Chapter 42
ELIJAH
“Come on, Elijah,” Gabriel quips, moving around the kitchen, gathering a bowl for oatmeal and a mug for his coffee. “You’re the one who told me to stay with Alex.”
I pull out a carton of eggs from the fridge and slam the door a little too hard. “I told you to stay with him, not sleep with him.”
Gabriel looks up, half smile, all mischief. “Technically, I didn’t sleep with him. I just slept with him.”
As usual, he makes the words into a joke, and everything becomes less sharp.
“Brilliant, Gabriel. So we’re doing this again—illegally legal bullshit?” I set a frying pan on the burner and hit the stove light. “And get rid of the grin.”
He grins anyway, of course. Gabriel always grins. He’s got that infuriating ease about him, the kind that makes you want to throttle him, and then have lunch with him five minutes later. He drops the mug on the counter and leans against it, watching me fry eggs like I’m a magic chef.
“Is Noah alright?” he finally asks, casual, but sincere, his eyes searching my face for soft places.
Gabriel wears his heart on his sleeve. He’s never been good at hiding it. It’s written all over his face, every fear he won’t say out loud. I know he’s worried. Hell, I am too. Especially after what I witnessed. But I need him to hold steady.
“He will be,” I say. The sentence lands like a promise I’m not sure I fully believe yet. Noah’s still frail—still living in the folds of that rain. It’s going to take time, and help, and more patience than any of us want to admit—but he’ll need all of it. And we won’t let him fall.
Gabriel studies me, his brow creasing with something like relief and doubt tangled together. “You look like you need a drink.”
I snort. “More like a therapist and a shotgun.”
He chuckles, and the sound is warm and awful in the best way. “You’re being dramatic.”
“Am I?” I ask. The eggs sizzle on the stove.
The apartment hums around us. I think of Noah curled on my floor earlier, humming himself into oblivion.
Of the Bible folded, strange and holy, in his hands.
Of puzzle pieces and rain and tears and secrets stamped from New York to Paris.
All of it pressed into places that don’t yet make sense.
“We can’t leave him alone. You know that, right, Elijah?” Gabriel’s voice pulls me back. He’s leaning against the counter, coffee cup in hand, gaze steady but concerned. “I was thinking… maybe he can move in here… with us.”
The word us hangs there, heavier than it should be. Hopeful. Terrifying. Necessary.
“Here?” I nearly drop the pan as I slide the eggs onto a plate. “I thought you were happy staying at Noah’s place?”
Gabriel looks down, turning the cup in his hands like it holds a confession. “It’s hard not being here, Elijah—with you.” He swallows hard. “I want to be closer… to you, to the girls… Alex.”
I snort softly, trying to lighten the tension. “Oh, he’s gonna love that.”
He forces a chuckle, but his eyes betray him. There’s a wetness there—unspoken ache, old guilt wrapped in affection.
“Yeah. You’re right,” he says, voice cracking slightly. “He barely likes me living in the same building.”
I step toward him, brushing his untouched oatmeal aside. He doesn’t resist when I cup his face between my palms.
“Gabriel, mi amor,” I murmur. “Alex loves you.”
He laughs, shaky and disbelieving, and I stop it with a gentle press of my finger against his lips.
“It’s true,” I say softly. “Sure, you’re not his favorite person all the time—but that’s your fault.” I grin when his eyes flicker with amusement. He exhales through a reluctant small smile, and I smooth my thumb over the stubble on his cheek.
“But he loves you, chulo,” I say again, quieter this time. Not as a reassurance. As truth.
For a moment, the air between us stills, leaving only the faint hiss of the stove cooling behind me and the echo of everything we’ve been through together. His eyes search mine, unsure whether to believe or break.
“I love you,” he whispers.
“Te quiero más,” I whisper back, brushing my lips against the corner of his mouth—a kiss that says I remember us, even in the chaos. Especially in the chaos.
He closes his eyes, leans into the touch.
For a second, we just breathe together—like maybe we’ve both found the eye of the storm. Like maybe, just maybe, we’ve earned this quiet moment.
But the weight of reality always knows how to find its way back.
I feel it when Gabriel exhales into my neck. When his fingers tighten around my waist. When the silence stops being tender and starts turning thick again.
He pulls back, just enough to look at me. “Do you really think he’ll be okay?”
I glance toward the hallway, toward where Noah’s probably still curled up in Gabriel’s bed, dreaming of puzzles and rain.
“Just love him, chulo.” My voice catches, the words heavier than they should be. I reach up and gently brush the hair from Gabriel’s face—damp at the temples, curling slightly at the edges. My fingers linger against his skin, memorizing the shape of him, the warmth, the quiet ache in his eyes.
Again, he leans into the touch, barely, and I see the vulnerability behind his sarcasm, the guilt he carries, the love he’s afraid he’ll mess up again.
“Love him with everything you have,” I whisper, my thumb grazing the curve of his cheek. “Even the broken parts. Especially those.”
He nods, slowly, and I see his throat work as he swallows back whatever emotion is threatening to rise.
“And yes…” I pause, letting my hand fall to his chest, resting over his heart. “I think he’ll be okay.”