“Then what are you doing here playing house with Adrik?”
“Not playing. I’ll find another position.”
“Why doesn’t Adrik work? Are you supporting him?” his father asked.
“He owns property and doesn’t need to work.”
“That sounds like a great fucking con job. Didn’t you suffer enough with that last boyfriend? You want to repeat that again?”
“Adrik is nothing like Dirk. How long do you plan to be here?”
“We’re leaving now, but think about coming home,” his mother said.
His parents hugged him, awkward and stiff, like they weren’t sure whether to comfort him or shake sense into him, then they finally left. The door clicked shut behind them, and the silence that followed felt heavier than their entire visit.
Hans stood there for a moment, staring at the empty hallway. The house felt colder now, as if their doubts had seeped into the walls. He grabbed his drink and headed to his study, theone room that still felt like his. The lamp cast a warm pool of light over his desk, over the half-finished manuscript waiting for him. At least the novel made sense. Characters behaved the way he wrote them. They didn’t show up unannounced to tell him his life was falling apart.
He sat down, opened the document, and tried to focus. If he finished it tonight, he could send it to his publisher before bed. Something productive. Something he could control.
But his mind kept drifting—to Adrik’s voice on the phone, thin and tired; to the dark cottage he’d passed earlier, the one that usually glowed with warm light and smelled faintly of Adrik; to the way his parents had saidmove back to Californialike it was a solution instead of a surrender.
He rubbed his face and stared at the blinking cursor.
What would Adrik say if he knew? Would he ask Hans to stay? Would he want him to?
A gust of wind rattled the window, and Hans glanced toward it, half expecting to see Adrik standing outside his cottage, a familiar silhouette stepping out. But the street was empty.
He took a slow breath, set his fingers on the keyboard, and forced himself to type. One sentence. Then another. The story pulled him in, steadied him, reminded him that he still had something to build here—something worth fighting for.
Still, as he worked, one thought kept circling back, quiet but relentless:When Adrik comes home… will this still be the life he wants to return to?
Hans didn’t know the answer. But he knew he wasn’t leaving.
Not tonight. Not for California. Not for anyone.
And as the cursor blinked on the screen, the house around him felt just a little less empty—like he was holding the place together until Adrik could walk through the door again.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Adrik
Seversk, Russia
Adrik felt someone shakinghis shoulder—gentle, rhythmic, almost careful. For a second he thought he was dreaming, but then he opened his eyes and found his father leaning over him. Viktor’s hand slid through his hair the same way he used to when Adrik was a young boy afraid of thunderstorms. The familiarity brought him back to his childhood.Not going to let Viktor lure him back into this mess with him.
“Wake up, my little prince,” Viktor murmured.
Adrik rubbed his eyes, pretending not to hear Viktor using his pet name from the past. “Is it time to pick up Mom?”
“We have an hour,” Viktor said. “Take a shower and then we’ll have breakfast.”
Adrik nodded, watching his father leave the room. The door clicked shut, and the silence that followed felt heavier than it should have. He shoved the covers off and stepped onto thecold wooden floor, wincing as the chill shot up his legs. Russia in the morning always felt like it was daring him to complain.
Nine a.m. here meant three a.m. in Germany. Hans would be curled up in bed, probably hugging his pillow like he always did. The thought softened Adrik’s expression for a moment.
He showered quickly, letting the hot water pound against the tight knots along his shoulders, heat sinking into muscles clenched since the plane touched down. The spray loosened nothing at first, just stung, and was too hot before it finally coaxed a dull ache out of hiding. His outfit comprised black slacks, a gray shirt, and a sweater that was very soft. He checked his phone and typed out a message.
Adrik:Miss you so much. We’re going to pick up my mother. Call you later when we get back. I love you.
