I make Spaghetti for dinner. River digs in as soon as he smells it. Javi is a different story.

When I take the tray to the conservatory, he is still sleeping. I hover, unsure whether to wake him or not. He senses me before I can make a decision and his eyes open slowly.

He is defensive again. Wearing the sweats I brought him earlier along with a hoodie that I didn’t bring him. It is obvious he has made his own way to the closet, and I make a mental note to take care of that problem as soon as I leave him tonight.

"Are you hungry?" I ask.

He tries to sit up, wincing as he props himself against the headboard.

"What is it?"

"Spaghetti."

"I don't eat spaghetti," he says.

"Have you ever tried it?"

He doesn't reply.

I sit down beside him, and he reaches for the tray. I pull it back.

"Let me help you."

"I don't need your help."

"Then you don't eat."

He growls, and I ignore him. I couldn't imagine him attempting to eat this himself after the way I saw him eat before.

I twirl some pasta on the fork and bring it to his lips. He's still staring at me. Being stubborn.

"Open."

He opens, reluctantly. I feed him and tell him to chew slowly. He listens this time, watching me carefully. When he swallows, I ask him how he likes it.

“It's... fine.”

I'm relieved. It's silly. But I want him to like it. I want him to experience something else besides peanut butter and jelly or macaroni and cheese. He eats the entire plate I brought him and then relaxes back against the bed.

"Will you tell me what happened to you?"

He stares at me. Guarded.

"It was nothing."

"It's not nothing," I argue. "Is this because of the agency?"

I can't hide the worry in my voice. The worry that he will end up like my father too.

“I can't tell you that.”

It's the same generic response my father used to give and I know I'm right. I hate that I'm right. And I miss my father so much my heart feels like it's splintered.

I hate the agency. I hate them for taking him away from me. For lying to me. And I am angry at Javi too, right now. For not having the consideration to think that he might do the same one day.

That he might just disappear, and then...

Then I would be free.

It hurts to think about. I look at him, uncertain. He is confused too, by my response. By my emotions.

"I am sorry, Bella," he says.

And he is sorry, but for what I don’t know.

"How can you work for them?" I ask. "Knowing that they don't care. That you might meet the same fate. How can you do it?"

He raises his brows, reaches for me, but stops himself.

"I am not going anywhere."

"That's funny," I tell him. "Because it's the same thing my father always used to say."

"Your father did not want to leave you," he says. "He did not do it by choice."

"I understand that," I snap. "But the very agency that he has risked his life for refuses to tell me anything. For all I know, they want him to stay gone."

"Bella," Javi says, and this time he does touch me. "Your father was not the man that you imagine in your head. He has many secrets. And many enemies too."

His words are not meant to hurt me this time. I can tell by the way he says them. But he believes them wholeheartedly. And I still can’t accept this when I know how much my father cared for him. I can’t comprehend what happened between them to make Javi hate him so much.

But I’m tired of guessing. Avoiding. And I know he won’t be this agreeable forever. So if Javi wants to tell me some truths about my father, perhaps it’s time for me to listen.

My fingers fall into my lap, and I lean back in my chair.

"Will you tell me about him?" I whisper. "Will you tell me about your relationship?"