“Rafael, no. I’m not—”
“Yes, you are.” He laughs, but it’s devoid of humor. “Ethan needs you, and you need him. And I won’t be the reason you don’t get custody.”
“So you’re dumping me?” I ask. I can’t feel the wind blowing around us, though the branches of the nearby trees wiggle enough for me to know I should; it’s like I’m having an out-of-body experience. Like I’ve turned into a marionette, moved around by strings I don’t control.
He scoffs. “N—” After closing his mouth, he mutters, “I can do itforyou if you need me to.”
“No.No, we’re not breaking up.” A sob rolls through my chest. “We’re not even together yet. We’re not breaking up.” He stares at me, brows knitted together, as I panic. “We’renot. Rafael, we’re—”
“Okay, okay.” He clears his voice, attempting a smile. “You’re right. We’re not.”
He holds his hand out and, reluctantly taking it, I follow him to the car.
Are we breaking up? That’s what Steve meant when he said I’d have to choose, right?
The drive home is silent, and as the streets blur by, I know that this can’t be the end, because if it is, any chance at love dies with our sort-of relationship tonight, and I’m done.
We make it back to my place, the same unnatural quiet between us as we sit on the couch.
“I need you both,” I mumble, voicing the thought that has been buzzing in my mind since the park.
I need Ethan. He’s my brother, the only family I have left. And I need Rafael, too—breakfast in bed, annotated books, waking up to his face. The way my brother opens up when he’s around, and every single meal he’s let me read through.
I’d miss all of it so much, it feels like I can’t possibly picture it right now. Like this is the kind of loss I’d only feel as it happened, as his presence became a memory instead of a routine. As I watched him come and go, knowing I no longer had the right to know where. As he moved on without me, and I without him.
It’s a grief I can only imagine right now but that I’d feel every day.
“I know,” he says, his hand squeezing mine. “But I don’t think whoyouneed is what’ll tip the scale.”
I still, letting his words sink in. The second my shoulders shake, he wraps his arms around me.
He’s right. It’s not about whoIneed the most but about who needsme. And that is, without a doubt, Ethan.
The second I start sobbing, he shifts closer, pulling me tighter into his chest like he can hold the pieces together if he just squeezeshard enough. My fingers clutch his shirt. I want to crawl into his chest and stay there, safe and selfish. I want it all to stop hurting.
I cry into the hollow of his throat as he cups the back of my head, fingers sifting through my hair with such care it only makes me cry harder.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “You’re going to be okay.”
No, I won’t. I’ll never be okay.
He tilts my face up, gently, reverently. His thumb wipes beneath my eye, then again, slower. His gaze drags over every tear before he kisses my cheek, just next to the corner of my mouth. Then a little higher, catching a tear with his lips like it’s something sacred. And again, slower this time, lingering by my temple, his breath warm and trembling.
My hand finds his jaw, and I tilt forward just enough that our lips brush together.
When he responds, it’s with a kind of aching restraint, like he’s kissing someone he knows he might have to say goodbye to. Like he wants to memorize it. Every angle, every breath.
I sigh into his mouth, and his arms wrap around me fully, his hand cradling my jaw as the kiss deepens. We shift together until I’m straddling him, knees bracketing his hips, the warmth of his chest meeting mine.
“Rafael,” I breathe out. He withdraws a little to meet my gaze, his eyes dark and wild. “Please.”
“Yes,” he says as he kisses me again, slower this time, savoring. “Everything you want, Freckles.”
We move together like we’ve done this a hundred times and never before—every touch familiar, every kiss brand-new. His hands tremble as they slide up my thighs, fingers curling into the bare skin just beneath the hem of my shirt.
I feel the shake in his breath, the restraint in his hands. I feeleverything.
When I kiss him again, I taste salt. I don’t know if it’s his tears or mine, but I just hold on tighter, as if getting closer might stop time. Might give us another chance.
