“Can you send me the address?” I ask.
“If I do, Sebastian will find out, and I can’t promise he won’t tell Aaiden,” he cautions. “They’re worried about Gabe.”
“Right.” I open my junk drawer and dig around for a pen and paper. “Give it to me over the phone.”
Micah rattles it off, and I hang up. The phone drops onto the counter with a clatter as I bend to retrieve the envelope from the floor.
I fold it and slip it into my jacket pocket as I grab my keys and head out the door.
For once, I’m not going to run away from my problems.
Gabriel spent so much time chasing after me, showing me again and again that he cared for me. It’s time I start doing some of the heavy lifting on my end if I want to win him back.
My motorcycle roars through the quiet streets of Rockhaven, the engine’s growl bouncing off stone facades and manicured hedges. Each block I travel takes me deeper into territory that wasn’t meant for men like me.
The streetlights here don’t flicker or buzz. Their steady golden glow illuminates pristine cobblestone streets without a crack or pothole in sight. Even the air smells different, crisp and fresh, with no hint of fast food or garbage.
I slow at an intersection of townhouses and boutique shops. Wrought-iron balconies stretch from second-story windows, plants cascading from hanging pots, while window boxes burst with colors.
Ignoring the car that stops behind me, I pull outmy phone to check the GPS. Gabriel’s cousin’s townhouse should be right around here.
The line on the map says it’s just ahead, and I rev my engine, getting back into motion before someone calls the cops on me.
I round the final corner, and a cul-de-sac opens before me, six townhouses arranged in a perfect semicircle. Each stands two stories tall, narrow but deep, with floor-to-ceiling windows and small front gardens separating them from the street. Five have dark facades of brick or stone, classical and understated.
The sixth, at the very end, stands apart, a sleek structure of gray concrete and glass that cuts a modern silhouette amidst its traditional surroundings. Even in this neighborhood of wealth, it announces itself as different.
Caleb’s townhouse. It has to be.
Warm light glows behind a series of narrow, floor-to-ceiling windows with a modern vibe, casting strips of gold onto the small front lawn. A security camera perches above the front door, its red light blinking.
So much for Micah’s caution. I’ll eat my jacket if his security husband doesn’t already know where Gabriel has been hiding.
I kill the engine halfway down the street andwheel my bike the rest of the distance, not wanting to announce my arrival any louder than necessary. In the sudden silence, the faint tinkle of wind chimes from a nearby porch fills the air, along with the distant hum of traffic beyond the cul-de-sac.
I park at the curb and pull off my helmet, hanging it from one handlebar. My pulse races as I swing my leg over to stand on the sidewalk, breath fogging in front of me in the cool night air.
The words I’ve rehearsed during the ride here circle through my mind, each iteration sounding more inadequate than the last.
I was wrong.
I’m sorry.
I don’t want to be the kind of man who hurts you.
The simple phrases should come easily, but I’ve never apologized to anyone, not even Micah. I show my remorse with pastries, and we move on. Survival doesn’t leave room for remorse when you’re fighting to stay alive, and growing up in the same place, he always understood.
But Gabriel isn’t Micah, and what I did won’t be resolved with a cheese danish.
My hand drifts to my jacket pocket, feeling the rectangle of the envelope through the leather. I brought it to give back to him, unopened, unread. Asmall gesture that can’t possibly undo what I’ve done, but it’s all I have to offer.
That and the truth.
A curtain twitches in the house next door, the movement so slight I might have imagined it if not for the shadow that passes behind the fabric. Someone is watching from behind that pristine window, curious about the stranger lingering outside, and their suspicion pricks at my skin, an itch I can’t scratch.
The residents of Rockhaven notice everything that doesn’t belong, and I couldn’t belong less if I tried. My jeans are worn thin at the knees, my boots scarred with soles ground down by years of walking streets these people would never set foot on.
Everything about me screams danger to people who’ve never had to fight to survive.
