11. The Unraveled
I groan,stretching out on the couch, my muscles protesting the cramped sleep. Sarah’s apartment is a shoebox—maybe even tinier than mine. The rain hasn’t stopped, and her place feels like a damp, claustrophobic cave. Is that coffee I smell?
“Rain Haven or Port Haven?” I mutter as I peek down on the wet asphalt.
My tongue twists around the words, trying to find a way to make them sound less like a tourist trap and more like a place where the sky perpetually weeps.
I stumble to my feet, my movements stiff and sluggish. The world seems tilting slightly, and I’m surprised I don’t topple over.
I head toward the kitchen, drawn by the sound of chatter. Who’s here?
Last night’s events, a jumbled mess of Alexander, Michelle, and the threats of the Raven, flash before my eyes. It’s like a rapid-fire slideshow I can’t control, but I shove it back into the recesses of my mind, tucking it away in my brain’s pocket.
Sarah’s long, red hair, always a bit messy, bounces as she dances around the kitchen.
“Morning,” I say in a hoarse voice.
“Mornin’ sunshine,” Sarah says, her voice bright. She throws her head back and lets out an infectious laugh, filling the tiny kitchen with a vibrancy that feels almost out of place on a day like this.
She leans in and plants a kiss on Gilbert’s lips, a playful grin spreading across her face. He”s perched on a stool at the kitchen counter, a mug of coffee warming his hands. His cheeks flush a rosy pink, his shy smile widening as she pokes his nose. He looks like a deer caught in headlights. He glances at her, his gaze full of a tenderness that makes her smile. His brown eyes, peeking out from behind his thick glasses, twinkle with a quiet joy.
The kitchen, however, is anything but serene. It”s a chaotic mix of mismatched mugs and overflowing fruit bowls, with stacks of books precariously perched on every available surface. A half-eaten bag of chips rests abandoned on the counter. It”s messy, but it”s also strangely comforting.
It’s a strange but undeniable connection between my best friend and Gilbert Grapeton. I find myself watching them, a bit fascinated. There’s a spark between them, a playful energy that makes me remember a time when I felt that way, a time when the world felt full of possibility.
“Good morning, Ava Parker,” Gilbert says politely. I almost forgot that we both work at Spectrum—accounting is like a different planet down the hall, and we’ve never really spoken.
“So, how’s work at Spectrum?” Sarah asks, her eyes twinkling. She’s leaning against Gilbert, her fingers tracing a pattern on his shirt. “I love it that you two work at the same place!”
“It’s been—busy,” Gilbert says, pushing up his glasses, his brow furrowed in concentration.
“Yeah, Gilbert told me Spectrum is expanding, Ava,” Sarah says.
“Expanding?” I say, raising my eyebrows.
“Yes, they’re hiring a bunch of new people. Apparently, some big investor is pushing money into Spectrum,” Sarah says. “You know, it’s amazing how quickly that company grows. Cole Cohan has really got a knack for it.”
“Really,” I manage, cocking my head.” Cole Cohan? But he’s not responsible. That would be the owner expanding, no?”
Gilbert looks up from his coffee, “Well, Cole is the owner.”
My heart thumps against my ribs, a sudden, uncomfortable awareness settling over me. Why didn’t I know that? I feel stupid. I always thought he was just my boss, my direct superior. But now, a realization dawns. I don’t know anything.
“Right, of course,” I say, pretending to know. “Is this common knowledge?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. I don’t talk to many people,” Gilbert says. “I just do the numbers and paperwork. And the papers say he’s the owner. But he’s a strange one, you know? He’s—different.”
“Oh, how so?” Sarah asks, leaning in closer.
”I’ve heard some stories,” Gilbert says, adjusting his glasses. ”He’s a man who likes to be in control. Everything has to be perfect. He doesn”t like surprises. He”s like a chess player, always looking ahead.” He hesitates, a flicker of something in his eyes, then adds, ”It’s hard to believe he started his business with so little money. He”s from a rough part of town, they say— But you wouldn”t know it now. He seems to have a way of getting what he wants. I”ve heard stories, you know? Like that time he bought that old abandoned warehouse near the docks. A real fixer-upper, they said. But he somehow turned it into a gold mine.” He laughs nervously, “Sorry. I’m just rambling.”
