CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR

**GABRIEL**
I stood there at the door, my heart racing with anticipation. I had missed this place, missed everything about it—especially him. The thought of being in Oliver’s arms again, of hearing his voice, felt like a dream I never wanted to wake up from. But as I stood at the door with flowers in hand, I was painfully aware that things weren’t the same anymore. I hadn’t just left for a few days. I had been gone for too long, and I didn’t know how to make up for the time I had lost.
I pushed the door open, the familiar creak of the hinges filling the space. The smell of food instantly greeted me, and I smiled, grateful that at least something felt normal. I tossed my bag over my shoulder, flowers still firmly in hand, and headed for the kitchen.
When I stepped inside, Carrie’s face lit up, her radiant smile instantly softening the tension I hadn’t realized I was carrying. She stood at the stove, stirring something in a pot that filled the room with a warm, comforting aroma. Her soft humming carried through the air, a soothing melody that seemed to dissolve the stress of the day with every note. There was something about seeing her like this—so at ease, so completely herself—that made the knot in my chest loosen, my shoulders finally dropping from their rigid state.
Before I could say a word, she turned, her eyes sparkling with an unspoken joy, and crossed the room in a few quick strides. In a heartbeat, I was enveloped in her arms, her bear hug pulling me close with a strength and warmth that felt as though it could shield me from the world. Her embrace was firm yet comforting, her cheek resting against mine for a fleeting moment before she pulled back just enough to meet my eyes. The simple act, so genuine and unguarded, left me momentarily speechless, as though she had somehow untangled the weight of the day without even trying. 
“I’ve missed you!” she exclaimed, her voice filled with warmth and affection.
I chuckled, returning her hug. “I missed you too, Carrie,” I said, kissing her forehead lightly. “It’s good to be back.”
She beamed up at me, looking radiant. “You’re looking well! The sun definitely did you some good.”
“Yeah, I’ve been getting a lot of it,” I replied, still smiling.
I glanced toward the counter, spotting a vase in need of a little arrangement, and then looked back at her. “Is Oliver awake?” I asked, my heart skipping a beat just at the thought of him.
Carrie’s expression shifted, just slightly, and she paused in her movements, her smile dimming. I didn’t notice it right away, but the atmosphere in the room changed a bit.
“Yeah, he’s upstairs,” she said quietly, trying to seem nonchalant, but I could hear the strain in her voice.
Something felt off, but I brushed it aside. She was always good at hiding things. “That’s good to hear,” I replied, stepping closer and placing the flowers on the counter. “I thought I’d give him something to brighten up the house. I don’t know if it’s the right time to talk, but I wanted to come back and apologize. I know I’ve been distant.”
Carrie nodded, her movements slow and deliberate, though her eyes remained downcast, fixed on a spot that seemed miles away. A faint tension lingered in the air, something I couldn’t quite identify but could feel nonetheless. It clung to the room like an unwelcome guest, stirring a subtle unease within me.
Still, I forced myself to shift my focus to Oliver. Thoughts of him had consumed me during the endless days I’d spent away. The ache of distance had been unbearable, a hollow feeling that only deepened with each passing day. And now, finally, I was back. The mere thought of holding him again, of feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against mine, was enough to momentarily quiet the unease that Carrie’s demeanor stirred.I headed toward the stairs, my feet heavy with the weight of what had been left unsaid. As I reached the top of the stairs, I knocked softly on Oliver’s door, pushing it open slowly.
“Oliver?” I called, my voice low.
He didn’t respond, but I could see him sitting on the bed, facing the window. His posture was stiff, and even though I could feel the space between us, I hoped—no, I needed—him to turn around, to acknowledge my presence.
“Oliver, it’s me. I’m back,” I said, stepping into the room.
He finally turned to face me, but the moment felt hollow, nothing like the warmth I’d been hoping for. His eyes met mine, but they were distant, unfocused, as though he was miles away, lost in a place I couldn’t reach. The familiar spark that used to light up his gaze when we locked eyes was gone, replaced by something colder, emptier.
