Chapter 5
ELIJAH
I find Alex standing by the living room windows, bathed in moonlight, his gaze fixed on the skyline. His back is to me, and for the first time, I really take in the ink that covers his body.
In this light, the puzzle pieces across his bare back are striking—complex, intentional, and somehow… vulnerable.
I reach out, unable to help myself, and run my fingertips gently over the dark lines before handing him a T-shirt.
“You’ll have to tell me about these,” I say quietly. “They’re… intriguing.”
“Don’t,” he snaps, voice sharp as his head drops.
A few strands of dark hair fall across his forehead. I brush them aside, tenderly, and his jaw tightens.
“Does Emilee know?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
His head lifts just enough for his eyes to meet mine. “What?”
“Does Emilee know… that you’re gay?”
He whips around, snatching the T-shirt from my hand with a scowl. “Does Emilee know what?”
“That you’re gay,” I say, evenly now—no judgment, just truth.
“I’m just figuring this out myself, Elijah,” Alex says, his voice tight. “I might still be straight.”
“Maybe you’re bi?” I offer gently, reaching for his hand.
He pulls it back instantly.
“Nope.”
I sigh, stepping in closer. This time, I reach for his forearms instead—giving him less of an escape, but still space.
“Don’t do this, Alex. So what if our daughters are friends? That doesn’t have to change what’s happening here… between us.”
He slaps his palms against his thighs, eyes squeezing shut. His fingers twist tightly into the fabric of his pants, and though something in his posture rattles me, I stay quiet. I can see he’s struggling, so I give him space to sort it out.
Emilee is like a second daughter to Gabriel and me. She’s here so often, it sometimes feels like Ana has a sister. It makes sense—her dad’s job in fashion keeps him constantly on the move. It’s the same reason Ana has spent just as much time at their place too.
It’s strange really… how close our lives have been without ever actually crossing paths.
Until now.
Carefully, I reach for Alex’s hand again.
This time, he lets me take it.
His eyes open slowly, cautiously, as I thread my fingers through his. His palm is damp with sweat, and I can feel the faintest tremor in his touch as I lead him gently over to the sofa.
“Are you okay now?” I ask softly, pressing a kiss across his knuckles.
He lifts his gaze to meet mine. “Considering we almost fucked, Elijah? Twenty minutes ago. In your goddamn bedroom.”
I flinch, instinctively snapping into defense. “What happened in my bedroom is—”
“I’m interested,” he interrupts, the words slipping out on a shaky breath.
I pause, gently brushing my thumb along the curve of his cheek. “Interested?”
He turns to face me fully now, lashes damp, eyes glassy.
“In you,” he confesses, voice barely above a whisper. “And I don’t know what to do about it.”
Ay, Dios mío.
Without hesitation, I wrap him in my arms. His forehead drops against my shoulder, and I feel the wet warmth of his tears soaking through my shirt. His candor is endearing. Emotions so raw; I swear I can feel them being shucked straight from his soul.
I close my eyes.
Casual hookups have never been my thing. Not before Gabriel. Not after.
And Alex needs to know—whatever this is… it might look like a fling, might even feel like one in flashes of heat and confusion.
But it’s not.
I’m drawn to him. In the same way I’ve only ever been drawn to one other person—my husband.
Slowly, Alex pulls back. His hands fumble for something on the table.
When I see the picture frame in his grip, my heart sinks.
I already know which one it is.
Gabriel placed it there years ago. And it’s never moved.
It’s a photo of a younger me, content and carefree. Before life had a chance to stain me.
Ana’s in it too, maybe five years old, nestled safely between us.
And, of course… Gabriel.
My husband.
Still my husband.
“Is this your ex-husband?” Alex asks quietly, his eyes lingering on the wedding bands looped around our fingers—our daughter cradled between us—the picture of a perfect little family.
Jesus.
How the hell do I answer that?
I’ve never been good at lying, even when I want to. And right now, there’s one sitting heavily on the tip of my tongue.
