Page 29 of One Room Vacancy
He’s sitting at the kitchen table, some half-eaten takeout in front of him and that furrow between his brows that means he’s trying to figure out if I’m about to lose it or bite his head off.
I hang my keys on the hook, kick off my boots like it’s any other night.
“Hey,” he says quietly.
I shrug off my jean jacket. “Hey.”
There’s a pause—not awkward, not tense. Just…full.
“You hungry?”
“Nope.”
“You sure? I saved you?—”
“I said I’m fine.”
It comes out sharper than I mean for it to, but I don’t take it back. I can’t; if I soften now, I’ll fall apart, and he doesn’tdeserveto see me fall apart.
Gabe nods and looks down at his food, like it suddenly matters more than whatever’s happened between us. Like he knows not to poke the bear.
I move to the fridge and open it. Though I’m not going to eat, I just need something to do with my hands. I grab a bottle of water and stare at it like it might tell me what the hell I’m supposed to do next.
When I turn back around, he’s still watching me. Not pushing. Just…there, like he’s been for weeks.
That’s what breaks me.
Not the bad night, not Harry giving up.
Not the fact that I might lose the one place that’s felt like mine in years.
It’s Gabe—sitting there like a goddamn constant, hell-bent on proving he’s not the asshole he’s been in the past. Like he’s really changed, like he’s really done with the bullshit, just asking me if I’m hungry as if the world isn’t falling apart.
My chest lurches.
“I think he’s really gonna sell it,” I say, my voice cracking halfway through.
And just like that, I’m crying. Quiet at first, then ugly. Full-body, hands-over-my-face, shoulders-shaking kind of crying.
I don’t cry very often. It’s not that I can’t, but I’m not a generally emotional person, so on the occasion I do, it’s typically in front of family, and most definitelyneverin front of Gabe.
That’s what makes what happens next so unbearable.
I turn toward the sink, away from him, swiping at my cheeks like that’ll fix anything. My shoulders shake harder the more I try to stop them, and my throat tightens with every breath I try to swallow.
Behind me, I hear the chair slide back.
“Sage…”
His footsteps are quiet, careful. I feel him at my back before he touches me.
And then—he does. One hand grazes my arm, and I flinch.
“Don’t,” I whisper. “I don’t need—just—don’t.”
But he steps closer anyway.
His arms come around me like he’s done it a thousand times before. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world. I freeze. My hands stay clenched at my sides, and my whole body goes stiff, resisting it.
