He shifts to his side and lifts my wrist, his thumb tracing the ink, slow and gentle, the simple attention sending a quietease through me. “By the way,” he says, almost casually, “I keep meaning to ask—did you ever flip this piece over like I suggested? To see what’s on the other side? Obviously, I’m talking about the sketch you have back home.”
I shake my head. “Didn’t need to. Believe it or not, Noah just explained it.”
Gabriel’s eyes widen. “Did he?”
“Mm-hmm,” I say, settling back against the pillow. “It was a surprise to me too. It’s one of those Magic Eye things. You stare long enough, and the hidden image pops out. Stereo-something.”
“An autostereogram,” he corrects.
“Exactly.” I exhale slowly and lift my wrist, holding it in front of us. “See here?” I drag my finger over the lighter shade of ink. “That’s the rain,” I explain—simple, just like Noah had. I shift my finger across the darker ink. “And this… tears.”
Gabriel tilts his head, squinting.
“Now look between them,” I tell him. “Just keep looking.”
He stares.
Stares some more.
Reallystares.
And then?—
“Dios mío.” He breathes out, too stunned to blink. “Is that… him? Looking out from the rain?”
I nod, unable to speak.
He skims his fingers across the ink, light, slow, sending a shiver up my arm.
“Christ, Alex. It was right in front of us this whole time.” His brows knit. “Her talent… it’s so?—”
“Fucked up,” I mutter, too tired to dress it up as anything else.
He snickers. “Yeah. Fucked up would be accurate. I’ve always said Meera never leaves her artwork unfucked.”
I pull my wrist back, but he holds on a beat longer, slipping his fingers between mine. The touch stops me, catches somewhere behind my ribs, like he’s asking without words. For a moment, it feels like he’s holding more than just my hand. And part of me wants to stay there forever, tangled in the quiet courage he’s offering me. Then he squeezes, gently and firmly.
“Everything will be alright, Alex. I promise.”
39
ELIJAH
Exhausted,I slap my wallet onto the counter and grab the bourbon and two glasses, pouring a double shot into each. The first one goes down smooth—but the guilt sticks, bitter on the back of my tongue. So I pour another. Swish it. Gargle. Swallow. Damn it. Still there. Whoever said guilt takes a toll on one’s body definitely knew what they were talking about. I’m living proof. Ever since that shower with Gabriel in Puerto Rico, the guilt’s been eating me alive. Him too.
And now, apparently, Noah’s dealing with some shit of his own.
Unstable.
I pour another shot. Is that what we’ve become?Unstable…in the name of love? I swirl the amber liquid in the glass, watching it catch the light. But is love ever really stable? Does anyone actually know the way to someone’s heart? Go this way. No, that way. There should be a road map to finding love. Or maybe not. Maybe it’s better when you just stumble into it.
Noah is lost. You can see it in his eyes. That sadness—it runs deep. But there are so many ways to be lost. Lost in a kiss. Lost in a touch. Lost in a world of unknowns. Wouldn’t you rather explore a place like that? A land of the lost? I know I would.
I drop two ice cubes into the glass and splash in more bourbon. I give my head a quick shake, attempting to knock my thoughts loose. Instead, I scatter them. And still, I wonder…
Where’s the fun in following directions? What’s the point in finding love if there was never any love lost to begin with? Hmm… lost in love. That’s where I’d like to be. I’d like to stay lost. I think about Noah—and that poem, lost betweenrain and tears. God, I wish I could bring beauty into his storm. Adventures can be found in the rain… smiles can form through tears. So why the hell am I feeling guilty for getting lost in the arms of my ex-husband?Really, Elijah?
I swirl the amber liquid around the ice, watching it melt slowly. And—damn it!I’m still holding the other glass of bourbon. All because I got lost—in my goddamn head.