“That’s Ana’s dad,” I say instead, nodding.
An answer—just not a direct one.
The truth is, Gabriel and I have been married sixteen years. I was twenty-six when we met; he was twenty-four. We were both boarding a flight to Puerto Rico—me to visit my parents, him to visit… another man.
Gabriel’s originally from Spain. He moved to the United States at eighteen to pursue a career in art.
He was the epitome of a sex god. Shoulder-length, wavy brown hair, olive-toned skin, gray eyes, and a smile that practically invited temptation. He looked like he’d stepped straight off the cover of a romance novel.
And as luck would have it, a last-minute seating mishap bumped me to first class and landed me a seat right beside his.
By the time we landed, a short four hours later, we shirked our original plans and ventured out, hand in hand, into the heart of the island, chasing something that felt suspiciously like destiny.
“You have a beautiful family,” Alex murmurs, dragging the pad of his thumb across my husband’s face in the photo. “He looks familiar.”
I glance at my husband’s image, a soft pride blooming in my chest. “His name is Gabriel. He’s an artist—well, technically, an interior designer.
Maybe you’ve seen his work?” I try to keep the excitement out of my voice, but it slips in anyway.
“His projects get featured a lot in high-end design magazines. I think the term they like to use is ‘erotically creative,’” I add, a crooked smile tugging at my cheeks.
I gently take the frame from his hands and set it back down on the table.
“Our marriage fell apart five years ago,” I admit quietly. “But he’s still a huge part of Ana’s life. And mine.”
We may be separated in theory, but not in the traditional sense.
Not when Gabriel still lives with us.
I swallow around the tight lump forming in my throat, pushing on before the silence turns too heavy.
“He moved back to Spain after we split. Tried to build a new life there. But the distance from Ana… it was too much. He couldn’t stay away. Now he lives between Spain and New York.”
I pause, letting the weight of that settle between us.
“He’s a great father.”
And husband, I almost add, but I bite it back. Tuck it somewhere I hope Alex won’t reach.
The fact that we’re still legally married and Gabriel sleeps under this roof?
Yeah.
That’s a truth I’m not ready to unpack.
It’s complicated.
Hoping that’s enough to satisfy his curiosity, I reach up and trace the outline of Alex’s ear with the tip of my finger, letting a soft smile play on my lips.
But, of course… curiosity always wins.
“What happened?” he asks.
The sincerity in his voice hits me harder than I expect.
I cough, trying to disguise the hitch in my throat as emotion threatens to spill over.
“I honestly don’t know,” I whisper.
And, mercifully, he lets it go.
His dazzling eyes fall to half-mast as my fingers trail lower, dragging across the fabric stretched across his chest, lingering just enough to make him shiver.
He exhales, slow and uneven—somewhere between a sigh and a plea.
I lean in, press a gentle kiss to the angle of his jaw, and whisper, “Stay the night with me.”
ALEX
And just like that, I forget how to breathe.
“Elijah—”
“Alex—”
Our names stumble over each other, clashing midair like we’re both reaching for something we don’t quite know how to hold.
“Elijah,” I say again, more certain this time, though my voice is still rough. Unsteady.
“Mm-hmm...” he hums, chasing after my lips.
The sound nearly undoes me.
He pulls away, just a fraction, but I immediately miss the warmth of his mouth.
I could spend all night with those lips traveling across my body.
“Then please do. My lips would love to explore your body, Alex.”
He chuckles lightly, and I want to curl up and die from the embarrassment of blurting out my thoughts.
Unaffected, Elijah stands and flicks off the fireplace, holding his hand out to me.
For a brief moment, I hesitate—knowing if I stay the night, I’ll be crossing that line from straight to something new.
I’ve only known this man for less than twenty-four hours, and yet I’ve already dipped my toe into gay heaven…
and damn, do I want to dive back in. I want to leap across that line that divides our sexuality—sign up for everything gay heaven has to offer. A full membership. All-inclusive.
Decision made, I exhale my final breath of resignation and take his hand.