Chapter 36
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
LEON
Jasper: You sly dog. Why am I hearing from my mom that you’re back and staying in MY HOUSE?! I’m genuinely hurt.
Damon: He really is. I think he cried but he tried to hide it saying he ate something spicy. Bullshit. He eats his mom’s wings no issue… man can handle spice.
Me: I’m sorry, don’t be pissed off. I wanted to see how Bailey’s doing. Plus, we talk every day. I know you guys are fine.
Jasper: You love her more than me, I know it
Me: Umm… I’d hope so
Jasper: Well you better keep your hands to yourself… PG rating
Damon: You know that’s not going to happen
Me: Sooo some scenes may be unsuitable for children, then? Which means…
Jasper: Keep that pierced monster away from my sister
Me: ;)
Damon: I’m gonna have to mute this group chat, aren’t I?
It’s odd living in Jasper and Damon’s old room after everything that’s happened.
It’s almost like fitting myself into a pair of shoes that are too small.
The person I was two years ago when we’d go to parties and goof off, he feels so far away.
Being near Bailey is the only thing that helps me find pieces of him again.
Since I arrived a few days ago, I’ve settled into the rhythm of the house.
I get some work done early in the morning, taking calls from the team I hired to oversee the estate project.
They know I want to be as hands off as possible in the majority of the planning. Some things just hit too close to home.
Bailey’s parents wake up around seven, when I’ve already been up for hours.
I can hear their muffled conversations through the ceiling as they get ready for work.
Mr. Shea leaves first. His truck rumbling to life in the driveway gives him away.
Followed by Mrs. Shea about an hour later.
The house settles into quiet after that, except for Bailey.
She’s usually up by eight, sometimes earlier if she’s had a rough night.
I’ve learned to recognize the difference between her normal morning sounds and the aftermath of a sleepless night.
On bad days, she moves more carefully, her footsteps barely audible.
Almost like she’s afraid to take up space.
But on good days, I’ll catch her humming as she makes breakfast, shuffling around the kitchen like old times.
I hope today is a good day.
I finish my call with the contractors. They went on about soundproofing the therapy rooms for way too long.
With my laptop closed and calls finished for the day, the guilt that’s become my constant companion settles heavier in my chest. Every conversation about the Firefly Center reminds me why we’re building it.
Reminds me of all the people my father hurt. All the people I couldn’t save.
But being with Bailey is helping. When I see her laugh at something ridiculous on her phone, her face lighting up, it feels like forgiveness. Like all the violence I committed, all the lines I crossed, led to something worthwhile.
My phone buzzes with a text from Falin. Another update about Brotherhood arrests.
She’s been tracking them obsessively, sending me screenshots of news articles and mugshots like trophies.
Seventeen have been arrested so far. Five were found dead in their holding cells—apparent suicides days before their arraignments, though we all know what that really means.
The empire is crumbling from within. Exactly what we planned for.
Falin: They got Fairfax! Although, I think he’ll get out on bail. I’m keeping an eye on it.
I click out of the message, feeling hollow. It’s ridiculous. I should feel some amount of satisfaction with each arrest. But justice doesn’t bring back the lives lost. It doesn’t erase what Bailey went through. It doesn’t make my blood any less Colter.
Footsteps creak overhead. Bailey’s awake. Warmth spreads through my chest knowing I get to go upstairs and see her. That’s a feeling I’ll never take for granted again.
I listen to her move around up there while I use the bathroom and get dressed in some casual sweats and a T-shirt.
She’s making her way to the kitchen, and from the soft sound of cabinets opening and closing, I’d bet she was making herself something to eat.
Some might call me creepy, I know I’ve definitely called out Damon for his observance, but I’ve memorized her patterns, learned to read subtle changes to judge her mood.
I think it’s a skill I’ve always possessed but I’ve honed it in lately.
The difference is intent, I tell myself. Damon watched Blake to possess her. I watch Bailey to protect her. I can picture his expression if I ever threw that comment his way. It’s all out of love.
I head upstairs, taking the steps slowly so she knows I’m coming. No surprises, no sudden appearances. The other day I made the mistake of showing up in the living room while she was reading and she jumped out of her skin. Now, I’m sure to step on every creaky floorboard to announce my arrival.
When I reach the kitchen, she’s standing by the window holding a steaming mug.
The morning sunlight catches the auburn highlights in her hair that lighten even more in the summertime.
She’s wearing Sanrio pajama pants and the oversized sweatshirt she snagged from my bag the other day while I was unpacking.
Seeing her wrapped in my clothes does something to my chest that makes it hard to breathe normally.
“Morning,” I say softly.
She turns, and her face breaks into a sleepy smile that I want to capture on paper. “Morning. I made hot water if you want some tea.”
I glance at the counter and see the chamomile tea bags scattered next to a plate with toast crumbs.
“Thanks.” I pour myself a mug, noting her choices.
She’s never been a coffee person. I’ve seen her drink boba tea a few times and a matcha once when we stopped at the coffee shop in town.
