Chapter 30
ANTHONY
Iwoke to the sound of Elliot crying. Just the quiet, wrecked sound of grief slipping out between breaths.
He was curled on his side facing me, hands twisted into the front of my shirt, his shoulders trembling like his body hadn’t decided yet whether it was allowed to fall apart.
“Hey,” I whispered, sliding my hand into his hair. “Baby boy.”
His red-rimmed eyes opened. Raw and unguarded, every ounce of his vulnerability shone through them.
“I hate that she’s missing this,” he said hoarsely. “I hate that she never got to see me get stronger. That she never got to see us.”
My chest tightened hard enough to hurt. I pulled him into my arms and held him until his shaking slowed.
“She saw it,” I said quietly. “She always knew who you were going to become. She believed in you before you believed in yourself.”
He shook his head against my chest. “It’s been such a hard year,” he whispered. “I miss her so much.”
I kissed his hair, feeling the echo of his pain. “I know.”
We lay there a long time after that. Not trying to fix anything. Just letting the grief exist without rushing it out of the room. When he finally sat up, he wiped his face with the sleeve of my hoodie and gave me a weak, apologetic smile.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to start the day like this.”
“You don’t owe anyone being strong today,” I said. “Or ever.”
“Thank you, Anthony.”
He pressed a soft kiss to my throat. I felt every unsaid word in the simple gesture. He was here for me, too.
“How about we take a shower. Go and get her some flowers, then pay her a visit.”
Elliot’s inhale stuttered, his grip tightening like he could borrow some of my strength to get through this.
“That sounds like a good idea,” he agreed but didn’t move.
With the greatest care, I unwound Elliot’s fingers from my top and wrapped my arms around him, lifting him into the bathroom.
He felt impossibly small against me, fragile in a way he hadn’t been in years.
Today, the wound that had started to close was raw again, bleeding beneath the surface in ways neither of us could fix with words.
Steam curled from the running water, fogging the mirrors until the world outside the tiled walls ceased to exist. The only sounds were the rush of the shower and his uneven breaths, shallow at first, like he was still negotiating permission to relax.
He pressed his forehead to my chest, not asking for anything, not needing to.
Just seeking something solid. I wrapped an arm around him, holding him close, letting him press into me while the water soaked his hair, traced the curve of his shoulders, and slid down his back.
I could feel him trembling slightly, not just from the water, but from the weight of everything he carried.
I hated it. Hated that I couldn’t make it stop. That I couldn’t scrub away the darkness pressing in from every side. All I could do was hold him, careful, steady, present—but helpless. My chest ached with the knowledge that no matter how tight I held him, I couldn’t keep him from falling apart.
. I just held him, letting the water wash over him while he held onto me like I was the only safe thing left in the world. And for a moment, that was enough.
“Hey,” I murmured, brushing my lips into his damp curls. “I’ve got you.”
Elliot exhaled like he’d been holding his breath since he woke up.
When I reached for the shampoo, he didn’t flinch. He just tilted his head back slightly, offering himself to my hands the way he always did when he trusted me to take care of something fragile.
I worked the soap in slow, careful circles, fingertips massaging his scalp. I took my time. Not because he needed it done perfectly, but because I wanted him to feel how unhurried my care was.
How unconditionally present I was.
His shoulders softened inch by inch. And when I rinsed his hair, he sighed, deep and shaky, like something inside him finally let go.
My mouth found his temple. Then his cheek, followed by the soft skin just below his ear. Small, barely there kisses. Nothing that asked for anything in return. Just: I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. I’ve got you.
“You’re safe,” I whispered against his skin.
His hands tightened briefly at my waist in acknowledgement.
I washed his shoulders next, paying close attention to his arms, and the curve of his back. Every touch was deliberate. Reverent. Like I was learning the geography of him again in this gentler language.
He leaned into me the whole time, his body trusting my hands to tell him he didn’t have to be strong right now.
When I finished, I wrapped both arms around him and held him under the spray. Elliot tucked his face into my shoulder and stood there, letting himself be held like something precious instead of something broken.
We didn’t say a word, just breathed together. Let our pain flow through us rather than pull us under. Knowing that finally we weren’t alone.
After a long moment, he shifted and reached for the soap. “My turn,” he said quietly.
