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“I was ready to let you go, but I also made all these big decisions without…” He stopped. He’d gotten Adam’s blessing before he put the bakery on the market, but right now, it didn’t feel like enough. “It was still yours. Whatever those fucking papers said, Adam, it was still yours too.”
Adam set his coffee down and crossed his arms. “I know.”
“I don’t want you to hate me.” The admission came softly, barely above a whisper, but Adam flinched like Noah had shouted. “After all these years of not being able to stand me, I need to know that I can walk away, and you’ll want me to come back.”
“I’ll always regret not telling you I loved you more after…” Adam swallowed, and Noah knew what he meant. After Bubbe died. Before Bubbe’s death, Adam had been sweet. He’d been a pain in the ass, but he’d been affectionate, and he looked at Noah like Noah was his whole world. Then Bubbe was gone, and Noah had to be someone entirely new, and Adam changed because Noah had changed.
“It’s okay. I still knew,” Noah told him.
With a sigh, Adam reached out and curled his hand around the back of Noah’s neck, drawing him close. Adam had outgrown Noah by the time he was fifteen and was now at least three inches taller, but until this moment, Adam had never felt bigger than him. “I’m not entirely ready to let go, but that’s okay.”
Noah shook his head. “Is it?”
Adam squeezed his fingers tighter, and it was painful but comforting, keeping Noah present. “Yes. If I’ve learned anything from being with Talia, it’s that discomfort can be…cathartic. And necessary.” He let up on his grip, and Noah looked up at him. “Letting this go doesn’t mean letting me go.”
Old habits died hard, though, and Noah’s vow to keep Adam safe in exchange for everything he was still rang in his ears. “Bubbe would have done this, right?”
Adam laughed a bit. “She might not have rented to some guy who could put her favorite grandson out of business, but”—his mouth softened—“yes, she would have done this. She would not have done everything you did, though. You’re braver than she was. You’re braver than I am.”
“I don’t know,” Noah started, but Adam shook his head.
“Nothing’s changing. Nothing real is changing,” Adam told him. “And that’s because of you.”
Noah swallowed thickly and nodded. “Thank you.” Though he didn’t know if he believed Adam, but maybe he would. Eventually. “I should get going. I want to grab breakfast before Adriano wakes up.”
Adam nodded, then moved to the end of the breakfast bar and swiped up one of his pastry boxes, handing it off to Noah. “The brie and raspberry are on the left, strawberry and rhubarb on the right.”
Noah wrinkled his nose but took it anyway and fought back a too-large grin. “Thanks.”
“Tell your sugar daddy I said hi and that I’m glad he’s home.”
Blanching, Noah turned away, but he smiled in spite of himself. “You know, he’s not the only one now, right? You should see my bank account.”
“Shut the hell up, or Iwillwatch your porn, Noah. I will have a porn party and invite the whole town.”
At that, Noah did laugh, big and hearty and full of life. He let Adam show him to the door, then turned and nodded at his brother. “You’ll help me pack?”
“Elohim yishmor, yes,” he said, exasperated but grinning. “Now get the hell out of my apartment.”
“Say hi to Talia,” Noah called back as he started away from the door. He heard the echo of Adam’s chuckle as Noah headed to his car. He didn’t feel entirely better, and he probably never would. This was almost his entire life that was being packed up in small boxes and either stored or moved across the country.
And he was saying goodbye—for now. Maybe for a little while. Maybe longer.
But it was time.
EPILOGUE
Noah swipeda hand over his forehead before walking to the window and pushing it open farther. It wasn’t just the late-August heat but the dust in the air, scattered from old boxes, that was making it hard to breathe. And the fact that it was happening. Noah’s bank account was full, his loan paid off, a nest egg sitting quietly, and life was okay.
But he was still selling. He was still packing away these bits and pieces of his life—his childhood, his teenage years, the tortured adulthood he’d nearly withered away behind until Adriano entered his life like a hurricane.
He felt raw some days. Therapy was helping, but there wasn’t really a cure for his condition. There were meds he wasn’t taking just yet. Keeping them on hand felt better than actually starting. He was managing okay on his own with the help of the soft-spoken woman in an office downtown who also had a few recommendations for when he got to LA.
But he knew anyone would be sad doing this. He glanced over at Adam, who had been sitting with the same box for half an hour, and he plopped down next to him, peering over the edge. It was some miscellaneous box Bubbe had thrown together—some of Noah’s old matchbox cars, a tattered dinosaur stuffie Adam had carried with him when he was three, then abandoned by four. Beneath that looked like old report cards and a stack of photos.
Adam had one in his hand, a shot of Noah and Bubbe on the beach. Noah barely recognized it now—the shores of the Mediterranean on the coast of Tel Aviv. He was standing with his feet in the water, and the sea behind him was faded in the photograph, but he remembered how sharply, impossibly blue-green the water shone in the afternoon sun. He could almost smell it there, almost taste it on the sides of his tongue.
“Do you ever want to go back?” Adam asked quietly.
