He threw his hands in the air, hurting and beyond frustrated. “Thentellme.”
His mother’s clear gaze speared through him, and she didn’t hesitate.
“You’re impulsive, Alex. Impulsive and generous and fiercely protective. You’ve been that way since you were little, and I love that about you. Always have, always will.”
There was abutahead, and he suspected he didn’t want to hear the rest.
For her, though, he’d listen. For her, he’d do anything.
“But after the funeral, after Jimmy …” A single tear traced down her cheek, and she knuckled it away. “All that got so much more intense, sweetheart. Especially this last year, for reasons I don’t understand, and it’sterrifying.”
“What—” His heartbeat was pounding against his skull, and he couldn’t fuckingthink. “What does that even mean?”
“Suddenly, you’re willing to give up everything you have, everything you’ve worked for, without a second thought. Not just material possessions. Your career. Your entire future. Your happiness. And you’re willing to do it without looking for other options.” Her words shook, but she didn’t break eye contact. “Think about how that feels, for me and everyone else who loves you.”
He tore a hand through his hair. “I’m just trying to do the right thing.”
His mother pushed to her feet, walked over, and stood toe to toe with him.
“Sometimes doing the right thing requires sacrificing everything else, and sometimes it doesn’t,” she told him. “You’ve always been impulsive, but you used to try to make that distinction. You used to look for alternatives. Not anymore.”
His mother swallowed so hard, he could hear it.
“If you’ve been atoning for what Jimmy did, it’s time to stop. It wasn’t your fault. And whatever happened this last year, find a way to move past that too.” Her face bruised and tearstained, she raised her chin and stared him down. “You don’t need to sacrifice your future to prove your love or become a good man. You’re already a good man, sweetheart, and you always were.”
Wren had said almost exactly the same thing. Again.
You’re morally and legally obligated to believe me when I say you’re a good man. You have no choice. I’m sorry, I don’t make the rules.
He’d like to believe both of them. The two women he loved most.
Had he terrified Wren like he’d terrified his mother? Was that why she’d left?
His legs were unsteady beneath him as he staggered to the living room and collapsed onto his mother’s couch. He buried his face in his hands and tried to think.
“Lauren worried about my future more than I ever did.” God, his eyes stung. “Do you think—do you think I scared her too, and she was trying to save me from trouble by breaking up with me? Before I could blow up at the next asshole who insulted her and wreck my career for good?”
His mother sat beside him on the sofa, and repositioned him with gentle insistence until he was resting his head on her shoulder again. “I don’t know, baby. But for what it’s worth, I saw genuine affection between the two of you. On both sides.”
That night in Olema had felt like more than affection. It’d felt like love.
On both sides.
“Maybe give her a little time and space to miss you.” She squeezed him. “And then, if she truly doesn’t want you or won’t let herself have you, let her go, sweetheart. You deserve someone who’ll fight to keep you in her life, because you’re a catch. And that has nothing to do with your money or fame or the volume of thirst tweets directed your way, and everything to do with your enormous heart.”
Her palm patted that general region of his chest.
He sighed and held his mom tighter. “I wish you didn’t know the phrasethirst tweets. Especially in reference to me. Especiallyespeciallysince I’ll be posting more shirtless pics soon.” He paused. “I really enjoy all the attention and retweets and flame emojis.”
“I know that too, sweetheart.” Snorting softly, she kissed the crown of his head. “Believe me, I know.”
THE AIRLINE AGENTat the check-in counter cringed when she processed Alex’s ID and saw which flight he was on. Or, rather, which flight he wouldnotbe on.
“I’m so sorry, sir.” She handed back his driver’s license. “Passengers have to check in at least thirty minutes before departure.”
He sighed. “Then I’ll take a first-class ticket on the next available flight to LAX, if there’s still an open seat.”
Between his tear-choked, long-overdue conversation with his mom and his impulsive plans later that morning, he’d run absurdly late the entire day. Which wasn’t a huge surprise, since time management had always been difficult for him, but he normally had his virtual PA to keep him on schedule. Or, in recent months, Wren.
