Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
WE’RE ALMOST BACK TO ALEX’S apartment. We made a quick pit stop at In-N-Out where Alex ordered not one, but two double-doubles, a side of fries, and a vanilla milkshake. And after his performance with the bread, it didn’t surprise me that he devoured it all in record time.
Well, except the shake. He’s currently in the passenger seat, brows knitted, struggling to suck the overly thick concoction through the straw.
I pull into his carport, but as we exit the vehicle, Alex stiffens. “Shit. Mike’s on duty.” He passes me the milkshake like it’s contraband.
I glance at the middle-aged security guard patrolling the parking area, flashlight in hand. “So? Weed is legal in California.”
“Yeah, but Mike takes his job way too seriously.” He runs his fingers down his face. “He’s gonna know.”
“It’ll be fine. Just be cool,” I tell him.
Like that’s going to help.
As if beckoned, the guard gravitates toward us, eyeing Alex warily. “Alex, you all right?”
Alex straightens his posture, and his face contorts as if he’s trying to school his features into a professional demeanor. But he overcompensates a bit too much, and instead, he ends up glowering at Mike. Then he says, “Just be cool.”
Good job, Alex. I resist the urge to smack my forehead. And his.
Mike squints, clicking on the flashlight. But before he can shine the ridiculously bright beam in his face, I grasp Alex’s shoulders, ushering him toward the paved path that leads to his building. To my relief, Mike doesn’t follow.
I get Alex’s door unlocked, and the moment he crosses the threshold, his legs stop working. He slogs toward the couch like his feet are bound with bags of sand. After he gets settled, he lifts his empty hand to his mouth, then his face scrunches in confusion. “Where’s my shake?”
I roll my eyes. “Here.” It’s melted enough that he easily slurps it down.
As soon as he finishes, he stretches out on the couch, and within thirty seconds, he passes out. I have no idea how he falls asleep so easily. Maybe tonight it’s the edibles, but he was in just as deep a sleep on our trip. And he knocked out just as fast.
I remember what he said about his medical missions, how he can sleep almost anywhere now. He looks so peaceful—an arm slung over his face, lips parted but not snoring. He really is a perfect specimen.
I glance around the apartment. It’s neat but not pretentious. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves cover three of the four walls in the living room. They’re filled with a mix of textbooks and novels. A framed world map sits above the TV, red thumbtacks scattered across multiple countries.
Accomplished and well-traveled.
I squat down and grip his shoes, carefully peeling them off one at a time, then tug the throw blanket from the top of the couch and spread it over him.
I guess it won’t be a long night, after all.
“Night, Alex,” I whisper, but as I turn to leave, he reaches out, grabbing my hand.
“Stay,” he murmurs, eyes still closed. Then he mumbles something I can’t make out.
“What?” I lean down, getting closer so I can hear him.
“I said you don’t have to.”
Unease needles my chest. He said it like he doesn’t want to burden me.
After everything he’s done for me the last two days, and everything he’s been through tonight, it’s the least I can do.
But more importantly, I want to be here with him.
We’ve spent two of the last three nights together, and it’s been …
nice. Actually, it’s been more than nice.
“I want to stay,” I tell him, stroking the hair off his forehead. His face scrunches, like it tickles, and he bats my hand away. Then he readjusts himself, settling onto his side, mashing his face against a throw pillow.
I nibble my lip. Something he said earlier tonight has been gnawing at me. The defeated look in his eyes when he thought I was rejecting him. And worse, that he expected it.
“Alex?”
He grunts in reply. He’s so adorable with his face smushed.
“What did you mean in the bathroom when you said you knew it was too good to be true?” Given his current state, part of me expects him not to know what I’m talking about. But to my utter shock, he answers without missing a beat.
Lips smashed into the cushion, he murmurs, “That June Wells could possibly want to be with me.”
What is he talking about? It’s been beyond obvious. Embarrassingly so.
“I do want to be with you, Alex.” Something urges me to be brave and tell him the truth. “I always have.” Warmth rushes through me at the confession. It feels unbelievably freeing to say the words aloud.
But instead of acknowledging them, he scoffs. “Not in high school.”
My jaw drops so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t hit my feet. What is he talking about? I was completely infatuated with him in high school. Like a little puppy with heart eyes. He was the one who rejected me.
“What do you mean in high school?”
He lets out a soft snore, and I resist the urge to poke him.
