The massive double doors at the back of the convention swing open, and noise floods the rooms. Cheers, shouts, sobs, and laughter can all be heard. A wave of bodies surges forward, and cameras I hadn’t even noticed swing into motion, capturing every reunion from every possible angle.
I spot the guys from the shop almost immediately. They make a beeline straight for Eric.
Which, fine. That’s fair, I guess. I’ve never exactly gone out of my way to bond with them. I know I can come off cold and aloof, and, okay, I can be kind of a dick sometimes, but I didn’t click with their version of camaraderie. Smoking, drinking, bragging about who they fucked over the weekend.
Eric always said that wastheir love language.
It’s never felt like mine.
The crowd fans out, clustering around each contestant in tight, emotional knots. Arms wrap around shoulders, faces bury into necks, and people cry openly without shame over missing the person they love.
And then there’s us.
Me and Aksel.
Still sitting on our stools.
Alone.
My heart sinks, a cold, heavy drop in my chest. His parents were supposed to be here. I scan the crowd again, faster this time, panic prickling the back of my neck.
Nothing.
I reach for Aksel’s hand, lacing our fingers together and squeezing. Whether I’m comforting him or myself, I’m not entirely sure.
He squeezes back.
The cameraman doesn’t move.
The lens stays trained on us like an unblinking eye, waiting, patient and cruel, as if this moment is exactly what they were hoping to catch.
I swallow hard and keep my eyes forward. A little longer, I tell myself.
This is getting fucking awkward.
The kind of awkward that seeps into your bones and presses on your chest until it’s hard to breath. My soul feels like it’s being relentlessly crushed under the weight of disappointment. I was nervous as hell to meet Aksel’s parents, sure, but this? This hurts in a way I hadn’t braced for.
A no-show hurts differently.
I hope Aksel doesn’t take it personally.
I sneak a glance at him, expecting to see devastation, shiny eyes, and a tight jaw. The quiet heartbreak of someone pretending not to care. Instead, I catch him staring.
Not past me.
Not at the crowd.
At me.
I offer him a small, reassuring smile, the kind that saysit’s okay, we’ll survive this, even though my own chest feels hollow. He doesn’t return it. He keeps watching me, eyes sharp and focused, like he’s bracing for something.
Okay. That’s unsettling. What the fuck is going on?
I thought he’d be heartbroken. I thought we would be sittinghere together, miserable and exposed under the bright lights. But he doesn’t look like he’s about to cry. He looks guarded. Almost protective.
I’m so busy trying to read the expression in his sea-colored eyes, so wrapped up in my own confusion, that I don’t register the movement in my peripheral vision until it’s too late.
Two familiar figures step into my space, and then suddenly I’m being pulled into a hug so firm it steals the breath right out of my lungs.
