by Alexis Daria
Gabe squinted at the titles of the small pile of books stacked on the shelf above his desk. He didn’t keep many physical copies of books on hand—part of his mission to cut back on clutter—and there wasn’t anything he particularly wanted to read. Besides, he suspected if he sat around reading or watching ScreenFlix, he’d feel guilty about wasting time.
But really, when had he last had time to waste? Before going to the Bronx, his only downtime was his workouts, which he did at a friend’s gym because he needed a break from being in his own.
Gabe thought of the hours he and Michelle had spent wandering the Bronx Zoo, of petting Jezebel in the mornings—and petting Michelle at night. The time he’d spent with Michelle, he’d been fully present and in the moment, for once not thinking at all about work.
Aside from when they’d collaborated on the campaign for Agility. And at those points, his brain had gotten squirrelly because what she was showing him about his intention for the gym didn’t match what he had.
He thought about the night they’d spent in the Hudson Valley. It had been one of the most stunning and revelatory of his life. For one night, he’d gotten a taste of everything he could have with Michelle.
And he wanted it. He just didn’t know how to go after it. He hadn’t known how to fit her into his life as it had been, and now that life was falling apart. He had nothing to offer. His sense of self-worth had come from the gym, and without it . . . he was worthless.
Memories of the king-size bed they’d shared reminded him of the “only one sleeping bag” chapter of Celestial Destiny, the one Michelle had mentioned when they’d been lying beside each other. Since his laptop was open, Gabe began a search for the thirteen-year-old files. They had to be somewhere—he wouldn’t have deleted them—but he hadn’t looked for them in years and damned if he could remember what he would have named them.
After a few minutes of frustrated searching, he found them in a folder labeled “G and M Story.” Past Gabe sure hadn’t wanted to make it easy for Future Gabe to find. He copied the folder to his desktop and renamed it “Celestial Destiny,” which was what he should have called it in the first place. Inside, there were saved copies of each chapter, along with copy-pasted messenger chats detailing their brainstorming process for each “episode,” as they’d called them. He’d even saved screenshots of reader comments.
Gabe opened the first chapter and read the heading and disclaimer, which hit him with a wave of nostalgia.
Celestial Destiny: A Beyond the Stars Season 2 Fanfic
Episode 1
By BxGamer15 and ChelleBlockTango
Disclaimer: We don’t own the rights to Beyond the Stars, we’re just two fans who are mad that we finally got Latinos in spaaaaace but they were canceled after one season.
He’d written it based on other fanfic disclaimers he’d read at the time. In the back of his mind, he’d worried that the studio who’d made Beyond the Stars would sue them.
He remembered the day he and Michelle had decided to write this. How full of hope and possibility he’d been. How much closer it had brought them, an activity full of inside jokes only shared between the two of them.
Except they’d never written the end. Just one more bit of unfinished business between them.
Gabe’s eyes traveled down the screen and over the first few lines.
Zack was working his shift at the Gardaron Port cantina when someone he didn’t recognize walked in.
Gabe smiled for the first time since Fabian’s phone call the day before, and settled in to read.
Celestial Destiny
A Beyond the Stars Season 2 Fanfic
Episode 1
By BxGamer15 and ChelleBlockTango
Disclaimer: We don’t own the rights to Beyond the Stars, we’re just two fans who are mad that we finally got Latinos in spaaaaace but they were canceled after one season.
Zack was working his shift at the Gardaron Port cantina when someone he didn’t recognize walked in.
This wasn’t unusual. Planet Gardaron was a tiny outpost on the Outer Rim, but everyone who landed here went through the port. Zack was used to strangers at the cantina. In fact, it was one of the reasons he’d come here. Gardaron Port was an easy place to disappear.
So it wasn’t strange that Zack didn’t recognize this person. What was strange was that he felt like he should.
