Thad holds up the paper, examines it with what he calls “his good eye,” and then sets the paper down. “That is hideous.”

“What?” I ask, surprised that he would think that. “It’s not hideous. It’s classic.”

“And this is not a classic wedding. This is a creative one. We want flamboyant.” Dramatically, he raises his fist in the air.

“But you’re not gay.”

Thad scoffs. “Wow, that’s very stereotypical of you, Alec. You don’t have to be gay to be flamboyant, and you don’t have to be flamboyantly gay. Look at Declan and Cohen—I never would have guessed they were gay.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” I pull on the back of my neck. “Hell, I don’t know what I mean. I’m just . . .” I glance around—nothing. I don’t see her. “When do we start?”

“In five minutes,” Naomi says, giving me a confused look. “Is everything okay?”

I glance at my watch. She should be here by now. “Uh, I just need to make a quick phone call. Give me a second.”

I step off the set and find a mostly secluded corner before I pull out my phone and dial my mom’s number for the second time this week. It rings and rings and rings.

Then finally: “Hello?”

“Mom?” I ask. Why does her voice sound so distant?

“Alec?”

“Uh yeah, where are you?”

I hear rustling against the phone. “Home.”

I feel the blood drain from my face. “What do you mean you’re home? I thought you were coming to the studio today.”

“Well, something came up. I can’t come.”

“What? Why can’t you make it?” I ask, anger starting to take the place of embarrassment, anguish.

“Rough night.”

Rough night . . . what does a “rough night” mean, exactly? Back when I was in high school, I found a bunch of prescription medications in my mom’s drawer. I asked her once what they were for, and she brushed me off, telling me they were old. But I knew better, especially when Thad told me after I left that he kept seeing Mom take pills and he didn’t know what for. So I can only imagine what this rough night might have entailed.

“You told me you’d be here today, so why would you have a rough night if you knew you were supposed to be somewhere the next morning . . . early?”

“Spare me the lecture, Alec.”

“I’m not lecturing you, Mom. I’m trying to understand what could be more important than coming to see your two children.” I press my fingers to my brow, attempting to comprehend what would push her to fall back to her coping habits. What triggered her?

“You wouldn’t understand.” It’s that response that pushes me over the edge, those words. When I was young, after Thad was asleep and Dad was gone, I would go to my mom’s room and try to comfort her, try to talk to her, but with those three words, she’d turn away and shut me out of her life.

“You’re right, I don’t understand.” I angrily thread my hand through my hair. “I don’t understand how you could commit, and then not even show up. Did you think it was going to be okay to just be a no-show? Do you realize how hard it was for me to make that call this week, to reach out to you, to try to mend what we’ve lost?”

“I can tell you’re getting upset. Maybe we should just try another day when you’ve calmed down.”

“When I’m—” I breathe out a heavy breath. “Yeah, let’s try another day.” I hang up before she can reply and stuff my phone in my pocket. “Unbelievable,” I mutter, combing my fingers through my hair as I pace back and forth.

“One minute!” a PA calls out.

Great.

Taking a deep breath, I try to ease the tension in my shoulders, break up the tightness in my throat, and will back the angry tears that threaten to fall.

I thought she was going to show up. I thought this was going to be a chance for me to clear things up, but once again she’s let me down. I don’t matter enough to her to try. Never have.

Probably never will.

When I get back to our workstation, Thad gives me a once-over. “Uh, your face is red.”

“Can you stop fucking observing me?” I yell. The whole cast and crew swivels around to stare. I can feel Luna’s eyes on me. I can sense her questioning, but I don’t turn around to face her. I can’t, not when I’m this upset.

“Dude, settle down. Everyone is looking.”

“Great, let them fucking stare.” I snatch my drawing from the workbench and crumple it up. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Thad sighs next to me. “And for a second there, I thought you’d turned over a new leaf. Same old Alec.”

Before I can reply, Diane calls out “Quiet on set!” and points to Mary, standing in front of the table of mystery supplies.

