Chapter 31
OLIVIA
When Sandrine, Bas’s childhood friend, calls Sam over, he hesitates, torn between her and Alec. I squeeze his hand, urging him softly.
“It’s okay,” I whisper. “Go. Alec and I will be fine.”
Alec gives a faint nod, giving Sam permission. With one last look at us, Sam crosses the grass toward Sandrine, his head bowed, his posture heavy with exhaustion and grief.
The moment he’s out of earshot, Alec clears his throat, the sound sharp in the still air. “You don’t see it, do you?”
“Pardon?” I turn to him, confused.
“That boy has given you his heart.”
The words hang between us, solid and unyielding. I meet his gaze, startled by the quiet intensity in his voice. There’s warmth there, yes, but something else too. Weariness, maybe even disappointment.
I don’t know what to say. My mind scrambles for something that might make sense of his words, but all I can manage is silence.
“You may not know it,” he continues, his voice softening. “Hell, you probably didn’t even ask for it, but it’s yours.”
His eyes drift toward Sam, who now has Sandrine tucked gently beneath his arm, comforting her as she cries into his chest. The sight is tender, devastating.
“You’d better honor Bastien’s request,” Alec says quietly. “Take care of Sam’s heart. Of him. He’s the one thing Bas loved most in this world. He would’ve given up everything for that boy. He made me promise to look after him, though he knew he didn’t have to ask.”
He turns back to me then, and I see what grief has done. How it’s woven new lines into his face, how his eyes have lost their light.
“Olivia,” he says, voice trembling, “you have the power to destroy him. Bas will rise from the dead and haunt me if I let you hurt Sam.”
My throat tightens. “Alec…” I falter, the words stumbling out of me.
I want to say he’s wrong, that I’d never hurt Sam, but even as I try, the thought roots itself deep inside.
I do love Sam or at least, I think I do. But what if I don’t? What if this is something else—comfort, companionship, the illusion of safety in a storm? I adore him. I crave him. I miss him the second we part. But love?
The question feels too big, too raw.
My stomach sinks as Bas’s words echo in my head, words I’d brushed aside when he first spoke them. Don’t waste time because of fear or uncertainty.
And now, standing beside Alec, hearing the same plea from the man who loved Bas most in the world, I realize this is what fear looks like.
It’s not loud or obvious. It’s quiet. Creeping. A whisper, telling you it’s safer not to fall.
But looking across the cemetery at Sam holding the woman who helped raise him, his grief etched into every line of his face, I know there’s no “safe” anymore.
I already fell.
Alec’s words echo through me long after he walks away. The idea that I could hold that much power over Sam—that I could destroy him—is overwhelming. Terrifying, even. I don’t want that kind of influence, and yet I can’t shake the weight of it pressing against my chest.
“Olivia.” Sam cuts through my spiraling thoughts.
Alec stands nearby, silent and still, his gaze fixed on me with a depth that seems almost assessing. Measuring. Judging. Maybe he’s just seeing through me.
“Let’s go.” He takes my hand just as the first cold drops of rain splatter against my face. Within seconds, it’s falling harder, fat, icy drops that sting against my skin. Sam opens an umbrella, handing one to Alec, then wraps his arm firmly around my waist, steering me toward the car.
Behind us, Alec doesn’t move.
“You coming?” Sam calls over his shoulder.
The rain grows heavier, hammering against the umbrellas in a steady rhythm. Alec looks like a man sculpted by grief, still and stoic against the storm-dark backdrop.
After a long pause, he shakes his head. “No. I’ll stay a while. I’ll get a ride back.”
Sam hesitates but doesn’t argue. He only nods, his hand tightening around mine before he helps me into the car.
The drive back to the house is quiet, the steady patter of rain filling the silence between us. Sam’s knuckles are white on the steering wheel, his eyes fixed on the slick road ahead.
I don’t press him to talk. He’s lost in his own thoughts, and I’m tangled in mine—replaying Alec’s words over and over, trying to make sense of them. Of all the things that must weigh on his mind—his grief, his memories, his own pain—why say that to me? Why now?
When Alec returns hours later, he’s drenched and pale, but something in him seems steadier, as if the storm outside matched the one he needed to weather inside.
He shrugs off his coat and moves through the kitchen on autopilot, insisting on making dinner. Grilled cheese and tomato soup—simple, comforting, exactly the kind of meal Bas would’ve approved of.
