Chapter Sixteen #2
“Okay then,” Henry said quickly. “Let’s sidestep that too and get a car for Char and Oli.”
Sebastian’s arm brushed mine again. This time, he didn’t move away. He stayed right where he was, and the awkwardness still hanging in the air loosened its grip on me.
Because I was so used to carrying this—the judgment about him and me—by myself.
This time, he was here.
And he had my back.
Teddy Langley was declared stable a few hours later.
He was still heavily sedated, still in the ICU, and likely would be for another couple of days—but it was enough to let us all breathe a little easier. Once Oliver returned from the apartment, we split up. Henry went with Charlotte and the kids. Sebastian and I headed to his place.
The moment the door slid open, it felt like time folded in on itself. Too many memories rushed in at once—of us, of what this place used to be—and I had to clear my throat to hide how much it affected me.
Sebastian had a guest bedroom. A small one I realized I’d never actually seen before.
He offered it, and I took it without hesitation. I showered, letting the heat strip away the hospital smell still clinging to me. I tried not to think about those dark eyes drifting toward his room, then back to me, lingering too close to a question we both knew he wasn’t supposed to ask.
Sebastian had gotten clothes for me. I had no idea when, but they were waiting on the bed, neatly folded. Something about the quiet thoughtfulness of it settled warm and heavy in my gut.
When I finally stepped back out, I half expected him to be in his room, already asleep. Instead, he was sitting on the couch, the glow of his phone lighting his face. He looked fresh out of the shower too, his hair still damp, brushed back with a few loose strands refusing to stay put.
There was something about Sebastian out of his rigid work clothes that always affected me more than it should. In dark sweats and a T-shirt, he looked almost ordinary. Human. Just a man sitting on a couch. Not the untouchable figure the rest of the world seemed to see—the one he let them see.
I moved farther into the room, my nerves ticking up at the realization that it was just us now. “Any news?”
He glanced up, his eyes sweeping over me before dropping back to his phone. “Still stable. I was ordering us something to eat before heading to bed.” A pause. “Are you hungry?”
I sank onto the couch—probably closer than I should have. “Starving.”
The food arrived not long after. We ate right there, side by side on the couch, and the familiarity of it pulled at me in a way I couldn’t ignore. His presence. His scent drifting over to me. The way my body kept wanting to lean closer without permission.
This version of him was dangerous.
Watching his forearms flex as he lifted his fork, the casual intimacy of bare feet against the floor—it all made my thoughts stray in directions I didn’t want to follow.
And it didn’t help that he kept offering without saying a word. A thigh brushing mine. His leg falling open just enough to press against me. A touch that lingered a beat too long before he pulled back.
Every part of me wanted to close the distance. To curl into his side. To remind myself how it felt to touch him like he was mine.
I forced myself not to.
This wasn’t an all-clear. This didn’t erase what he’d said or the way he’d hurt me. Being here for him didn’t mean everything was suddenly okay. It didn’t mean I didn’t still deserve answers. Apologies.
This was just a pause.
So I sat there, back against the couch, both of us on the floor in front of it, and listened to him talk.
“Anyway,” Sebastian went on. We’d been talking about a holiday trip when they were kids—a week of cabins, snow, and chaos. “Henry, at the tall age of six, saw Oli’s scraped knee and declared he was going to have to cut it off.”
I chuckled softly.
“Oli was horrified,” Sebastian said, a faint smile on his lips. “But resigned. Luckily, I got there before he went for the kitchen knives.”
“Jesus,” I huffed.
Sebastian took one last bite and placed the container on the coffee table. “It’s always been like that. Henry taking charge while being completely feral. Oliver worrying. And me…” He stopped, something in his eyes going a little sad.
I wiped my hands on a napkin. “You fixing.”
He turned to look at me, then nodded once. “Yeah. Something like that.”
The silence that settled between us wasn’t heavy or oppressive. It felt necessary. I watched him gather his thoughts, the way his eyes drifted, the way his hand clenched briefly over his knee. He wanted to say more.
With a quiet exhale, he finally did. “It was always expected of me,” he said. “It’s easy to know what role to play when you’re handed the part.”
