Chapter 111 The Pursuit
Daniel: POV
I stared at the piece of paper in my hand, reading the words over and over, hoping they might somehow change. They didn't.
Jack - Had a family emergency. Need to head back. Sorry for the inconvenience. - Alex
That was it. No goodbye, no explanation, no acknowledgment of what happened between us last night. Just a hastily scribbled note and a fucking lie about a family emergency.
He must be too afraid to face what happened between us; if he really had an emergency, why would he leave without saying a word to me?
"Found this in my tent," Jack said, watching me carefully. "Figured you might want to see it, given... you know."
I folded the paper, my fingers pressing hard against the creases. "Given what?"
"Given that you two are friends." Jack's eyes narrowed slightly. "Everything okay between you guys? Seemed like there was some tension."
"Everything's fine," I replied, forcing a neutral tone. "Alex just... has his moments."
Jack nodded, clearly not buying it but professional enough not to pry. “Trevor's gone, and with Brian leaving last night, it's getting quiet around here. Now you too.” He attempted a joke, but his eyes remained serious.
"Sorry about that," I said, pocketing the note. "I need to get back too."
"Convenient," Jack remarked dryly. "But I won't hold you hostage. The jeep that's taking supplies back can give you a ride to Tucson."
I thanked him and began packing my things, my mind racing.
Part of me was furious. Alex had used me—getting drunk, pulling me into his sleeping bag, practically begging me to touch him—then running away like a coward when he sobered up.
Another part of me felt guilty. Maybe I should have stopped it, knowing he was drunk. But fuck, he was the one who flipped our positions, who took control.
"What if I want to be the one inside you instead?" His words from last night echoed in my head.
My hands trembled as I stuffed clothing into my backpack. I'd waited years—years—to be with Alex.
I'd survived his casual dates with women, his complete obliviousness to my feelings. And when I finally told him the truth, he ran to the desert to avoid me.
Yet somehow, in that same desert, I'd finally had him. Felt his body against mine, heard him moan my name, watched his face as he came. And now he was gone again, leaving nothing but a bullshit note.
An hour later, I stood with my backpack at my feet, saying goodbye to the remaining expedition members.
Megan and Lily hugged me, making me promise to keep in touch.
Kevin and Marcus offered firm handshakes and mentioned something about getting beers when they were back in San Francisco. Brian had left the previous night after our final dinner, catching a late flight for a business meeting.
"Take care of yourself," Jack said, clapping me on the shoulder. "And whatever's going on with you and your friend... hope it works out."
I climbed into the jeep without responding, my throat tight. As we pulled away from camp, I watched the desert landscape roll by, the place where I'd experienced both triumph and betrayal.
Part of me wondered if I should just let Alex go—clearly, he wasn't ready to face what happened between us.
But as the miles passed and we drew closer to civilization, my resolve hardened. No, I couldn't let him run away again. Not after what we'd shared. Not after I'd felt what it was like to finally have him.
On the flight back to San Francisco, I stared out the window, replaying last night in my mind. The way Alex had looked at me across the campfire, his eyes heavy-lidded from the wine. The way he'd pulled me down beside him in the tent, his hand gripping my wrist. "Don't go," he'd whispered.
And then the kiss. That first, incredible kiss that I'd waited so long for. I'd expected him to push me away, but instead, he'd pulled me closer, his hand on the back of my neck, his body arching up to meet mine.
It was Alex who'd flipped our positions, who'd straddled my hips with determination in his eyes. Alex who'd asked me to show him how. Alex who'd gasped my name as he thrust into me.
That wasn't the behavior of someone who wasn't interested. That was desire, pure and simple.
The plane began its descent into San Francisco, the familiar fog obscuring the city below. I made my decision. I wasn't going to let Alex hide from this. From us. I was going to confront him, make him explain why he'd run away. Make him acknowledge what had happened.
As soon as I landed, I called my assistant to check on the restaurant, assuring him I'd be back tomorrow.
Then I made another call to a local grocery store I knew Alex frequented, placing an order for his favorite foods—sourdough bread, sharp cheddar, and those ridiculous overpriced organic strawberries he loved.
"Delivery address?" the clerk asked.
I gave them Alex's apartment address, along with my credit card information.
"Sure thing, sir. Delivery will be in about an hour."
Perfect. This would give me a chance to meet with Alex face-to-face. I knew if I showed up in person, it would just result in a slammed door.
Forty minutes later, I was outside Alex's building, having texted the delivery service that I'd meet them there to hand over the groceries personally.
The driver seemed relieved to skip the drop-off, and I tipped him generously through the app.
I stood in front of Alex's door, heart pounding. I'd been here countless times before—for movie nights, for dinner, to crash on his couch after a night of drinking. But never like this. Never with this tension between us.
Taking a deep breath, I knocked on the door, pitching my voice higher than normal.
"Delivery!" I called.
I heard movement inside, the sound of water running and then shutting off. Footsteps approached the door.
"I didn't order anything," Alex's voice came through, sounding confused.
"Delivery for Hamilton," I insisted, keeping my voice disguised. "Groceries."
The door swung open, and there he was—hair damp from the shower, a towel around his neck, wearing only sweatpants. His eyes widened in shock as he recognized me.
"Daniel—" he started, immediately trying to slam the door in my face.
I shot my hand out to catch the edge just as it was swinging shut. Then a better idea hit me. I eased up on the pressure, letting the door do its thing.
The heavy wood pressed against my hand, leaving an angry red mark across my skin. I could tell Alex was actually holding back—if he'd used his full strength, my fingers would've been toast. Still, the pain that shot up my arm was genuine—no acting required.
"You're literally crushing my hand right now," I said, keeping my voice steady despite the throbbing pain. "Is that really the move you want to make here?"
Alex hesitated, conflict clear on his face. For a moment, I thought he might actually slam the door harder, crushing my fingers in the process. But then he sighed, releasing the pressure slightly.
"You're really that heartless, Alex?" I asked, letting pain seep into my voice. "You're going to slam the door on my hand after everything?"