight. We left the courtyard in silence, stepping out into the bustling streets of Athens. But the city seemed to be mocking us with its beauty—ancient ruins and modern life coexisting peacefully while our lives fell apart faster than a sandcastle at high tide.
As we wandered through the Plaka neighborhood, I tried to focus on our surroundings. The charm of the old buildings, the scent of fresh-baked bread… anything to distract me from the dumpster fire that was our current situation.
We found ourselves near the Ancient Agora, joining a small group gathered around a tour guide. The guide's enthusiastic voice cut through my troubled thoughts.
“And here, we have the perfect backdrop for one of the greatest love stories in Greek mythology—Orpheus and Eurydice,” the guide was saying, gesturing to the ruins behind her.
“Orpheus, gifted with divine music, descended into the underworld to bring back his beloved Eurydice. He was told he could lead her out, but only if he didn't look back at her until they both reached the surface. But at the last moment, overcome with doubt, Orpheus looked back—and lost Eurydice forever.”
I felt Brody stiffen beside me, and I knew he was thinking the same thing I was. Were we Orpheus and Eurydice? Was our love doomed to fail because we dared to look back, to doubt?
“They say love conquers all,” the guide continued, blissfully unaware she was narrating our personal Greek tragedy, “but the price of love is higher than we expect. Orpheus had to choose, but in the end, he couldn't have both love and assurances.”
The words hit way too close to home. I turned away, unable to bear it any longer, and Brody followed suit. We made our way back to the hotel in silence, each lost in our own thoughts.
Back in the hotel courtyard, we sat at the wrought-iron table. “Maybe…” Brody began, then stopped, his voice heavy with resignation. “Maybe we rushed into this. Maybe we need to take a step back, focus on saving our careers.”
The words felt like a physical blow. I wanted to argue, to tell him he was wrong, but I couldn't.
Because deep down, a part of me was thinking the same thing. The practical, career-driven part of me was screaming that this—us—must be a mistake. That it shouldn’t be this hard.
We sat in painful silence, the once-beautiful courtyard now suffocating. The gentle splash of the fountain sounded like a mocking laugh, and the buzz of bees in the nearby flowers felt like tiny, judgmental whispers. It felt like a discordant symphony, underscoring the tension between us.
I looked at Brody, really looked at him. His brow was furrowed, his usual confidence replaced by a vulnerability that made my heart ache.
“What do we do?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
“I don't know, Spark,” he said, running a hand through his hair for the millionth time. At this rate, he was going to need Rogaine before we left Greece. “I really don't know.”