Chapter Ten
A Piece of the Puzzle
Gabe
Although not in the same bed, falling asleep next to Ender felt intimate on a different level. Exhausted from the day, the pace of his breathing eventually slowed down and finally he looked at peace.
I know he's started to dream when he lets out a soft whimper. I watch, wondering what he's dreaming about. I hope whatever it is, it's a good dream—maybe he's even dreaming of me. What if he says my name?
All my hopes go out the window when I hear him softly cry out, “Leave her alone” shortly followed by, “Mom.” I freeze, holding my breath, waiting to hear anything else.
He uttered no other words the rest of the night.
I know because I haven’t slept a wink since, even after his phone died just before sunrise.
I couldn’t get to work fast enough, looking for Luke to ask him questions I shouldn’t be asking. When I don’t find him anywhere in the restaurant, it dawns on me I told him to take the day off today to spend time with Kaden after last night’s fiasco.
In a way, I’m relieved Luke isn’t here—at least now I don’t have to be snooping into Ender’s private life behind his back.
I have this sinking feeling that Ender leaving my house that night has something to do with his past, probably his parents.
Did something happen to them? It would make sense since I found literally no mention of any family of Ender’s during my… research.
I’m finishing up payroll and scheduling for the coming weeks when a text comes in from the only person on my mind for weeks now, instantly putting a smile on my face.
Thank you for last night.
I resist the urge to call him without permission, but after last night, the need to see him is even stronger. Before responding, I checked in with our managers to make sure they can handle things—I’m taking the day off to spend with Ender.
Do you have plans today?
The wait is excruciating, not knowing if he’s even seen the message yet. I don’t care what we do, I just need to see him.
What do you have in mind?
I guess I’m winging this.
Rage room?
Sure, but should I be worried? You’re not trying to lure me there just to hit me over the head with a crowbar, are you?
*thinking face emoji*
I wasn’t planning on it, but now that you mention it…maybe? *shushing face emoji*
JK! Seriously, just get ready. Send me your address. See you in an hour.
Before he can tell me no, I send him a GIF of Sophia from The Golden Girls with the caption ‘Let’s Roll,’ which earns me a laughing emoji.
We were lucky they still had an opening for today—the earliest one is in a couple of hours.
I’m a little flustered when I pull up to Ender’s building, unsure if I should try to meet him at his door or just text him—I haven’t dated in a very long time.
Fortunately for me, I see Ender waiting outside.
“Fair warning, I have mace on me. Just in case you get any smart ideas,” he says with a playful smirk, leaning down into the car before taking his seat.
“Kinky,” I reply, adding a wink with my grin. A light shade of pink spreads from his neck straight up, meeting his ears and flushing his naturally pale skin. It makes my mouth water just remembering the taste of him on my tongue.
Once we hit the road, Ender takes over as DJ. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like how he makes himself at home in my car, connecting his phone to my car’s Bluetooth.
The first song on his playlist throws me back to my early teens—MakeDamnSure by Taking Back Sunday always hit the spot. I still know the lyrics by heart, even though I haven’t heard this song in ages, and we end up performing our own private concert as we sing along together.
In the brief moments I get to look away from the road in front of us, I find the brilliant smile I first saw in the photos from the concert in Atlanta.
Witnessing this genuine happiness radiating from him.
He’s radiating real, genuine happiness while he sings, and I realize music might just be the key to his heart.
It’s mesmerizing.
At the next red light, he lowers the volume. “You’re acting like a total creeper, staring at me like that.” He shakes his head in amusement, blessing me with that one-sided smile of his. Like the north pole of a magnet seeking its south, his eyes reconnect with mine.
“Sorry, I didn’t realize I was staring,” I reply, but I don’t break our shared gaze. I wonder if the tenderness in his expression matches my own.
We stay locked on each other in our own little world, until the blaring horn of the car behind us finally registers, and I realize the light probably turned green a while ago.
The rest of the drive passes in silence, and all the while, I think about Ender, reflecting on every side of him he’s shown me since we met.
I love the way he teased me, and told me what he wanted, but ultimately took control of the bedroom.
And then there's the side that walked out on me.
That haunted, hurting side of him that I wish I could hold. That I wish I could heal.
I reach out, lacing my fingers through his and resting them on his leg. I notice the way his gaze flicks down to our clasped hands and stays there, like he’s afraid if he takes his eyes off them, they might disappear.
I squeeze his hand lightly. “You okay over there?”
“I’m good, no complaints over here.” The smile he offers me is sincere, his hand returning with a firm squeeze. I’m more and more enamored with him every moment we’re together.
We make it to the rage room in North Charlotte with time to spare, taking a seat and making small talk in the waiting area. Our hands find their way back to each other, and it doesn’t go unnoticed the way his body shudders the moment we touch.
“Kyle? Is that you?” I look up and see a guy around our age walking up to us, staring at Ender—why is he calling him by a different name?
When I turn to Ender, his eyes are wide with recognition, but he makes no attempt to correct him.
When seconds go by and Ender still doesn’t respond, I decide to intervene.
“Hey, no offense but I think you have the wrong guy. His name isn’t Kyle.”
He looks at me, his forehead crinkles and then turns back to Ender.
“Kyle Matthews. C’mon man, you don’t remember me?
Scottsdale High?” Ender just keeps staring straight ahead, jaw clenching, and I see his Adam’s apple move.
“Matt Rogers. We were in back-to-back calculus classes senior year. We crammed for every exam together.”
I give the guy one more chance for Ender to acknowledge him before politely telling him, again, that he’s mistaken. Once Matt leaves with confusion written all over his face, I address the still-stunned man next to me. “Ender, are you okay? Did you know that guy?”
