Chapter 39
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
BAILEY
I could laugh. Or cry. Or kill my brother.
Or maybe all of the above. This will be fine though.
It’s just two people who happen to have insane chemistry and a history, sharing a small sleeping bag.
I meant what I said—I do trust Leon with every fiber of my being.
I know he’d never touch me if I didn’t give consent.
That was true then and it’s especially true now.
It’s more my own urges that worry me.
I don’t want to lead him on. What if I think I’m ready for something more—to be intimate and things get all hot and then boom—I can’t go through with it. I’ll feel terrible.
No. It’s better that I wait until I’m one hundred percent sure that I’m ready. Even though that kiss was incredible. It was gentle but not too gentle. Exactly like I remembered but so much more.
Leon shifts to his back beside me and I’m way too aware of his every breath, his every movement. I stare at the dark blue nylon, willing myself to get tired. All this fresh air… Come on body, just fall asleep.
Except my damn leg itches. I try to ignore it, but it gets so bad from the welts forming that I can’t help but bend to scratch.
“Uh, Bailey…” Leon says, his voice thick. “You alright?”
“Sorry! Just itchy. These damn bites.” I swat at my leg, remembering that it’s bad to scratch.
“Okay.” He’s quiet for a moment before he adds, “You’re just kind of grinding against my thigh.”
“Shit!” I scoot over, putting a few inches between us. “I’m sorry!”
“It’s fine. Is there something I can do? You want some ice from the cooler?”
And have a soggy sleeping bag? No way.
“I’m fine. I’ll stop.”
The tent falls quiet again, it’s just the distant sounds of the lake and our breathing.
With Leon’s arm right there next to mine, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from his skin, it’s hard to clear my head.
I focus on the rhythm of his breathing, in and out, trying to match mine to his, hoping the distraction will calm me down.
My mind starts to wander back to bad places.
I remember lying alone in that cold bed at King’s house, my body bruised and wrung dry, dreaming about escaping into the woods.
I used to imagine myself running through trees just like the ones surrounding us now, feeling the soft earth under my feet, breathing in clean air.
In those fantasies, I’d run until I found safety, until I found home.
Until I found Leon.
“I feel safe with you,” I whisper into the darkness, letting the words slip out before I can stop them. To him it probably seems like such a random statement—he has no idea what I’m thinking about, where my mind’s at. My cheeks heat and I refuse to face him, even as I feel him turn toward me.
“Yeah?”
“I used to dream, back then… when I was…” I trail off, embarrassed to go on, until his hand rests gently on my upper back, urging me.
“I’d have these dreams that I was running through the woods, through trees kind of like the ones here.
It was always so dark and I was so scared and alone but I knew I was searching and I was so close.
If only I could get to safety. Get to you.
” Those last three words leave my lips in a whisper.
“Bailey...” His voice is soft. He shifts closer, his hand still warm against my back. “You made it. You’re here now. With me.”
I finally turn to face him, and even in the dim light filtering through the tent, I can see the pain in his eyes. Pain for me, for what I went through. “I know,” I breathe. “And being here, with you, is everything.”
He moves his hand to cup my face, and his thumb traces along my cheekbone. The touch is so gentle, so reverent, like he’s memorizing my skin, afraid I might disappear again.
“You’re safe,” he whispers. “I promise you’re safe.”
I press closer, closing my eyes for a moment, enjoying the way his calloused hand feels against my skin. When I open them again, we’re so close I can feel his breath on my lips. The inches between us are charged, electric, and every place our skin touches sends sparks into my veins.
He glides his hand from my face to rest in the gap between us, keeping his palm up. Without overthinking, I rest my hand in his. Our fingers intertwine slowly and somehow it feels more intimate than anything sexual we could be doing.
“Is this okay?” he asks softly.
“More than okay,” I whisper back.
We lie there facing each other, hands clasped together, and I will those memories away, instead focusing on his touch. His thumb traces gentle patterns across my knuckles, and each small movement takes my breath away.
I want more, I know that deep within me.
I want to close the distance between us, want to feel his arms around me, feel his lips on my skin, his hands caressing me, quelling this growing ache I’m just starting to feel again after everything.
