Chapter 29
ALEX
Nostalgia washes over me as I drag my feet down the hallway and step into my childhood bedroom.
Decoratively, it’s changed. Posters have been replaced by framed landscapes; the once-dark walls now painted a bright sunlight hue.
Hardwood floors gleam where carpet used to soften every step.
It’s a guestroom now. But beneath the updates, it still harbors that unmistakable warmth of home.
My phone vibrates a couple of times, and I send the calls over to voicemail.
I drop down on the edge of the bed, mind foggy and body drained. The mattress dips beneath me like it remembers every version of who I used to be.
More buzzing. Texts now. They start rolling in one after another, sliding across the screen like a shuffled deck of cards.
“Are you going to answer those?” my sister casually inquires as she crosses the room and closes the window. She grabs a light blanket from the accent chair on her way back.
“It’s Elijah,” I say softly.
As if it could be anyone else.
“I know, honey. You need to talk to him. Tell him how you feel.”
She hands me the blanket and sinks down beside me.
“Why don’t you crawl into bed and call him?” she gently urges. “Don’t lose what you have with Elijah because of what happened with Meera. He’s not her, Alex. He’s not Meera.”
I bump my shoulder into hers, offering her a weak smile. “You know, I love you, sis.”
“Love you more, little brother,” she replies, leaning in to kiss the dimple in my cheek.
It’s something Mom used to do. Dad had the same dimple, just on the opposite side.
God, I miss them.
She stands, giving my leg a soft pat. “Now go call that handsome man of yours, then get some sleep. We’ll talk more in the morning.”
I watch her leave, the soft click of the light switch marking her quiet exit. Darkness settles around me, giving me space to breathe, to climb out of my head… and to call the man I truly love.
Outside, the wind howls past the window in thick, moaning gusts. Oddly enough, it soothes me. There’s something calming in its rhythm, like nature is keeping watch while my thoughts begin to slow.
I strip down to my boxers, crawl beneath the blanket, and curl into the familiar feel of its softness.
Settling in, phone in hand, I let out a long steadying breath and bring it to my ear.
God, I was so stupid. I should have never walked out on him. He deserved a chance to explain. But I let my anger speak for me instead. Unleashed my fury. And then left.
“Hello?”
He picks up on the third ring, and my cock gives a twitch at the sound of that rich Spanish accent. I’ll never get tired of hearing it.
“Elijah.” I breathe out his name, already melting into the familiar warmth of his beautiful baritone voice. Wrapped in my blanket, I pull it tighter, cocooning myself in comfort.
Teya was right—this is exactly what I needed.
“Alex?” he asks, tentative.
“Yes, Elijah. It’s me.”
I close my eyes, letting his voice wash over me like silk.
“Are you still in my bed?” I ask, already picturing him there—naked, gorgeous, stretched out across my white sheets, waiting for me.
I crave the way he holds me, those strong, possessive arms anchoring me to something real.
I want to feel his breath on my skin.
I want him.
All of him.
“Um, Alex? This is Gabriel.”
Jesusfuckingchrist!
My eyes snap open. My jaw drops so hard, it cracks. The once-comforting wind now roars like a siren through the window, suffocating me.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t fucking breathe!
“Alex? Are you still there?”
I bite down on my tongue, hard—definitely drawing blood—as I choke back the rising sting of tears.
“Please don’t tell me you’re at my house?” I growl, voice low and shaking.
“Of course not, Alex. We are back home.”
“We—” he says it like it’s nothing. Like it’s normal. Like an everyday family affair.
He says it with authority.
Possession.
He says it like a goddamn husband!
“Put Elijah on the phone!” I snap, teetering on the edge of completely losing my shit.
I hear him exhale—a long, slow sigh—and I can picture it so clearly; his broad hand dragging through those thick waves of hair, smug and composed.
“Alex…”
The way he stretches out my name, dragging extra e’s like venom across my nerves, sends a shiver straight down my spine. His accent is so much like Elijah’s, it makes my skin crawl.
“He’s in the shower. I’ll have him call you back when he gets out, sí?”
And that’s it.
I lose my shit.
I hurl my phone across the room. It slams against the wall and shatters.
The animalistic noise that rips from my throat blends with the ferocious wind howling outside. It doesn’t even sound human.
I’m out of my bed in a flash, yanking my jeans up over shaky legs, heart pounding so loud I can barely think.
The bedroom door flies open.
Teya stands there, wild-eyed, panic and sleep clinging to her face.
“What happened, Alex? What are you doing? Where are you going?”
She fires off questions like bullets.
“Alex, stop!”
Teya’s right behind me, heavy on my heels as I yank my T-shirt over my head and barrel down the hallway.
In the kitchen, I swipe her car keys without slowing and fling open the front door, nearly tearing it off its hinges.
The wind kicks up under my feet, and I trip down two porch steps, landing heavily on my knees, ripping my jeans.
“Alex! Don’t leave! Please, Alex—pleeeeease,” she begs, the wind carrying her desperate pleas into her brand-new SUV as I throw myself inside.
I shove it into reverse and tear out of the driveway, racing down the narrow streets of Greenwich, Connecticut, headed for the one place that might still hold me together.
Gravity.
It only takes forty minutes to get into the city. Traffic’s light—almost nonexistent at this hour. My foot’s heavy on the gas as I tear down the highway, and honestly, it’s a miracle I don’t pass a single cop.
I screech to a stop outside the packed nightclub and toss the keys to the valet without thinking.
Why do I keep coming back here? Hell if I know.
There are a million bars in New York that’ll pour me something strong, and yet I end up here.
Maybe it’s because I know it will royally piss off Elijah—since I refused to go in with him that one night.
Or maybe it’s because they never cut me off, the drinks hit hard, and the bartenders are hot and plentiful.
Or… maybe it’s because I’m hoping to eat strawberries again and look into those pretty blue eyes.
And this time—
I’m diving in.
I’m taking the fucking plunge.
I’m going swimming!