Chapter 10 - Lena
LENA
The room is warm and quiet. My legs are shaky, my heartbeat's all over the place, and Gabe's sitting at the foot of the bed like he's afraid to move. He's got his elbows on his knees and his head down, breathing slowly, like he's trying not to break anything, including me.
I pull the sheet over my chest and sit up a little. I want to tell him to get dressed. I want to tell him to leave. I want five years of anger to finally land. But my mouth won't open. I just sit there watching the muscles in his back tense and release.
He speaks first.
"I'm not gonna push you," he says quietly. "I'm staying in town a few days. If you want space, take it. If you want to talk, I'll be around. If you want to pretend none of this happened, I'll follow your lead." He drags a hand down his face. "I don't want to make this harder."
The kindness almost hurts more than the sex did. I grip the sheet tighter.
"You don't have to treat this as all or nothing," I say.
He lifts his head like he didn't expect that. His eyes hit mine, and something inside my stomach flips.
"I don't want to make anything worse," he says.
"Worse would be you disappearing without looking at me." My voice comes out rough. "Just… it's okay. We can see where this goes."
He nods once, slowly and carefully.
I straighten against the headboard. "I want to ask you something."
"Ask."
I swallow. "Do you want to see him in the morning? For breakfast."
His whole body goes still. His eyes light up, so warm, I have to look away for a second. It hits me straight in the chest, sharp and sweet and awful.
"Yes," he says. "Yeah. I want that. I want that more than anything."
My throat aches. I shouldn't feel anything like this, not after five years of patching myself up alone, but it pours in anyway.
He clears his throat. "Can I take you both out? Somewhere he likes. Or anywhere you want. I don't care where."
I stare down at the sheet and twist the edge around my fingers. I picture Jace pointing at pancakes, kicking his legs under the table, leaning into Gabe like he did earlier. It's too much. It's everything I said I didn't want. It's everything that scares me.
"I need a second," I say.
"Take it."
I breathe slowly until my pulse stops pounding in my ears. Saying no would be easier. Safer. But it would carve a hole in my kid. And maybe in me too, if I'm honest.
I lift my head. "Yeah," I say. "You can take us out. Breakfast is fine."
Gabe exhales, and his whole chest loosens, like he's been carrying that breath for years.
"I'll try not to screw this up," he says. "I'm not great at slow. I'm learning. For him. And for you, if you’ll let me."
"I'm not promising anything."
"I know."
I slide the sheet over my legs and stand. "I should clean up."
He nods, bends to grab his clothes, and starts getting dressed. I watch him pull his shirt over his head, watch the way his shoulders settle once he has fabric between us again. He zips his jeans and runs a hand through his hair.
I clear my throat. "Gabe."
He looks up fast. "Yeah?"
"If you hurt him," I say, "I'll never forgive you."
His jaw tightens. "I won't."
"And if you hurt me again," I add, softer but sharper, "I won't come back from it."
He steps closer, slow, like he's approaching a wild animal that might bolt. "I hear you."
I hold the sheet tighter around myself. "Good."
He moves to the door. Before stepping out, he glances back one last time.
"Thank you for letting me stay," he says. "I know that wasn't easy."
I don't answer. I can't.
He takes the hint and leaves the room, then the house. The door clicks behind him, and the quiet hits me like a heavy wave.
I sit on the edge of the bed, sheet wrapped around me, legs still shaking, heart still spiraling.
I want to tell him to come back.
I want to lock the door forever.
Sleep barely touches me. I drift in and out, the room too warm, my thoughts too loud.
Every time I start to relax, I remember the way Gabe looked at me before he left.
The way he touched me. The way he said he wanted to try.
My brain keeps replaying all of it until the sun starts creeping through the curtains.
I must fall asleep sometime close to dawn, because the next thing I hear is a soft knock at the door.
Then another.
My pulse jumps. I push out of bed, grab my robe, and cross the hall. When I open the door, Gabe stands there holding two coffees and looking like he has been up for hours.