“I love that about you, Gilbert, hun. You’re so smart and so dedicated to your work, and your rambling is off the charts!” Sarah says, her eyes sparkling. She leans in, her red lips leaving a faint smudge on his cheek as she pulls away. He ducks his head shyly, a nervous grin spreading across his face.
“Well, I do pay attention to things, you know,” Gilbert says, his cheeks flushing even deeper.
The shrill ring of Sarah’s phone pierces the silence. The screen flashes a bright blue, but she ignores it, her eyes still locked on Gilbert. She reaches for a stray lock of hair and twists it around her finger.
My hand shakes as I lift the mug she has prepared for me to my lips, the coffee sloshing dangerously close to the rim. Eventually, the coffee spills onto the countertop, a dark brown stain spreading across the surface. “Damn it,” I mutter, reaching for a cloth.
“It’s okay,” Sarah says, her voice calm. “The place is a mess anyway.”
As I clean up the mess, the thought of Cole owning Spectrum starts to click. It would explain a lot. He’s always been elusive. He’s constantly observing, never revealing his hand. It’s like he’s a ghost in the machine, watching, assessing, knowing everything—a CEO in the shadows, the puppet master behind the curtain.
It’s brilliant, actually. My shoulders ease, the tension easing a little.
“You need a shower, hun,” Sarah says, tossing a bright pink, fluffy towel at my face. It matches her yoga pants perfectly, a splash of color on a gray day.
“Right,” I mutter, grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl as I exit the kitchen. The coffee was stale anyway, and the apple feels more grounding, a small, crisp rebellion against the havoc in my head.
I head towards the bathroom, a small, steamy delight might do me good. The shower might wash away the night’s grime—both physical and emotional. The hot water against my skin, helps to center me for a moment, to silence my brain’s buzz.
But the silence is fleeting. Alexander, Michelle, the Raven. The images, the memories, come crashing back.
What did Michelle mean by “just like a beat-up old car”? When she was attacking me yesterday. The thought stays with me, a persistent glitch in my brain’s code. Something feels off, and I can’t quite figure out how it all fits together.
I know I need to get back to Michelle— and Alexander. I want to check on her, but a part of me wants to linger in this warm, steamy cocoon, pretending that the world outside isn’t spinning out of control.
“You’re all set,” Sarah’s voice calls from the other side of the bathroom door. “Everything you need is in the bag.”
I emerge from the steam, my body feeling lighter, but my mind is not clearer. Sarah stands there, her brow furrowed, a worried crease forming between her eyes. She holds out a jumpsuit—a canvas of color, a riot of blues, yellows, and greens.
I smile, “Really?”
Sarah knows I’m not usually one for bright colors, but I decide I may need a little bit of sunshine. I slip it on, the fabric feeling light and airy against my skin.
I wonder how cold I will be in this thing if it doesn’t stop raining.
As I head out the door, Sarah’s hand rests on my arm, a warm touch seeping through my clothes. “Everything okay?” she asks.
My stomach rumbles, but the hunger feels secondary. The unsettling feeling, the nagging worry, pulls me forward.
“I’m fine,” I say, forcing a smile, but my words ring hollow, even to my ears. “I just need to go.”
She hesitates, then nods slowly. “Okay,” she says. “Call me when you get home?”
I nod, my heart pounding in my chest. I have a hunch, and I’m worried. My hand reaches for the doorknob, my fingers tightening around it. The need to get to the Bourne siblings is overwhelming. I must figure this out quickly and need Harvey’s help.
The rain has stopped.But the city streets are still slick with a greasy sheen, reflecting the early morning sunlight in a distorted, shimmering mess. I take a bite of the vegan croissant I grabbed at the store. The taste is bland and disappointing. It’s as unappetizing as the general feeling of damp misery that seems to cling to the entire city—a feeling I carry within myself, a dampness in my gut.