Just fucking great.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

LUNA

“That wasn’t a fun day,” Cohen says, sighing as he opens the door to O’Leary’s, his favorite Irish pub, in the Village. Declan follows behind me, and the hostess leads us to a round booth in the back, which gives us enough room to spread out.

“Brutal,” Declan says, picking up the menu. “And the tension was high, wasn’t it?”

“It was,” Cohen says while I stare down at my phone, willing it to beep with a text, with anything.

I sensed it the minute I glanced over at Alec. Something was wrong. His shoulders were kissing his ears, his brow was creased, and he was snapping, truly snapping, at Thad. They usually bicker like a pair of old hens, but there was anger in his voice this time, the type of anger I can only attribute to his mother not showing up.

Trust me, I was looking all over the place, waiting for her to come to set, to hug her boys, to tell them how proud she was of them working together. High hopes, I know. But when Alec disappeared and came back right before we started filming, absolutely livid, I knew she wasn’t coming. And it probably wasn’t for a good reason either.

“You were distracted,” Cohen says, nudging my foot under the table.

“Was I?” I ask, sweat breaking out on my back. “I thought I was all there. I mean, it was pretty impossible to beat what Team Hernandez put together—those teepee sticks with flowers were adorable.”

Yup, Team Hernandez took first, we took second, and, unfortunately, Team Baxter took a very brutal last place with their dilapidated centerpieces and constant arguing. The tension was really high between all of them. When we were done filming, Alec and Thad exchanged a few more terse words, and then Alec took off, his face flaming with anger. I sent him a text, asking if he was okay, but I haven’t heard anything back yet—hence all my surreptitious checking.

“I don’t care that we got second place,” Cohen says, “but it just seems like something’s worrying you. You keep checking your phone and chewing on the corner of your mouth.”

Crap, crap, crap.

“Just lots of work and stuff.” I hate that I just told my brother a lie, but after today, I’m so glad Alec and I are keeping things under wraps. If I told Cohen, he’d keep it quiet, but he would tell Declan, and I can’t be completely sure Declan wouldn’t let the truth slip by accident. And after seeing Thad and Alec today, I’m guessing that relationship is on the rocks again. The news that Alec and I are together would probably destroy it completely.

And that makes me sad.

Declan sets his menu down. “Next week is the last week—decorations and final picks. Then it’s all over. We’ll get to enjoy a great wedding, and then get back to normal life.”

“And win,” I add.

Declan shrugs. “Honestly, I don’t care if we win or not.”

Cohen’s brow furrows. “Don’t you want to live in Manhattan?”

Declan smiles and cups Cohen’s cheek. Cohen stiffens, but only for a second before he relaxes into Declan’s touch. “I like our life, Cohen. I don’t need more than what we have.”

“Oh God,” I say, hand to heart. “That’s so—”

“Give us a moment,” Cohen says.

“Oh sure, yup.”

I love the way they speak to each other, with so much care and devotion. I marvel at the way Declan can so easily put Cohen at ease, the way my brother visibly relaxes with Declan, and I realize . . . I want that.

I want someone who makes me feel both protected and needed, someone who makes me feel loved, and makes me feel . . . the way Declan and Cohen clearly make each other feel.

I’ve come to a point in my life where I don’t mind being single. I’m not desperate and boy crazy, but I’ve noticed a shift. I’ve established myself as a creator—some of the judges have started following me on Instagram, mentioning how much they love my work. Even without the recognition, I would be content with where I am in my career, but something’s missing. I can feel it like a hole inside me, but from the minute Alec kissed me, that hole started to fill.

And ever since that kiss, the hole continues to fill, bit by bit. I’ve never felt this way with another man. As I stare down at the tabletop, I realize something: Alec is a forever type of guy. Not a stepping-stone, not a free trial, not a one-night stand—he’s the real deal.

And he’s hurting right now.

Which means . . .