Gabe exhales, and his whole chest loosens, like he's been carrying that breath for years.
"I'll try not to screw this up," he says. "I'm not great at slow. I'm learning. For him. And for you, if you’ll let me."
"I'm not promising anything."
"I know."
I slide the sheet over my legs and stand. "I should clean up."
He nods, bends to grab his clothes, and starts getting dressed. I watch him pull his shirt over his head, watch the way his shoulders settle once he has fabric between us again. He zips his jeans and runs a hand through his hair.
I clear my throat. "Gabe."
He looks up fast. "Yeah?"
"If you hurt him," I say, "I'll never forgive you."
His jaw tightens. "I won't."
"And if you hurt me again," I add, softer but sharper, "I won't come back from it."
He steps closer, slow, like he's approaching a wild animal that might bolt. "I hear you."
I hold the sheet tighter around myself. "Good."
He moves to the door. Before stepping out, he glances back one last time.
"Thank you for letting me stay," he says. "I know that wasn't easy."
I don't answer. I can't.
He takes the hint and leaves the room, then the house. The door clicks behind him, and the quiet hits me like a heavy wave.
I sit on the edge of the bed, sheet wrapped around me, legs still shaking, heart still spiraling.
I want to tell him to come back.
I want to lock the door forever.
Sleep barely touches me. I drift in and out, the room too warm, my thoughts too loud. Every time I start to relax, I remember the way Gabe looked at me before he left. The way he touched me. The way he said he wanted to try. My brain keeps replaying all of it until the sun starts creeping through the curtains.
I must fall asleep sometime close to dawn, because the next thing I hear is a soft knock at the door.
Then another.
My pulse jumps. I push out of bed, grab my robe, and cross the hall. When I open the door, Gabe stands there holding two coffees and looking like he has been up for hours.
"Morning," he says in a gruff voice. "I know it's early, but I figured you might need this."
"You're early," I say, even though the coffee already warms my hands.
"I couldn't sleep," he admits sheepishly, looking at me with eyes that are far too earnest for my heart. Before I can answer, tiny feet patter down the hall. Jace appears in full bedhead and lopsided pajamas.
"Mama, who—" He spots Gabe and lights up. "Gabe! You came back!"
"I did," Gabe says, smiling softly. "Are you still up for breakfast?"
"Yes! I'm so hungry my tummy is yelling."
