Chapter 93 Radio Silence
Alex: POV
I stumbled into my apartment like a zombie, my mind still reeling from what had just happened with Daniel. The door slammed behind me, the sound echoing through my empty living room.
"What the actual fuck?" I muttered, leaning against the wall and sliding down until I hit the floor.
My best friend since college—the guy I'd shared apartments with, traveled with, gotten wasted with—had just come onto me. Had just told me he was in love with me. Had just guided my hand to his...
"Jesus Christ," I groaned, burying my face in my hands.
I forced myself to my feet and headed straight for the shower, cranking the temperature as hot as I could stand it. As the scalding water pounded against my skin, I tried to make sense of everything.
Had there been signs? Had Daniel always looked at me differently? Was I completely oblivious, or had he hidden it that well?
I thought about all the women he'd supposedly dated over the years—women I'd been interested in first. He'd admitted he never actually dated them, just made it look that way to keep me from them. That was fucked up on a whole new level.
After my shower, I wrapped a towel around my waist—then immediately switched to a bathrobe instead, the memory of Daniel in his towel still too fresh.
I grabbed a beer from the fridge and collapsed onto my couch, staring at the ceiling. My phone buzzed on the coffee table, and I glanced at it warily. It was Blake.
[Everything okay? You disappeared from the wedding pretty quickly.]
I picked up the phone, started typing a response, then deleted it. What was I supposed to say? "Your friend just professed his undying love for me and I freaked out and ran"?
[All good. Just tired. Great wedding.]
Blake's reply came almost immediately. [ Alright.]
I stared at the screen, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. Blake was Daniel's friend too. I couldn't put him in the middle of this.
I tossed the phone aside and took a long pull from my beer. What was I going to do? I couldn't avoid Daniel forever—we had the same friends, moved in the same social circles. But how was I supposed to face him after what happened?
And what if... what if he told people? What if he twisted the story, made it seem like something had happened between us? What if he claimed I'd led him on?
"Stop it," I said firmly. "Daniel wouldn't do that."
But did I really know Daniel at all? The man I thought I knew for years had been living a lie, harboring feelings I never suspected. Who knew what else he was capable of?
My head was starting to throb. I needed to get out of my own thoughts. I grabbed my phone again and opened Instagram, mindlessly scrolling through my feed. Pictures of food, vacation shots, workout selfies—the usual mind-numbing content.
Then a post caught my eye. It was from an adventure travel company I followed: [Escape the grid. Challenge yourself. Find your limits in the Sonoran Desert. Two-month wilderness expedition starting next week.]
I clicked on the post, reading the details. The Sonoran Desert expedition was a guided trek through one of the most beautiful and unforgiving landscapes in North America. Two months of hiking, camping, and survival skills. Limited technology access. Physical and mental challenges daily.
"Perfect," I whispered.
Without giving myself time to think it through, I clicked the link in their bio and filled out the application form. The expedition started in five days. It would be hot as hell in August, but that was part of the appeal. Physical discomfort to distract from emotional turmoil.
The cost was steep, but I had savings.
After submitting the application, I immediately emailed my boss requesting a two-month leave of absence.
It was a bold ask—I'd never taken more than two weeks off at a time—but I'd accumulated enough vacation days, and I could argue that the experience would enhance my architectural perspective. Desert landscapes influencing design, or some bullshit like that.
I finished my beer and grabbed another, a strange calm settling over me. This was the right move. Get away, clear my head, put some literal and figurative distance between me and this whole situation.
My phone buzzed again—the adventure company confirming my application and requesting a video interview tomorrow morning to assess my fitness for the expedition.
"Guess I better start doing some pushups," I muttered, setting down my beer.
I spent the next hour researching the Sonoran Desert, learning about the terrain, climate, and what to expect.
The more I read, the more certain I became that this was exactly what I needed. No cell service for most of the trip. No social media. No awkward run-ins with Daniel at bars or restaurants. Just me, the desert, and a small group of strangers who knew nothing about my complicated life.
By midnight, I had a packing list started and had ordered the few specialty items I'd need—a better sleeping bag, proper hiking boots, a high-capacity water reservoir.
My boss responded to my email, surprisingly supportive of my "sabbatical for creative inspiration." He even suggested we could use it as a marketing angle when I returned, showcasing how our firm's architects immerse themselves in diverse environments to bring fresh perspectives to their designs.
Perfect. One obstacle down.
The next morning, I aced the video interview, emphasizing my experience with day hikes and camping trips (slightly exaggerated) and my excellent physical condition (mostly accurate). The expedition leader seemed impressed with my enthusiasm and confirmed my spot on the team.
I spent the day finalizing arrangements—putting my bills on autopay, arranging for a neighbor to check on my apartment occasionally, and picking up the last of my gear.
Blake called twice, but I let it go to voicemail. I wasn't ready to talk to him yet. I wasn't ready to talk to anyone associated with Daniel.
By evening, everything was set. I had a flight to Tucson in three days, where I'd meet the expedition team before heading into the desert.
As I packed my bags, a strange mixture of anxiety and relief washed over me. I was running away—there was no point denying it—but sometimes running away was the only way to gain perspective. Two months in the desert might be exactly what I needed to figure out how to handle this situation with Daniel.
My phone buzzed with a text from Daniel. My heart raced as I picked it up.
[I'm sorry about last night. Can we talk?]
I stared at the message for a long time, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. Finally, I typed: [I'm going away for a while. Need some time to think. We'll talk when I get back.]
His response came quickly: [Going where? For how long?]
I hesitated, then lied: [Just need to get out of town for a bit. Don't know how long.]
The night before my flight, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, wondering if I was making a mistake. Was I overreacting? Should I just meet with Daniel, talk it out like adults?
But every time I imagined sitting across from him, looking into his eyes, all I could see was him in that hotel room, guiding my hand down his body. All I could hear was his voice saying he'd been in love with me for years.
‘I'd better not see him for now.’