My elbow was propped on my knee, my chin resting in my palm, all of my attention on him. “What do you mean?” The question was a gentle push, an invitation to stay instead of retreat into himself.
His lips twisted, and he shrugged, suddenly looking younger than I’d ever seen him.
“I can’t stop thinking about it,” he whispered, his gaze drifting somewhere far away.
“About what?”
“The day she died.”
I’d known it was coming, but hearing him say it still felt like a rock landing in my stomach.
The pain in his expression softened something inside me in a way I couldn’t fight.
This time, I didn’t stop myself. My free hand went to his arm, smoothing over the skin before my fingers slipped under the hem of his sleeve.
His hand closed around my wrist, holding me there. “We don’t have to—”
“I want to listen,” I said quickly. His eyes lifted to mine. “If you want to tell me about it… I want to listen.”
He looked away again. A quiet moment stretched between us, filled only by his breathing and the distant hum of New York traffic beyond the windows.
“It was sudden,” he said. “Completely out of nowhere. There hadn’t been anything wrong with her. That morning, we’d had breakfast together. She was joking with us, Henry sitting on her lap like he always did. He was always glued to her.”
My eyes burned at the image. They’d been so little.
“When I got home from school, the house was packed,” he went on.
“And I saw her—not all of her, but enough. On the floor. Before my father pushed me out.” His jaw tightened.
“He told me she was gone. Then I was upstairs with Oli and Henny, and he told me to keep them there. I think they were taking her out, and I just—” His grip on my wrist tightened.
“I broke. I started crying. Everything hit me all at once, and I couldn’t stop it. ”
My chest ached so much for them. For him. “Ash…”
He shook his head. “It scared them. Henny jumped off the bed and ran to the bathroom, banging on the door, calling for her, like she was supposed to be there. That made Oliver cry harder, and that’s when it really hit me.
” His voice dropped. “Nobody was going to comfort them. Those cries were only going to meet silence. So it had to be me.”
A tear slipped free before I could stop it, and I wiped it away quickly.
His eyes stayed on the floor, red-rimmed but dry.
“It felt like I was being torn apart,” he said.
“But I couldn’t let myself feel it. When I picked Henry up, I kept looking at his hands.
His tiny hands. And it hurt more—but it also made everything else go quiet.
” He swallowed. “I focused on that. Then on Oliver’s hands once I had him tucked under my arm. And somehow… breathing got easier.”
Because he made it about them.
Fuck—Sebastian.
“It’s all I can think about now. Every time I let my guard down, every time I start to fall asleep, I’m back in that bedroom. That same feeling—being ripped apart and terrified I won’t be able to keep them safe.”
My hand slid free of his grip and went to the back of his neck. “I’m so sorry.”
His eyes lifted to mine, lips curved just slightly—not enough to chase away the sadness—as he reached up to wipe my cheek. “It’s okay, darling. A bit of unprocessed trauma is practically a staple at my age.”
A joke. Of course.
“That was a long time ago, Ash,” I said. “You don’t have to keep holding everything together anymore.”
He looked away again.
“Maybe that’s why it keeps coming back,” I added carefully. “You never stopped carrying it.”
He didn’t respond right away. Just sat there, still, maybe turning my words over, maybe sinking somewhere deeper than he was ready to share. I stayed quiet, unsure if anything else I could say would help.
After a moment, he said, “Thank you.”
“I told you—”
“I know.” He turned fully toward me, his shoulder leaning into the couch. “I still need to say it.”
I mirrored him without thinking.
“Thank you for staying with me,” he went on. “For being here.” A beat. “I know you’re still mad at me.”
“Ash, let’s get some sleep, okay?” I said. “I promise we can talk about this tomorrow. We’re running on fumes.”
And I wasn’t sure I was ready for that conversation yet. Not after everything he’d just shared. I wasn’t sure I’d be firm enough.
“Today can just be about this,” I added. “About you. I’m not going anywhere.”
His eyes searched my face, like he was looking for something to contradict him. When he didn’t find it, he nodded.
