Page 208 of Rush

He flinches. “I know. I know—it’s complicated.”

A laugh breaks out of me. Bitter. Unamused.

“Yeah,” I spit, “that’s the tagline of our relationship, isn’t it?It’s complicated.”

He exhales hard, raking a hand down his face, before sitting on the edge of the sofa, looking every bit the tortured broken man. I’m caught between feelings of anger and concern.

Because despite what he did to me, there is still a big part of me that still cares for him.

Alex looks up at me, his stormy gray eyes, pained. “I didn’t come here to fight.”

“Thenwhyare you here?” My voice pitches up, sharp with hurt. “What am I supposed to do with this, Alex? You show up, backstage, like a fucking ghost—after you abandoned me on my birthday, broke my fucking heart then disappeared, only to end up plastered everywhere hand in hand withher?” I pace the small space like a madwoman.

“I made a mistake.”

Breaking up with me?

Getting back together with her?

He doesn’t clarify, the silence between us thickens. I stand there, breathing like I’ve run miles, the dressing room too small to hold the history between us.

“Shouldn’t you be with Madison?”

“I’m here filming in Atlanta, but she doesn’t know I’mhere.”

“Aren’t you together? You can’t do this to her Alex, she’s going to be the mother of your child.”

“I am notwithher,” he spits the words out like they’re poison.

I’m not stupid, I saw the photos. Their teams made a joint statement.

Then it comes back to me, how easily his PR teams manipulated the narrative before—was that it? Was him being with Madison a calculated media stunt?

But if that was the case, why doesn’t he just say that. Why does he keep skirting around the reason. None of this makes any sense.

“Then why are you here?” I ask—yet again.

“I needed to see you, I can’t take it anymore.”

“What am I supposed to do with that?”

I bite the inside of my cheek ‘til I taste iron.

“I’d hoped you’d reach out—but you never did.” He rests his elbows on his knees, looking up at me, eyes hopeful.

He was doing that to get my attention.

“Alex.” My voice drops. “Why should I, after what you did to me?”

“I know. I don’t even deserve to breathe the same air as you—but—” He stops himself, holding back whatever he’s about to say, and I don’t know why he can’t just come out with it.

“Stop with the late night calls, the posts. The photos. The flowers. All of it. Please.” My throat catches. “It’s hurting me.”

“Älskling, no—please.” He steps closer. “They’re not meant to hurt you. That’s not what this is. I need you to know I still think about you. All the time. You’realwayson my mind.”

And just like that, I’m back there.

My birthday. Sitting in that dress. Waiting. Alone. The call. His voice, empty. Flat. Like we never mattered. LikeIdidn’t matter.