A figure ahead of me catches my eye. I think I see Tyler’s windblown sandy hair, a familiar sight in this sea of grey.
“Tyler!”
I’m about to shout his name again, to call out to him, but he disappears into the crowd ahead of me. Never mind, I think, tilting my head, my heart hammering a beat faster. It’s been over a year since we last spoke.
Oh, well, he’s gone.
Instead, my fingers fumble through my phone, searching for Harvey’s contact. I’m surprised by the tremor in my hands; I haven’t felt this nervous in years.
‘Michelle Bourne,’I type. ‘Does she have a history of reckless driving?’ The question feels urgent and desperate as if my whole world hinges on the answer.
His reply pops up a few moments later: ‘I can’t tell you, it’s confidential, Ava.’
I slam my fist against the phone screen, anger simmering beneath my skin. He knows I’m right. He knows it’s about Alexander. I press the green call button.
The phone rings once before he answers. At least he’s quick on the draw.
“Harvey?” I say, my voice tight.
“Yeah?” he gruffs. “I’m busy, Ava.”
“I need to know if Michelle Bourne has a history of reckless driving,” I say.
“Look, I can’t tell you that,” he says, his tone clipped. “You know I can’t—”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Harvey, I know about confidentiality,” I snap, my frustration boiling over. “I’m asking for a favor. Just tell me the truth. Please, it’s important.”
“Listen, I can tell you to look up accidents on your phone. But I’m kind of—”
A muffled voice, urgent and demanding, cuts him off. “Harvey, it’s Monroe—we need to get to—” The sounds of sirens and shouts drown out the words. Another crime. Another frantic call.
There’s a beep, and the phone goes dead. Damn it.
A low rumblein my stomach makes me navigate to the nearest bakery; even Harvey’s lack of cooperation can’t suppress my hunger. The sweet, yeasty scent of bread hits me like a warm hug. I stop in front of the bakery, its windows glowing. Inside, a scene unfolds—flour-dusted aprons, trays of glistening pastries, and a bustling energy that feels a world away from whatever I’m trying to outrun. But even with the warmth radiating from the bakery, a nagging feeling whispers in my mind. I’m being watched.
I push open the door and arrive at the counter, where I order a strong, black coffee and find a seat at a small table near the window. The cafe is buzzing with activity—a young couple sharing a croissant, a businessman reading a newspaper. But I feel a million miles away, lost in my thoughts.
I pull out my phone, my fingers trembling slightly. “Michelle Bourne,” I type, followed by “accident.” A string of news articles pops up on the screen, a digital trail of Michelle’s past.
The first article is from a local news site, dated back to when Michelle was only fifteen years old. The headline reads, “Teen Wanted for Reckless Driving.” My heart races as I scroll through the article, reading about the description of a reckless joyride, the car speeding through red lights, and the sirens blaring. I read it all, my stomach tightening.
I click on another article, this one even more alarming: “Young Woman Found and Arrested for DUI.” The picture is a blur, but I recognize Michelle’s wild tangle of dark hair and the defiance in her eyes. I read about the police report, the blood alcohol content, and the damage to the vehicle.
I scroll through more articles. Reckless driving, drunk driving, drug driving. It’s all there, a trail of chaos, a history of defiance. And all of them were years before my parents got killed.
There’s a lump in my throat. This is the truth I’m trying to avoid. It feels like a jigsaw puzzle, and I’m just starting to see the picture that’s been hidden for so long.
Pulling out my phone, my fingers fly across the keyboard. ‘I looked into the accident the other night. Nothing fits. Alexander couldn’t have been behind that wheel.’
Harvey’s response is a series of three dots, a frustrating silence that stretches for an eternity.
‘It wasn’t him driving, was it?’ I write. My mind races. ‘It was her.’