He kept wiping the bar as he watched them approach from the corner of his eye. There was something about their height, the way they walked, that pinged his memory, but he couldn’t place them. So he waited for them to reach the bar before he lifted his head.
“What’ll you have?” he asked.
The person wore a dark visor over their eyes and a cloth mask over their nose and mouth. Their head was wrapped in a scarf. He thought they might be human, but couldn’t be sure. All Zack knew was that his instincts were on high alert.
“A Vika cooler,” the person replied, their voice slightly muffled.
Were his ears playing tricks on him, or was the voice familiar? Zack just nodded and moved down the bar to retrieve a chilled glass. As he got it, he slipped his go bag onto a crate that needed to be put in the storeroom. Then he poured citrus fizz and a splash of Vika liquor into the glass and passed it to the familiar stranger.
“Any idea how long the Gardarian mechanics take?” the stranger asked. “The ones closest to the port.”
“Not long,” Zack replied. “But you’ll want to check all your diagnostics before you take off. They’re notorious for unfinished business.”
“I know all about unfinished business,” the person muttered, and slapped some credits on the bar. They were Salazarin coins. Those plus the scar on the back of her—he knew it was her now—hand told Zack all he needed to know. He scooped up the credits, tossed them into the register. Ignoring the group of Remyrian traders at the end of the bar trying to get his attention, Zack hefted the crate—and his go bag—and headed for the back room.
As soon as he was out of sight of the bar, he ditched the crate, strapped on his backpack, and slipped on his own mask. The air quality on this planet wasn’t great, plus the mask helped disguise his identity. Pulling his hood over his head to cover his hair, which he’d let grow long while in hiding, he ducked out the back door and took off at a run.
Halfway down the alley behind the cantina, a stun shot hit the wall beside his head and he veered off to the side. A quick glance over his shoulder told him what he already suspected: she was following him.
“Stop running away!” she shouted after him.
“Not a chance in Volcanor,” he muttered behind his mask, and ran harder. If he could just make it to the port’s main hub, he could catch a ride on the next ship—any ship—off planet. And then he’d find somewhere else to hide.
A shame, really. He was finally getting used to Gardaron.
He was almost there when someone turned a corner and crashed into him like a rampaging trihorn, taking him to the ground. They fell in a writhing tangle of limbs and Zack, though bigger and expertly trained by the finest soldiers in the Salazarin army, soon found himself facedown on the dusty ground with a stunner pressed to his throat.
His attacker spoke. “I could stun you, but then I’d have to drag your heavy ass back to my ship, and I’d rather not do that.”
Zack sucked in a breath, the mask sticking to his face. “I knew it would be you.”
She hesitated before asking softly, “How?”
Part of me has always been waiting for you, he thought. But he didn’t say that.
Instead, he hardened his voice. “Tell my father I’m never going back.”
“I would, but it was your mother who hired me.”
“My mother?” Shock mixed with fear, betrayal, and something close to happiness. Heedless of the stunner, Zack rolled over to look his old friend in the face. “She’s alive?”
She pushed the visor up on her forehead, revealing the amber-colored eyes that would’ve given away her identity immed
iately. Dark wisps of hair were visible at her temples, and despite the mask, his brain filled in the remaining details of the face he’d known so well. A mouth that was made for smirking and smiling, a nose she turned up at him when he was being an ass, despite his higher status.
“Riva . . .” he whispered, reaching for her.
A jolt of electricity tore through him, scrambling his thoughts and stealing his consciousness.
She’d stunned him.
Chapter 25
Michelle did what she always did after emotional upheaval. She flirted with burnout.
There was regular client work, and a few other inquiries had come in while she was with Gabe. She accepted everything and overloaded her schedule, which gave her the perfect excuse to turn her cousins down when they tried to get her to leave her apartment.
Except, this time, work wasn’t cutting it. Simple layout designs and social media graphics weren’t providing the kind of challenge she needed to make her stop thinking about Gabe. They filled the hours, but not her thoughts.
