Chapter 14 - Lena
LENA
A quiet house is what I wake up to, and it puts my brain in an immediate situation of panic, because silence usually means my four-year-old is climbing something he shouldn't.
Gabe's side of the bed is empty, but the sheets are ruffled and there's a small note on the table just beside it.
Went out to get breakfast for your boy. Rest. G.
My heart does a strange twist. It feels good and bad at the same time, which is exactly how most things related to Gabe feel.
I cover my face with both hands as the night rushes back in one heavy wave.
His mouth. His hands. The way he held me like he had been starving for five years. The way I let him.
I dropped every boundary I ever built and now here I am, having a full existential crisis before seven in the morning.
I groan and sit up, waiting for a bone to creak after the night I just had.
A moment later, I pad outside lightly and check in on my son.
He's still in his room, asleep on his stomach with one leg hanging off the bed and a stuffed dinosaur under his chest. He's fine.
He's breathing and drooling onto the sheets. All normal.
I back up before I wake him. I need ten minutes to breathe before the chaos starts.
With a sigh, I go to the kitchen and drink from the coffee Gabe must've made before going out. It warms me just fine, but my brain is going a mile a minute. Did I make a mistake? Yes. Did it feel perfect at the time? Also yes. Am I ready to rebuild my walls? I've no idea.
A soft thump hits the porch. Delivery, or the neighbor's cat. Hard to say.
I walk to the front door and open it. A package sits on the mat.
Normal. What isn't normal is the way two women across the street stop talking the second they see me.
They stand by the mailbox with matching mugs and matching raised eyebrows.
Sarah is one of them—the same woman who made that sugar daddy comment two days ago.
Both are in full makeup even though it's barely morning.
Thick eyeliner, bold lipstick, hair sprayed into next week.
Nobody looks like that unless they're either hiding a bad night or trying to convince the world they're doing great.
Sarah leans in toward her friend, speaking just loud enough for me to hear the tone, not the words. The friend glances at me, then my house, then back at me with one of those tight little smiles that says she's dying to know everything but too polite to ask.
They both try not to stare. They fail instantly.
And here's the thing. I actually like Sarah most days.
She's chaotic, but she's entertaining. I also know half her gossip comes from the fact that her husband spends more nights at the town bar than at home because he's terrified of her legendary temper.
Poor guy once hid in the alley behind the bakery for an hour because she blew up at him for scratching her car.
So yeah, she talks about other people because it's easier than dealing with her own mess.
I lift the package and give them a small wave, just a "yes, I see you" wave. Sarah lifts her mug in return like she's saluting me. Her friend nudges her, and they both look away fast, like kids caught peeking through a window.
Instead of slamming it, I close the door gently, which should qualify as a medal-worthy achievement today. Once it clicks shut, I lean my forehead against it and breathe out slowly. My life doesn't have room for this kind of nonsense, but the nonsense keeps showing up anyway.
This is exactly why I shouldn't have slept with Gabe. One night with him and suddenly, my neighbors are acting like I faked a paternity test on a daytime talk show. I straighten up when I hear footsteps on the gravel outside.
I look through the peephole. It's Gabe, still in yesterday's T-shirt, holding a paper bag and two drinks. He's smiling, but like a man who's already decided something and will not leave until he says it out loud.
My stomach flips as I consider all my options. But turning him away wouldn't stop the gossip or solve anything. Disgruntled, I unlock the door and pull it open. He lifts the bag slightly. "Breakfast for your boy. And a latte with half-and-half for you."
I don't speak right away, which is ridiculous because he is standing on my porch, offering me food, while two women across the street pretend they are not watching us. He studies my face. "Rough morning?"
"You could say that." I accept his peace offering and stare at him a minute longer. The corner of his mouth twitches, but he waits patiently, and something in that ridiculous look of his makes me sigh. "Fine," I mutter. "Come on in."
I step back and he steps forward. From the corner of my eye, I notice Sarah smirking and giving an I told you so look at her friend.
Gabe steps inside smelling like warm bread and fresh air and something steadier than the mess in my chest. He sets the bag on the counter and takes a long look around, like he is checking the space for threats.
Old habits. Military men never let it go.
"I can wake him if you want," he says, nodding toward the hallway.
I almost snort but hold it together. "Have you ever woken up a sleeping toddler?"
"How hard can it be?" Gabe shrugs, looking blissfully unaware of what's about to happen.
I stare. "You're serious."
"Of course I'm serious," he says and lifts his chin like he is about to march into battle. "Do I need instructions?"
"Yes. Don't touch him. Don't stand too close. Don't breathe too loudly. And if he's in a bad mood, he'll cry like you stole his future."
Gabe huffs a laugh. "Noted. Let me try."
I fold my arms and watch him walk toward Jace's door with the same confidence he probably used to storm compounds. He knocks once, very soft. "Hey, buddy," he calls. "You awake?"
Silence.
"Gabe," I whisper. "He can't hear you. He sleeps like a brick."
He ignores me and cracks the door open.
Two seconds later, a tiny, annoyed voice mumbles, "No. Sleep."
Gabe opens the door a little more. "Breakfast is ready. Your mom saved the best part for you."
I roll my eyes, because no I didn't, but okay. Jace groans and drags his dinosaur over his own face. "Too tired."
Gabe leans on the doorframe. "I walked a long way for your breakfast. I picked the best stuff. I think you'll like it."
There's a pause. Then a small thump as Jace rolls over and sits up, crooked and confused. His hair sticks up in every direction. He squints at Gabe. "You brought food?"
