Chapter 12 Noah #2
Still, he doesn’t look at me.
My eyes sting, and my throat burns, but I keep my voice level, as soft as I can manage.
My hands rest on my thighs, pressing in to stop the tremble I feel.
“It’s just us here, Gabe. You and me,” I tell him gently.
“We’re at the shop. We were taking apart the shelf, remember?
It broke. That’s all. You’re not in danger. ”
His breathing is still choppy, but there's a faint hitch of recognition.
I slow my own breaths deliberately. I have no idea what I’m doing, but I’m praying it helps.
Inhale. Hold. Exhale.
Again.
Hoping he’ll find the same rhythm.
Slowly, his curled-up posture begins to shift. The tremors don’t stop, but they ease. His fingers loosen from his face, one hand dropping to the floor beside him. His head is still bowed, his eyes hidden, but he isn’t shrinking away quite as much.
“Good,” I whisper, like we’re both fragile. “That’s it. You’re doing so good.”
The minutes drag, feeling like an eternity. I don’t speak. I just stay near, breathing for him, hoping he finds his way back.
Eventually, Gabe blinks up at me with red-rimmed eyes and tear-streaked cheeks. His lips are parted like he doesn’t know what to say.
“I’m okay,” he whispers hoarsely.
I nod, something tight releasing in my chest. “Yeah. You’re okay.”
He rubs at his face with the back of his wrist, still not meeting my eyes. Shame radiates off him like heat. He looks so small, like the weight of his past has collapsed right on top of him.
“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he rasps, voice cracking on the last word.
My heart breaks a little more.
“I’m not,” I say, keeping my voice low, laced with sincerity I hope he hears. “You don’t have to hide from me.”
“I just… I hate this. I hate being like this.”
I want to reach for him so badly, but I don’t. I stay, kneeling across from him.
The morning light spills across the floor. The broken shelf lies scattered in pieces around us.
And I watch this beautiful man try to put himself back together.
The shop stays quiet after. I lock the door and flip the sign to Closed.
Gabe curls into the small sofa in the reading nook, the cardigan he left there earlier now pulled tight around him. He stares into the distance, jaw tight, like he’s still stuck in that moment. The sight of him like that hurts.
I keep sweeping splintered wood into a pile, trying not to make too much noise, but every scrape of the broom feels too loud. Like it might send him retreating further into himself.
When the shop is clean, I sit beside him for a while, not saying anything. Just keeping him company. Letting him see that I’m still here.
When he finally stands to head upstairs, I follow him. We stand in the hall for a long moment. Gabe steps toward me, lifting his hand, and for a second, I think he might actually touch me. But he doesn’t. He turns and enters his room, and I don’t see him for the rest of the night.
Gabe doesn’t say much when I step out of my room the next morning.
He was still in his room when I got up for our run.
I didn’t want to disturb him after yesterday.
He’s curled on the couch in an oversized cardigan, his journal resting against his knee.
His lip is caught between his teeth, eyes lifting to mine and holding—green on blue.
What he’s looking for, I’m not sure, but he seems to find it as he gives me a soft smile.
“Good luck today,” leaves his lips. We share a gentle grin, a wave goodbye, and I let the silence stand however he needs it to after yesterday.
I make my way downstairs and outside. Sunlight spills across my face.
I make it three steps before stopping. It’s like there’s an invisible string pulling me back.
I don’t want to leave him alone today, but I can’t miss the first day Anchor Strength opens, either.
Then I hear the door open—soft footfall following.
I glance over my shoulder as fingers brush my shoulder gently, and his hushed voice follows. “Can I… Can I hug you?”
I’m nodding before he even finishes asking.
Then arms slide around me from behind.
Hands skim along the sides of my top, fingertips grazing the thin fabric across my ribs, before settling—one splayed against my chest, right over my racing heart, the other pressed at the center of my stomach.
His fingers are light, but I still feel him through cotton—warm and real, claiming me. Whether he means to or not, he has.
Gabe’s face brushes my hair. He breathes in, then exhales slowly. The heat of it ghosts down the side of my neck, making me shiver.
“Thank you,” he whispers.
I freeze, afraid to move, afraid to break the spell. Is this really happening?
My chest rises unevenly against his palm, heart pounding so hard he must feel it.
And then, without thinking, my own hand lifts over his on my chest. My fingers slot between his, holding him there. Choosing him. My throat works around words I can’t risk saying out loud, so I let the touch speak for me instead.
The warmth of him seeps into me—chest to back, palm to heart—his careful strength wrapped around me. It’s tentative, delicate. And I feel the weight of what it costs him to give it.
I want to turn, to gather him close, to promise him he never has to thank me for a thing. But I stay rooted, staring at the sunlight on the street ahead, memorizing every second, every press of his fingers against me, every heartbeat shared between us.
His head dips, the tip of his nose brushing against the top of my compass tattoo. I don’t know if it’s an accident, but then, just as quickly, he’s gone. His arms slip away, leaving the air cooler. I hear the soft patter of his retreat back inside.
It all happened in a matter of seconds, but I know that I’ll never be the same. That a single embrace has marked me, carved something permanent into my chest.
