Page 79 of Never After Us
Never see him cheer when she flips one perfectly.
Sam should’ve been here.For flour fights.For burnt edges.For breakfasts that turn into memories.
He should’ve been here for mornings like this—the small ones that become the story of a childhood.
Instead, all she’ll have are the outlines of a future that ended before it ever had a chance.And the guilt rushes in so fiercely it steals my breath, because no matter how much I love her, I can’t give her that.I can’t give her a father who shows her how to flip pancakes, trace constellations, or ride a bike.
And watching Alec slip into this little moment—so quietly, so naturally—opens yet another crack in one of those places I’ve held shut for so long.
It isn’t that I want him to replace Sam.He couldn’t, and he shouldn’t.
But their hands moving together in easy sync unleashes gratitude twisted with grief, pulling me in opposite ways until I have to hold the chair to steady myself.
A memory rises—the letters Lina wrote to Tommy, clutching a future that slipped out of her reach.The ache of losing someone too soon.The hollow left behind in all the small, ordinary moments afterward.
Loss roots itself, and grief never disappears.It rearranges your entire world, fills the quiet places where you think you’re finally safe.
My eyes prick, and I blink hard, breathing through the swell rather than stuffing it down again.Mila giggles as Alec “fixes the turtle’s missing head,” and the sound is so bright, so alive, it clashes against the grief swirling through me.Moments like this shouldn’t hurt, but they do—because they shine a light on everything she’ll never have.
Alec glances at me then, catching my gaze long enough to send a jolt through me.There’s no pity in his eyes—just a recognition that feels too intimate.As if he sees the ache and understands it.
And that makes this moment feel breakable, because I’m not used to anyone noticing the pieces of myself I’m missing.Though there’s a part of me that wants to lean toward him anyway.
Wants to believe that closeness like this could exist.
Wants ...him.
And that is exactly why I need to get a grip.Because I cannot fall for the man who just helped my daughter flip a pancake.Not when the guilt tied to Sam sits so deep, I can barely breathe around it.
Not when wanting Alec feels like a betrayal I can’t allow myself to make.
ChapterTwenty-Five
Alec
“So you and your neighbor next door, huh?”Julian asks the second Mara and Mila leave my place.
At least he waited until after breakfast.Small mercies and all that shit.Ever since his accident, the man’s mouth has been running on whatever impulse fires first.It’s like the doctors removed his spleen and accidentally yanked out his verbal filter with it.He just releases every thought that exits in his brain at full volume.
Does he ever try to hold any of it back?Absolutely not.
This is a whole “carpe diem” and shit thing he does because he brushed a little too close to death.
“There’s nothing going on with my neighbor and me,” I say, pointing the spatula I’m washing at him like it’s a weapon.If I don’t shut this down now, he’ll tell Rhodes.Rhodes will tell Roderick.Roderick will tell Kit or Cleo—probably both.And suddenly my friends—who have all known me too damn long—will be placing bets on my nonexistent love life like it’s a Super Bowl pool.
I really don’t need that kind of negativity in my life.The gossip mill is something I’d love to avoid for the rest of my life—even if it’s just within my circle of close friends.
Though honestly?I’m not sure anything I say will stop them.
Eddie already calls constantly to “check on the neighbor.”As if she’s my responsibility.As if I volunteered for any of this.Try explaining to him that I’m not doing anything that should be considered involvement, and he acts like I’m denying my entire family.
Yes, I check on the science tutor when he shows up.Only because the man nearly set a beaker on fire the first day, and nobody needs Mila learning about combustion before she learns basic algebra.And do I walk them to the dance academy a couple blocks away?Not always.
Sometimes I don’t.
Okay—more like occasionally.
Fine, whatever.