"Morning," he says in a gruff voice. "I know it's early, but I figured you might need this."
"You're early," I say, even though the coffee already warms my hands.
"I couldn't sleep," he admits sheepishly, looking at me with eyes that are far too earnest for my heart. Before I can answer, tiny feet patter down the hall. Jace appears in full bedhead and lopsided pajamas.
"Mama, who—" He spots Gabe and lights up. "Gabe! You came back!"
"I did," Gabe says, smiling softly. "Are you still up for breakfast?"
"Yes! I'm so hungry my tummy is yelling."
I raise a brow. "Your tummy yells a lot."
"It's because I'm growing," he says with authority.
That settles it. We all get moving.
Noah’s packed and ready when his mom picks him up.
I help Jace with his shoes while he talks nonstop about pancakes.
I throw on jeans and a T-shirt and tie my hair back.
When I walk out, Gabe is waiting by the door, hands in his pockets, eyes steady on me like he is still trying to believe he is here.
The moment we step into the diner, half the room looks up. This town lives for gossip, and the sight of me walking in with Gabe Holt at eight thirty on a Saturday morning might as well be a parade.
A couple at the counter turns their heads. Someone nudges their friend. A woman from church follows us with her eyes like she is tracking a storm cloud.
Gabe notices, but he keeps his attention on Jace, who slides into the booth and grabs the menu like he owns the place.
"I want this," Jace says, pointing at an enormous pancake stack.
"That's the adult plate," I say. "You won't finish it."
"Yes, I will."
Gabe leans over and studies the picture. "If he doesn't finish, I will."
Jace grins like Gabe just gave him a medal. "Then I want it."
When the waitress comes over, her eyebrows lift so high, I think they might hit her hairline.
"Morning, Lena," she says. "I haven't seen you in a while."
"Yeah," I say, trying to sound normal.
Her eyes swing to Gabe. Then back to me. Then to Jace. I watch the exact moment the dots connect in her head. Her mouth tightens. She doesn't comment, but she does stare an extra beat before taking the order.
When she walks away, Gabe gives me a look. "That normal around here?"
"Welcome to small-town entertainment," I mutter.
Breakfast arrives fast. Steam rises off the plates. Jace digs in like he is in a race. His mouth gets sticky from syrup. He keeps sliding bits of pancake onto Gabe's plate "so he can help," and Gabe actually eats them. Not a polite nibble. Full bites. Like he cares.
"You eat pancakes like a grown-up," Jace tells him.
Gabe nods seriously. "Years of training."
Jace gives him a narrow look. "You trained? For pancakes?"
"It was intense."
Jace laughs so loudly, people turn to look, but I don't care. It's the happiest sound I've heard in a long time.
When breakfast is done, Gabe wipes Jace's face with a napkin, and my heart almost falls out of my chest. Jace doesn't even flinch. He leans in like he trusts it.
We leave the diner to more staring. I hear someone whisper, "That's him," behind us.
Gabe ignores it. Jace skips beside him, holding his hand.
I lock the car, and Jace looks up at me. "Can we go cycling? Please? I want to show Gabe how fast I am."
I feel Gabe look at me before he speaks. "I'd like to see that. If it's alright with you."
His voice is soft. Careful. Like he knows this part is the real test.
I take a second. Not long. Just long enough to breathe.
"Yeah," I finally say. "We can go."
Jace cheers, jumps in place, and runs inside to get his helmet. Gabe watches him, eyes warm and stunned and full of something he is trying hard to hide.
We walk to the little bike path near the park. The morning is bright, kids are out, parents wave, and I can feel the looks landing on us again. Not cruel. Just curious. Hungry for stories.
Jace rides ahead, legs pumping fast. "Gabe, look! Look how fast!"
"I see you!" Gabe calls, smiling widely. "You're flying!"
Jace beams and pedals harder.