We eat in near silence. The house feels cavernous, the air thick with the absence of laughter and the ghost of Bas’s presence still lingering in every corner. None of us linger long at the table. One by one, we drift off to bed.
When Sam and I finally undress and slip beneath the covers, we don’t speak. The room is dim, the curtains stirring slightly in the wind. I feel him watching me, though, the weight of his grief pressed tight between us.
Then, wordlessly, he reaches for me.
His hands find my face, my shoulders, my back, pulling me closer until there’s no space left between us. The moonlight spills through the window, casting pale light across his face, enough for me to see the anguish traced across it.
His mouth finds mine in a desperate, bruising kiss, one that speaks more than words ever could.
We move together slowly, quietly, grief and love intertwined. There’s no urgency, no frenzy, only need. His, mine. A shared ache, a silent understanding that this is more than comfort. This is surrender. Connection. Life pressing back against the darkness.
Our movements are soft, reverent, our breaths mingling in the quiet. Every touch feels like both a promise and a plea—to hold on, to keep going, to not drown in the loss.
When it’s over, we stay wrapped in each other, our chests rising and falling in sync. I kiss the curve of his shoulder, the rough edge of his jaw, the salt of his skin. He holds me tighter, one arm banded around my waist, his leg draped over mine like he’s anchoring us both to this moment.
The rain patters softly against the windows, steady and soothing. His breathing evens out, slow and deep, until he finally drifts to sleep.
I stay awake a little longer, tracing idle circles over his chest, listening to the sound of his heart beneath my ear.
And as the storm outside begins to fade, I realize grief and love—like the rain—can coexist. Both relentless. Both cleansing. Both necessary.
The bed dips and rises with Sam’s departure.
It’s just after six o’clock in the morning, and I lie still while he dresses and closes the door behind him.
After a few footfalls, the muffled voices of Sam and Alec filter through the paper-thin walls.
Giving them this much-needed time to talk, I burrow farther into the soft down covers and close my eyes.
Not long after, the strong, alluring aroma of coffee permeates the bedroom, followed by the familiar kitchen clatter of breakfast coming together.
It’s time for me to go home. I’ve been here nearly a week and I need to leave today.
I’m taking a car service to the airport in a few short hours.
I don’t want to leave Sam. I want to be here for him, but I also know Alec and Sam need some time together.
They have things to discuss and decisions to make.
Breakfast is solemn. There isn’t much talking, but the tension has lifted, perhaps from knowing Bas is at rest. After our meal, Sam loads the car with my bags and I linger in the foyer, waiting for Alec, hoping to get a moment alone.
“Olivia.” His deep rumble comes from behind me.
“Alec.” I sigh with relief at his usual tone and warm expression.
I open my arms and he folds me into a long, comforting hug, his rich, masculine cologne grounding me in a way few things can right now.
“I wanted to talk to you before I left.”
He eases back half a step, his hands still resting on my shoulders, eyes steady and kind.
“Me first. I’m sorry about yesterday. I came on too strong.
I was reacting out of fear, my fear of fucking this up, of being alone, of not being enough for Sam.
” His voice wavers, rough around the edges, and his fingers tighten slightly against me. “I’m sorry.”
Blinking back tears, I manage a small, reassuring smile. Seeing him like this—vulnerable and open—undoes me.
I understand him, maybe more than I want to. “I get it. Really, I do.”
Loving someone is a gift, fragile and rare, and Alec knows exactly how precious it is because he’s lost it.
In truth, I wish I could ease his grief.
But I’m also grateful—grateful he and Sam have each other.
They share a love that will carry them through.
Their bond, their devotion to Bas, will keep them standing when the rest of the world feels too heavy.
“No apologies needed. I understand. And I want you to know—I have no intention of hurting Sam. I love him. I’ll take care of him.”
Alec’s eyes warm, but there’s a glint of something searching behind them. “My sweet girl, I know you believe that from the bottom of your heart. It’s clear as day, in the way you look at him, the way you talk to him. But how does that work?”
I frown, unsure where he’s going with this. “What do you mean?”
He sighs, his expression gentle but probing. “You live in Toronto. He’s here in Montreal. How do you build a life together when he’s not planning on leaving this place? Are you prepared to uproot your life for him?”
The question sinks in, steady and heavy, unsettling everything I’ve tried to keep neatly contained.
I stare at him, speechless. The truth is, I haven’t thought that far ahead. I’ve been living in the present, trying to hold Sam together, to hold myself together. The idea of choosing—between the life I’ve built and the man I love—feels impossible.