Ade clears his throat, voice steady, and launches into a detailed explanation. “I had no idea I was even crying until he pointed it out,” he says, sucking in a deep lungful of air. “I knew then that I needed help. If I don’t get a handle on things, this will keep happening, and it won’t be fair to him.” His voice wavers but doesn’t break. “Wouldn’t it be better to be with him when I rid myself of these burdens?”

He winces, and presses a finger against his temples, rubbing circles to massage away the worry lodged there. What he really wants, craves even, is Stefan’s touch—the quiet reassurance of his presence. But this decision, this one, is his alone. Ade knows he must heal first.

The room falls into a heavy silence that stretches until Temmy, in his no-nonsense manner, slices through the quiet. “So, let me get this straight. You think if you tell Stefan what’s going on, he’ll not want to be with you?”

Ade nods, his eyes fixed stubbornly on the floor. “Yes.”

“And your plan,” Temmy continues, incredulous but calm, “is to fix yourself, get help, but in the meantime, just not see him? Avoid him?”

Ade’s head snaps up, caught o! guard. He shrugs, helpless. “Yes?”

Temmy, arms crossed, leans forward slightly. “And what exactly do you plan on telling him? ‘Sorry, I’m o! on a little self-improvement holiday. See you when I’m less of a mess’? How do you think that will go?”

Ade falters, thrown by the bluntness. He hadn’t thought it through—not really. He had convinced himself that absence would be better than inadequacy, but now… now, he can see the gaping holes in his logic.

Temmy groans, his head tilting back in exasperation. “Ade, seriously, are we supposed to go tell him to shove o! because you’re ‘working on yourself’? The guy came here yesterday looking like his heart had been run through a shredder, and you think he’s going to just walk away?”

Sophia leans in, her voice gentler, more like a caress than a reprimand. “I said the same thing to Temmy yesterday. Anyone else would’ve been livid with you for driving o! without a word. But Stefan? He was all nerves and heart eyes, worried sick about you.”

Jola reaches and takes his hand. “He was the one who suggested we search for your phone, you know? He was frantic when you left, called you forty times, no exaggeration. Forty!”

Ade’s stormy mind calms. Hope swells in him, cautiously at first. Could it be true? Could Stefan really understand, not view him as irreparably broken? Maybe, just maybe there’s room to breathe. Room to heal and love, wholly, with no holdbacks, with no discord in his mind.

Jola presses on. “And he called me as well. I saw it later. Like I’ve told you, don’t give unworthy people control over your life and choices. They are irrelevant. You can unpack, unburden, and get better while with him. He’s choosing you. Let him.”

Temmy leans back, arms crossed but the hard edge in his voice softens. “It’s a wonderful step to want to be better for him. That shows you love him, and you know he deserves all of you. The whole nine yards.” A beat passes. “If you stop seeing him now, if you tell him you can’t be with him, you can’t be sure he will want to be with you after you think you’re ready to love him as he deserves.”

Sophia nods in agreement. “If you’re overwhelmed and can’t be intimate, it’s normal. Tell him. Lay it all out, darling.”

Ade nods, feeling the weight on his chest begin to lift as his siblings weave a net of support beneath him, ready to catch him if he falls. It’s as if their collective strength is transferring into him, fortifying his will to !nally face the things he’s been avoiding. He looks around at them— Temmy, Sophia, Jola—and can’t help but feel a deep, unspoken gratitude. They’ve all been nudging him gently, persistently, to get help since June. Every conversation, every quiet check-in, had contained the subtle but steady encouragement to stop pretending he could carry the burden alone. And yet, not one of them had thrown an “I told you so” in his face. Their patience astounds him. It would’ve been so easy for them to give up on him or grow tired of his avoidance, to get frustrated with his stubborn refusal to face his own pain. But they never did. They stood by him with quiet, steady loyalty, like lighthouses on a stormy shore, waiting for him to !nd his way home. Ade smiles, a genuine, grateful smile that pulls at the corners of his mouth, lighting up his tired eyes.