Not only that, Michelle was sad to let the Agility project go. She’d enjoyed working on it, flexing those muscles that she hadn’t used since quitting her job. While she’d drummed up enough freelance work to pay her bills and keep herself busy, she’d stuck to simpler projects that didn’t require a ton of input or creativity from her, mostly just moving text and pictures around on the screen. It had been a while since she’d led a project, doing all the research and ideation, formulating a plan, and she’d missed it. She’d been looking forward to the rebrand, too, and had put together a whole package for Gabe to take back to his team.
She’d started drafting at least twenty emails to him, and twice as many text messages, but she’d deleted them all before sending. The bedroom was still off-limits, so she’d been sleeping on the sofa since returning home. It was mostly fine, but her pillow had fallen on the floor the previous night and she hadn’t noticed, so she’d woken that morning with a vicious crick in her neck. Yoga had helped a little, but not enough, especially since she’d been spending so much time sitting at her desk. She’d been thinking about installing a standing desk—or rather, having her dad install it—but she had twelve browser tabs open for different desk options and hadn’t gotten around to ordering one yet.
In short, she was a mess.
Michelle was sending final image files to Jamilette, a regular client who owned a Dominican hair salon uptown, when a new email landed in her inbox, from one Rocky Lim.
Her heart beat double time when she saw the name, and for a second she was sure Rocky was reaching out to her on Gabe’s behalf. But the subject line read “Marketing project,” so that seemed unlikely.
Still, her throat was tight when she clicked on the email to open it.
After skimming the details, she relaxed. Rocky had been impressed with her after their meeting, and he was wondering if she’d take him on as a client to help him launch a men’s cologne.
Michelle jotted down ideas in her notebook as she read through the email again, her mind already whirling. Opening a new browser tab, she took a quick look at other fragrance campaigns to see which stood out to her, and which were blah. She looked at Rocky’s website, reading over his bio and film credits, then checked out his Instagram. He had a huge following on there, and a ton of modeling shots for other brands and publications. It made sense for him to come out with his own product.
Two hours later, her eyes were glazing over, and she realized she hadn’t gotten up to eat, drink water, or go to the bathroom at all during that time. Glancing down at her notebook, she flipped through the notes and sketches she’d jotted down, and was amazed to see she’d filled six pages.
Wow. She hadn’t even felt the time passing. Her mind had been fully engaged by researching and brainstorming a project she wasn’t even officially attached to yet.
She dashed off a reply to Rocky, letting him know her availability so they could set up a call. Then she closed her laptop and got up to stretch, feeling better than she had in days.
As she took care of basic needs—using her brand-new bathroom, drinking a large glass of water, and eating what was left of her chicken shawarma pita from the night before—she thought about how differently she’d responded to Rocky’s email compared to her current workload. Rocky was asking for the same kind of work she’d done for Gabe, and she could no longer ignore how much she’d enjoyed working on Gabe’s project, and how much more fulfilled she felt when she was engaging those creative parts of her brain.
The truth was, she wasn’t content to do basic layout design for the rest of her life. She wanted to get all up in a project, from the beginning stages to the final steps. She wanted her fingerprints all over it and the freedom to make decisions, instead of the graphic design equivalent of busywork.
When she returned to her desk, she opened up the back end of her own website. On a whim, she changed the copy on the “Services” page, expanding it to include branding and marketing packages, and raising the prices. Then she registered a new domain name and an LLC, rewrote her bio, redesigned the website layout, and sketched out a new logo.
By the end of the day, Jezebel Creative Solutions was live.
Michelle glanced at the time. Shit, she had to get moving. But there was one more thing to do.
She drafted a quick email to all of her clients, notifying them that she was getting back into the marketing and branding game, and linking the new “Services” page. And she offered a 15 percent discount for those who contracted with her in the first month.
After she sent the email, she sat back in her chair and just stared at the screen.
She’d done it. After almost two years in limbo as a freelancer, she’d taken the step to officially start her own business and get back to the work she loved doing.