But I’ll wait—I’ll enjoy how perfect this feels.
Safe and intimate and exactly what I need.
“Leon,” I breathe out. His fingers stop moving and his body slightly tenses.
“Yeah?”
It’s right there on the tip of my tongue. All the thoughts in my mind just waiting to flow out. My body wanting to tell my brain to go to hell.
Instead, I squeeze his hand tighter.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “For waiting. For being patient with me.”
“Always,” he says without hesitation. “However long it takes.”
His breathing starts to even out after a while, but his hand never loosens its hold on mine.
The steady rhythm of his breath calms me and I feel my own body finally start to relax.
His hand is warm in mine, the safety of being here with him holding me close, knowing that he’ll be right here when I wake up.
It’s everything I dreamed about in that dark place.
Everything I thought I’d never have again.
After a long time of imagining what the future will hold, I fall asleep feeling completely safe.
Almost a week’s gone by since we camped.
Jasper and Falin are back in the city. And me?
I’m freaking exhausted. Mom and I are pulling into the driveway from another long, rough day at the US Attorney’s office in Albany.
Hours of sharing every detail I could remember…
Most of the time, feeling like a failure for not being able to give them more.
I want the rest of the monsters involved to get caught, but a part of me wishes my involvement in everything was never discovered. That I could have come home and pretended it was all just a terrible nightmare.
At least my victim’s advocate, Lizet, is amazing.
She’s probably the only reason I haven’t completely fallen apart during the prep sessions.
Today, when I started hyperventilating during the timeline review, she didn’t just hand me a tissue and tell me to breathe slower like everyone else does.
Even Mom gets rattled in those moments. Liz sat beside me and started distracting me by talking about her garden.
How she plants marigolds every spring because they remind her of her clients.
How marigolds are survivors too, blooming even when the weather is awful, even through hail, and wind, and extreme heat.
Her voice was so calming that my breathing naturally started to match hers.
“You don’t have to remember everything perfectly,” she told me afterward, when the prosecutors stepped out.
“Your job isn’t to be a human tape recorder, Bailey.
Just speak your truth, the best you can.
” She always says things like that. Simple statements that help make me feel like this all encompassing overwhelm is manageable somehow.
Lizet explained that later this week we’ll practice what she calls grounding techniques for when I’m on the witness stand.
Not just the breathing exercises, but how to find something in the courtroom to focus on if I start to dissociate.
How to ask for breaks without feeling weak.
She even brought me a small, smooth stone from her garden to keep in my pocket.
She said holding onto something tangible might help when I’m feeling stressed.
“The defense attorneys will try to confuse you. They’ll do everything in their power to win,” she told me. “But remember, their job is to create doubt about the case. Whatever they do or say, you’re an amazing person. A survivor. Don’t let them take that from you.”
I squeeze the stone in my pocket now as Mom parks the car. At least I know that whatever happens in that courtroom, Lizet will be right there in the gallery. I don’t know who else will be there, but at least Alfred and King are corpses somewhere. Only their ghosts will haunt that courtroom.
Each step toward the front door has my stomach fluttering, knowing that Leon’s somewhere inside. I could really use a hug today.
I get to the door first and as soon as I open it, I smell something delicious cooking. Roasting chicken with herbs, the rich scent of butter and cream, and caramelized vegetables. I expect to find Dad at the stove, but it’s Leon there, stirring a pot, AirPods in his ears.
He’s intent on his task and hasn’t noticed us come in, so I quietly tiptoe behind him and wrap my arms around his middle. He jumps but only for a second, before he pulls his AirPods out and twists to face me.
“You’re home.” His lips tip up in a genuine smile.
“Smells delicious,” I say, managing to smile back through my exhaustion. “What are you making?”
“Roast chicken,” he says, pressing a quick kiss to my forehead. “Figured you both might want something comforting after today.”
Mom appears in the kitchen doorway, looking as drained as I feel. “Leon, you didn’t have to—”
“I wanted to,” he tells her. “Go sit. I’ve got this.”
He moves around the kitchen with surprising confidence, grabbing a bottle of wine from the counter and pouring three glasses. “How did it go today?” he asks, handing us each a glass.