After they’re gone, Hayes’s eyes flick briefly to mine, uncertain, shoulders tense. “Sorry about that,” he says. “They were supposed to leave before you got here.”
“So… who are they, exactly?” I raise a brow. “They said they were family?”
He hesitates, then crosses to the fridge, opening it like he’s looking for something before closing it again without taking anything. Then he drops onto the stool beside mine.
“They’re, uh, cousins.”
I nod, scratching behind Argy’s ears as I search for the right words now that we’re alone. I’d rehearsed a dozen things in the car on the ride over. I had all these big, grand speeches that felt right at the time, but now that Hayes is in front of me, all I can do is look at him.
His presence hits me all at once, like a wave I can never fully brace for. The familiar scent of his skin. The heat of his body just inches from mine. His face, his voice, the way the whole room sharpens and softens at once because he’s in it. Even if everything’s changed, he’s still Hayes.
MyHayes.
He looks at me, those fire-blue eyes fading to ash. “Thanks for coming, Alligator,” he says. “I missed you.”
I swallow, my throat thick.
“I’m really sorry about your dad.”
His gaze drops. And only then do I see it fully—the exhaustion carved deep beneath his eyes, the way his face is thinner, hollowed out like something’s been scraped from the inside. He looks completely wrecked in a way I’ve never seen before.
“I still can’t believe he’s gone.”
His voice cracks on the words and I scoot closer, reaching for his hand. The moment I touch him, I feel it. How fragile he is under all that armor. How close he is to shattering completely.
It scares me.
Hayes has always been the strong one. Quiet. Stoic. Unshakeable. The kind of guy who carries his pain without ever showing it, no matter how hard it hurts.
“Did you get the sachets we made?” I ask. “Mom said they’re supposed to help with… you know.” I shrug awkwardly. “Grief.”
“Yeah. We got them.” He nods. “Thanks. That was really thoughtful.”
“How’s your mom doing?”
“Not good.”
“And the funeral?” I falter. “Was it… okay?”
He pauses.
“It was awful.”
I wince, feeling like an idiot. I’m saying all the wrong things.
Of course, Kora isn’t doing well, and obviously the funeral was horrible. What’s next? Should I askwhat kind of coffin they picked out? Which designer suit his dad was buried in?
“I’m sorry,” I say again, hating how small and useless the words sound. As if they could ever be enough to fix all he’s lost.
He sighs deeply, like he’s trying to breathe through the weight of it all.
“You don’t have to keep apologizing. That’s not why I asked you over.”
“I know.” I squeeze his hand. “I just don’t know what else to say.”
He looks at me and something desperate and urgent shifts behind his eyes. “I need you to do something for me, Alysander?—”
“Of course. Anything.”
