It’s okay to cry. It’s how your heart speaks its pain.

Gambit, the Duke of Thieves

GABRIEL

Ellie seemed so vulnerable—even more than ever—and it didn’t feel like I could do or say anything to reassure her.

Chloe came by the house to give me the test she needed me to take, and I hated that I rushed her, considering she’d driven all the way to Morlea, but the way Ellie watched the two of us together worried me. She observed us with this knowing sort of sadness, almost a sorrowful determination, and I wasn’t sure exactly what it meant, but I didn’t think it was good. Did she think I had feelings for Chloe? “I love you,” I whispered to her what felt like a hundred times a day. “Only you.” Couldn’t she see it in my eyes? Couldn’t she feel it with every beat of my heart?

“Hello?” George called as he entered my studio, carrying a box.

“Hey, George.” I turned, sitting up straight and rotating my shoulders.

“Here’s that piece of rock you wanted.” He nodded to the box as he set it down on the table by the door.

“Thanks.”

George came over and looked at the carving I was almost finished with. He ran a hand down the side. “It’s beautiful. Those butterflies look real.”

I smiled and shrugged. “I hope they like it.”

“They’re going to love it.” He paused, leaning against the table behind him. “How’s Ellie?”

I frowned slightly. “You mean after the festival?”

“Yeah, and just in general.”

I pressed my lips together and then sighed. “I don’t know, George, she seems so … breakable.” I grimaced slightly. “I don’t know exactly how to describe it.”

“You changed her, Gabriel. She’s having a hard time figuring out who she is now.” He looked worried as he studied me. “I’m concerned she doesn’t think she’s anyone at all without you. You’ve become her entire world.”

I took a deep breath, his words resonating. They hurt, and yet they felt true. Part of me wanted to be her whole world, but another more reasonable part knew it wasn’t good for her. “What can I do?”

“I encouraged her to learn how to throw a punch. I thought it might empower her a little bit. She hasn’t been back over, though I’ve asked her. I suppose she’s been caught up.”

Caught up. In me. I smiled, but it felt sad. I remembered George teaching me to throw a punch when I’d come home. I’d been fifteen and I spent hours in his garage, moving around the bag, lashing out at it instead of the world, instead of myself. And it helped. But it’d only been a small part of my recovery. “What else?”

He shook his head. “Ah, Gabriel, I’d tell you if I knew. Just … try to remember where you were in the years after you came home.” He stood, smiling softly before turning and heading out the door.

“Thanks, George,” I called. I sat there for a while thinking about that time, thinking about how I’d mostly stayed to myself, how I needed to learn how to trust myself again, how I had to rediscover my place in the world, how I doubted whether I had one at all. It’d been hard and it was lonely, but God, it was necessary. And I’d had to do the work to get through it. No one could have done it for me, even if they wanted to.

I sighed. No, I couldn’t do the work Ellie might need to do for herself, but I could love her through it. And that’s exactly what I would do. If she needed strength, I’d be her rock, if she needed comfort, I’d be her soft spot to land. I’d be anything she needed me to be. And yet something about that felt dangerous—I wanted Ellie to find her own worth, not to let my love determine that for her. She’d never be truly happy that way. I ran my fingers through my hair in frustration.

You can’t fix me, you know, she’d said. No, I’d thought, I can only love you. And I’d been right. All I could do was love her.

The next day was gray and rainy, and as I sat in my studio working to finish the very final details on the foliate band for the German library, I paused now and again to glance outside at the watercolor scenery. The door opened and Ellie, smiling, ducked inside, closing an umbrella, a package under her arm.

“Hi,” I said, smiling.

“Hey. Dominic went into town and picked up your order at the hardware store.”

“Oh, thanks.” I’d forgotten I even placed an order there. “Did he say how Sal was?”

She furrowed her brow. “Dominic?” She shook her head. “Dominic doesn’t talk to me much.” Her cheeks flushed slightly and I frowned. I’d asked her if Dominic was treating her poorly and she’d denied it, but I didn’t quite believe her.

I pursed my lips, and she seemed to read my thoughts. “I told you it was fine between us. He’s just … quiet around me.”

Quiet? Dominic? That didn’t sound right. I sighed. “Ellie, I can talk to him if you decide you need me to. You shouldn’t feel uncomfortable at work.”

