Page 98 of Collide

He clears his throat and starts to answer, but I’m not even listening. Some carefully polished nonsense falls from his lips, but it’s all static to me now.

I don’t even wait for him to finish. Chest tight, I turn sharply toward Riley, who’s hovering close by, wide-eyed.

“Let’s go,” I whisper, voice cold.

She nods quickly; her usual spark dulled as she scrambles to follow. “Yeah. Sure,” she breathes, falling into step beside me as we push our way out, leaving Alex—and everything I thought I knew—behind.

Back in the safety of the green room, I am seething, pacing back and forth, trying to make sense of what happened.

Why would he lie to me? Was it a game to him?I feel like such a fool. I fucking hate liars. What else has he lied about?

My mind is a flurry of fury and insecurities.

“Are you okay?” Riley asks, her voice barely a squeak.

I shake my head, unable to even articulate the rush of emotions swirling inside me at this moment.

Riley gently hands me a bottle of water, and I gulp it down, hoping it can douse the boiling rage simmering beneath my skin.

“Hey.” Her voice is soft, cautious, almost hesitant. “I don’t want to add fuel to the fire, but…”

My heart sinks further. “Go on,” I mumble, dreading whatever bombshell she’s about to drop.

“It’s about Alex,” she begins carefully, biting her lip. “There are rumors that he’s seeing someone—Madison, the actress from the panel. His co-star.”

That explains the smug look on her face.

I shake my head slowly, disbelief choking me. My throat tightens painfully, anger and embarrassment knotting inside me. Grabbing a pillow, I press it against my face, screaming silently into its soft fabric. How could I have been so stupid? This is exactly why I avoid relationships. I’m such a fucking idiot.

A gentle knock interrupts my self-loathing. I remain hidden behind the pillow as Riley moves to answer it.

“Ms. Montgomery,” one of the staff calls tentatively from the doorway.

I don’t move, face buried, silently begging for an asteroid to end my misery.

Riley answers quietly, “Yes?”

“Mr. Westerberg is here,” she announces hesitantly. “He’s…insisting,” she emphasizes softly, uncertainty coloring her voice.

“I don’t care,” I mutter stubbornly, my voice muffled by the pillow.

Even as I tell her I don’t care, my body does. My hands tremble slightly, my breath uneven. I press my palms against my thighs, forcing myself to stay in control. I won’t let him see me like this. I won’t let him know how much this hurts.

She quietly withdraws, but moments later, the knocking returns, more urgent now.

Riley sighs and swings the door open again, arms crossed.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve showing your perfectly sculpted face around here, mate,” she snaps, though even angry, his looks are enough to disarm anyone into submission.

I hear his voice before I see him—deep, frantic, but still trying to hold it together.

“Elena—” he breathes, desperation lacing every syllable.

“Just say the word, babe,” Riley murmurs, leaning close to me, “and I’ll make like Steve Irwin and crocodile-wrestle him outta here.”

Despite the fury raging inside me, a small laugh escapes, breaking through the heaviness like sunlight through clouds.

Thank God for Riley.