The Spotlight

Chapter 46

Gary steps past me into the flat without waiting for an invitation, his presence filling the space like smoke—overwhelming and impossible to ignore. The familiar scent of his cologne mingles with something else, something that speaks of long flights and exhaustion, and I find myself frozen in the doorway, watching him take in my home with eyes that seem to catalog every detail.

His gaze sweeps across the living room—the coffee table where we once played Scrabble with words that meant everything and nothing, the couch where he held me through fevered dreams, the kitchen where he made me soup and learned which drawer held my spoons. I can practically see the memories flickering behind his eyes, each familiar corner triggering something that makes his jaw tighten almost imperceptibly.

When his eyes finally land on me, I feel exposed in a way that has nothing to do with the light fabric of my dress. His gaze travels from my face down to the soft green midi that suddenly feels too bright, too hopeful, too much like someone who's moved on when maybe she hasn't moved as far as she thought.

"It's been a long time since I've been in here."

His voice is rougher than I remember, carrying traces of fatigue that go deeper than jet lag. The words hang between us, loaded—with all the nights he didn't come here, all the mornings I didn't wake up in his arms, all the silence that stretched between us like an ocean neither of us knew how to cross.

"You look tired," I manage, my voice small.

A bitter smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "I am. I just got off an eleven-hour flight from LA."

The weight of it crushes down on my chest. I stare at him, trying to process what he's telling me. "You got off an eleven-hour flight and came here?"

"Straight here." He corrects.

His eyes pierce through mine with an intensity that makes my breath catch. There's something desperate in his gaze, something that speaks of decisions made at thirty thousand feet and choices that couldn't wait for sleep or showers or anything resembling rational thought.

"Why?" The question tumbles out before I can stop it. "Why did you come? It's been almost ten months now since we last saw each other. Why are you here?"

The silence that follows feels like standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting to see if the ground will hold or if everything will crumble beneath my feet. Gary doesn't answer immediately, and I watch him struggle with something—words that won't come, explanations that don't exist, truths that are too complicated to untangle.

Gary runs a hand through his hair, the gesture so familiar it makes my chest ache. "I was in the studio," he begins, his voice careful and measured. "Working late. My phone went off—security alert from the house system." His eyes find mine, holding them captive. "I saw you standing at my door through the cameras."

Heat floods my cheeks, embarrassment burning through me like wildfire. "There were cameras?" The words come out strangled. Sure enough, he saw me standing there like some pathetic—

"Riley—"

"Why didn't you just call me?" The question explodes out of me, anger replacing embarrassment because anger is easier to handle. "If you saw me, why didn't you just pick up the phone instead of waiting a few weeks to fly across an ocean?"

His jaw tightens, and for a moment something pure flickers across his features before he locks it down. "I didn't want to call you." The words are quiet, deliberate. "I wanted to see you."

I look away, unable to bear the intensity in his eyes. My gaze lands on the window, on the street below where normal people are living normal lives that don't involve ex-mentors showing up unannounced after ten months of silence.