And it was all thanks to Gabe.
Beyond spending time with him, she’d enjoyed the work. It had made her feel more like herself than she had in a long time, and not just because Gabe was there, reminding her of who she used to be. It was something clients like Jamilette had begged her to do, but she’d resisted, packing that part of herself away because it had reminded her of Nathaniel’s betrayal and brought up the fear of burning out again.
But who was she really punishing here? Not Nathaniel, who probably never spared her a second thought.
Not her old bosses, who didn’t give a shit if she had good work-life balance or not.
Only herself.
And wasn’t it time she stopped doing that?
Jezebel Creative Solutions was the first step. The next step was right behind a door at the end of her hall.
It was also time she stopped sleeping on the sofa.
Yes, the bedroom reminded her of Gabe. Yes, it hurt that he’d left. Yes, she’d asked him to stay, and he hadn’t.
But at least this time, she’d asked for what she wanted. She hadn’t let anger get the better of her, making her say things she later regretted. As much as it pained her to think of him, she didn’t regret opening up. Those days with him had been the most emotionally satisfying of her life. She’d allowed herself to be vulnerable. To be seen. To ask for what she wanted. How many people never felt that in their whole lives?
She’d once been one of those people. And now that she’d felt it, she’d always know.
She deserved better. And she would survive, no matter what.
After a quick shower, Michelle did a light cleaning pass over the apartment before Ava arrived, so it didn’t look like the home of someone in the throes of heartbreak.
When Michelle had canceled on family dinner with her parents, her mom had texted Ava, pinging her Primas of Power radar. Like the Capricorn she was, Ava had sent a firm I’m coming over and making you dinner text. Jasmine was in Los Angeles doing a press junket, or else she’d be showing up at Michelle’s door tonight too.
When Ava arrived, Michelle had spread out light appetizers and wine on the coffee table, and put all her bedding from the
sofa back in the closet. No one needed to know about that part.
They sat on the sofa with Jezebel between them, and Michelle showed her cousin the new website.
“This is amazing, Mich,” Ava exclaimed. “You did all this today?”
Michelle nodded. “Getting that email from Rocky lit a fire under me. This is really what I’ve wanted to do all this time.”
She’d just been scared to take the leap. For all this time, she’d been doing something she was good at, instead of what she was great at.
Ava clicked the “About” page and even though Michelle had written it, she read her new bio over Ava’s shoulder.
Located in the backyard of New York City’s Theater District, Jezebel Creative Solutions brings drama, excitement, and flare to our clients’ strategies and visuals. Founded by Michelle Amato, an award-winning marketing and branding consultant, we offer out-of-the-box campaign solutions to corporate clients and small businesses alike, to help you turn ideas into reality and dreams into success.
After Ava finished reading, she passed the laptop back to Michelle and reached for her shoulder bag.
“I think it’s the right time to give you this,” Ava said, pulling out a cardboard tube.
Michelle took the tube and examined the label. “This is the collage. I told you to throw it out.”
Ava’s smile was smug. “And I didn’t. Because I knew at some point, you’d be ready to see it. I think you’re ready now.”
Grumbling, Michelle used the cheese knife to slice the packing tape at the end of the tube. Opening it, she reached in and gently pulled out the rolled sheet of photo paper. Her heart twisted when she looked at it, but a smile tugged at her lips.
She’d compiled photos of herself and Gabe from their visit to the Bronx Zoo, their day in Manhattan, the shopping trip, and the quinceañera, combining them with a few old photos from their childhood and high school years. There was a Halloween picture from the year Gabe had dressed as a Jedi and Michelle had been a vampire. Another from Michelle’s thirteenth birthday party, when they’d gone to Jones Beach. Gabe in his baseball uniform and Michelle in a school play, the two of them sitting on the steps of her house and playing on the swings in his backyard, the first day of middle school and their high school graduation.