She smiled, but it didn’t quite meet her eyes. “I don’t need you to talk to him. Everything’s fine. Really.” Her smile brightened. “Looks like you’re almost finished.” She nodded to the piece in front of me.

“Yeah. A couple of hours and it should be done.” I focused on the carving as Ellie started unpacking the box. I got involved in the details, and when I glanced up a few minutes later, was surprised to see Ellie standing in front of an open cabinet.

I sat up straight just as she turned. Her expression was slightly stunned. She blinked at me. “Are those …”

My eyes moved behind her, and it dawned on me which cabinet she’d opened. I stood, walking to her. Slowly I took the figurines out, placing them on the table next to us one by one.

Her eyes met mine, wide and full of compassion. “They are,” she breathed.

I looked at them for a moment, letting the feelings they brought forth wash over me. Picking up the first one, I said, “His name is Racer, Knight of Sparrows. Racer was my dad’s nickname for me. He started calling me that after I won a race in first grade. He said I was the fastest kid he’d ever seen. It just sort of stuck.”

She seemed to have stilled, her lips parted as she looked back and forth between the figure and me. “Knight of Sparrows … after the birds that sang outside your bedroom window.”

I smiled a small smile. “Yes.” I looked at the figure, the armor he was wearing, the tiny bird perched on his shoulder. “You can see he’s the handsomest one, for obvious reasons.” I shot her a bigger smile, and she blinked at me and then laughed softly.

“He … he represented you?”

I thought about that for a moment. “I think so, yes.”

I placed Racer down and picked up the second figure, looking at his perpetually grinning face. “Shadow, the Baron of Wishbone. Shadow was our family dog.”

I paused, pulling my bottom lip into my mouth for a moment. “I guess Wishbone was because of his love for burying bones, but also a memory of my mother drying one on the kitchen windowsill every Thanksgiving and my brother and me pulling it apart. I always considered that wish so important.”

I smiled at the memory before placing the figure back on the table and picking up the next one, studying the way his lip curled up in a slightly mocking smile, the glint of devilishness in his eyes. “Gambit, the Duke of Thieves. My brother and I used to collect comic books. Gambit was one of my favorite characters from the X-Men. He was a former thief whose powers were charging objects with kinetic energy, enhanced agility, and hypnotic charm.” I grinned, setting him down.

“There’s a sticker of him on the dresser in the guest room.”

“Yes. That was the dresser in my room when I was a kid.”

I picked up the next figure, looking at her wise, motherly face. “Lemon Fair, the Queen of Meringue. Lemon Fair was a river my dad used to take us fishing at when we were kids. We’d camp … he called it ‘guy time.’ ” I cleared my throat, the memory choking me up for a second.

Ellie was still, watching me so intently. “Lemon meringue is your favorite dessert.”

“Yeah,” I breathed. “My mom used to make it for me on special occasions.”

I looked at the last doll, suddenly filled with nerves. I glanced up at the shelf that held the basket of small items I’d carved as I’d brought them to life—tiny loaves of bread, swords, combs, and books. I considered showing those to Ellie first, but knew they didn’t really matter. It was the last doll that mattered, and the reason I was stalling.

I swallowed as I replaced Lemon Fair and picked up the last remaining figure. I met Ellie’s eyes. “Lady Eloise,” I said softly, “of the Daffodil Fields.” Her forehead furrowed in confusion as she glanced from the stone girl to me and back again. “My mother collected children’s books. She used to read a series to me about a girl named Eloise. My father would bring my mother daffodils in the spring. They were her favorite. She said they were the happiest of all flowers.”

I looked down at the doll in my hands. “She, Lady Eloise, was the one who took my hand and led me away when he came downstairs.” Ellie looked startled. She shook her head slightly as if she was both denying something and trying to work it out in her head. “I think … I think I loved her more than any of them because she was the one who saved me when I needed it the most.”

I watched Ellie as her expression turned from shock and confusion to sorrow and pain. Her eyes moved to me, and I saw such deep hurt in them, I reached for her. “Is this why?” she asked on a broken whisper.

Confusion rolled through me. “Is this why what?”

“Why you love me? Is it because of …her?” She nodded down at the doll as a tear slipped from her eye. “Oh,” she let out a shuddery breath, “it makes sense now.”

“God, no, Eloise. I love you because of you. I loved you before I even knew your real name.”

