In The Morning| 18+

ONE

A L E J A N D R O

"What lecture are you doing today?"

The rhythmic clink of metal fills the air as I press the weight upward again, arms burning but steady. My father stands nearby, watching with an amused expression, hands tucked into the pockets of his sweats.

"What lecture are you doing today?" he asks, his voice calm but curious.

I exhale sharply, pushing the barbell up once more before bringing it back down to my chest. "Quantum physics, astrophysics, and chartered accountancy," I say, my tone casual despite the weight straining my muscles.

A chuckle escapes him. "Your accent will always be so funny to me."

Shaking my head, I finish my final rep and set the weight back onto the rack with a controlled clang. The burn settles deep in my chest, a reminder of effort well spent. I grab the towel draped over the bench and wiped the sweat from my neck.

"Angelo has some questions about one of your degrees," my father continues as if I hadn't just been mid-workout. I raise an eyebrow, drying my face with the other side of the towel. "And which one is that?"

"Aerospace engineering," he says, checking the time on his watch. "He thinks that might be the one he wants to pursue."

I huff out a quiet laugh. "Interesting choice." The phrase one of your degrees never failed to amuse me. Not in an arrogant way just in a way that reminded me how absurd my academic pursuits must seem to other people.

I pull my black hoodie from the back of a chair, shaking it out before slipping it on. As we walked out of the home gym and into the hallway, I adjusted the sleeves and grabbed my gym bag from the chestnut-wood table.

A vase of hydrangeas sat beside it, slightly out of place from where I had nudged it earlier. I straighten it absentmindedly, letting my fingers brush over the soft petals before turning back to my father.

"I'll call Angelo later tonight," I say. "You're off to Sicily now?" He nods, zipping up jacket.

I extend my hand, and he took it, pulling me in for a firm embrace. The scent of his cologne clean and crisp, edged with a faint trace of leather lingered between us.

"Safe travels," we both said in sync.

He pressed a kiss to the top of my head, and I pulled away, stepping toward the front door. My motorcycle helmet rested on another chestnut-wood table near the entrance, next to a bouquet of pink tulips.

My mother and her flowers. Always perfectly arranged, always fresh.

I grabbed the helmet and slung my gym bag over my shoulder, giving my father one last nod before stepping out into the cool morning air.

The sky was a deep, muted shade of blue when I opened the front door. Dawn was creeping closer, but for now, the world remained cloaked in the quiet stillness of the early morning. I stepped outside, closing the door behind me, and made my way to my motorcycle.

The sun would be rising soon. I needed to get home quickly.

Sliding my helmet on, I secured the strap beneath my chin before pressing the ignition. The low rumble of the engine cut through the silence as I swung my leg over the seat and pulled onto the road.

When I moved to London what felt like a lifetime ago my parents had bought multiple houses here. Not because they needed them, but because they liked the convenience. If I ever needed them, or if they ever felt like dropping in, they had a place to stay.

As a child, I had made it abundantly clear that I didn't want them visiting. The whole point of moving was to get them off my back, but that boundary had never really been respected. And now that I was twenty, they seemed to be visiting even more.