Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Blue
Sometimes, when things are too quiet, my body panics before I understand why. Silence presses in, heavy and wrong, like it's waiting for me to notice it. So I lie still for a second, eyes shut, afraid to move, not wanting the moment to shatter and take whatever fragile peace exists with it.
When I finally allow my eyes to snap open, a new panic hits. The blackout curtains aren't mine. The ceiling is too high and smooth, washed in soft light that doesn't belong in any place I've ever slept.
Then there's the smell. It's too clean, expensive, and untouched by the mess of my life. For a terrifying second, I don't know where I am or how I got here, and my chest locks like it's preparing for impact.
I don't move, holding my breath, trying to listen for a hint that it's okay to disturb the foreign environment I'm in.
That's when I feel him. Red's warmth at my back. The solid weight of his arm around my waist. The steady rise and fall of his chest against me like a tether pulling me back into myself.
I let out a shaky breath and press my fingers into the sheets, grounding myself in the unfamiliar fabric, letting the sense of safety settle.
Red's alive.
Suddenly, the silence doesn't feel quite as dangerous anymore. For half a second, I believe this is some polished version of peace where nothing hurts anymore.
My father hurt him.
My hands tremble. I curl my fingers into the sheets, gripping hard enough to feel the fabric bite into my skin. The urge hits fast and sharp, like it always does in the quiet. My brain whispers all the old promises.
You know how to make this stop.
You know how to feel real.
I slide my fingers to my knee, digging in.
Red puts his hand over mine and sleepily mumbles, "What's going on, Bluebird?"
I freeze, heart beating rapidly.
He shifts and tightens his arm like he knows I'm fighting something even without opening his eyes. That small, unconscious movement does more than years of therapy ever did.
I lie, "Nothing."
He laces his fingers through mine, then curls them so I can't dig. He pushes, "Something's going on."
I close my eyes, practice my breathing, then turn into him.
Like always, he doesn't just glance at me. He really looks at me. His eyes sweep my face, my hands, my breathing, like he's checking for damage that isn't visible yet.
"I'm okay," I say quickly, because I hate that look and knowing I put it there.
He pins our linked fingers over my head and brings his face closer, giving me a sweet kiss on the lips, then retreating. "Talk to me."
I smile and shake my head, as fresh anger bubbles. "I'm really sorry about my father."
"That's not your fault."
"It's my father."
"You don't control his actions," Red points out.
"Still..." I bite my lip, taking deeper breaths.
He strokes my cheek, kisses me again, then repeats, "Not your fault."
A sharp knock cuts through the room.
Red quietly groans, spins so he's leaning against the headboard, repositions the blankets around us, and calls out, "Come in."
Aspen slips in like it's any other morning. She's already dressed, hair loose, carrying two steaming mugs. She chirps, "Thought you might want some coffee, and before you argue, food is happening whether you want it or not." She smiles at me.
I sit up next to Red, holding the blanket over my chest. I tease, "When did you get bossy?"
"I use it selectively." She winks and holds out the coffee.
Red and I each take a mug.
Maksim steps into the room. He's composed, perfectly put together, with no sign that anything is out of the ordinary. His attention flicks to me first, then settles on Red and stays there a beat too long.
"Thanks," Red says to Aspen, then locks eyes with Maksim. "Good morning."
Maksim gives a small nod. "Morning. Did you both sleep well?"
I reply, "Yes. Enough."
"Good." He gestures toward the windows and adds, "It's going to be a nice day out. Everyone good if we have breakfast on the balcony?"
Red replies, "Sounds good. I need to get a run in, too."
"You can use the gym," Maksim states.
"We're still on lockdown?" I try to tease, but anger flares in my tone.
"Best until we sort things out," he deadpans.
"Why don't we let them get dressed? Breakfast will be ready in ten minutes," Aspen interjects, giving me another warm smile.
"Sounds good." Maksim leaves with Aspen in tow. She shuts the door.
Red gets out of bed. "Let's go eat, Bluebird."
"I'm not really hungry," I argue.
He grins. "Too bad. You heard your aunt. Can't upset her in her own house."
I groan, stepping onto the floor. "You're enjoying someone else making me eat. Aren't you?"
"Nope," he says while nodding, then chuckling.
I roll my eyes and slide into clothes.
Red takes my hand and leads me out of the bedroom, through the penthouse, and outside.
Sunlight spills across the balcony in slow, golden sheets, warming the stone beneath my bare feet and brushing my skin. The city stretches below in quiet obedience while the morning air hums soft and clean, almost gentle, as if the day itself doesn't know what almost happened last night.
