Always.
He lets me guide him to the bedroom, bare feet shuffling against the floorboards. I keep my hand on the small of his back, steading him.
In his bedroom, I sit him down on the edge of the bed and crouch to tug the sweats over his ankles, easing the fabric up his legs. He doesn’t lift his feet until I touch them. Then my hoodie, sliding over his head. I smooth the fabric down his arms.
The level of trust he’s giving me transcends anything I’ve ever known.
He curls sideways onto the mattress as soon as he’s dressed. His knees tuck in, hands folded close to his body. He doesn’t open his eyes, but his lashes flutter like he’s holding back tears.
I quickly strip from my damp clothes and throw on joggers and a T-shirt.
I sit on the edge beside him, close enough to feel the heat of his body. His breathing hitches, then slowly evens out as the minutes stretch.
Fear and relief battle inside me.
I swallow hard and press my palm against my thigh to stop it shaking. I can’t fix it for him. I can’t fight what I don’t understand. But I can be here. I can show up. I can love him in the ways he lets me.
I want a life with him. I want his trust, his laughter, his warmth pressed against mine. But more than that, I want him to be okay. And he’s not.
I lean down and press my lips to his temple, the way I have with every other part of him.
“I’m so glad you’re home,” I whisper against his skin.
He doesn’t stir, his body giving in to the exhaustion. I stay there, by his side, where I always want to be, watching the proof of him—the rise of his chest, the small breaths he exhales.
I crawl into the bed behind him, placing my arm over his waist. I thought he was asleep, but he links his fingers with mine. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. I tighten my arms around him until there’s no space between us. “I shouldn’t have left you, I’m so sorry.” His voice breaks on the last word.
I press a kiss to his damp hair. “Shh, it’s okay, baby. Everything is okay,” I say, trying to soothe him, but it doesn’t soothe all the worry I’m carrying. None of this is okay.
He only confirms my fears when he responds with a choked out, “It’s not okay.I’mnot okay.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to compose myself in the face of his confession. I need to be strong for him. “What happened, Gabe?”
He quivers in my hold, the room is dark with the curtains closed, but I can see the faint outline of his free hand clenching into a fist.
“Kyle came to the store yesterday.”
My vision goes red. My hand spasms where our fingers are linked, but Gabe squeezes them gently until they relax. I smooth my thumb over the back of his hand, tracing the faint ridge of a vein I know by heart now.
“Okay,” I say quietly. My voice sounds like I’ve swallowed gravel. “Okay, baby. He came to the store.” My heart is hammering. There’s a dull pain in my jaw from how hard I’m clenching it.
“Did he…” I swallow roughly and try again. “Did he hurt you?”
His breath catches. “No.” He takes a fortifying breath before continuing. “He came to… apologize,” Gabe says, and the word sounds like it tastes bad in his mouth. “Said he’s stopped drinking. Went to therapy. That he regrets everything.”
My jaws locked so tight I could crack a tooth.
Apologize.That’s what we’re calling it? Walking into Gabe’s safe place and detonating a bomb? I breathe through all the anger I’m feeling; those emotions don’t belong anywhere near Gabe.
“Alright,” I say, because I can’t say that I want to kill his piece of shit ex. “What happened after he left, baby?”
The silence stretches. I can feel him thinking, maybe about not telling me or maybe lying to me.
“I’m not…” He swallows. “I’m not okay, Noah.”
“I know, baby,” I whisper. “And you don’t have to be. But… you can tell me anything you want. I’m right here.”
He turns in my arms until he’s facing me. His face is blotchy, his eyes red and swollen.
