Chapter 24
Sunday Morning
Theo buttoned the last button on his shirt, the faint creak of the mirror frame the only sound in the small room.
"You should come with us to church today," Elena said from the doorway, her voice soft but hopeful.
Theo met her gaze through the mirror, pausing for a second before replying. "I have to work, Ma."
"But it's Sunday," she insisted gently.
He turned, crossing the room to take her hand. "Ma, we've talked about this every Sunday. Let's not do this again, please."
Elena's lips pressed into a thin line, but she nodded. "Alright." She gave his hand a light squeeze.
Theo checked the time on the old wall clock and exhaled sharply. "I've got to go, Mom. Pray for me, okay?"
"Always," she said, though her eyes lingered on him with unspoken worry.
Theo jogged out of the apartment, the door clicking shut behind him. From the window, Elena watched his figure disappear down the street, a quiet sigh escaping her as the church bells began to toll in the distance.
---
Late Morning
Carl stirred under the heavy duvet, the sunlight cutting sharp lines across his room. His head pounded with every movement, the taste of stale alcohol still clinging to his mouth. He groaned, dragging the pillow over his face.
A knock came at the door.
Before he could answer, Grozel stepped in, balancing a tray with a steaming bowl of soup and a small packet of medicine.
"You were brought in by your friends yesterday," she said, setting the tray down on his nightstand. "Couldn't even stand straight."
Carl winced, sitting up slowly. "Sorry…" His voice was hoarse.
Grozel's tone softened. "It's good that you're making friends and having fun, but I want you to be responsible."
"I promise I will be," Carl mumbled, rubbing his temples.
She smiled faintly. "Eat up. It'll help with the headache."
Carl nodded, taking the spoon. The warmth of the soup eased some of the tight knot in his stomach. As Grozel stepped out, the quiet in the room returned, save for the faint hum in his ears from the night before.
---
By the afternoon, Carl lay sprawled across his bed, phone in hand, staring at Theo's name in his contacts. He'd typed and erased the same half-sentence three times, unsure what would sound casual enough.
Before he could decide, a notification slid across the screen—Robert.
How are you doing? Did you get home safe?
Carl's chest tightened. Yesterday's brief, charged encounter in the club flashed through his mind. He was supposed to be pushing Robert out of his head, but somehow, Robert always found a way back in.
His phone buzzed again—this time a video call from Valerie and Gina. He swiped to answer.
"How are you doing?" Valerie's face filled the screen, sunlight pouring over her shoulder. "You were pretty banged up last night."
"Yeah…" Carl chuckled, leaning against his pillows.
"You kept rambling about how you know you're selfish and you want two things," Gina said with a teasing grin.
Carl smiled faintly, though there was a weight behind it that only Valerie seemed to notice. "Must've been the drinks. Shouldn't have accepted your challenge."
"I didn't know you couldn't hold liquor," Valerie laughed.
They kept talking, the easy banter filling the silence Carl had been stewing in all day, but Robert's message still sat unanswered at the top of his screen.
---
After the call with Valerie and Gina ended, Carl lay there a while longer, his screen still lit with Robert's message. He hesitated, thumb hovering, then finally typed:
I'm fine. Thanks for asking.
He hit send before he could change his mind.
The reply came quickly.
Good. Did you tell your parents about the competition?
Carl stared at the words, tapping the back of his phone against his knee. He hadn't even brought it up at home—Jonathan and Yvonne had been gone most of the week, and honestly, he wasn't sure if he wanted them involved.
Still thinking about it, he typed back.
A few seconds passed before Robert's "seen" notification popped up. No new message followed, but Carl found himself staring at the screen anyway, as if Robert might say more.
---
Theo leaned against the counter, the quiet hum of the bakery filling the air as the last few customers trickled out. His phone sat face-up beside the register, screen lighting up briefly—Carl's name appearing under "typing…"—before going dark again.
No message followed.
He told himself it didn't matter. Carl Hale could text or not, it wasn't going to change anything. Still, his eyes drifted toward the phone more than once while wiping down the glass display. Every time, the screen was black.
"You good? We're closing early," one of his coworkers said, pulling off his apron.
Theo slipped the phone into his pocket a little too quickly. "Yeah, coming."
He told himself he didn't care. But in the quiet part of his chest, the one he kept buried under routine and pride, he realized he'd been waiting for that text all evening.