I stand back with my arms crossed, watching them. Watching Jace circle the path again and again. Watching Gabe jog beside him at one point because Jace wants "a race", and Gabe lets him win by half a wheel. Watching Gabe clap when Jace brakes without wobbling.
My chest feels full and strange and almost painful.
My phone buzzes.
I pull it out of my pocket without thinking.
A message from Tom pops up.
So you vanished last night.
You could've just told me you were busy.
Are we still on for Wednesday?
Another bubble appears immediately.
You didn't need to play games.
If you wanted attention, you could've asked.
My grip tightens.
I look up.
Jace is riding circles around Gabe, laughing so hard, he nearly tips over. Gabe is pretending to stagger back like he has been hit by a speeding car.
"Slow down, buddy," Gabe calls. "I'm an old man."
"You're not old!" Jace argues. "You're huge!"
Gabe gives him a look. "That's not the same thing."
Jace is giggling. Gabe is smiling. My phone buzzes again.
I stare at the screen, then at the man in the park who left me once by saying nothing and everything at the same time, and the boy who trusts him without hesitation.
My heart twists.
I know this moment is about to blow something wide open.
We spend another hour at the park. Jace burns through all his energy and then some. By the time we head home, he is drooping in his seat, helmet sliding sideways. Gabe lifts it off gently and carries it for him, no fuss, no grand gestures. Just steady hands and quiet attention.
At home, Jace unloads his bike and runs inside yelling that he needs water "right now or I'll die." I follow him in, already planning dinner, already tired down to the bone.
Gabe lingers near the doorstep like he is not sure if he should come in.
"You can go rest," I tell him, lifting my keys. "It's been a big morning."
He nods but doesn't move. "Thank you," he says. "For letting me be part of this."
I look down at the welcome mat, then back at him. "He had fun."
"So did I."
That lands harder than he means it to.
We leave it there. He walks to his car. I close the door before I can say something stupid.
The day rolls into evening faster than I expect. Jace has a short nap on the couch, eats pasta for dinner, watches a cartoon, then starts getting sleepy again. I'm brushing his teeth when the knock comes.
Soft. Hesitant. Familiar.
Jace pulls the toothbrush out of his mouth. "Mama, who's that?"
"No idea," I say, even though I already know.
I wipe his mouth, set him down, and open the door.
Gabe stands there with a small paper bag in his hand. His hair is a little messy from the wind. His shirt is different. His eyes look tired in a way that makes something in my chest move.
"Hey," he says. "I didn't want to interrupt your night. I just… saw this and thought of him."
He holds the bag out.
I open it. It's a small red toy truck, sturdy and simple, the kind I would've begged for when I was a kid. Jace appears beside me like a magnet.
"Is that for me?"
Gabe crouches down. "Yeah. I saw it in the store. It made me think of your car race."
Jace grabs the truck and studies it like it's a priceless artifact. "It has wheels that turn," he announces.
"That's usually the point," Gabe says, smiling.
Jace rolls the truck across the floor, then back again, then across Gabe's shoe. "It's fast."
"I can tell."
I lean against the doorway and watch them. The moment feels small. Quiet. Warm in a way that scares me a little.
"Say thank you," I remind Jace.
He hops once in place. "Thank you, Gabe."
"You're welcome, buddy."
Gabe stands up again. He looks at me, then at the house behind me. "I won't stay. I just wanted to drop that off."
"Okay," I say. My voice comes out soft.
He steps back. "Goodnight, Lena."
"Goodnight."
Jace runs off with the truck. I close the door, but I don't walk away yet.
Something keeps me still. I peek through the window as Gabe heads down the path toward his car.
That's when I hear a voice from across the yard, loud enough for the whole street to hear.
"Well, look at that," Sarah calls from her porch.
"Looks like someone has a sugar daddy situation. "
I freeze on the spot as my breath stops and my face goes hot. There are a lot of ways I could respond to this comment, but none of them sound fitting enough. I settle for just trying to tire Jace out until bedtime and hopefully get some sleep.