I waited, silently pleading for the smile I remembered, the one that could make the world around me disappear. But it never came. His lips barely moved, the faintest twitch at the corners, but it wasn’t the curve of joy or comfort I longed for. Instead, it felt forced, like a shadow of what it used to be—a gesture made out of obligation rather than affection.I didn’t know what had changed, but something had. A part of me wanted to rush forward, to tell him I was sorry for leaving him for so long, to make everything right between us. But I didn’t know where to start.
I walked closer, holding out the flowers, watching his face for any sign of warmth. “I brought these for you,” I said softly.
Oliver’s gaze flickered down at the flowers, then back up to my face. There was no warmth, no excitement, no love. Just indifference.
“Thanks,” he replied, his voice flat. His words cut through me like a sharp blade, and I stopped in my tracks.
I could feel the weight of his aloofness settling between us, thick and suffocating like a heavy fog. It wasn’t just that he was upset—that, I could handle—but this was something deeper, something colder. It was as though he’d built an unbreakable wall around himself, shutting me out completely. The realization hit me like a punch to the gut, sharp and unforgiving, as if I no longer mattered to him at all.
I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat making it almost painful. My chest tightened, and I fought to steady my breathing, but the panic clawing its way through me refused to be ignored. I tried to tell myself it wasn’t as bad as it seemed, that this was just a passing moment, but the vacant look in his eyes told me otherwise.
I didn’t know what had changed, but the fear that it was something I couldn’t fix gnawed at me. “Oliver, I know I messed up. I should’ve been here. I’m sorry for leaving you. I never meant for it to be like this.”
He didn’t respond right away. His eyes flickered, but there was no softness, no sign that he was willing to listen. It was like he had already shut me out.
“Oliver, please…” I whispered, taking a step closer.
He turned his face away, refusing to meet my gaze. It was almost as if he was trying to distance himself from me—his love, his everything. It hurt more than I thought it would.
“Don’t,” he said finally, his voice quiet but firm. “I don’t need your apology, Gabriel. I don’t need anything from you.”
Those words hit me like a slap to the face. I had never felt more useless, more invisible, than I did in that moment. I stood there, unable to find the right words, unable to make things right. I was used to being the strong one, the protector, the one who made everything better. But this… I couldn’t fix this. I wasn’t sure if I could ever fix this.
“I just wanted to make things right,” I said, my voice shaky.
He didn’t look at me. He didn’t even seem to care. “You’ve already done enough,” he muttered, the finality in his voice leaving me no room for argument.
I felt the air in the room grow colder, the distance between us expanding even further. The words caught in my throat, and I felt helpless. I wanted to scream, to beg him to understand, but I couldn’t. Something had shifted, and it felt like I had lost him, even though I was standing right there.
“Oliver, please,” I whispered, but it was like I was begging for something that was already gone.
He didn’t answer. Instead, he stood up from the bed, his back still turned to me, and started walking toward the door.
“Just leave me alone, Gabriel,” he said, barely above a whisper.
My chest tightened, a sharp, almost suffocating ache spreading through me as his words hung in the air, heavy and unrelenting. My throat constricted, the pain swelling with each passing second, making it nearly impossible to breathe. Those words—they cut deeper than I thought possible, leaving wounds I wasn’t sure would ever heal.
I stood frozen, unable to speak, unable to move, as I watched him turn and walk out of the room. His steps were steady, purposeful, and yet each one felt like a blow, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the silence he left behind. The emptiness he created in his absence felt almost unbearable, the weight of it pressing down on me like a crushing force.
I wanted to call out to him, to say something—anything—but the words wouldn’t come. My voice was locked away, buried beneath the ache in my chest and the lump in my throat. All I could do was stand there, rooted in place, staring at the door he’d walked through, the silence around me growing louder and louder, until it was deafening.I was standing there, the flowers still clutched in my hand, with nothing but a deafening silence surrounding me. I stood there for what felt like forever, my body frozen in place, trying to comprehend what had just happened.
And when I finally did, the weight of the loss hit me harder than I could have ever prepared for.