But I’m sure the herbal teas are good for her anxiety.
I figure I’ll have the same. As much as I love a strong cup of black tea, she hates the smell.
“How’d you sleep?” I ask, settling at the kitchen table but leaving space between us. I’m always conscious of the distance between us now, reading her body language for signs that I’m too close.
“So-so.” She joins me, tucking her legs underneath her in the chair. “Only woke up once.”
I already knew her answer. Around 2 AM, I heard her moving around upstairs.
Heard the quiet shuffling of feet on hardwood, the creak of floorboards as she walked off whatever nightmare had startled her awake.
I’d made it halfway up the basement stairs before stopping myself, listening from the stairwell until her movements settled and I heard her bedroom door close again.
She needed space to work through it on her own.
But tonight, if she needs me, I won’t hesitate.
“That’s good,” I say, wrapping my hands around the warm mug.
We sit in comfortable silence, sipping our tea, and waking up fully.
I wish I had my pad and pencils, I’d sketch Bailey exactly how she looks right now.
Her cheeks have a bit more color to them than they did those first few days in London, and she’s slowly starting to get back to the weight she was before.
She’s beautiful always, but these small signs that she’s healing are good to see.
Our silence is broken by a lawn mower starting next door. Bailey flinches, and her entire body goes rigid for a split second before she forces herself to relax.
“Alright?” I ask.
She nods. “Yeah, just a bit jumpy these days. Want to watch a movie or something? I don’t have therapy today. Unless you have work to do?”
“No, I’m all done with that for the day. A movie sounds good.”
Whatever she wants to do is good with me, as long as she lets me be in her presence.
We head into the living room and Bailey opens one of their streaming services, scrolling through the saved options at the top of the screen. “Looks like Mom was in an early 2000’s rom-com vibe recently.” She pauses on one with a ridiculously pink poster. “This one looks cheesy as hell. You in?”
“Sure,” I say, settling on the far end of the couch.
She hits play and curls up on the opposite end, tucking her feet under her.
There’s at least three feet of space between us, but I’m hyperaware of every movement she makes.
How she pulls my sweatshirt over her knees.
The way she rubs a strand of her hair between her fingers absentmindedly.
How she touches her chest as she laughs at something silly the main characters do on screen.
The movie is terrible, as I expected. Something about a wedding planner falling for a groom. But I’m not watching much of it anyway. I’m stealing glances at Bailey every few seconds, taking in how she relaxes more and more as the morning goes on.
About halfway through the movie, during some dramatic moment where the characters almost kiss in the rain, Bailey shifts. She stretches her legs out, and her socked feet end up just inches from my thigh. It’s a small movement… nothing really, but somehow it feels intimate.
My hands itch to slide onto her ankle and rub the soft skin there.
I want to pull her against my side so there’s no space between us.
It’s an ache—this feeling of wanting her.
Not just physically, though there’s that, but wanting to comfort her, to casually touch her like I used to.
I force my hand under my thigh so I don’t do anything stupid and fuck up the progress we’re making.
Toward the end of the movie, there’s this emotional scene where the couple finally gets together and have this long kiss.
There’s romantic music playing and the whole thing is shot in slow motion and I swear I feel Bailey’s eyes on me.
My breathing picks up, and I glance over to see her watching me with an expression I can’t place.
I want to think she’s feeling the same pull I am…
I want that more than anything. Her chest is visibly rising and falling and for a second I think, fuck it, and start to pull my hand out from under my thigh.
The air between us is charged. Electric. Like she’s also remembering what it was like to be us, before everything went wrong. Her lips part and I inch closer.
Then the sound of car doors slamming in the driveway makes us freeze. Bailey hits pause on the movie and we sit up to peer out the window.
“What are they doing here?” Bailey says.
I’d love to know the answer but I can guess.
Through the window, Jasper’s pulling bags from the trunk while Falin stretches her arms over her head, clearly stiff from the drive. They must have left the city this morning, wanting to surprise us for the weekend.
“Looks like we’re getting company,” I say, trying to keep the disappointment out of my voice. Not that I don’t love my friends, but I could use some alone time with Bailey.
Bailey jumps up from the couch, smooths down my sweatshirt, and adjusts her hair. “Do I look okay? I don’t want them to think…”
“You look perfect, like always,” I say. “And we weren’t doing anything wrong.”
The front door swings open and Jasper’s voice booms through the house. “Bailey! Where’s my favorite sister?”
“I’m your only sister, idiot,” she calls back with a genuine smile. All the tension from minutes ago is suddenly zapped away by Jasper’s entrance.
“Where’s my favorite Brit? You better be keeping your hands to yourself!” he yells as Falin laughs.
Bailey and I share an exasperated head shake, but she seems more joyful than not, so I won’t quite tear my best friend’s head off. She reaches for my hand to pull me up from the couch. “Let’s go say hi before Jasper starts getting suspicious about why we’re not answering fast enough.”
“You’re right,” I say, letting her lead me into the kitchen.
Slow and steady, I remind myself. More like progress and torture all wrapped up in one.