Because once you’ve felt someone like Gabe choose to hold you, you can’t go back to who you were before.
It hits me hard. Not that I want him—I already know that. What staggers me is how much I want with him.
The longing I feel in my heart is more than attraction, more than wanting his body.
It’s deeper, heavier. I want his laugh, unguarded and unashamed.
I want to know which tea he makes when he can’t sleep.
I want to trace the scar on his cheekbone with my thumb and kiss it until he believes it only makes him more beautiful.
I want to protect him—not because he’s fragile. He isn’t. He’s so fucking strong. But because he’s rare. Precious. And I don’t know how to want anything less with him.
It terrifies me. Because I don’t know if I’m allowed to want that much from him. He’s been through so much. He’s my best friend’s brother. But I want him anyway.
I want everything. And I don’t know if he’ll ever want me.
I walk to work with my chest aching, every step charged with the truth that I’m already deeper than I should be—and yet, I don’t want to climb out.
The gym is chaos.
We’re offering free personal training sessions for anyone who signs up today, so the place is buzzing.
Jules and Zeke have gone full sales mode, pulling every person who steps through the door into a tour or demo.
My eighties playlist is blasting—“It’s Tricky“ out of the speakers—and even Aiden, who usually groans when I play it, can’t stop grinning.
We keep catching each other’s eyes across the room, two idiots high on caffeine and adrenaline. We’re fucking doing it.
But if I’m honest, that’s not the only thing that’s got me wired today.
It’s Gabe.
The small, soft smile he gave me this morning before I left. The way he followed me outside just to hold me—arms around me, face against my hair like he needed to be there. He chose to do that.
And I haven’t stopped thinking about it since. I can still feel the press of his hand against my chest.
During a break, I sit on a free weights bench with my phone and start searching for articles on trauma response—grounding techniques, how to help someone through a panic attack, and what not to do.
I don’t just want to be there if this happens again.
I want to know how to help. I felt so lost and afraid in that moment, desperate to help him, but petrified I’d make the situation worse.
“What happened?”
Aiden’s voice makes me jolt, almost dropping my phone. He’s standing behind me, concern written all over his face.
I hesitate. Gabe’s privacy isn’t mine to give away, but Aiden’s already seen the screen, and he’s frowning, worry lining his face.
“I think Gabe had some sort of panic attack yesterday. We were taking down the shelving unit, and it collapsed.”
He listens without interrupting, nodding slowly. He lets out a heavy sigh and rubs both hands over his face, suddenly looking exhausted. “Fuck. He’s lucky you were there.”
Maybe he’s right.
Not because I knew what I was doing, I just stayed. But I feel like I really see Gabe—see the layers he tries to hide from others.
“How was he this morning?” Aiden asks.
I swallow, my throat tight. “I didn’t even know what I was doing,” I admit, biting the edge of my thumb. “I just… I want to help him. I won’t lie to you, it was hard to see it. I’ve never seen anyone look so scared. But he seemed okay this morning. He was up and dressed.”
Aiden cracks his neck from side to side and looks at me.
“I wish he’d told me. He texted this morning saying good luck today, but didn’t mention anything else.
” His posture relaxes. “I'm glad he has you there. You’ve been good for him. I saw it at brunch—I can’t believe he actually came, and he seemed more like himself.
You’re solid, Noah. That’s what he needs. ”
Something loosens in my chest at that. Before I can respond, the front door opens.
A tall, lean guy steps in—black hair buzzed at the sides and swept back on top, tattoos running down both arms and up his neck, silver hoop in his septum. He’s wearing sweats and a sleeveless shirt, all casual ease.
“You’re finally open,” he says with a grin.
“Yep,” I reply, stepping up to meet him. “Looking to join?”
“Definitely,” he says. “I’m tired of riding two towns over just to find a decent weight setup. Place looks great. I own the tattoo shop off the square—Needle & Vein.”
“Oh yeah, I’ve passed it. Cool name.”
He smirks. “Thanks. Don’t do tramp stamps or anything involving your ex.”
Aiden snorts, nearly choking on his protein bar.
I laugh, looking at my best friend. “You didn’t want Lucy’s name?”
He flips me the bird. “Oh, fuck off.”
That makes me cackle before turning back to the new guy.
“Theo,” he says, offering a hand. “Looking for somewhere I can lift without someone trying to sell me Herbalife in the locker room.”
“You’ve found the right place,” I tell him, sarcasm dripping from my tone. “We sell Forever Living.”
“Perfect,” he snorts, then heads over to check out the equipment while I get his paperwork sorted.
Theo’s tattoos catch my eye as I run through the membership form with him. Among the heavy blackwork and sharp geometric lines, there are hidden delicate pieces—a small oak tree tucked near his wrist, a detailed guitar running up his forearm.
When we’re done, he looks between me and Aiden, then gives us a look that’s impossible to read and says, “You’re stuck with me now.”
Aiden leans toward me as Theo walks away to test a squat rack. “Is he joking, or…”
“No idea,” I whisper back, smiling. “But I like him.”