He washed me with the same care, the same quiet devotion as I’d shown him. His hands trembled when they passed over my ribs. Over my back. Like he was afraid I might vanish if he pressed too hard.
I bent my head and kissed the crown of his hair. “You don’t have to be careful with me,” I murmured.
“I want to be,” he said.
When we turned off the water, the silence between us wasn’t empty. It was full. We dried off slowly. He stayed close, leaning into my side while I wrapped a towel around his shoulders first, rubbing warmth back into his skin like it mattered that much.
Elliot pulled on one of my hoodies, and let the sleeves swallow his hands. He stood in the doorway while I got dressed, twisting the cuff around his fingers over and over again. The unconscious little ritual he always fell into when he was overwhelmed and trying not to show it.
My chest ached at the sight of it. “You okay?” I asked gently.
He nodded. Too fast. “I will be,” he said.
I crossed the room and cupped his face in my hands, thumbs brushing the damp tracks still clinging to his cheeks. I kissed his forehead. His nose. Then finally sealed my mouth to his in a slow, anchoring kiss.
“You don’t have to be fine to go see her,” I said softly.
“I know,” he whispered.
He leaned into me like the words mattered. We didn’t rush after that. There was no ticking clock inside either of us, no unspoken urgency to get it over with.
I laced up my boots while Elliot perched on the edge of the bed in my hoodie, knees tucked up to his chest, sleeves still hiding his hands. He watched me the way he always did when he was quietly scanning my mood, trying to make sure I was steady enough to lean on.
“You don’t have to carry me today,” I told him gently.
His mouth twitched. “I know.”
He didn’t say he still wanted to anyway. It was written all over his face. The truth unmistakable in his glassy eyes.
When we stepped outside, the morning air was cool and salt-bright. Elliot slipped his hand into mine without a word. His palm was warm. Damp, still, like he hadn’t quite decided whether the day was allowed to exist yet.
I held my truck door open for him like usual and earned a peck on the cheek as he slid in. We didn’t talk much on the drive. The radio stayed off, but the silence wasn’t heavy. It was careful.
By the time the ocean was visible from the road, glassy and pale under a high, cloudless sky. I knew exactly where to get her flowers from. I pulled off onto the dirt road near the beach instead of heading straight toward the cemetery. Elliot glanced over at me.
“We’ve got time,” I said quietly and squeezed his thigh. “Before we go.”
He nodded like he understood exactly why.
We walked along the scrub line near the dunes, his fingers laced with mine. The earth was dry and sandy under our boots, wind tugging softly at our hair.
Wildflowers dotted the edge of the path—yellow, white, purple, and the palest cornflower blue. Stubborn little bursts of color growing out of ground that didn’t look like it should sustain anything at all.
He crouched down first. Careful in that way grief teaches you to be. I followed his lead, like I hoped to be able to do for the rest of our lives.
“These are her favorites,” he murmured, touching one gently with his fingertip.
I watched him pick them one by one. Not correcting his frame of reference because I got it. It was like Natalie lived on here by the water. I think I finally understood why in his most broken moments Elliot was drawn to it.
Each stem snapped clean and soft under his fingers. He gathered them into a crooked, uneven bouquet that looked imperfect and alive and real. Just like him.
When he stood, he hesitated, staring down at what he’d collected, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to bring her something that beautiful.
I reached out and adjusted one of the flowers where it had drooped. “She’d love these,” I said.
His throat worked. “I always thought flowers in bouquets had to be… formal. From a shop.”
I shook my head. “These grew because they wanted to. That’s more her than anything else.”
“Yeah,” Elliot breathed, eyes glistening with unshed tears. He swallowed them down and took my hand again.
We stood there for a moment with the ocean breathing quietly behind us. Just the tide rolling in and out like it wasn’t angry at anyone anymore. Like it understood the importance of today in a way most people wouldn’t.
“I’m still scared,” he admitted softly.
I didn’t pretend not to hear it. “I know,” I said.
He squeezed my hand. “But I’m not running.”
My chest tightened. Neither was I.
The cemetery gate creaked softly when we pushed it open.
The sound carried too far in the quiet, a thin metallic protest against the stillness of the morning. The place smelled like freshly cut grass and old stone, damp earth warming under the sun. The faint scent of flowers drifted on a gentle breeze, mingling with salt from the ocean.