Page 150 of Just My Type of wrong guy

“You flying back today?” the trembling man in my embrace asks, voice cracking.

“We haven’t booked the return flight yet,” Martha lies with a brave smile, saying they couldn’t plan ahead.

“We’re having pizza night with the band—and more cake—if you’d like to join,” A.J. finally offers, warming my heart.

“We don’t want to intrude, Anthony,” Martha whispers.

“If you were intruding, I wouldn’t have invited you,” he snaps—so I pinch his side—“but I get it if you can’t.”

“We’ll come back around seven?” Patrick ventures, since Martha can’t speak.

“Nine,” A.J. corrects, calmer. “Send the hotel address to Alex and my security will pick you up.” Patrick and Martha exchange a quick glance and nod, and A.J. smooths his pants before sliding an arm around my waist.

Together we head for the door, the others trailing behind with tentative steps. He swings it open, they step out under tentative smiles, and we all wave awkward goodbyes—no hugs. It feels strange, but I remind myself we’re all doing our best.

As soon as the door clicks shut, A.J. strides past me, jaw clenched, eyes redder than ever. In the living room, he slumps on the couch, head bowed. I have no idea what he’s feeling.

With two taps on his side, he invites me to sit. I do.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened…” I say, voice gentle. “I just want to know how you are.”

A.J. lifts his head after a long moment. His tear-filled eyes say it all. Then he shakes his head, unable to speak a single word. He moves closer and rests his head on my lap. The crying starts low, silent. With a shudder in his chest and ragged breaths, it quickly builds into muffled sobs. His hands clasp mine so tightly they almost hurt.

I don’t try to stop him or reassure him. I just stroke his back, run my fingers through his hair, let him pour it all out. Feeling his pain through my skin, I cry too.

Watching my human Labrador curled up on the sofa, I realize that when the world goes quiet, we’re all the other one has. Because we understand each other, share our hurts, and can—in a brutally honest, pure way—always be honest with one another.

And that’s so much more than I ever thought love would give me.

Chapter Forty-Five – A.J.

Heaven, when I held you again

How could we ever just be friends?

I would rather die than let you go

Until I Found You - Stephen Sanchez & Em Beihold

Some wounds never really heal; others just stick around way too long because they shouldn’t have happened in the first place. I think my story with my parents falls into that last one.

Leaving put a wedge between us. But pride and guilt — from all of us — kept it there. But different of what I always thought, talking to them wasn’t hard.

I told them about my journey with Vicious. How this band isn’t that tired cliché of unprotected sex, drugs, and lost identities. I explained that, even though Victor’s the guy at the helm, we’ve also got Carlos — and he’s the one who made this whole thing feel like family.

Even just saying the obvious — like how there’s no petty drama or fight for the spotlight in the band — made me feel lucky all over again. Lucky to be this son of a gun who gets to live off music alongside people I’d do anything for. Unlike a lot of bands out there, we’re not in it for the money. We’re in it because we’re grateful — for the way we saved each other.

We were four immigrants, chasing a dream in the one country that crushes more dreams than any other. Next Idol was our last hope, each in our own way, and knowing we’re ending our first world tour stronger than we began it is my second-greatest joy in life.

My first, without a doubt, was finding a woman who saw me as more than just the cool, good-looking guy—which, let’s be honest, I am—but Alexandra recognized I’mnot onlythat.

Being optimistic has never been a mask or a shield; I genuinely like seeing the bright side, focusing on solutions rather than problems, and, whenever I can, making life better for someone I love. But there was always a piece—small, subtle, but persistent—that knew something was missing. Like a nearly complete puzzle with one corner piece gone, only noticed if you really look.

That missing piece was my parents. And how much I missed them.

Alexandra saw that void—even when I spoke of it without hope—and had the courage I never did to reach out to them and try… That proved to me once again how right I was to fight to bring her out of her shell, and that loving her this fiercely is just the natural consequence of the care, respect, and admiration we’ve built over time.

Martha and Patrick came back that night. They met the band, talked even more with Alexandra, and made sure to thank Carlos for his constant support. As odd as it was to have them here celebrating my twenty-fifth birthday, there was something poetic about having them at the first birthday I’ve truly celebrated since leaving home.

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