The words landed with surgical precision.
“You swapped one for the other,” he went on, feeding on the silence. “You make me sick.” Eyes bright with something ugly. “I get it now. You wanted what I had. Didn’t you? You wanted to be me.” He laughed—a broken, hysterical sound. “So how does it feel?” he demanded. “How does it feel to be me, you sick fuck?”
My chest hurt. Visibly. I felt it there—raw and burning—but my voice held. “I didn’t want to be you,” I said. “I wanted him to survive you.”
Footsteps sounded on the stairs. Elliot appeared—barefoot, hair still damp, wrapped in one of my old T-shirts like it belonged to him. His arms slid around my waist from behind, instinctive, seeking shelter.
My breath hitched. David turned on him immediately. My gut clenched as he started spewing his vitriol at him.
“So this is what you’ve become?” he sneered. “Playing house with my ex best friend?”
Elliot stiffened.
“Don’t,” I warned.
David ignored me. “Is this what you think love looks like?” he said to Elliot. “Clinging to someone else because you don’t know how to stand on your own?”
Elliot’s grip tightened. His breath broke.
“Stop,” I said, turning fully, pulling Elliot into my chest. I pressed a reverent kiss to his forehead, slow and deliberate, before positioning myself between them. “You don’t get to speak to him like that.”
David’s eyes burned into mine. “You don’t get to decide what he needs,” he spat.
“I didn’t,” I said. “I listened when he told me.”
Elliot’s shoulders shook behind me.
“I can’t be under the same roof as him,” I said then—steady, final. “Not like this.”
“Anthony—” Elliot whispered, panicked.
I cupped his face, thumb brushing away tears as they spilled. My own chest was cracking open.
“My home is always open to you,” I said softly. “Any time. Day or night. You never have to wonder. Never have to ask, okay.”
“Don’t go,” he sobbed. “Please.”
I leaned down and kissed him—slow, certain, undeniable. Not hiding. Not apologizing. “I’m not leaving you,” I whispered against his mouth. “I’m leavinghim.”
I grabbed my jacket, turned once more to David.
“I stayed because I loved your son,” I said. “You left because you didn’t know how.”
Then I turned and walked out. I made it halfway to the truck before I heard my name.
“Anthony—wait.”
Footsteps—bare, frantic—hit the porch, then the gravel. I barely had time to turn before Elliot was there, breathless, eyes bright with tears, hair still damp and curling at his temples.
He didn’t say anything at first.
Just grabbed me.
His arms looped around my neck, fingers digging in like he was afraid I’d disappear if he loosened his grip. He kissed me hard—messy, desperate—like he was trying to memorize the shape of my mouth. Like this might be the last time he was allowed to.
I broke into him with a sound I didn’t recognize, hands coming up to cradle his face, my thumb catching a tear as it slipped free.
“Baby—” I started.
