EPILOGUE —Alexander #2
“Oh my, these look so yummy,” Kathryn says, peeking inside the box. Her eyes light up, excitement written all over her face, almost identical to how Lucas looks when it comes to food.
I give her a slight nod and straighten up. “Where’s Lucas?”
“He fell asleep while we were watching a TV show,” she says as we walk through the main area. She heads toward the kitchen, Milo trailing after her, while I turn toward the living room.
Lucas is asleep on the couch, one arm hanging off the side, his hair slightly messy. A small smile finds its way to my lips before I can stop it. Even asleep, he has that effect on me.
I walk toward him and crouch down, my hand brushing gently through his hair.
His face is soft and peaceful, the kind of peace I used to pray he’d find.
It warms something deep in my chest, seeing him like this.
It’s been one hell of a road. The anxiety, the sleepless nights, the days when he needs the quiet and just wants to be alone with his thoughts, but I’ve loved him through all of it.
I stood beside him even when he couldn’t stand himself.
And I’m thankful he’s so much better now.
Two months ago, on the fifth of September, we celebrated our first anniversary.
September fifth — the day everything changed for us.
It’s the day we had our first kiss last year, and Lucas swears he could never forget it.
He said that night felt like a reset, like someone had finally seen him, really seen him, and made him feel special.
Because of that, he wanted the date marked for our anniversary, and I agree because the date is carved into me, too.
That kiss did something to me. The moment his lips touched mine, I knew I was done for. Completely. Like every piece of me had been waiting for him all along, like my entire world had quietly tilted and found its orbit around one person. Him.
That night, I made a promise to myself that I’d spend every day making sure no one would ever get to hurt him, including myself. That I will adore him for the rest of my life.
And even now, more than a year later, it still feels the same.
I still fall for him. Every day. Every hour. Every damn second that I look at him.
“God,” I whisper, as my eyes roam his beautiful face, my thumb tracing his jawline. “I love you so damn much.”
He stirs, breathes in deeply, then exhales. His brows knit together for a moment, confusion flickering across his face before his eyes slowly flutter open, and when he sees me, something like relief floods them.
“Hey, baby,” I sign, knowing he’s not wearing his hearing aids.
His sleepy smile blooms, soft and radiant, and it fills my chest with a warmth I can’t name.
He sits up, moving instinctively into my arms, pressing his face into my neck, and inhaling like he hasn’t breathed right without me here.
I hold him closer, letting him know I’m here for him.
Always. After a while, he pulls back just enough to look at me, eyes still heavy with sleep, but now bright.
“How was the exhibition?” he signs.
“Boring as always,” I sign back, studying his face. “How are you feeling?”
He’s been sick all week, and had me worried to death when he couldn’t even eat on the first day, and the next day during Thanksgiving dinner. But yesterday he finally started eating again. That alone had felt like a victory.
“I feel fine,” he signs, lips curving up a little. “But I’m just so hungry I can eat a whole house.”
I smile. “There’s a box full of pastries and coffee waiting for you in the car,” I sign back.
I’m still not fluent in ASL, not yet. However, I’ve learned a great deal from online lessons and from him. Lucas teaches me whenever he can. He also uses it often, even when he speaks — it’s become our little tradition, a rhythm that belongs to us.
His face lights up with that boyish, heart-stopping excitement.
“Large caramel iced coffee with extra caramel syrup?” he signs, eyes gleaming and face lighting up with heart-stopping excitement.
“Yes, krasivy,” I say with a smile, then lean in ready to kiss him, but before I can, Milo comes barreling toward us barking and wagging his tail. He scrambles up between us, tongue out, demanding attention.
“Fine, fine. I’ll give you attention,” Lucas says with a laugh, his voice still raspy from sleep as he rubs the dog’s belly. Milo wriggles with joy, the room echoing with the soft sounds of his happy snorts.
“Will you two stay for dinner?” Kathryn’s voice drifts from the kitchen doorway. “I’m making lasagna.”
“We can’t,” I reply, glancing at Lucas before turning back to her. “We’ll be heading out soon. There’s somewhere I need to take him. Milo will stay with you for the night.”
“Oh, alright,” Kathryn says with a small nod, her eyes darting toward Lucas, who’s now fitting in his hearing aids. “You’re leaving already? What about the pastries you brought? There are so many.”
“They’re for you,” I tell her simply.
“What are you two talking about?” Lucas asks as he adjusts his hearing aids, blinking up at us.