He leaned his elbow on the couch and dragged a hand through his hair, the movement drawing my attention to his neck, to the collar of his shirt.
Something caught the light.
My heart kicked hard in my chest, and I reached out without thinking, fingers closing around the chain and lifting it.
Until a necklace rested in my hand.
Until the medallion lay warm in my palm. Gold. A simple P etched into the surface.
“Why are you wearing this?” I whispered.
He didn’t answer right away. When I looked up, his expression was open again. Vulnerable.
“I always wear it.”
I shook my head slowly. That couldn’t be right. I would have noticed. I would have known.
“I don’t when I run,” he said. “But otherwise—it’s on.”
“Why?” I watched him closely, waiting for him to shut down, to deflect, to pull away.
He didn’t. He tilted his head, a small smile touching his mouth. Soft. Familiar. “You know why.”
So I can always keep you close to my heart.
That’s what he’d said.
Four years ago, right before he left.
His gaze dropped to my neck, bare where the chain should have been, then lifted again. Something pained flickered there. “Did you throw yours away?” There was a trace of humor in his tone, but it didn’t hide the truth underneath it.
“Of course not, Ash,” I said. “It’s safe. I just don’t—”
“I get it,” he cut in quickly. “You didn’t have to keep it. It’s okay—I had that coming.”
My heart slammed against my rib cage, like it wanted to break free and go to him. I let the necklace fall, the chain sliding back into place over his chest, settling above his heart.
“I don’t… I don’t know what to say.”
Sebastian smiled—that stupid, fond smile—and before I could process anything else about this conversation, he leaned forward.
Not in one smooth motion. He stopped. Hesitated.
Gave me room. When I did nothing but stare, he closed the distance and pressed his lips to mine in a soft, fleeting kiss that sent fireworks through my entire body.
But it was just one.
Then he pulled back, giving me space again.
“Tomorrow?” he asked, hope threading through his voice.
I nodded. “Tomorrow.”
He rested his forehead against mine. “Can I convince you to sleep in my bed with me?”
My stomach swooped. I shook my head.
His fingers lifted to my jaw, his thumb brushing gently over my skin. “How about the couch? We could just sleep out here.”
“We’ve been sleeping in chairs for two days,” I said. “Do you really want to keep that streak going when you have a perfectly good bed available?”
His lips twitched. “If it means I get to stay close to you, yeah. I’ll take the couch.”
Fuck. Me.
“Fine,” I said. “I’ll get the pillows.”
Sebastian smiled again, brushing a kiss to my cheek before standing, looking almost giddy. “I’ll grab the blankets.”
We moved the couch cushions to make more room, gathered pillows, and settled in facing each other under a thick blanket.
We managed to keep our distance for maybe a second before our legs tangled together, the soft brush of feet against calves and thighs sending warmth through me.
His hand rested at the back of my neck, his mouth only a breath away as I held him by the waist, keeping him close.
“Goodnight, my darling,” he said, so soft.
I nudged my nose against his. “Goodnight.”
As I closed my eyes, exhaustion finally claiming me, I felt his lips brush mine again—just a whisper of a kiss, one I answered before sleep pulled us under.
Then we fell fast, wrapped in each other.
I was lifted, the movement almost startling me awake, but I was too groggy to fight sleep. I curled into the body holding me, pressing my face into the warm skin of his neck.
Ash.
“What are you doing?” The words came out tangled together.
“Taking you to bed,” he murmured. “Keep sleeping.”
A moment later, I was lowered onto the bed, blankets pulled up around me as I sank into the mattress. I felt him tuck them in and press a kiss to my temple.
“I’m going to the hospital.”
My hand reached for his shirt, fingers curling weakly.
“Everything’s okay.” He caught my wrist. “I’m just giving Oli a break. Sleep.”
I nodded, eyes still closed, face buried in the pillow.
One last kiss, and he was gone.
Seconds later, I heard the rush of water from the shower. I cracked my eyes open just long enough to take in the room—the bedside table, the doors I knew led out to the terrace.
He’d left me in his bed.
I smiled to myself, nuzzling into the pillow again. “Sneaky fucker.”