Chapter 28
GABE
I went to bed feeling happy. Dancing with Noah felt like something I was always meant to do. I kept thinking about my parents, they’d be so proud of the man Noah is. I lay there wondering if they’d be happy knowing we were together, dancing in the kitchen like they always did.
Then, just as I was about to drift off, my phone buzzed with a text.
Kyle: Hi Gabe, you’ve probably blocked my number. I wouldn’t blame you, but I’d love to talk.
My stomach churns every time I think about it. About what he might have said next. About what it might do to me if I read it. I can’t stop glancing at the phone on the counter. Screen black, but I see it anyway, burned behind my eyes.
Talk.
I can still hear the way he used to say that word. Sit down. Don’t argue. Let me tell you what’s wrong with you. That was always his favorite word before he’d take something apart—my choices, my work, me.
I blocked his number right after the text came through.
I should have done it before, but I never opened the thread after I left him, never wanted to see the evidence of us.
Why is he contacting me after all this time?
He never sought me out after I left. Never a single message or call.
I wasn’t important enough for him to come after.
But now, when I finally feel like I can breathe properly for the first time in years, a simple text is making me feel like I’m drowning again.
The bookstore feels wrong today.
The air is stifling. Even with music playing low, every sound is too loud—the door whenever it opens, the creak of the floorboards, the faint buzz of the lights.
I count the register twice, then a third time, but my hands won’t stop shaking.
The numbers balance, but it doesn’t settle me.
I can’t shake the sinking feeling that if I get them wrong, something terrible will happen.
Like he’ll step out from behind the shelves, arms crossed, ice-blue eyes boring into me, ready to tell me how stupid I am.
Nobody else would put up with you.
I fumble with a coin, and it clatters against the drawer, my heart racing at the sound. I pick it up with trembling fingers.
When the door opens, I jump so hard my elbow knocks the edge of the counter.
For a split second, the sound isn’t the shop door—it’s a door slamming hard enough to shake the frame.
The customer doesn’t notice. They smile, nod, and wander off into the shelves, but my pulse is frantic until they leave.
My phone sits next to the register, face down.
It might as well be a loaded gun.
I try to read while sitting behind the counter, hoping to lose myself in another world, but I can’t concentrate. I reread the same paragraph multiple times, but it’s no use. All I can hear is his voice in my mind. My hands grip the counter until my knuckles ache.
Why did I let him treat me that way? Why didn’t I stop him?
By midafternoon, I’m crawling out of my skin. I can’t take a deep breath.
I keep thinking about Noah’s arms around me last night.
About how safe I felt, just for those few hours.
How he listened to me speak, there was no pity or judgement in his eyes.
How he kissed me softly on the forehead, like he still thinks I’m special, before leaving for work.
I cling to the moments in my mind, I try to hold them close.
But then I think about Kyle—the anger in his eyes, the coolness of his voice—I can’t keep him out of my mind.
Customers come and go. I paste on a smile, ring up their books, bag them, and say goodbye. I wonder if they can tell that my heart is hammering against my chest, that I keep swallowing back bile between transactions.
Can they tell I’m falling apart?
An hour before closing time, and I’m still waiting for something bad that hasn’t happened yet.
I lock the shop early, lean back against the door, and squeeze my eyes shut, willing my body to let it go.
I bite back tears and push the heels of my palms into my eyes until it hurts.
It doesn’t work, and tears well without permission.
Don’t fucking cry, Gabe.
You’re too soft.
Too sensitive.
Too fucking much.
And never enough.
By the time I step into the apartment, I feel like I’m vibrating.
I drop my keys in the bowl by the door and stand there, waiting for the silence to settle and calm me.
This is my safe space, but right now, I don’t feel safe.
I kick my shoes off and watch them tumble into the others there, the urge to fix them is so strong, but I walk past them.
I wash my hands even though they’re already clean. I scrub hard until the skin goes pink, until it stings. Nothing is working.
So many memories echo in my mind.
My phone lights up on the counter with a message, and fear shoots through me. I know it can’t be Kyle, since I blocked him, but the feeling comes anyway. Then I see it’s from Noah. Seeing his name gives me a moment of reprieve from the darkness chasing me, but it’s short-lived.
