In this light, the puzzle pieces across his bare back are striking—complex, intentional, and somehow… vulnerable.
I reach out, unable to help myself, and run my fingertips gently over the dark lines before handing him a T-shirt.
“You’ll have to tell me about these,” I say quietly. “They’re… intriguing.”
“Don’t,” he snaps, voice sharp as his head drops.
A few strands of dark hair fall across his forehead. I brush them aside, tenderly, and his jaw tightens.
“Does Emilee know?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
His head lifts just enough for his eyes to meet mine. “What?”
“Does Emilee know… that you’re gay?”
He whips around, snatching the T-shirt from my hand with a scowl. “Does Emilee knowwhat?”
“That you’re gay,” I say, evenly now—no judgment, just truth.
“I’m just figuring this out myself, Elijah,” Alex says, his voice tight. “I might still be straight.”
“Maybe you’re bi?” I offer gently, reaching for his hand.
He pulls it back instantly.
“Nope.”
I sigh, stepping in closer. This time, I reach for his forearms instead—giving him less of an escape, but still space.
“Don’t do this, Alex. So what if our daughters are friends? That doesn’t have to change what’s happening here… between us.”
He slaps his palms against his thighs, eyes squeezing shut. His fingers twist tightly into the fabric of his pants, and though something in his posture rattles me, I stay quiet. I can see he’s struggling, so I give him space to sort it out.
Emilee is like a second daughter to Gabriel and me. She’s here so often, it sometimes feels like Ana has a sister. It makes sense—her dad’s job in fashion keeps him constantly on the move. It’s the same reason Ana has spent just as much time attheirplace too.
It’s strange really… how close our lives have been without ever actually crossing paths.
Until now.
Carefully, I reach for Alex’s hand again.
This time, he lets me take it.
His eyes open slowly, cautiously, as I thread my fingers through his. His palm is damp with sweat, and I can feel the faintest tremor in his touch as I lead him gently over to the sofa.
“Are you okay now?” I ask softly, pressing a kiss across his knuckles.
He lifts his gaze to meet mine. “Considering we almostfucked, Elijah? Twenty minutes ago. In your goddamn bedroom.”
I flinch, instinctively snapping into defense. “What happened in my bedroom is?—”
“I’minterested,” he interrupts, the words slipping out on a shaky breath.
I pause, gently brushing my thumb along the curve of his cheek. “Interested?”
He turns to face me fully now, lashes damp, eyes glassy.
“In you,” he confesses, voice barely above a whisper. “And I don’t know what to do about it.”