I barely get out my questions before he’s on the move, walking briskly toward the exit. I don’t know whatever Ender is running from, but whatever it is, I can tell it’s deep. Deeper than what most people faced at his age, I’m sure. And I don’t think it’s his fault.
The white locks of his low hung head whisp around in the breezy afternoon as I follow him toward the car.
He keeps his head hung low, his shoulders tense in a way that mirrors my own anxiety—even as I force calm into my steps.
As much as I want to ask him all the questions swirling through my mind, I know I need to give him a chance to gather himself. This isn't about me.
“Can you take me home?” he says softly without looking up at me. “If it’s a problem, I can call an Uber.”
I lift his chin, leaning into him but still keeping my distance—I’ll give him the space if he needs it.
“When you’re ready to talk about it, we can.
Until then, don’t assume how I will react.
I know what you’re doing up here…” My palm caresses his face with an index finger tapping on his temple. “Don’t do that—not with me at least.”
He ends my attempt to soothe him when he pulls away, and his eyes wander everywhere except me. “You’ll leave once you find out how much baggage I come with, so you might as well go now.” With a grimace, his eyes finally find mine.
“Yeah, we’re not doing that either.” My jaw ticks in frustration, but I can only imagine why he feels this way. “I can make my own decision on what I can and can’t handle.”
I don’t give him a chance to look away this time. His skin is warm in my palms, but when I lean in to kiss him, his lips resist mine. Around clenched lids, his lashes dampen with the emotions I’ve seen him trying to hide since we met.
“Ender,” I say softly, brushing up against his cheek. “Can I take you home with me?”
From the way his body stiffens, I’m worried he’ll say no. Then his lips brush across my neck and he responds with a whispered, “Okay.”
The car ride home was quiet—the air thick with silent emotions. Ender stared out his window while I held his hand, to the point I feared I might cut off circulation. I needed him to know he wasn’t alone.
We walk into the house, and I lead him directly to the bedroom, delicately undressing him down to his boxer briefs before I help him under the covers. When I climb in next to him, his heated skin against mine sends tingling sensations all over my body, raising the hair on my arms.
Ender’s light snoring comes quickly, leaving me alone with my thoughts, while still trying to figure out why Matt thought Ender’s name was Kyle.
After hours of contemplating scenarios, Ender begins to stir, and the only logical answer I’ve come up with is that he changed his name since high school.
This also explains why I couldn’t find anything on the internet about him before college.
All of this leads to the even bigger question—Why did he change his name?
“Have you been creepily watching me the whole time I’ve been asleep?” Ender says, his face still buried in the crook of my neck.
“Possibly.”
“I’m fine. You can stop worrying about me.” He sounds adamant about shutting me out.
“I’m just trying to get to know you better, Ender.” I sigh in frustration. “I’ve been trying for weeks now.”
Ender tenses beneath my arm, and his hand, which had been resting quietly against my hip, locks onto me. It's like he's fighting a war within himself, desperate to keep his guard up, but determined to hold on.
“There’s no rush to tell me what happened. When you’re ready, I’ll be here.” I pull him tighter against me and mumble against his head, “Just don’t push me away.”
“Can we just hangout and not talk about any of this? Please.”
“That sounds like a great idea. Can I finally cook dinner for you, or should I just grab you a bag of candy?” That earns me a slight chuckle.
Tapping his ass to get us moving, I grasp his hand and lead him to the bathroom. I hand him a toothbrush before I start the shower and say, “Scalding or room temp?”
I’m thankful when he responds with, “Scalding, please.”
As the steam starts to rise, Ender rids himself of his boxers and steps under the water.
Grabbing a fresh washcloth from the cabinet before following him in, I step up from behind and begin washing his shoulders and back.
He starts rotating his neck, trying to loosen his muscles while I massage him.
When he reaches behind to pull me closer by my ass, he drops his head back onto my shoulder. “Gabe, you don’t have to treat me like I’m your grandma’s favorite dinner plates. I won’t break if you’re naked while you shower with me.”
“Stop making assumptions, Ender. I don’t need to be naked to take care of you.” Kissing his temple, I continue washing his chest and stomach while he rests against me.
His hands wander and my body refuses to cooperate—my dick strains against my wet boxers. I’m determined to keep this on track when I hand Ender the soaped-up washcloth and motion for him to finish washing himself.
“You’re being ridiculous.” He sighs, completing the task himself.
My fingers dig into his hips—my willpower hanging on by a thread—as he slowly starts to stroke himself. He hums contentedly and continues pushing his ass back into me until my cock rests in his crease.
Jesus Christ, I only have so much willpower.
I take a step back, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath.
“Finish washing up, Ender,” I say as I lean against the wall at a safe distance until he’s done.
Still, he continues to taunt me, bending over and popping his ass out, taking his time searching for the washcloth he not-so-innocently dropped.
I open the stall door, ordering him to exit with a finger, so I can wash up alone.
By the time I undressed and finished washing up, Ender had found sweatpants that somewhat fit him.
My sweats hanging low under his barely defined Adonis belt make my tongue quiver with the desire to lick it, and the way he looks at me—like he wants to devour me, has my willpower barely holding on by a thread.
“You need to stop. This is not going to happen.”
Ender huffs and walks out the door, stomping down the stairs to further his point. “This is ridiculous.”
“You’ll thank me later,” I holler back at him.
"Doubt it!" he yells back. Stubborn fucker.
When I come downstairs, I decide to go straight to the kitchen and start cooking dinner—I don’t acknowledge him until the food is ready.
Ender completely ignores me too, aside from a mumbled ‘thank you’ when I set his plate on the coffee table in front of him.
The commentators gearing us up for the Bruins vs.
Kings game would usually make me gag and change the channel, but given the current conditions, I leave it be.
This may be a dumpster fire waiting to happen.