The floor beneath me feels unsteady. I grab onto the nearest wall for support. My breath comes in short, ragged gasps. My chest tightens. My vision blurs.
‘How?’ I type before receiving an answer from Harvey. I don’t need an explanation. I already know the truth.
‘Michelle had a record, a history of reckless driving,’I write. The pieces fall into place. My design program research included Alexander’s position in the car, the story from the articles, and how he climbed out the door. He couldn’t have been in the driver’s seat.
The truth slams into me like a freight train. It wasn’t Alexander behind the wheel. It was Michelle. And once again, the world feels broken. Harvey’s answer finally ticks in.’ Yes’ blinks on the screen.
I push back from the table; the bakery smells suddenly sickening. I have to get back to Michelle and Alexander to face this nightmare.
This wasn”t just a bad decision, a lapse in judgment. This was her trying to kill herself, just like Alexander had said. Again, and again. The articles I read come flooding in – the reckless driving, the near-misses. And then, the last time, the ultimate tragedy: her recklessness in taking my parents away, leaving a gaping hole in my life.
The street feels different, electric like the city’s holding its breath. My eyes scan the crowd, searching for— I don’t even know. And then I see him. A guy with a fedora pulled low, his face hidden in shadow. I still see it, a black feather tucked into the hat band. My heart stutters, a prickle of fear erupting on my skin.
The city blurs around me as I start running. Fast.
I don’t know if he’s following me. I can almost hear the rhythmic thump of his footsteps behind me, a predator’s heartbeat echoing in my ears.
As I reach my apartment building, my vision is blurry. I run through my apartment, the lock clicking shut behind me, and only stop for a breath when I’m standing inside, my back pressed against the wall.
I’m safe— for now.
The door swings open,and the air inside my apartment feels charged with a weird energy. I see them before I hear their breaths. Michelle is sprawled out on the couch. Her dark hair is draped down the couch like a decoration. Alexander is sleeping on the floor beside her, his clothes soaked through, clinging to his body like a second skin. Has he been out in the rain? He cradles his gun, its cold metal glinting in the morning light filtering through the blinds.
I take a step back, my breath catching in my throat. They both look like they’ve been through hell. If he’s been outside does it mean he followed me to Sarah in the night? And for how long was he outside her apartment?
Michelle stirs, her eyes fluttering open. She looks at me. “Ava,” she rasps, her voice hoarse, “You’re back, damn it. He was up all night looking for you.”
My gaze shifts to Alexander, and my stomach drops. The light in his eyes has dimmed, replaced by a shadowed weariness. He looks— broken.
“Ava,” Alexander says.
The air crackles. My eyes snag on the gun in Alexander’s hand.
“You look like crap,” Michelle says, rubbing her eyes. “But my brother seems to like you, so—”
“Ava, are you okay?” Alexander cuts her off, his voice a low rumble that shakes the room. He pushes himself up on his elbow, his eyes burning with a dark intensity, the kind that makes your blood run cold. He tries to look at me, but I can’t meet his gaze. My eyes are locked on Michelle, my fists clenched, the anger building inside me like a pressure cooker ready to explode.
A single tear rolls down my cheek, a silent tear to express my shattered soul.
“Sorry, Ava, I just—I’m just joking,” Michelle says, a flicker of panic in her eyes. “Thanks for having me here, yeah?”
“You,” I whisper. The dam breaks, and my tears spill out, a raging storm. “You killed them.”
“What?” Michelle asks, scratching her head. “Huh?”
“My parents,” I say, the words a bitter truth. “That night in the car crash. You were sixteen years old, and you crashed your car into another car that drove off a bridge near Port Haven Harbor—”
Michelle stiffens, her eyes downcast, her silence deafening.
“Ava,” Alexander says, reaching out to me. But I hold up my hand, silencing him.
“Enough lies, Alexander. Enough!” I say, my voice firm, my anger rising. “You—” My eyes burn into Michelle, laser-focused on the truth staring back at me.