A lump forms in his throat, but it’s not the kind of pressure that threatens to crush him. It’s the kind that comes from being overwhelmed by love, from realising how lucky he is to have them—his siblings who see him, truly see him, in all his messiness and fragility, and love him anyway. “Thank you,” he says. “I love you.”

Jola sighs with relief and kisses his cheeks. “We love you too.”

Temmy stands up, a sense of finality in his movements. “Remember what mom and dad always tell us. Love is the one thing you can’t screw up unless you don’t try,” he says, clapping his brother on the shoulder.

Ade rises too, stretching out his limbs as if the conversation has left him lighter, more alive. His lips curl into a grin. “Right. Well, speaking of love… I think I’ll go have sex now.”

Jola rolls her eyes but can’t hide her smile. “Sparks is going to have his hands full with you. And I’ll be breaking into his o”ce to read your !le, just for fun.”

Temmy points at Ade. “You go do that,” then at Jola, “I won’t bail you out.” He takes his wife’s hand, “Come along, baby.”

Jola makes a disgusted sound, watching them leave her room.

With a spring in his step, Ade makes his way back to his room, mind abuzz with everything his siblings said. He’s going to tell Stefan everything—every bit of pain, every crack, every flaw. He’s going to tell him how much he loves him and—he grins devilishly—he’s going to finish what they started earlier.

He pushes open the door, careful not to make too much noise in case Stefan is still asleep. But as he steps inside, his smile fades. The bed is empty. Stefan isn’t sleeping. In fact, Stefan isn’t there at all.

“Stef?” Ade calls, knocking on the bathroom door, hoping for the familiar sound of Stefan’s voice.

Silence. Not a peep from the other side. A pit forms in his stomach as he glances around the room. Something’s o!. It takes him a second to notice—Stefan’s pyjamas, neatly folded on the floor, like an offering to the gods. Panic, swift and unyielding, wraps its icy fingers around Ade’s chest.

In a blur, he bolts out of his room, voice echoing through the house. “Stefan?” His shout ricochets o! the walls, far louder than intended. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembers his nephews are still asleep. Well, were asleep, most likely.

“Ade?” Temmy appears in the corridor, closely followed by Sophia and Jola, all looking mildly alarmed.

Ade’s already halfway to the stairs, his feet barely touching the steps. “I can’t #nd him. He’s not in my room!” he yells, the words spilling out as he skids dangerously close to tumbling down the stairs. “Shit, shit, shit.”

He flings himself into a berserk search, checking every room. Living room? Empty. Kitchen? No sign. Dining room? Nada. Playroom? Full of toys, no Stefan. His heart pounds in his ears as he sprints towards the party room, praying that Stefan’s just gotten lost in the house’s labyrinthine halls. Then, he hears a car outside in the driveway. Could it be? He rushes to the entryway, nearly crashing headfirst into Ben.

“Ade, what happened to Stefan?” Ben skips the greetings, straight to the point, his expression not giving anything away.

“You’ve seen him?” Ade’s voice rises in pitch, a note of pleading creeping in. “Please, take me to him.”

“Did he say anything to you?” Jola asks, walking to Ben. “Only wants Jason,” Ben replies.

Ade’s heart drops to somewhere near his knees. He lunges for the door, but Jola grabs his arm. “You’re in PJs and slippers. Go change”

“I have to go now,” Ade protests, his throat tightening. Jola hands him a jacket. “Ben, please take him.”

Ade nods gratefully, slipping on the jacket, not bothering to zip it up. He’s out the door before anyone can say another word, slippers slapping against the pavement, heart hammering in his chest, hoping against hope that it isn’t what he thinks it is.

***

Excerpt from RUNNIN’ NO MORE, self-published. Copyright © 2024 by G. T. Dípè. 

Buy a copy of the book here: Amazon