Page 42 of The Photo
Chelsea looks to the ceiling and groans. “Rowan, you fell off the face of the earth. No pun intended.” She plonks down beside me and grabs the remote control. “How could he contact you when you’ve been on a tech hiatus?”
“He knowsyourname, don’t wangle an excuse for this shady shit. If he cared, he would have dug a bit deeper into my life and contacted someone,” I grumble, sliding my hands over Albert's silky ears.
“I guess.” Her sigh makes me feel like I’m being irrational.
When I finally get access to his feed, there aren't any new pictures. The last post was before the robbery. “He’s just gone poof,” I whisper.
“Have you seen that movie?” Chelsea asks when she turns on Netflix and finds the romcom I cried through yesterday. Yeah, I sat in a blubbering mess of hankies and headache tablets. My thoughts are hazy and obscure. I laughed when the lead character plunged into an icy lake and sobbed like a buffoon when the couple kissed at long last. It’s the head trauma side effects or my sad, dejected heart taking over.
“Yup. I watched it yesterday. Not sure it’s your thing. Do you like lead guy’s with floppy bangs and lots of mushy shit?” I say with an offhand wave of my hand.
“Ugh! Next.” She continues to scroll over the choices. “Why don’t you contact his agent, what's her name?” Chelsea suggests out of the blue.
Unimpressed by the fact I have to associate another woman with Noah, I say her name through gritted teeth. “Alexa.”
“Oh, someone’s got the moody blues today. When you hit that head of yours, did you knock all the goodness out of it?” Chelsea smirks. I growl at her sarcasm. “Do you think he’s fooling around with her?” She probes further.
“No,” I snap. “He told me they have a brother slash sister relationship.” I wiggle my fingers like bunny ears. “It’s hard to accept he spends more time with another woman, than with me, that's all.”
“Have you seen that one?” She points the remote at the television.
“Yeah, a week ago. It was shit.”
Chelsea groans again and slings the remote at me. “Find his modeling agency. Contact Alexa. Come on, Rowan, you’ve sat through too many shitty movies lately.” Her pink lips pout. “You need closure,” she concludes.
I know I do. I’ve felt the burning flames rising into something unbalanced. They’re alive, raging out of control inside me. Perhaps I’m not ready to drop the match, and blow everything up between us. “And what will I do when I get closure?” I say wistfully.
“You will move on.” Her answer is short, sweet and final.
“Right. I’ll ring her.” After a quick search on the internet, I find Noah’s modeling agency and type the number into my phone. I had no idea the company was established by a man in his late sixties.
The call goes through to the switchboard. A fast-talking receptionist puts me on hold while she connects me to Alexa Rossi’s line.
“Hello.” Her voice is confident, even with that single word.
“Alexa?”
“Speaking.”
“It’s Rowan Hudson. I’m—I was— Noah and I were.”
“Yeah. I’m aware of the situation,” she cuts in. “I don’t think we have anything to say to each other.” I sense her unease.
“Wait! Just hear me out. It’s important. I didn’t sell those photos of Noah.”
“Is this the part when you pour out a pathetic sob story in the hope it will appeal to my sensitive female nature, and I’ll fall for your bullshit like he did?”
“It’s not a fucking sob story,” I demand. “I didn’t choose to get robbed or spend days in the hospital with a concussion after free falling from my bedroom window to save myself from the psycho mad man in my apartment.” I’m trying to stand, but Albert’s body is weighty on my thighs, and I don’t have the strength to shove him off. “I lost everything, Alexa. My camera, my phone, my laptop, my equipment, my confidence, my freedom and worst of all, Noah. I thought he knew me well enough to know I’d never betray him.” I hear the strain in my voice when Chelsea’s hand brushes my arm. “They stole everything from me.” I sniff back a stupid whimper and blow out a steadying breath. “If you would kindly tell Noah that I didn’t intentionally break his trust and I’m sorry.”
“Rowan,” Alexa’s cool tone warms to a soft murmur. “I owe you an apology.”
“Why?” My brows crash together.
“Because I’m the one who convinced Noah you sold the photos. He was adamant you wouldn’t do something as hateful as that. I told him to wise up and face the facts.”
“Where is he now?” I sigh.
“He took off. I have no idea where he is.”
