Page 147 of Just My Type of wrong guy

“Oh,” Martha smiles gently, and I lift an eyebrow at the warmth in her tone. “Alexandra, sweetheart,” she says to my dad, whfo returns her smile.

It’s almost too much.

“Yeah, Alex. But I’m guessing you didn’t come all this way just to talk décor, right?” I try to keep my voice steady, but it tastes bitter.

My mom’s smile vanishes.

“I came because we deserve at least one chance to talk as adults,” Patrick says, glancing at his wife.

“And I came because I couldn’t stand living in a world where I mourn a son who’s still alive.”

Part of me wants to snap at her that it’s too late—but that’d be unfair. After all, I’m the one who left. I breathe deeply, shifting my gaze between them.

Why did you lock us out, Anthony?”

The question doesn’t come with any blame. Just hurt — and that, I recognize, because it’s the same pain I’ve been carrying.

“In a short version of the story, you guys were right: the industry is rotten, and I got burned.” I take a deep breath, scratching my neck, hoping they don’t ask for details because I’ll never be able to tell them about Big D. “When my house of cards collapsed, I had nowhere to go back to,” I say, swallowing hard. My mother’s eyes on me could make me break down, but I hold it in as much as I can.

“We waited for you to come home,” she says, and I close my eyes, forcing down the lump in my throat. My chest tightens, my eyes sting, and I stare at the floor — it’ll be impossible to look at her without falling apart. “For a long time.”

“I was sure you’d come back,” Patrick adds. “You’re our son, that’s your home. There was no reason for years of silence just because we disagreed with one decision you made…” A bitter laugh escapes him, making me look up. “But time passed, and you didn’t just stop answering, stop calling… you disappeared.”

“And you never came looking for me.” It’s an unfair accusation, but it still weighs on me whenever I think about them.

“We did,” my dad says, offended, frowning at me. “But you cut off your friends, no one knew where you were, not even that neighbor kid with all the social media skills.”

“There came a point we just didn’t know where to look,” Mom shrugs.

We’re both on the edge of breaking down.

“We thought maybe you didn’t want to be found…” Dad admits, pressing his thumb against his palm. “At first, we knew you were safe, and that’s what mattered. Your music was a hit, you had a massive agent, and Mom followed you on the dedicated Instagram profile she made. Then everything changed.”

“When?” I ask.

“When the pandemic hit,” Martha says, her voice shaking. “We didn’t know if you were all right—if you were even alive. After weeks of uncertainty and canceled flights, we managed to come here and go to your label’s office.”

“When the pandemic hit.” Martha’s voice shakes with the fear she must’ve felt. “We didn’t know where you were. If you were okay — even if you were still alive… After weeks of not knowing, and tests and travel bans… we managed to get here and go straight to the label.”

“You what?” I’m shocked, but I swallow it down, imagining how desperate they must’ve been to show up there and find… nothing.

“We tried to reach Big D. for days, but nothing.” She gives up fighting the tears, letting them fall as she talks. “We pretty much camped out at the front door until we finally caught him.”

My body almost bolts off the couch, afraid of what that man might’ve told them.

“He said some crap about you — not worth repeating,” my mom says, her voice edged with anger as another tear falls. “And he told us you’d resigned and he couldn’t help.”

“Sometimes I think even if he could have helped, he wouldn’t have,” Dad whispers.

“So you already know this side of the story,” I say, exhaling. “You know I made the worst mistake of my life choosing Big D. over my family.”

My eyes sting at the name. They exchange looks.

“We always knew he wasn’t a good choice,” Patrick says, a soft smile, almost patronizing. “But you wanted that life, it was your dream. And we failed you by not standing by your side, not giving you everything you needed to deal with a shark in the industry that we already knew could break you.”

“I was an adult—there wasn’t much you could do,” I let out a dry laugh, rolling my eyes, but the lump in my throat scrapes every inch of it.

Having them here after all this time only reminds me I lost years with my parents out of guilt, not uncertainty—and that hurts even more.

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