Gabe nods like he just negotiated a hostage release. "I did."
"Okay," Jace says and gets off the bed like his bones are made of noodles.
I swear under my breath. "How did you do that?"
Gabe shrugs as Jace walks by him and heads for the kitchen. "He's a guy. We understand each other."
"Oh, my God."
Breakfast becomes a small circus. Jace sits at the table, still half-asleep, chewing on a muffin like he's trying to figure out its moral purpose.
Gabe helps peel his banana and pretends to faint when Jace makes a face at the peel like it's poisonous.
Jace giggles, which means Gabe has earned at least five points in the unofficial parenting scorecard.
I sip my latte and study them quietly. Gabe is careful with him. Patient. Real. This wasn't planned, and he doesn't act confused or overwhelmed. He looks like a man who walked into something he didn't expect and still wants to stay.
When breakfast wraps up, it's time for Jace to get ready for preschool. Gabe ties his shoes without being asked, even though he ties them so tightly that Jace complains his toes feel squished. Gabe apologizes and fixes them while Jace leans on his shoulder.
That image goes straight to the part of me I've been trying to protect for years.
At the door, Jace grabs his backpack. "Bye, Gabe," he says in a shy voice.
Gabe kneels down. "Have a good day, buddy."
Jace beams and runs out ahead of me.
I turn to Gabe, who stands with his hands in his pockets. He looks steady again, but I see what he tries to hide. He wants to walk with us. He wants to stay. That thought presses on my ribs. "I'll see you later," he says.
"Yeah," I answer. "Go get work done or whatever you're pretending to do while you spy on my neighbors."
His mouth lifts. "They're not very subtle."
"Tell me about it."
We share a look that is too warm for nine in the morning. I open the door wider. "Go."
He nods and steps off the porch. I watch him walk to his truck, and the ache in my chest is a mix of dread and something that feels close to hope.
At preschool drop-off, nothing dramatic happens. No comments. No stares. No Sarah hiding behind a basketball hoop with binoculars. Jace hugs me tightly and runs inside.
I breathe out and head home, hoping the day will stay simple.
It doesn't.
My phone buzzes the second I walk through my door. It's a client I've worked with for two years. The message is short and awkward, full of strange pauses. He's taking a break from promotions and wants to pause our shoots for a while. He'll reach out when things settle down.
Translation: someone whispered something ugly and he believes it. A rush of anger crawls up my throat as I stare at the message. The gossip this morning was harmless, but if it's spreading into work and Jace's life, it isn't.
Losing a regular client isn't just annoying.
It chips at the life I built on my own. I set my phone down and take two breaths so I don't smash it against the nearest wall.
The frustration won't let up, so I settle for my favorite ritual of making a hot milk tea instead.
That's much better than falling apart over one man who would rather trust gossip than his own eyes.
I warm the milk, drop in the Assam leaves, and let the steam rise, thick and sweet.
The first stir releases that deep, malty smell that settles everything inside me.
By the time I pour it into my cup, the world feels much better.
A sip in, I take a long sigh and open my laptop to focus on the new project I agreed to last week.
A restaurant wants a full set of photos for a seasonal menu, and the chef is trusting me with the entire direction.
On any other day, this kind of work would pull me in from the get-go, but today my brain keeps drifting.
I arrange flat-lay props, adjust the mock-up layout, and write notes for color and lighting.
None of it sticks. My mind keeps going back to this morning.
Gabe peeling a banana like he had trained for it.
Gabe tying shoes too tightly. Gabe kneeling in front of my son like it was natural for him to do it.
I hear my own voice in the back of my head. Don't get attached. Don't repeat the past. Don't let your heart act like it has no memory.
I shake it off and keep working, forcing myself to stay focused. I message my friend Maya while rearranging a shot list. She sends me updates from her juice bar, plus a picture of her new assistant slicing lemons wrong on purpose to make her laugh. For a few minutes, it works. My mood lifts.
Then my phone rings. It's Tom calling.
I stare at the screen and almost let it go to voicemail, but then a thought smacks me right in the forehead. If anyone in this town knows the gossip before it even becomes gossip, it's Tom. The man collects drama like it's a frequent-flyer reward.
"Hey," I say, keeping my tone flat.
Tom doesn't bother with greetings. "So I heard something interesting."
I close my eyes. "I'm working, Tom. Can we not do this right now?"
"Oh, I think you'll want to hear this," he says, voice low with that smug edge he thinks sounds masculine. "The whole town is talking about you."
A ripple of unease runs down my spine and I clench my free palm into a fist. "About what?"
"About how you're messing around with some older guy," he says, laughing under his breath. "Someone claimed he's your dad's best friend. Kind of nasty, if you ask me. People think you're doing it for favors. Free stuff. Breaks at work. That kind of thing."
My throat tightens. "That isn't true."
"Doesn't matter," he says. "Rumors stick fast around here. I mean, what happens if your dad finds out? You think he'll be proud? Or will he think the same thing everyone else is thinking?"
I grip the edge of the table. "Tom, stop."
He keeps going, like he wants to make sure every word hits. "Sounds messy, Lena. Sounds real messy. And if this guy really is your dad's old friend, then it's worse than I thought."
Something cold crawls through my chest.
"Tom," I say again, voice thin from holding everything in. "Hang up."
He laughs once. "You should clean this up before it gets worse."
I hang up on him. My hand shakes. My breath shakes. I look at the wall, at my camera on the table, at the photos waiting to be edited, at the life I'm trying to protect, and for a moment I can't feel my legs.