Michelle gets to her feet, her shoulders slumping. “I’m. I’m so sorry,” she says, her voice barely a tremor. “I was young, reckless. Didn’t know what I was doing. Didn’t know—”
“That you took away my whole life?” I say; my voice is tight, and the muscles in my jaw tense. “That you killed two of the best people in the world? Left me an orphan at sixteen?”
The memory slams into me, a vivid flashback. The police officer standing at the front door of my childhood home. His cold, official words. The placement in a foster home, the years of feeling lost, the day I finally moved into my own apartment, a refuge from the pain.
“I know you were hurting, but damn it! They’re gone; nothing you say can bring them back. Don’t you see it? The damage you’ve done?”
“I—I don’t know what to say,” Michelle whispers, her voice trembling. “If I could take it back, I would. Please—”
“Please, what? Forgive you?” I hiss. “Never.”
Michelle’s shoulders slump even further, her body radiating a raw, painful vulnerability. “I was fucked up,” she says, her voice cracking. “Not stable. Drug usage. Alexander was —protecting me, trying to stop me from driving, but it wasn’t enough. I wanted to destroy the world, destroy myself. Get back at the world for being cruel, for forcing me on a path with an abusive asshole father and a useless, selfish mother.”
My face burns crimson. Michelle’s tears stream down her cheeks, a silent torrent.
Alexander stands on the side, watching us with a haunted expression, his jaw clenched, his body tense.
“I should go, for fuck’s sake,” Michelle hisses. “I don’t deserve to be here.”
She moves towards the door, her feet light on the wooden floors.
“Stop, Michelle. Isaac will take you to my place,” Alexander says, his voice low and commanding. “Stay there. Don’t let anyone in.”
“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea,” I say, my voice rough. “Go.”
Michelle looks at me, a flicker of pain in her eyes, a fleeting glimpse of something that could almost be gratitude. She takes a deep breath and nods. “Ava—” Her voice catches, her words trailing off.
Alexander grunts something. “Go.”
She leaves, and I turn to face Alexander. “You lied to me again? Why?” I whisper.
He meets my gaze, his eyes filled with regret and something else I can’t quite decipher. “I had to. So Michelle wouldn’t go to jail.”
“I could have handled the truth,” I say, my voice shaking with hurt. “I could have dealt with it. I understand why you wanted to protect her.”
“I know,” he says, his voice rough. He steps toward me, his hand reaching out, a silent plea for connection. “I made a mistake, Ava. I didn’t want to burden you with it. For you to have to lie to Harvey. I’m sorry.”
I yank my hand back, my chest constricting. It’s a familiar feeling—the sting of betrayal, the tingling of anger. But as my eyes lock onto him, something else happens. A slow burn starts in the pit of my stomach. It’s a confusing mix—the sting of betrayal and the sting of need, all tangled up together.
A tear rolls down my cheek, hot and unexpected. I want to scream. I want to run. But the words, the need, they’re all stuck in my throat.
The air crackles. It’s not just the silence; it’s the energy buzzing between us. The undeniable pull between us, despite everything, is still there.
It’s like I’m wired to him, a connection I can’t break. I need him. I want him. I’m not sure if it’s a good idea. Maybe it’s a terrible idea. But the need is too strong to resist.
And then, we collide, a crash of bodies and emotions. It’s not just a kiss. It’s a release. The tension breaks, and the world around us fades away. I can feel his hands on my hips, his fingers digging into my skin, a possessive touch that sends a jolt of heat through my veins.
I’m hungry for him, for his touch, for his kiss. For his body on mine.
The space between us is non-existent. I’m acutely aware of every inch of his body, the way the fabric of his still-wet shirt stretches across his chest, and the scent of him - a mix of dark chocolate and something raw and untamed - clings to me.
With a jolt of awareness, I realize how much I missed him. The heat of his body radiating against mine is a physical sensation, a warmth that both draws me in and makes me want to shy away.
I can feel his gaze on my bare neck, the line of my collarbone, the curve of my throat. His eyes, a deep, ice-blue, burn into me, their intensity stealing my breath.
