I don't think I could live with that. Not yet.
I glance at Gabe. Big mistake. He's watching me. Always seeing more than he should. And for a second—we've had a lot of those lately—something passes between us. Like he knows exactly where my thoughts just went because he feels it too. My pulse spikes, and I turn my head away immediately. Distance. I need distance.
"How are you, Mom? How did you sleep?" I ask, because it's a lot safer to talk to her right now than to Gabe.
Mom expels a dramatic sigh like she's been waiting all morning for someone to ask. "Oh, don't even get me started. Ibarely slept. My head feels… strange. Not pain, exactly, just… off. Like everything is slightly tilted."
I nod, even though I have no idea what that means. She keeps going anyway.
"And the pillows here are too soft. Or too firm. I can't decide. And I kept waking up feeling like someone was watching me."
My eyes flick, involuntarily, to Gabe. He doesn't react. He stands up and leans casually against the counter, coffee in hand, watching the entire exchange with quiet amusement. I could swear he knows exactly what I'm doing. Avoiding him. Using her as a shield. And he's letting me.
For now.
Mom keeps talking. Something about the lighting. Then the air. Then the fact that the room feels wrong. It's like she's been collecting complaints all night just to unload them now. I nod in the right places. Make the right sounds. But I can feel him. Even without looking. That attention. Heavy. Focused. Unrelenting.
"—and I swear, there was a noise in the hallway at least three times?—"
"How areyoudoing, Audra?" Gabe's voice cuts clean through her. Calm and even.
My name lands heavier than it should. Mom keeps talking for another second before trailing off, realizing she's been interrupted. She looks at me questioningly. I need a second to answer his question, because he didn't ask out of politeness. He asked because he wants the truth.
And he knows I won't give it. Not here. Not in front of her. Not when I can still feel everything from last night sitting just under my skin.
I finally look at him. Another mistake. He's watching me the same way he always does. Like he's already three steps ahead. Like he's waiting to see which version of me answers.
"I'm fine," I respond evasively. Hoping he'll leave it at that.
His mouth shifts slightly, not into a smile, not exactly. It's worse; it's a knowing smirk.
"Good," he nods.
But there's nothing casual about it. Nothing dismissive. It sounds more like:we'll come back to that.I look away first. Again. Because holding his gaze feels like stepping too close to an edge I'm barely managing to avoid. Mom clears her throat, pulling the attention back to herself like she needs it to breathe.
"Well, I'm not fine," she announces, as if that settles something.
I latch onto that. Grateful for it. For the distraction. For anything that isn't him. Because the second the room goes quiet again, I know exactly where his attention will go. Even worse, I know exactly how much I want it.
"Maybe you just need rest," I say, softer now, turning toward her. "It's been a lot."
"That's exactly my point," she replies, waving a hand. "Too much. Too fast. I don't like it here, Audra."
Of course she doesn't. Nothing about this place is normal. Nothing abouthimis normal. Her gaze shifts to Gabe. "When can we go home, Gabe?"
The question lands heavier than it should.Do I want to go home?I look at Gabe, unsure of what to say or ask.
He sets his coffee down with deliberate calm. "You two—and the cats—are welcome to stay here as long as needed," he invites evenly. "There's no rush."
No rush. My stomach tightens. That's not an answer. That's a deflection.
"Gabe," I keep my voice firm, "I have a life I need to get back to."
His eyes shift to me, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't like the way his focus is fully directed on me. I clear my throat and add, reminding myself more of these facts than pointing them out tohim. "Friends," I continue. "I have a job—" I hesitate slightly.Had a job,probably. "Bills."
Reality. A reality I might not like. But it's still here, and it won't just magically disappear. They're also normal things. Things that don't exist in his world. Things that kept me grounded for the last six years.
"I need to pay for Pete's funeral." I deliberately throw that one out there, again, more to remind myself. But I stare at Gabe. Daring him almost. His expression shifts. He tilts his head, and a smirk plays around his lips as if I'd said something funny. Then he shakes his head once. "You don't have to worry about that. It's already been taken care of."