I lean closer, whispering gently in his ear. “What about high school, Alex?”
He sucks in a deep breath, tugging the blanket tighter around himself. Eyes still closed, he says, “That night you came over to knock your first one out. Who better to ask than the convenient dick next door?”
My heart beats a riot in my chest. This whole time he thought I asked him because it was convenient?
“You said, ‘I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, because I don’t like you like that.’ ” He huffs a mirthless laugh. “Like how on earth could you like someone so beneath you? Fuck, that hurt.”
My legs give out, and I fall onto his coffee table with a thud. This whole time, I hurt him?
“I was so stupid,” he continues, still mostly asleep, as if his subconscious is the one talking to me. “Part of me always hoped one day you’d see me as more than just the poor kid.”
The statement guts me. Never once did it even occur to me that he felt like the poor kid. Or that he was beneath me. To me, he was utterly perfect. In every way.
His mouth opens in a massive yawn, one that goes on and on. Then he says, “You were always nice to me, though. Nothing like your brother.”
What does that mean?
They were best friends. Inseparable. After high school, Charlie went to Ohio State, and I thought they just drifted apart, but this sounds like something deeper.
“What about my brother?”
He doesn’t respond.
“Alex,” I press again, “what about Charlie?”
But there’s nothing else. Just the rhythmic, deep breathing that transports me back to the lodge, his arm curled around me, his body pressed flush against mine.
I glance at the digital clock under the TV. The bright red numbers glow 12:37.
This night isn’t just going to be long. It’s going to be abysmal.
I check the clock for the eight hundredth time.
7:04 AM. After Alex’s confession last night, I didn’t sleep at all.
Not that I had anywhere to go. Alex is still passed out on the couch, and I wasn’t about to sleep in his bed.
I’ve been perched on his coffee table for the better part of six hours with nothing to do but think.
Alex liked me in high school. He liked me back.
My fear of being rejected led me to make him feel rejected.
If I had only told him the truth that night—that there was no one on earth I’d rather be with for my first time.
For all my times. I bury my face in my hands, rubbing my forehead. I was completely infatuated with him.
But thanks to me and my panic-induced declaration of non-love, he thought I was there because it was convenient. That I meant those heinous words that night—I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. I don’t like you like that.
God, how could I have said that to him? I was so afraid that if he knew how much I really liked him, it would scare him off, and he’d say no. Not only did he say no anyway, but I also crushed him in the process.
I hate that I made him feel so insignificant. Especially when he mattered so much to me.
I sigh, fiddling with my necklace. And what the hell did he mean when he said at least I was nice to him?
What happened with Charlie? Growing up, they were always together.
I mean, I guess they drifted apart a little while they were still in high school, when Charlie started playing football and Alex didn’t.
Debbie wouldn’t let him play because of the risk of concussion. But maybe it was more than that.
I pick up my mug of tea and take a slow sip, letting the hot liquid burn my throat. This morning, to my dismay, I learned that Alex doesn’t drink coffee. At all. There’s not an ounce of it in his apartment. And after the night I’ve had, this tea is doing the opposite of hitting the spot.
A second cup rests beside me for Alex. I made it a little while ago, hoping the noise would rouse him, but nothing.
For the past twenty minutes, I’ve been sitting here, cup in hand, waiting for him to wake up.
The effects of the edibles surely must have worn off by now.
After he wakes up, I’m going to offer him some tea, then gently ease back to the conversation from last night. It’s probably close to nine by now.
I check the clock again. 7:06.
Goddammit.
This wait is killing me. It’s like I’ve fallen in a black hole and time is moving at a fraction of its normal speed.
I dig my nails into my bare arm. I can’t take it any longer. Softly, I clear my throat.
He doesn’t budge.
Come on, Alex. I try again, a little louder this time.
Still nothing.
On my fourth attempt, he says, “You need me to get you a cough drop?”
It catches me so off guard, I cough for real. “You’re awake,” I sputter.
“I am now.” He rubs his eyes as he sits up on the couch.
“Tea?” I thrust the mug at him.
He eyes it warily. “Thanks?”
“So …” I grip my cup, staring intently at him.
His brow creases and he tilts his head. Then, in slow motion, his entire face slackens as if the awareness is falling over him.
I wince. “About last night—”
He sets the tea down and buries his face in his hands. “Can we just pretend none of that ever happened?”