He leans closer, his breath ruffling my hair. “You’re mine, Ava, and I need you,” he grunts. It’s not a question; it is a command. His fiery eyes burn into me, branding me his.
“I always was,” I gasp.
His lips touch mine in a rugged, demanding kiss; he tastes divine; whiskey mingled with the scent of his damp skin makes a burn spread through my body down between my legs.
He grabs my hair with one hand and crashes deeper into our kiss, owning me with his mouth. His tongue plays with mine, and his other hand caresses my lower back, a teasing, slow touch that sends shivers through me.
The world tilts, and it’s only us at the moment. I feel dizzy, and my heart throbs in my ears. His kiss is a fire, branding my lips, biting them. Teasing me with a cruelty that makes my groin burn for him. His hands, strong and sure, are on me, pulling me closer, molding my body to his.
“Spread your legs, Ava, now,” he demands, “I want to see your pussy.”
“Yes, Alexander,” I comply.
He lifts me, sitting on the sofa as he kneels before me, pulling off my kickers. The worn leather of the couch feels rough against my bare legs. His gaze holds mine captive, and I feel weightless, adrift in a sea of sensations.
He pushes my legs apart roughly, hungry, his hands moving with a practiced ease, giving him a full view of my slit. The air between us is hot and sizzling; the only sound is our ragged breaths.
“Now spread it open for me,” he growls.
I comply, my fingers first tracing the contours of my thighs, my hips swaying, as I open my lips with two fingers. I’m on full display, a doll in his hands, and he takes in every curve and crevice of my body. It’s so hot I feel like I’m about to explode.
“Touch me,” I ask, my voice low.
I bite my lip, a muffled moan escaping my throat as his tongue hits my clit with a relentless force, scorching. He bites me, a sharp, painful sensation that sends a jolt of electricity through me. It’s a pain that turns into pleasure: torment and delight.
All I can do is nod as I moan with pleasure, my body responding instinctively to him. He inserts a finger in my wetness, then another, filling me to the brink.
“Fuck yes,” he says, pressing his index and middle finger inside me as his tongue swirls around in war with my clit. His fingers glide in and out of me, impaling me on him, and I’m losing all control. His forehead glistens with sweat, and his eyes are wild and needy. He needs me. His breath intensifies, a ragged gasp escaping his lips. And I need him. I bite my lip, trying to contain my excitement, as my breath intensifies.
“Such a perfect slit, Ava,” he says, his voice deep. “You like it, don’t you?”
I nod, my head thrown back, a moan escaping my lips. I push him back between my legs, my fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.
“I will punish your pussy now, Ava,” he growls, his gaze fixed on my body. “And you’ll take it like the good girl you are.”
“Yes, please, make me come, Alexander,” I say breathlessly.
His fingers work faster and faster, in and out, thrusting into me as he pleases my apex. His touch is pure pain and pleasure, a force that drives me closer to the edge.
“You’re so tasty, fuck, you’re so sweet, Ava,” he says, his voice a rough whisper.
He grips my thighs and hips, his hands a vice around me. His tongue swirls around, and I’m about to explode on him.
Yes, yes, yes,my body is ready. And then, I come, fast and furious, a torrent of sensation that vibrates through my body. It spills over his face, a warm, sticky wave of pleasure.
“You need to be fucked hard right now,” he demands. He slaps my clit with a forceful hand, a sharp, stinging feeling that sends me over the edge again.
He pulls out his fingers, the sensation of emptiness a bittersweet pang. His cock, hard and throbbing, is suddenly inside me. He slams into me, a brutal rhythm that fills me with a divine aching for more of him. I want him deeper inside. I can’t get enough of him.
“My,” he breathes, his voice ragged, his eyes burning with intensity. “Fucking,” he breathes, “dirty girl.” He slams into me again, his hand caressing my nipple, twisting it painfully, eliciting a cry of delight.
“Oh yes, Alexander!”
