Page 61 of Yours to Keep
“I did.” His fingers trace the rim of the cup, slow and absent. “I used to ride whenever I wanted. Just pick a road and go. See where it ended up.”
A small smile returns. I can see it: Eli on the open road. Uncontained. Unattended.
Then his expression shifts. “Adrian didn’t really like me riding. He said it was dangerous,” Eli adds with a short laugh that doesn’t reach his eyes. “He said it was reckless.”
My jaw tightens.Reckless isn’t what Adrian feared. Freedom is.
“And he didn’t like me being gone too long either,” Eli whispers, his gaze dropping back to his cup. “Eventually, it was just easier not to argue.”
There it is. The sentence that explains far too much.
I keep my voice steady. “When was the last time you rode and enjoyed it?”
He thinks about it for too long. “Before.”
The word lands like a bruise. Heavy. Final.
Before Adrian. Before the shrinking. Before he started making himself smaller just to keep things from breaking.
“I needed it for work,” he adds quietly. “He only let me ride it then. Not after.”
And suddenly it’s clear. The bike wasn’t just transport; it was freedom. Adrian saw that and stripped it away. On that bike, Eli was someone who didn’t need permission to exist.
“You miss it,” I say.
His eyes lift slightly. “The bike?”
I shake my head once, holding his gaze. “No. You miss beingyou.”
His eyes flicker, and something fragile cracks open between us.
* * *
The following week, Eli and I spend the evening sorting files.
The office is empty, everyone gone home, leaving just the two of us under the low hum of lights and silence. Deck and Finn left an hour ago, off doing whatever version of chaos they call a routine.
Eli and I sit side by side at the large meeting table, buried in paperwork. It’s quiet, comfortable. The silence feels like a promise we’re both learning how to hold.
I reach for a document at the same time as Eli, and our arms brush.
My pulse jumps. The contact is small, but it feels like the start of something inevitable. Eli stills, and so do I. We both pause over the paper like it suddenly matters far less than what’s happening between us.
I look at him, giving him the space to pull away if he wants to. He doesn’t. And neither do I.
The silence stretches, heavy and charged with everything we haven’t said. It takes everything in me not to close the distance. I want him closer, not just in this moment, not just at this table. I want him in a way that doesn’t feel temporary.
But I stay still. I let him choose the pace.
Eli moves first.
He leans in slowly, like he’s testing the edge of something he can still step back from if he needs to. My breath stops. I don’t move, afraid the moment will shatter if I do.
And then his lips touch mine.
Soft, barely there, but it lands like recognition. Heat floods my chest. Everything inside me shifts: sharp, certain, undeniable.
I want him.
