Page 43 of Ex- Factor
He didn’t even look up when I approached—just rolled the glass between his palms, watching the swirl like it held answers.
I stepped behind him. Let my fingers trail the tense line of his shoulders before wrapping my arms around him. My lips brushed the knot at the base of his neck.
He shuddered.
“I love you,” he said. Sound raw inside.
I turned his face toward mine. His lashes were damp.
“I love you too.”
He pulled back just enough to look at me—eyes bloodshot and unsure.
This was the first time I’d seen him like this. And it made my throat feel tight.
I was gone.
“Tell me in a prettier way. I need it,” he murmured.
I cupped his face, thumb brushing his cheek.
“"I love you in ways I haven’t figured out how to name yet," I said, my voice barely steady. "I love the way you laugh like no one’s watching, like the world is yours. I love how you take care of people without needing credit, how you never make them feel like a burden. I even love your terrible jokes—like, actually love them. And the way you look at me—like I’m rare, like I’m whole, like I didn’t come with all this damage."
He didn’t say anything. Just closed his eyes and leaned into my touch like it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart.
I kissed his forehead.
Then his lips.
Then took his glass and walked it to the sink.
“You don’t need this tonight,” I said. “You just need rest.”
He let me lead him back upstairs.
I tucked his drunk ass in and laid down beside him.
“No matter what ghosts come knocking next,” I whispered, “I’m not going anywhere.”
Chapter Twenty-Four- Silas
Dr. Bailey’s office was warm. Not in temperature, but in the way the light filtered through the blinds, and the familiar way he always said my name when I walked in. Men weren’t supposed to notice things like that—the quiet kindness in a voice, the way a room could feel safe. We were supposed to measure ourselves in grit and endurance, in how much we could carry without buckling.
Men were supposed to deal in silence.
Cassius going to therapy changed my entire mindset.
I sat on the couch, leaned forward with my elbows on my knees, fingers twisted together.
“I think I’m ready to talk about them.”
Bailey tilted his head. “Your parents?”
“I think I hate them,” I said, voice low. “I grew up rich. Handsome, as you can see.” I tried to smile, but it felt cracked. “No limitations. Had everything most kids didn’t. Nanny. Private schools. Summer in the Alps, winter in the Keys.”
Bailey waited, pen resting on his pad but not moving.
“My nanny was Anna. She was from the Netherlands. Blonde, tall, quiet. She had a daughter, Freja, a couple years younger than me. My earliest memories—birthdays, holidays, even just nights watching cartoons—they were there.”