Aspen already has the table set and filled with covered platters.
Maksim lifts each one, revealing warm croissants torn open and layered with butter and honey, soft scrambled eggs flecked with herbs, crisp bacon, and thin-sliced fruit arranged with deliberate care. Steam curls up from a small dish of roasted potatoes next to a metal coffee carafe.
I stare at the food longer than necessary, cataloging each item, reminding myself that this is what normal mornings are supposed to look like. This is what my life has never really had since Red is now next to me.
Aspen pulls out a chair beside me. "Sit," she says gently, like it's a suggestion even though we both know it isn't.
Red drops into his chair.
I follow, wrapping my fingers around the warm mug she's poured for me. The heat seeps into my palms, steady, anchoring. I take a sip and let the hot caffeine warm my insides.
Maksim takes the seat across from us, his posture relaxed but eyes sharp. He pours coffee from the metal carafe with practiced ease.
For a moment, no one speaks. Platters are passed. Aspen places a croissant on my plate without asking. I don't protest. I don't thank her either. I just let it be there.
Red adds some scrambled eggs, declaring, "These look delicious."
"Aspen makes the best breakfast," Maksim praises.
"My mom was a great cook. She taught me everything I know," Aspen states, but there's a flicker of sadness in her expression.
Maksim slides his hand over hers. They exchange a glance.
Red nudges my ankle with his foot under the table. "One bite," he murmurs, low enough only I can hear.
I glare at him.
He smiles back.
I tear off a piece of croissant and eat it. The buttery flake melts on my tongue, and my stomach tightens with more anger. I swallow hard and take a sip of coffee to hide it. Before I can stop myself, I blurt out, "This doesn't change anything. Just because the morning's pretty."
Maksim doesn't look offended. If anything, he looks like he expected it. He evenly agrees, "No. It doesn't."
Aspen reaches for my hand briefly, squeezes once, then lets go. "But it doesn't hurt to eat. Or to sit in the sun."
I nod, jaw tight, because arguing would be useless and rude. So I take a bite of eggs and agree, "These are really good."
Aspen beams. "Glad you like them."
"They are delicious. Everything is," Red adds.
Small talk resumes, as it did the night before. We're halfway through breakfast when the security panel near the balcony door chirps softly.
Maksim's gaze lifts immediately. He rises and puts his napkin on the table. "I'll let her in." He disappears.
"Let who in?" I ask.
Aspen's shoulders tense. She relays, "Your mom wants to talk to you, Blue."
The warmth drains out of me all at once.
Red's hand closes over mine, firm and solid.
"You knew she was coming over?" I accuse.
"Yes. She wanted to yesterday, and I told her she had to wait until today," Aspen admits.
I snap, "Why didn't you tell me she was coming over?"
Red starts, "Blue—"
"No. Some warning would have been nice," I add.
Aspen winces. "I'm sorry. I thought it would be better for you if you ate breakfast. I know you won't eat when you're worrying."
I look away, facing Lake Michigan, staring at the gentle waves and blinking hard. Rage and hurt mix, aimed at Mom, Dad, and now Aspen for hiding this from me.
"I'm sorry if I upset you," she offers.
Red rubs my thigh.
I release a breath and look at him.
"You have to deal with your parents. Better now than later," Red suggests.
"Fine," I reply, standing up and scooting the chair back. I open the patio door and storm through the penthouse, as if movement can outrun emotion, as if I keep my feet moving, my heart won't catch up and split me open. My skin is suddenly too tight, and my lungs are too small.
I hear the low murmur of voices before I see them.
Maksim stands near the entry, posture calm, expression carved from stone.
My mother is in front of him, wringing her hands so hard her knuckles go pale.
Her eyes are red-rimmed, mascara smudged like she's been crying for hours, and the moment she sees me, she looks relieved.
She steps forward, reaching for me. "Blue! "
I step out of her reach, afraid if she touches me, I might crumble. And I can't risk that. So I warn, "Don't."
Her hands falter midair. "Honey—"
"I said don't." My throat tightens. My pulse is loud in my ears. "You don't get to walk in here and—" I gesture vaguely at her tears and trembling hands. "—and act like you're the victim."
Her face collapses. "I didn't know. I swear to you I didn't know your father would—"
"Do what? Hurt Red? Kidnap him? Put his hands on him like he's an enemy and not the man I love?" My voice rises with each word, anger burning clean and bright through the fear. "You didn't know he would do that? Mom…when has he ever not done whatever he wanted?"