I lock eyes with him, and he watches me intently, moving into me in perfect motion. He pounds into me again and again, his strength overwhelming. Fuck, yes.
The feeling of him inside me is exquisite—absolutely perfect. He’s filling me up, every thrust making me shiver with rapture. Holy shit, Alexander.
He drives his cock into my dripping wetness, shoving him deep inside of me. As his hand runs up over my sore breasts to my mouth, he stuffs his fingers that were inside me into my mouth.
“Taste yourself, Ava, you’re a fuckin’ goddess.”
His mouth-fucks me as he thrusts his cock so deep inside that I’m about to faint. His fire, his wildness, makes me push myself over the limit.
“Come with me,” I beg him, “I can’t hold myself anymore.”
I dig my nails into his bare skin, scratching him, making him bleed, which only makes him fuck me harder. He’s banging me against the couch, my back arching, my hips grinding against him, as I scream out his name. The world narrows, and a panting of colors and sensations swirls around me.
“So fuckin’ perfect,” he growls, his eyes fixed on my body. “Such a tight pussy, Ava, and it’s all mine.”
The words send a jolt of pleasure through me, pushing me over the edge. I explode, a fiery eruption of sensation that leaves me trembling and breathless. I can feel him emptying himself inside me, his cum filling me, his hand around my throat, squeezing me breathless, and then he lets go with a grunt.
As I wrap myself around his perfect length, he falls on top of me, his body heavy, possessive, owning me.
Does this man, this enigma, own me? The thought is both terrifying and intoxicating. A slow, wicked grin stretches across his face, his eyes gleaming with a primal satisfaction. He leans down, and his lips brush against my forehead, a fleeting touch.
I am a captive in a silken web. I lie nestled against him, the steady rhythm of his breath a lullaby against my ear. I am his. But as I trace the lines of his face, a shadow of doubt creeps into my newfound bliss. What does it mean to belong to a man like Alexander Bourne fully and eternally?
We’re tangled together, two souls trying to find a moment of peace in a world that’s gone to hell. But the fight’s not over yet. We’re still here. We’re still breathing.
The cityoutside my window is a symphony of blinking lights, a chaotic ballet of neon, and a thousand windows, each holding a story—maybe even one a little bit like mine. But tonight, my world shrinks to the space between these four walls, a tangled mess of sheets and half-truths.
Alexander”s still-warm body next to me is a weight I crave, a familiar comfort in the face of the creeping chill. The air is thick with the smell of rain, a metallic tang that makes me think of the first whispers of change, of endings and beginnings, of a season shifting. I wonder what kind of chapter this will be.
Alexander’s phone”s shrill buzz cuts through the silence like a jarring alarm clock, waking him up. His hand snakes out before the phone even hits his ear, grabbing it. His grip is tight, and his features harden as he listens.
“Isaac?” he says, “Yes— I see— What?”
Listening in on the conversation in my slumber is not much use, and moments later, he hangs up the phone.
“It’s Isaac,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “Something’s wrong at the harbor. I have to go.”
He looks at me, a flicker of something raw in his eyes. It’s the look of a man who’s been to hell and back.
“Do you have to go?”
“I need to, Ava,” he says. “I have to help Isaac. I can’t not be there for him — I —I failed to protect Mendel.”
Is it that dangerous?
The look in his eyes makes it clear that the memory still haunts him. My breath catches a tight knot forming in my chest. I clench my fists, my body yearning to hold him close, keep him safe, and be his anchor. But he’s already pulling away. His hand brushes my cheek, a brief, fleeting touch that leaves me wanting more.
“Be careful,” I say, holding on to him for a moment, “please.”
He leans down, his lips brushing mine in a quick, desperate kiss. A whisper of a goodbye. And then he’s gone, swallowed by the night.
I watch him disappear, my heart sinking, my hand instinctively reaching for the spot on the pillow where his head lay moments ago.
I’m alone again, but this time, it feels different. We’ve shared a truth, a truth that’s pulled us closer. All I know is that I’ll be waiting for him.