“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 mustweigh on his mind—his grief, his memories, his own pain—why saythatto 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.
