“Don’t go far. Stay in sight.”
I’m being overbearing. I have been for days. I’m going to have to ease up on it, but I’m not fucking ready. But Elias nods, accepting it.
I keep an eye on him as I go to join Noah. I’m sure he’s well aware of our arrival and sees my approach, but he doesn’t look at me until I reach him.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hi, Andre.”
I sit on the bench and watch Elias walk around the edge of the garden, looking at the roses. They’ve leafed out and are coming into bud.
“I’m glad you wanted to meet,” Noah says.
“I, um, wanted to thank you. For the other night. For the other … several.”
“I’m just glad you called me, Andre.”
“I wouldn’t have,” I admit. “Without Rafael.”
“It doesn’t matter why. I know it was hard for you.”
My throat tightens. There’s something lodged between us. It’s not coming from Noah. It’s coming from me.
Noah won’t force anything. He’ll let me leave it there. But … I don’t want to. It doesn’t feel good, and I’m tired of things that don’t feel good. Not everything has to be that way, I’ve learned.
“Noah?”
“Yeah, Andre.”
“I’m—” My throat seizes tight. My eyes sting. The word is stuck, but I force it out. “Sorry.”
When the word leaves my mouth, a shit-ton of pressure goes with it, and it makes me start crying. “I’m really fucking sorry.”
Noah hasn’t touched me since that first night when he saved me, when he cleaned me, when he made me safe. He doesn’t touch me now, but I touch him. It’s slow and awkward. It’s just my forehead barely resting on his shoulder.
Noah’s breath catches. Then his hand comes up slowly and touches my head, just as hesitant, just as awkward. But it makes me relax a little. I let my head rest more heavily. His hand gets heavier too.
“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, Andre.”
“Yeah, I do.”
“I’m just—fuck, I’m just really glad to see you,” Noah says in a choked voice.
“You never wrote me off.”
“And I never fucking will.”
I lift my head. He lets me go.
“Fuck,” Noah breathes. He scrubs his sleeve across his eyes. “It’s easier when you’re mad at me.”
I scrub my own eyes. “I was never mad at you.”
“Yeah,” he says with a sigh. “I know.”
I watch Elias wandering. He glances up and meets my eyes across the garden. He sees what I need. He starts walking toward me and Noah.
As Elias sits on the bench at my side, he asks, “Is he dead?” He means his father.
