Chapter 92: Chapter ninety two

Alexander.

I slumped deeper into the couch, the worn cushions sighing under my weight as I dragged a palm down my face. The living room smelled like butter and salt from the popcorn Beatrice had made, mixed with whatever she was cooking in the kitchen—something with garlic and tomatoes that made my stomach twist with a hunger I didn’t have the energy to feed. Noah sat on the other end of the couch with one arm draped over Lucas’s shoulders.

Lucas leaned into the touch like it was the most natural thing in the world, casually munching popcorn from the bowl balanced on his lap. Every now and then he’d tilt his head just enough for Noah to press a lazy kiss against his hair, and neither of them flinched.

Beatrice had surprised all of us today. She’d actually opened the door without me coaxing her through it, then stayed in the kitchen instead of disappearing into her room. I’d shown her the peephole camera a few days ago. She still jumped at sudden knocks, but she wasn’t living like the door itself was an enemy anymore.

Noah glanced over at me. “So what do you plan on doing?”

I stared at the ceiling. “I don’t know, man.”

Why can’t my life just be as simple as Noah’s? Noah’s life wasn’t perfect—Lucas still got sharp-tongued when feelings got too close to the surface but at least Noah never had to hide. He could put an arm around the person he loved in front of anyone and not brace for the fallout.

Me? I couldn’t even get my own situationship to look me in the eye without calculating the risk. Brandon had literally walked me out of his office the other day so his ex could come in.

“How do you unlove someone?” I asked the room.

Lucas snorted around a mouthful of popcorn. “Well, in your case, I’m pretty sure that’s not possible.”

“Yeah, thanks. Really needed that rubbed in my face.”

“We’re not rubbing it in,” Noah said, voice calm the way it always got when he was about to say something I didn’t want to hear. “It’s more like you’re sitting in a locked room hoping the walls will magically rearrange themselves into somewhere better.”

I turned my head to look at him. “Huh?”

“Think of it this way. You’re hungry. You’re lying on the floor doing nothing. How exactly is food supposed to appear on the table?”

“I could go beg for it.”

Lucas’s mouth twitched. “Same way you’re begging for his love?”

I let out a dramatic gasp and pressed a hand to my chest, trying to turn the sting into something lighter. “I am never telling either of you about my love life again.”

“Don’t be rude,” Noah murmured, fingers carding gently through Lucas’s hair. “He’s hurting.”

Lucas rolled his eyes but didn’t pull away from the touch. “Someone has to be rude to him. How else is he supposed to get over that jerk of a boss?”

Maybe telling your best friends the full, messy truth about a situationship wasn’t always the smartest idea. It left you exposed in ways you couldn’t take back.

Lucas shifted, sitting up a little straighter. The usual teasing edge drained out of his voice. “I don’t care how traumatized he is. You’re traumatized too, and I don’t see you taking it out on people who actually give a damn about you. You don’t get to be cruel just because someone hurt you first. I care about you, Alex. And I’ll say it once—he doesn’t fucking deserve you. I’ll bet you a hundred bucks he takes that ex back the second it becomes convenient.”

I stared at him. Lucas didn’t do serious very often. Hearing it now felt like the floor had tilted under me.

Yeah.

Nice.

Fuck my life.

I keep thinking if I just love him hard enough, it’ll start mattering. Like if I show up every time he calls, if I swallow every time he pushes me away, eventually he’ll realize I’m the one who stayed. But all it does is make me smaller. And he still chooses the version of his life that doesn’t include me.

Beatrice appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on the strawberry apron. She gave me a bright smile. I was too drained to return it.

“I think the food is ready,” Noah said, since Beatrice couldn’t speak.

“No shit, Sherlock.” I forced myself up. “What did you make? Smells good.”

I reached for her hand just as my phone rang. For a second I thought it was Brandon—I’d skipped work, after all. But of course it wasn’t. That would’ve required effort. He didn’t do begging.

It was my father.

I stared at the screen. I’d assumed he was done contacting me after last time.

I answered. “What now?”

“Hello, Alex. How are—”

“Get to the point.” I cut him off.

"Always so feisty”. He chuckled. “I wanted to let you know, I will be leaving the country in two days.”

“And?”

“I was wondering if you’d like to come with me.”