The glass scrapes across the counter as I slide it to Noah. He barely catches it before it tips, fingers trembling so much the ice shivers with him. I didn’t even realize he was that close. He’s just as on edge as I am. Poor soul.
I step toward him as he lifts the glass, gently taking it from his trembling hand. Tears pool in his eyes—those beautiful, troubled blue eyes—and I feel that nobody has ever tried to look past them. But I want to. At least—I’d like to try. I wipe the wetness from his cheek, then lift the glass to his lips, resting the rim gently against his soft pink mouth. He looks up, eyes glossy, and slowly tilts his head back—letting me pour the amber liquid in.
He swallows, and my fingers trail lightly along his neck, feeling the warmth of the bourbon slide down. “Good?” I ask, setting the glass down. I drag my thumb across his puckeredmouth, wiping away the drop of liquor still clinging to his bottom lip.
“Thank you,” he whispers.
Rounding the corner of the counter, I take a seat beside him—beside this beautiful, bashful boy trying so hard to be brave.
“Don’t be mad.” He sighs, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. I spin him to face me and tug him closer.
“Noah, love… there’s no reason for me to be mad. Your poetry is beautiful.”
“But—”
“Shh…” I bring my fingers up to his glossy lips. They give under my touch, then spring back as I pull away. Soft. Spongy.
“Butt,” I tease, drawing out the word, “you love him… with a double T.” I wink, and he cracks a grin. “And for the record…” I glance at him, quieter now. “I love him too.”
He drops his head, giggling shyly. Femboys usually aren’t my cup of tea—but this one? He’s a goddamn thirst trap. There’s something about Noah that pulls me in and doesn’t let go. Maybe I’m seeing what Alex see’s when he looks at him. Gabriel too. The boy’s beautiful, unfairly so. Soft, plump cheeks. Eyes the color of a clear sky after rain. Dark lashes that go on forever. And those lips… full, pink, touched with the faintest strawberry hue.
I tilt his chin up, thumb brushing against the faint tremble of his jaw. “Eres un alma valiente.” He blinks rapidly; his lashes fluttering like butterfly wings. “It means,” I murmur, “you are a brave soul.” His chin dips again, but I catch it this time, not letting his shyness pull him under. There’s strength in him, somewhere beneath the fear. I can feel it.
“Would you like another?” I gesture toward the bourbon bottle. His eyes follow the motion, landing on the label as though it’s part of a secret shared between us. I rise slowly, pour two more shots, and slide one toward him. He surprises me—tossinghis back in one go. I can’t help the grin that curves my mouth as I match him, the liquid burning down smooth. The warmth blooms in my chest, loosening the edges of everything.
When I set the glass down, I glance sideways at him. “You’ve got a strong kick for someone so quiet.” A flicker of pride—maybe even defiance—passes through his eyes. Then it’s gone, swallowed by the same sadness that’s been clinging to him all night.
I lean closer, lowering my voice. “Noah. About what you were telling me earlier…”
He stiffens, gaze dropping to his hands. I can almost hear the memory rising—heavy, unwelcome. I continue gently. “What happened when the authorities came to arrest your father?” I push our glasses aside and rest my elbows on the counter, watching him through the faint amber glow of the bourbon bottle. His lashes sweep down again, a dark frame over his blue eyes that suddenly look years older.
For a moment, I wonder if I’ve gone too far—if asking him to revisit that storm will undo the fragile calm we’ve managed to build. But he needs to let it out. And maybe… I need to hear it. If only to help Alex understand it all. Maybe Gabriel too.
He uncrosses his legs and places his hands in his lap. His voice trembles, but he starts anyway. “There were at least twenty law enforcement officers who rushed onto our yacht. I was in the galley when I heard the commotion.”
“Mom! Mom!”I yell, slamming the refrigerator door, leaving slices of ham and pastrami scattered across the counter as I haul ass down the narrow hallway leading to her bedroom.
Her door flies open. She shoves a book into my chest so hard it knocks the breath out of me.
“Take this, Noah! And get the hell off this boat. Go to New York, baby… you’ll find her there.”
Her voice is breaking—between fear and fury.
It’s my chance to escape. And America… America is behind this raid. I feel it in my bones.
I’d been waiting for this day, imagining it a thousand different ways. I’d played every scenario over and over again, preparing myself to run the moment freedom called.
But I hadn’t imagined this version.
“JULIEN VALENTINO! SHOW YOURSELF! WE HAVE A WARRANT FOR YOUR ARREST!”
The world explodes. Feet pounding. Orders shouted in both English and French.
Putain! They’re getting closer.
I clutch the book tighter, heart hammering. Mom storms past me, hair wild, eyes aflame.
“Move, Noah! Get off this boat!”
