Chapter 28 #2
“Sexy ridiculous, that man can really wear the hell out of a muscle tee,” she says with the kind of seriousness that makes my lips twitch. “Let’s stay on topic.”
“Seconded,” Ciarán murmurs, resting his chin in his hand.
Then he straightens, unusually serious. “And I’m saying this with more care than I put into my skincare routine, but have you reconsidered talking to someone?
Like, a therapist. Not instead of us—but in addition.
You shouldn’t have to white-knuckle your way through the night.
I know when we talked about it last year, you said you didn’t want to speak to a stranger.
” He clears his throat, considering his words.
“But, Gabe, it’s been over a year now… you’re struggling. ”
There’s a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.
The word therapist hangs in the air like a noose.
Their eyes are on me. The weight of the attention makes my pulse hammer harder, and I have to force myself not to reach for my scar.
I can’t tell a stranger all the awful things I haven’t even been able to admit to the people I love, I just can’t.
Panic is rising just at the thought, and I feel faint.
Abbie must see it all because her voice is gentle. “You don’t have to answer. Just think about it.”
I manage a jerky nod. My voice doesn’t even sound like mine when I get words out. “Yeah. I’ll… think about it.”
Ciarán leans over and brushes my knuckles with his finger lightly. “That’s all I wanted. I just worry about you. I can give you a name if you decide you want to go. She’s nice, doesn’t push.”
My brows furrow. Is he friends with this person, or does he see a therapist?
I should know that. And he shouldn’t have to worry about me, neither of them should.
I should be able to take care of myself.
I want to be able to take care of myself.
I close my eyes and take several deep breaths to settle my racing heart, the darkness and quiet blanketing me.
When I open my eyes, I say, “Change of topic? Something light.” My tone is pleading. I need a distraction. “Please.”
Ciarán nods, jumps up, and grabs the food, bringing it to the coffee table with cutlery. He hands me a bowl and fork. I take them and try to smile, but it’s strained.
In true teacher fashion, Abbie claps her hands and shifts gears. She winks at me before proceeding. “Okay, this conversation isn’t over, but my boy needs to feel better. So let’s talk tragic comedy. My dating life. Or, more accurately, the barren wasteland where my dating life used to be.”
Gratitude and relief pour over me instantly. I already feel the tension in my shoulders loosening.
“Caused by actually having standards,” Ciarán says, stealing a piece of bread.
My grip on the fork eases. This is what I need right now, to just forget.
Abbie sighs dramatically. “I am this close to letting my sister set me up.” She holds her thumb and finger barely apart.
“I feel like this is how a horror movie starts,” I mutter, which earns me a grin from Abbie.
“No,” Ciarán says immediately, pointing his bread at her. “Absolutely not. She will choose someone who tucks his T-shirts into his jeans and calls you ‘babe’ unironically. Babe, no. Baby, yes. I don’t make the rules.”
My cheeks flame at that, remembering how Noah called me baby. I liked it far too much.
Abbie looks affronted. “She might pick an artist! Some hot, trendy nerd with all the sexy muscles.”
“She will pick a man named Greg, who cannot find the clit.” His eyes cut to me. “I’m gay as fuck, and even I could find it.”
I snort a laugh as Abbie chokes on her food. “Fine. I’ll let fate handle it. Meaning I’ll be single forever.”
"You're not a bit dramatic," I deadpan, causing her to scrunch her nose at me.
“The apps are worse,” Ciarán says, leaning back as he gestures with his hands. “Last month, I matched with a man whose name was literally ‘Mask4Mask.’ When I said hello, he asked if I had, and I quote, girl parts or boy parts.”
My jaw drops. “What?”
“Thank you. That was my reaction exactly. I said, ‘I have man parts, as indicated by the word man at the top of my profile. Also, good-fucking-bye.’“ He grins, clearly proud of himself. “...but not before I told him they rotate with the phases of the moon.”
“You did not,” I say, shaking my head, smiling.
“I absolutely did. New moon: detachable. Full moon: add-ons.”
A laugh bubbles out of me, louder than expected, but neither of them looks startled, just pleased. I relax a little more into the sofa, grateful they're here with me.
“And since we’re on the subject of romantic prospects,” Ciarán says, eyes going sly, “let’s go to the topic of Noah.”
“No,” I say instantly, heat climbing my neck.
“Just a progress report,” Abbie teases. “Light details. Feed us, Gabe. We are so very hungry.”
The puppy eyes are next level.
“There’s nothing to report.”
There’s no way I’m giving them details, no way I’m telling them about Noah’s dirty talk. How hot it was… how much it turned me on. It takes effort not to squirm on the spot.
“Which,” Ciarán says while tapping his chin, “is exactly what a man with something to report would say…”
“I’m not talking about my… about anything.” I wave a hand vaguely, which only encourages them.
“About your…” Abbie drawls, her eyebrows creeping up her face. “Boyfriend?”
Is that what Noah is?
The word doesn’t feel wrong, just… too small for what this is.
We’ve known each other most of our lives now, but somehow, we ended up here.
I want to believe he won’t turn away from all the damage within me.
There’s something in him that feels like home.
Like we were always meant to reach this point, no matter how long it took.
“Okay, let the investigation begin,” Ciarán says cheekily while rolling his imaginary sleeves up, pulling me out of my thoughts.
“Is he big? He looks big. Say when.” He places his hands together and slowly starts pulling them apart.
The more the space grows, the more his brows go up.
I just stare at him with a blank face, but then memories of Noah talking about the size of my cock pop into my head, and I feel the blood rushing to my cheeks.
“Whipped cream users?” Abbie asks ridiculously, waggling her brows.
“Too sticky,” I say, trying to be funny, then immediately regret opening my mouth when they both pounce on that.
“Oh, really? And what level of stickiness works for you?” Abbie teases as I throw my head back and groan.
“Oh, I know! They play Just Dance, right? Interpretive dance sex,” Ciarán adds with mock innocence. “The music swells. So do their…”
Abbie dissolves into a fit of giggles.
“Stop,” I beg, running my hands over my face, trying not to laugh. “You’re both awful.”
“You love us,” Abbie singsongs.
I really, really do.
When they leave, I tidy up and settle on the sofa with my journal, waiting for Noah to come home. I write a passage about dancing in the kitchen. About the song we danced to, how so many parts of it remind me of him.
I must fall asleep writing, and when I wake, it’s to movement beside me on the sofa. Before I even open my eyes, I know it’s him. Cedar and salt envelop me. My eyes flutter open, and there he is. Noah leans closer, his hand lifts, and I go still. Then his fingers brush my cheek, light as a feather.
He doesn’t say anything. His eyes stay on mine, steady and unwavering. That blue is deeper this close—like the sea under a night sky, calm and endless, with just enough shimmer to catch me. I’ve seen him grin, heard his laughter fill every space around me, but it’s this quiet that pulls me in most.
For the last year, I’ve been searching for peace in silence and isolation, in keeping myself hidden. I never really found it.
But now… here he is.
And for the first time since I woke, I feel like myself.
So I look back at him, let the moment stretch, then climb into his lap, knees braced on either side of his thighs. His arms come around me, palms caressing my back, and he lets out a relieved breath that I feel in every part of my body. I press my lips to his neck and let him hold me.