Page 24 of His Problem Alpha
I open the project again, the one I just closed. The sonic portrait of Devon. It's barely started, just a few layers of sound, but it’s more real than anything I’ve created in years. It’s honest. And that makes it dangerous.
This isn't distance. This isn't forgetting. This is me falling, and I don't know how to stop.
With a sudden, violent movement, I select the entire project and hit delete. A dialog box pops up, small and innocuous, asking a life-altering question:Are you sure you want to permanently delete this project? This action cannot be undone.
My finger hovers over the 'Yes' button.Do it. Delete it. Delete him. Go back to the way things were before. Safe. Empty. Alone.
But I can't. My hand is trembling. I can't erase him any more than I can erase the feeling of his skin under my hands, the taste of him on my tongue, the sound of my name on his lips. I can’t undo the way he looked at me this morning, just before the walls went back up.
I slam the laptop shut, the sound cracking through the café's din like a gunshot. A few people look over, startled. I ignore them. It's too late. The silence in my headphones is louder than his name.
Devon
"Devon? Are you with us?"
Alissa's voice cuts through the fog, and I blink, realizing my screen has gone blurry. "Sorry, what was the question?" I straighten in my chair, trying to look like a professional who hasn't spent the last week in an emotional purgatory.
Alissa Francis—successful business owner, design mentor, and the woman who's single-handedly keeping my fledgling career afloat—sighs on my laptop screen. Her perfectly shaped eyebrow arches in that way that makes most of her employees cry.
"I asked what you thought about the alternate color palette for the rebrand. The one you suggested last week? The one we've been discussing for the past ten minutes?"
"Right. That one." I shuffle through my notes, buying time while my brain attempts to reboot. The documents blur together, nothing but meaningless shapes. I can't focusworth shit. "I think the warmer tones better reflect their, uh, commitment to customer connection."
Even to my own ears, it sounds like bullshit. This is my third meeting this week where I've completely spaced out. My brain won't stop betraying me, playing highlights of Alex's hands on my skin on repeat, the way his voice dropped when he—
"Devon." Alissa's voice sharpens. "What's going on with you? You've been distracted all week. This isn't like you."
I force a smile that feels like it might crack my face. "Just a lingering flu. Nothing serious."
"Uh-huh." She doesn't believe me. "Well, whatever 'flu' you have, I need you to kick it before our meeting with Richard Shaw next week. This is a huge opportunity, and I recommended you personally."
Guilt slams into me. Alissa took a chance on me right out of college, gave me freelance work when no one else would. And here I am, mentally replaying the way my asshole roommate's knot felt inside me instead of focusing on the job that pays my rent.
"I'll be on my A-game, I promise. Just need a few more days to get my head straight."
"Good." She softens slightly. "Because you're too talented to let whatever this is derail you. Take the weekend, sort yourself out, and come back ready to dazzle on Monday."
After we disconnect, I stare at my reflection in the black screen. I look like I haven't slept in days—dark circles, messy hair, and eyes that scream 'total wreck.'
I hate him for this. I hate that he's gotten under my skin. What I hate most is that I can't even properly hate him anymore—I'm too busy noticing the exact way he avoids looking at me when we pass in the hallway.
My phone buzzes with a FaceTime call from Lawson. Great. Perfect. Just what I need—a front-row seat to functional relationship bliss.
I answer anyway. Part masochism, part desperate need for any human connection that isn't charged with whatever the hell is happening with Alex.
"Hey, stranger!" Lawson's face appears, Noah balanced on his hip. The baby gurgles and smacks at the screen. "Look who wanted to say hi to his Uncle Devon!"
Despite everything, my face softens. "Hey, little man. Getting big, aren't you?"
"Six months yesterday," Lawson beams with that disgustingly happy new-parent glow. "Kole's just finishing up some work, but he'll be—oh, here he is."
Kole's face appears over Lawson's shoulder, his smile warm. "Devon! We were starting to think you'd forgotten about us."
"As if you'd let me," I say, my default sarcasm feeling hollow and forced. "How's parenthood treating you?"
"Sleep is a distant memory, but worth it," Lawson says, pressing a kiss to Noah's head. "But enough about us. How are you? Still dealing with the roommate from hell?"
My stomach drops. The last time we talked, I was venting about how much I hated Alex. How he was the most inconsiderate asshole on the planet. How I couldn't stand being in the same room with him.
