Chapter 7: "Always Here"
1523 Words
"I wish I could make you smile like that," Alex whispered under his breath, his voice barely more than the wind, lost to the hum of city life. He leaned against the car, arms crossed, trying to steady the storm within. His eyes remained locked on the café window like they did every week, every time—unmoving, loyal, tired.
Inside, Pepper sat across from Lance, the warm yellow lighting casting a soft glow on her face. She was laughing, head tilted back slightly, eyes crinkling in that way that made Alex feel like gravity had shifted. She looked effortlessly happy. Blissful. Devastatingly out of reach.
It was the kind of smile Alex hadn’t seen in years—the kind that used to belong to him, back when things were simpler. Back when he was her whole world and she was his compass.
Three months. That’s how long they’d been doing this dance—this cruel routine. He picked her up, drove her to her secret dates with Lance, then waited nearby like a hired driver or a ghost from her past. Not quite a part of her life, not entirely separate either. Just... there.
He never asked why she called him. Why she didn't take a cab or ask one of her friends. Why she still relied on him. Maybe because she knew he would always show up. Maybe because she knew he never stopped waiting.
And every single time, it gutted him.
It felt like tearing a fresh piece of his heart out just to stitch it into her day. A self-inflicted wound he accepted with grace because it brought her even a sliver of joy. But God, it was torture. Wanting someone so much when they were this close—but not yours.
She was so near.
And yet, impossibly far.
What a cruel joke the universe had played on him.
He loved her. Not in the quiet, subtle kind of way. No. He loved her the way storms loved to crash into the shore. The way fire devoured. Completely. Irrevocably. Painfully.
But in this story, he was just a supporting character. The best friend. The shadow she turned to when the lights went out.
Antoinette had walked out weeks ago after giving him a hard choice—her or Pepper. And without hesitation, he chose Pepper. He couldn’t lie. Couldn’t keep using someone who deserved better. Antoinette was everything anyone would want: beautiful, kind, understanding. But she wasn’t Pepper. She never would be.
He looked back at the café. The laughter inside had faded. His phone buzzed in his pocket, cutting through the silence.
Pepper.
He answered instantly.
"A-Are you s-somewhere n-near?" Her voice cracked, barely above a whisper, and yet it thundered in his chest like a warning bell.
"I’m right here. What’s wrong?" he said, straightening up, eyes darting around the café interior.
They were gone.
"Please... p-pick me up." Her voice was brittle, threaded with pain and barely restrained tears.
His breath hitched. "I’m coming," he said without hesitation, already moving.
He pushed open the café door, heart pounding. The space was nearly empty now. He scanned the tables frantically, then saw her.
She emerged from the restroom like a ghost—pale, broken, mascara streaking her cheeks like war paint. The second she saw him, she bolted straight into his arms, her sobs muffled against his chest.
"Please get me out of here," she choked out, clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping her from falling apart.
He wrapped his arms around her, fiercely protective, jaw clenched. "I’ve got you. I’ve always got you."
"What happened?" he asked, guiding her gently toward the car.
She just shook her head, too shattered to speak. Her sobs intensified once inside, curling into herself like a wounded child.
Alex reached across and touched her trembling hand. "Sshh, it’s okay. Just breathe. Where’s Lance?"
She flinched at the name. "He broke up with me. Said I’m too young. That I don’t know what love is. That I don’t really love him." Her voice cracked into pieces.
Alex’s grip on the steering wheel tightened until his knuckles turned white. Rage boiled in his veins. That smug, cowardly bastard. He’d dared to touch her heart and now discarded it like it meant nothing. He would kill him. No—worse. He would make sure Lance regretted every word, every second he made her feel small.
"Don’t cry," he said gently, turning toward her. He reached out, his fingers brushing away her tears. "You remember what you said when we were fifteen? That you’d never cry over a guy because only stupid girls do?"
She nodded slowly, tears still sliding down her cheeks.
"But it hurts, Alex!" she wailed, burying her face in her hands. "It hurts so much."
"I know." He didn’t pretend to have answers. He just pulled her closer, letting her sob into his chest. "Let it out. I’m here."
They sat in silence, broken only by the sound of her crying. The world outside kept moving, indifferent. But in that moment, in that car, time stood still.
"Do you want to go to the studio?" he asked quietly after a while.
She nodded.
As he started the car, she sniffled. "How did you get here so fast?"
Alex hesitated. "I was... just nearby."
Always nearby. Always within reach. Always invisible. Always here.
She reached over and laid her hand on his forearm. "Thank you, Alex."
He kissed the top of her head, fingers lingering in her hair. "You never have to thank me. Not for this. Not ever."
The Herrera residence was quiet when they arrived. Everyone was either out or asleep. Alex led her up the stairs, past the living room and into his studio—a private sanctuary he never shared with anyone.
Except her.
The room smelled faintly of cedar and film. Soft light glowed from under a desk lamp, casting shadows over the walls lined with photographs—raw moments frozen in time. Shelves of camera equipment, scattered rolls of undeveloped film, and tacked-up Polaroids made the space feel both chaotic and alive.
"You can stay here as long as you want," Alex said, guiding her to the small couch in the corner. "I’ll get you something to eat. I’ll call your parents so they don’t worry."
Before he could move, her arms circled around his waist.
"I’m so lucky to have you," she whispered.
He stiffened for a beat. Then, slowly, his arms wrapped around her. He pressed his cheek to her hair.
"Don’t say that," he murmured. "I might start believing it."
She gave a weak laugh that barely masked the ache behind it.
"Go on," he added lightly, trying to pull her from the darkness. "Break something. Yell. Scream. I’ll clean up the mess and replace whatever you destroy."
"I’m just sad, Alex," she said, sitting on the couch with a sigh. "I’m not crazy."
He crouched in front of her, his voice tender. "I’d rather you go crazy than see you like this."
She studied him for a moment, then whispered, "Would you punch him for me?"
Alex’s eyes darkened with something fierce and dangerous. "Say the word."
A tiny smile flickered on her lips but quickly faded. She looked down.
"I’d be happy if I could have him back... Will you help me?"
Her voice was soft, but it struck him like a hammer.
He froze. Every muscle in his body locked.
She still wanted Lance.
She still wanted the guy who shattered her like glass.
He forced a breath through his nose. "Let’s talk about it later," he said gently. "You need rest."
She didn’t stop him as he stood and walked toward the door. But her eyes followed him like a ghost.
How could she tell him?
How could she say the breakup wasn’t really about her being young or naïve?
How could she admit that Lance had seen what she didn’t—what she refused to see?
That she loved Alex.
Not romantically, maybe. Not in the way she loved Lance. But enough to threaten everything else.
Because it was Alex’s arms she ran to. Alex’s number she dialed. Alex’s presence she needed like oxygen.
It was his arms she ran to when the world collapsed. It was his eyes she searched for when she needed comfort. His voice she needed in the middle of the night. Alex will always have that special part in her heart. Why can't Lance understand that she needed Alex as much as she needed him?
Her feelings were a tangled mess of loyalty, comfort, and fear.
Lance had seen it. And he had walked away.
She curled up on the floor, her back pressed to the wall beneath Alex’s collage of memories. Her arms wrapped tightly around her knees.
The silence wrapped around her like a blanket—both suffocating and comforting.
"I will have you back," she whispered into the darkness.
But even as she said it, her voice wavered.
Because somewhere deep inside, even as she said it, she wasn’t sure who she meant anymore.
- Writer