“Oh, nothing serious,” Kathryn says with a nervous laugh. “Just asking if you’d stay for dinner — and what I should do with all the pastries Alex brought since you’re running off already.”
Lucas grins, his expression softening. “You said mine’s in the car, right?”
I nod.
“Then share the pastries with the people at your recovery group, Mom,” He says gently, giving her that kind, patient smile that always gets to me. “You’re going today, right?”
“Shoot, that’s right.” Kathryn chuckles and shakes her head. “It’s Sunday, I almost forgot.”
Kathryn has been attending a small recovery group for months, and it’s been helping her.
She says those meetings remind her why she chose to stay sober.
Lucas is proud of her for that. I can see it in the way he looks at her, in the soft patience he reserves only for her.
I think she tries harder because of him.
After they finish talking about their plans for the week—some shopping trip they’ll do together later—we finally head out.
Once we’re in the car, Lucas takes a long sip of his coffee and lets out a deep, satisfied sigh.
“Just what I needed,” he says, beaming at me.
“I know,” I reply, starting the engine and pulling onto the road.
A second later, he opens the pastry box on his lap and gasps. “Oh my God—there’s one of everything!” His eyes are bright, almost sparkling. “Alex, where did you get this? They look and smell so delicious.”
He doesn’t even wait for me to answer. He picks up a strawberry Danish, studies it like it’s a masterpiece, then takes a huge bite. A soft moan escapes him as he throws his head back against the seat, eyes fluttering shut.
I chuckle, keeping my eyes on the road. I can feel his glare before I even see it.
“Don’t laugh,” he says, muffled around another bite. Then he holds out the Danish to my mouth. “This is really good. Here, try it.”
I lean in for a bite. He’s right, it’s perfect. Sweet, buttery, a little tangy. I nod approvingly, and that earns me one of his satisfied little smiles. He looks down at the box, reading the sticker.
“Agnes Patisserie,” he reads aloud, already reaching for a Biscoff cinnamon roll. “Guess I’ve found a new place to spend all my money.”
“It’s owned by one of my family’s former chefs,” I tell him.
He tries to offer me another pastry, but I shake my head. He pouts—a fake, exaggerated one, but it disappears the second he stuffs the pastry into his mouth and groans again, eyes closing with bliss.
“The place is still pretty new,” I continue, glancing at him, “quiet and cozy too.”
“Oh, that’s nice,” he says, licking a bit of glaze off his thumb. “I’ll check it out. Is it far from my apartment or school?”
“No,” I say. “Just a few minutes’ drive.”
He nods thoughtfully, then gives me that shy smile that always manages to undo me.
“Thank you for getting these for me, my love.”
“You’re welcome, krasivy,” I reply softly.
He leans back in his seat, still nibbling at a pastry.
“Where are we going, by the way?”
“I already told you,” I say, hiding a small smile. “It’s a surprise.”
He groans softly. “Your surprises are so hard to predict.”
When I turn into the gated community where my family lives, I see his brows lift in surprise. He sits a little straighter, peering out the window as though trying to piece it together.
“Are we visiting your mom?”
I shake my head, keeping my expression neutral. He huffs, a quiet sound of mock impatience, but the small pout forming on his lips gives him away.
I drive past my parents’ estate without slowing down, and I can feel his eyes on me again—curious, searching, soft.
He doesn’t ask this time, maybe realizing I won’t tell him, and when I drive past Viktor’s family estate where Tyler works, he lets out a dramatic sigh and slouches in his seat.
I laugh under my breath, watching him out of the corner of my eye.
After a few more minutes, I turn up the hill and stop in front of a tall black motor gate. Lucas lifts his head, eyes narrowing in curiosity as the gate slowly opens.
“Alex…” he starts cautiously, but I only reach for his hand and squeeze it once.
The car glides up a curved driveway lined with towering palm trees, and a beautiful garden surrounds it.
From the corner of my eye, I see him turn toward the window, his lips parting slightly, his expression shifting from confusion to awe.
The car slows to a stop in front of a soft cream-colored Mediterranean-style mansion, the light catching its smooth walls, terracotta roof tiles, soft archways, and tall windows framed by dark iron balconies.
Two large planters filled with green palms flank the short set of stairs leading to the entryway, where a stone fountain trickles softly in the center. Everything about the place feels calm, beautiful, and peaceful, like the kind of place meant to be home and waiting to hold memories.
Lucas turns to me, utterly baffled, “Who owns this? Who are we visiting?”