Blue: Working late tonight. Zeke called off, and Aiden’s got Rose. I can’t leave Jules on their own. I hope you’re okay. I miss you. If you go to bed before I’m home, imagine me kissing you goodnight x
I stare at the screen. Part of me is relieved.
I won’t have to pretend I’m fine, won’t have to risk him seeing how frayed I am right now.
I don’t want him to see all the ugly, jagged parts of me.
He won’t want me if he knows how deep it all goes.
He won’t smile at me anymore, he won’t hold me like I’m special to him.
Another part of me aches at the thought of him not coming home yet, though. I want him here. I want to hear his voice and feel his arms and let his warmth drown out the darkness suffocating me. He brings me a comfort I’ve never known, and selfishly, I want to keep that. I want to keep him.
I should have told him about the text. I shared so much with him last night, but for some reason, I just couldn’t say the words. Telling him about it would be like bringing Kyle into our present in real time. The past is one thing, but he shouldn’t be in our now.
I sit on the couch, bringing one knee up to my chest, and stare at the blank TV screen until my reflection blurs.
I keep picturing sitting on a different couch, a different man facing me, arms folded, staring me down.
The air would get so thick in those silences, like even breathing too loud might set him off.
My stomach roils. I grip my knee tight until my fingers hurt. I hate that a single message can make it feel like he’s here. A knock at the door makes me flinch so hard my heart jumps into my throat.
“Gabe?” Abbie’s voice floats through the wood. I rake my hands through my hair and tug roughly. I forgot they were coming over for dinner.
I consider lying on the sofa and pretending I’m not here, but they have a key, and if I don’t answer, they’ll worry.
I force myself up and open the door. She’s standing there with her curls piled on top of her head, thick-framed leopard print glasses today, and a casserole dish in her hands. Ciarán is right behind her.
“Dinner time, Gabey,” he announces cheerily. “Homemade. You’re welcome.”
I step back automatically to let them in. I can’t even find the words to say hello. My throat feels like it’s closing up.
“Is Noah joining us?” Ciarán asks while peering down the hall, toeing off his boots as he passes. I stare at his them, they’ve landed haphazardly among the others there.
I shake my head at him, eyes fixed on the pile of shoes. I realize someone has been saying my name. When I whip my head up to them, I’m sure I look exactly how I feel: wild-eyed and panicked.
Abbie studies me, her brows pinching like she can see all the horrid pieces of me I’m trying to hide. She doesn’t push. She heads to the kitchen to slide the dish into the oven while Ciarán leans back against the island, crossing his arms and giving me an appraising look.
“You look like shit,” he says gently. “Sit down.”
His bluntness startles a laugh out of me; it sounds unhinged, and he herds me toward the couch.
He sits beside me, and his smile is softer now.
I know he only said that to get a reaction from me.
That’s Ciarán. He acts snarky at times, but it’s all a front.
His hand slips into mine, and the relief of it makes tears spring to my eyes.
By the time Abbie joins us, the apartment is starting to smell like basil and roasted garlic.
“Tell us what’s going on,” Abbie says, soft but direct.
I stare at the coffee table and rub my thumb over an uneven patch in the wood.
“I… didn’t sleep much.” My thumb presses against the wood until it hurts. “Nightmares again. Woke up a few times. Couldn’t get out of my own head.” I let out a shuddering breath and stare at my hands. “I still can’t.”
Abbie waits me out, she’s good at that, and suddenly, it comes out.
I share more than I have in a long time.
The way the panic feels like it’s suffocating me, overwhelming me.
How Noah stayed with me, holding me. I don’t tell them about the text from Kyle, it feels wrong to speak about it. Like if I say it out loud, it’s real.
“And now,” I finish, hating the way my voice wavers as other fears come out.
“I keep thinking, what if it’s too much?
What if Noah doesn’t want someone who wakes him up in the middle of the night, like that.
Why would anybody want that…” I let go of Ciarán’s hand to scrub at my eyes, silently begging the tears to retreat.
I’m so sick of crying, of being so miserable.
Ciarán is quiet for once, elbow on the back of the couch, intense eyes on me. Abbie doesn’t look away. “Gabe, I have watched Noah look at you—at brunch, at the store, that day he hauled all your deliveries in when he should have already left for work.” She leans forward. “He’s not going anywhere.”
A weak laugh slips out of me. “That day was ridiculous.”