“But …” She looked so devastated, and it made my guts twist. God, I’d never imagined she’d react this way, that she would think I’d what … made her into some living, breathing version of the figure in my hand?

I held it out to her, stepping forward and placing it in her hands, wrapping my own around hers. “It’s only a doll, Ellie. A piece of rock.”

I let go of her hands and she held it up, studying the details of the small girl, the peaceful smile, the long, flowing hair, the flowers held in her tiny grasp. She’d been the last one I’d carved, and because my skill had grown with each figure I created, she was the most beautiful, the most detailed. I could see Ellie’s hands shaking as she held her.

She sucked in a small sob and stepped back, losing her grip on the doll. It seemed to happen in slow motion. Ellie’s eyes widened as she stepped forward and attempted to catch Lady Eloise. For a second I thought she had it, but her finger only grazed it, sending it farther from her hand, speeding to the floor where it hit with a smash and broke into a hundred pieces. I froze where I stood.

Ellie let out a keening cry as she fell to her knees in front of the shattered girl. “Oh my God. Oh no. Gabriel, I’m … I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to.” She used her hands to sweep all the pieces together into one small pile. Her hands were shaking so badly now, I wondered how she even managed the chore.

I moved to go down to her, when she suddenly sprang up and ran to the table near the front door, where there was a plastic bag. She ran back and kneeled down again and scooped the pieces into the bag. “I’ll fix it. I … I … I can fix it. If …” She let out another sob.

I came out of the strange trance I’d seemed to go into, the picture clearing as I fell to my knees in front of her. “Ellie, love, stop. Please. It doesn’t matter. It’s okay.”

She shook her head sharply from side to side. “It does matter. She was—”

I pulled her into my arms, smoothing her hair. “Shh. It doesn’t matter,” I repeated.

“You always say that. You always just accept everything. But it does matter. It does.” She sucked in a big, shaky breath and started to cry. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Anguish rose in my chest to witness the depth of her suffering. It seemed far too deep and boundless to really be all about a broken doll. God, what should I do? How could I ease her pain? I stroked her hair and kissed her tear-streaked cheeks. “Ellie, sweet love, you’re breaking my heart.”

She burrowed into me, crying harder, and all I could do was hold her in my arms until her tears finally abated. Finally, after what seemed like a long time, I helped her to her feet. She insisted on taking the plastic bag of broken parts with her, clutched to her chest. I called and told George she was sick and I was taking her home.

You can’t fix me, you know.

No, I can only love you.

* * *

That night, I made love to her, attempting to show her with my body all the love I had in my heart. I held her in my arms and whispered words of love and devotion to her in the darkness, and she nestled into me, accepting the comfort I so badly wanted to offer her. But her silence told me she’d retreated into herself and I just had to hope she’d come back to me again by the time the morning came.

But when the sun dawned, I opened my eyes to see that she had pulled an upholstered chair up to the window. She was curled up in it, watching the small sliver of sun as it appeared. I sat up on one elbow. “Morning.”

She sat up and turned, her expression soft and sad. “Good morning,” she whispered.

“What are you doing over there?”

She bit at her lip and turned her face to the window for a second. She stood up and came back to the bed, sitting at the edge. The look on her face was so filled with sorrow, my heart started beating faster. “I think you know I have to go, Gabriel.”

“Go? Go where?” Panic filled my chest and I sat up.

She took a deep breath as if she was attempting to calm herself. “I’ve been up all night, just thinking—”

“Ellie, if this is about that figure—”

She shook her head. “It’s not, not really. I mean, I think I know your feelings for me don’t exist because I happen to have the same name as the stone figure you carved.” She sighed. “I just, I can’t keep doing this to you, Gabriel. I can’t keep doing this to me.”

A lump formed in my throat, and I moved forward on my knees, taking her into my arms. She didn’t resist; on the contrary, she melted into me as she always did. “I love you so much,” she breathed. “And I know you love me, but I can’t stop questioning why. I’ve tried so hard and everything inside me just …hurts. I’m so lost, and I don’t think I can find myself here. And I need to, Gabriel. I need to find myself. I need to figure out who I am without you. I need to figure out what to hold on to and what to let go of.”

