she pushes a plate of tomatoes and one of toast a few inches across the tablecloth.
His fingers twitch like maybe he really is going to pull the bread toward him, but his stomach twists in a way that tells him that even if he wants to eat, the end result will be unpleasant for everyone.
“The coffee is enough,” he promises as he grabs the silver pot and pours. It’s milky and strong and just the right kind of bitter as the flavor lingers on the back of his tongue with the first sip. His stomach isn’t thrilled about it, but he knows he needs something after taking his medication. “Gracias, Mamá.”
She softens at the sound of his voice, and he hates himself a little because he never meant to turn into this man. He’d been so close to them once, never open the way Louis and Yvette are, but he never used to struggle showing them affection the way he does now.
“What are your plans for today?” his mother asks as he tops off his cup.
His stomach is settled enough that he grabs one triangle of toast and nibbles on the edge. She already knows the answer to her question, but he also knows why she needs to hear it from him. A small piece of her will always hope that things will change—that Alejandro will find his way out of this maze of grief the way Connor has, and he’ll smile again.
“I’m meeting Connor at the park, and then I have a few errands to run.”
She reaches over and gives his hand a single pat before pulling away. Her skin is a little thinner now, papery. He hates thinking about it—he hates seeing just how much they age between his visits. “Are you going to be long?” she asks him.
It’s very nearly a rhetorical question because she knows the answer to that question too. Likely, he won’t be back tonight. Likely, he’ll find himself at some pub in the middle of nowhere and get pissed beyond reason. Some unlucky sod will pile him into a cab, and he’ll end up in a roadside inn bed half-covered in flea bites come morning. He’ll wake up with just enough time to get home, shower, and make himself look presentable for meeting Connor at the cemetery.
Just like last year. And the year before.
His phone buzzes in his pocket, but he ignores it as he rises from the table then walks over to drop a very brief squeeze against his father’s shoulder. “I’ll see you soon.” It’s the only answer he’s willing to give. Maybe someday things will change.
But not today.
He walks out the front door and then across the gravel toward his father’s garage. That place is his father’s only real indulgence, and it’s been that way since Alejandro can remember. Neither of his parents leaned hard into the vast fortune they’d made after his father’s company became successful, but his father had always loved cars, and it was one of the things he and Alejandro shared. When he moved to America, his father had taken over the care of the few Alejandro had purchased in England, but the only thing that matters to him now is the Giulietta. It’s there, parked in the corner covered with a white sheet, and he gets a very small amount of pleasure as he uncovers the body and runs his hand over the fresh wax and buff.
Compared to what he drives now, it looks like absolutely nothing at all, but it was the first car he and Connor ever bought together. It’s not a sports car, it’s not flashy. Once upon a time, it held a car seat, and the floor was littered with toy rattles and discarded dummies Gabrielle had flung in her small fits of rage. There were cheerio bits and juice stains on the leather when he’d cleaned it out for the last time, and it makes his throat a little tight when he opens the door and it doesn’t smell like that dirt-and-biscuits toddler scent the way he expects it to.
Which is ridiculous. It’s been eight long years, so of course it doesn’t.
He taps his fingers in his rhythm then throws his medication bag on the seat and grabs the keys from the little lockbox. It starts up as it should—a quiet roar then a gentle purr. He feels at home behind the wheel in a way he hasn’t felt since arriving in Derbyshire, and he rolls down the window as