Chapter 49 Eleanor
ELEANOR
Later that night, I was sprawled on Alex’s couch, sore in that deep, satisfying way that meant I’d done something real with my body. My legs were a map of bruises, and Alex sat at my feet, rubbing gentle circles into my arches like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Tonight was perfect. I mean,” I amended softly, “after all the stuff with my mom . . . tonight was perfect.”
He arched an eyebrow at me, a little smile tugging at his mouth. His hands kept moving, easing out the ache, and I let myself melt into the cushions. “What do you want to do about that?” he asked carefully.
I sighed, staring at the ceiling. “I think I want to move next door. I need to get some furniture, but most of my stuff is still in my mom’s basement. I just . . . I can’t do that house anymore. Not for me. Not for Ava.”
“That sounds great,” Alex said with a smile. “I know a bunch of people who will help you move.”
The way he said it like it was already decided, like we were already a team, made something warm settle in my chest.
“I need to talk to my mom,” I admitted. “I don’t want to, but I think I need to. Maybe tomorrow we can . . . ” I trailed off, suddenly unsure.
“Tomorrow . . . ?” he prompted gently.
“Would you come with me,” I asked quietly, “and help us get our stuff while I talk to her?”
“Of course,” he said, without hesitation. Not even a pause. Just certainty.
And that simple, easy answer made me feel safer than anything had in a long time.
This time, it was his turn to look suddenly unsure.
“So . . . when you were running into the locker room tonight,” he said carefully, “you said something.”
I looked at him, waiting.
He took a deep breath. “You said you love me. I don’t know if you meant it or if it was just a heat-of-the-moment thing, but I just . . . I wanted you to know I feel the same way.”
The air left my lungs.
“I love you, Eleanor,” he said.
A wave of emotion crashed through me, so strong it made my eyes sting. He loved me. This gentle, steady man who kept showing up, who had come for me when everything fell apart.
I reached up, fingers threading into his scruff, cupping his jaw.
“I might have said it accidentally,” I admitted softly, “but I feel it. I love you too, Alex.”
Saying it didn’t feel like a betrayal. It felt like a beginning.
We kissed on the couch, slow and tender and full of all the things we’d just said out loud.
It wasn’t frantic or desperate. It was warm. Certain. The kind of kiss that felt like coming home.
Alex rested his forehead against mine, smiling that soft, crooked smile I was already too attached to. Then he stood and held out his hand.
“Come on,” he said quietly.
I took it.
He led me down the hallway, every step gentle, every touch careful and sure, like he was holding something precious. We didn’t rush. We didn’t need to.
The door closed behind us, and the world narrowed down to just us and the promise of everything we were building together.
The next morning felt soft and golden.
Alex and I sat at the little kitchen table with coffee and toast, sunlight spilling across the counters like it had something to prove. My body still ached in that deep, happy way from the night before, and my heart felt strangely steady, like it had finally found its footing.
The door burst open.
“What? No pancakes?” Leo demanded, scandalized.
“Every morning is not pancake morning,” Alex said, reaching out to ruffle his hair as he passed.
“It should be,” Leo protested, already raiding the fridge.
Ava slipped in more quietly behind him. “Hi, Alex,” she said.
“Hi, Ava,” he answered, warm and gentle.
I watched them. The easy way they fit into the room together, the way this felt like something real and lived, was a wave of emotion that washed over me.
Then she came over to me and hugged me as I offered her my last piece of toast.
This could be my life.
All I had to do was deal with my mother first.