“God, Ellie,” I choked. “Please …” I pulled her against me tighter, panic and soul-deep pain warring within me. The agony of losing another person in my life slashed at my heart. Stay. Let me help you through this. You don’t have to do it alone. I wanted to say those words to her, to beg her not to go, and yet something stopped me—perhaps the memory of the talk I’d had with George, maybe the recollection of what it’d felt like to be in the place she was in. Most likely both. There was truth in her words, and I knew instinctively that to stop her would be at least partly motivated by my own selfishness. But, God, it hurt. It hurt so damn badly.

“Where will you go?” I managed to choke out. How will I be able to resist helping you? How will I survive wondering if you’re okay?

She shook her head slightly against me. I could feel the wetness of her tears on my bare chest. “Back to my apartment. From there … I don’t know.”

“You wouldn’t—”

She pulled her head back to look up at me, her eyes full of tears and tenderness. “No. I’m not Crystal anymore. I can’t ever be her again. I’ll find another job.”

I let out a loud whoosh of air and wiped a tear from her cheek. She paused before she asked quietly, “You paid my medical bills, didn’t you?”

I opened my mouth and then closed it, not prepared for the question, unsure if she’d be angry about it or not. She placed two fingers over my lips and then moved them out of the way so she could kiss me. “Thank you.”

I let out a relieved breath, understanding that her acceptance of my gift was a gift to me as well. My love for her was so intense in that moment, my whole body was shaking with it. “Will you come back?” My voice was a raw-sounding whisper, a broken plea.

Sorrow clouded her expression, and her lip trembled. “I need”—she clenched her eyes shut for a moment as if her words were physically hurting her—“I need you to go on as if I won’t. I need that.” She opened her eyes just as a tear slipped out and rolled down her cheek. Crushed. It felt as if my soul were being crushed.

I leaned down and pressed my forehead to hers, and for a moment we just breathed together. I wanted to beg. I wanted to scream at her and plead with her to stay. Beg her to want to come back to me. Not to leave me in the first place, but I couldn’t. Would she understand that in not fighting for her to stay, I was fighting for her to heal? “Stay today. Will you just stay with me today?”

She stared into my eyes for a moment before answering, “Yes,” so softly it was more breath than sound.

We lay back on the bed and I pulled the covers over us, determined to shut out the world this one last day.

We loved fiercely and sorrowfully, trying so hard to pack a lifetime of touches into a single morning. I felt desperate and heartbroken, but I knew in my heart that to stop her from going meant trapping her in its own way, and it was something I would never do. And so we took temporary refuge from the pain of goodbye and gloried in the moment: our heat and our bones and the tangling of our limbs. Our love.

We didn’t talk. To do so would only hurt more, and I didn’t think I could stand it, nor did I want that for her. When she finally pulled herself from my arms, I let her go. I lay there listening as she packed up her things in the other room, already missing the warmth of her skin and the smell of her hair and the way her smile felt like opening a window on a summer’s day.

I heard the soft sounds of her crying, and I wanted to be the one to wipe away her tears. But I knew that would only make it worse. I also knew Ellie needed to find happiness, and if she thought she needed to do it alone, it would be wrong to stop her. I tried to find some comfort in knowing I was doing the right thing for her, but I couldn’t manage it.

My stomach knotted as I rose from the bed we’d shared for the last couple of weeks, and I pulled on the jeans I’d thrown across a chair the night before. I used the bathroom and when I came out, Ellie was just exiting the guest room, carrying her bag. “I called George and asked for a ride,” she said.

I was glad she had. I didn’t think I could handle more than one goodbye. I smiled sadly at her and took the bag, walking toward the front door. It felt like the sadness of the moment was too much to bear, as if I might suffocate with it.

I pulled the door open. George’s truck was already idling outside, although he was turned away, most likely to give us the privacy he must know we needed.

I leaned against the doorframe, putting my hands in my pockets to stop myself from grabbing her and begging her to stay. “I’ll miss you.” It seemed like the only thing to say, and by the look on her face, I could tell she’d heard my whole heart in the words.

She brushed the hair away from my eyes and then put her hand on my cheek and smiled so tenderly I almost grabbed her anyway, though I’d promised myself I wouldn’t. “You will always be the great love of my life, Gabriel Dalton.” And then she turned and she left.

I closed the door behind her and leaned back against it, sliding down until I was sitting on the floor. I put my head in my hands, and I let the agonizing pain envelop me.