Cyrus
Chapter twenty-nine
Let them Talk
Fallon’s house is quiet as I move through it, careful with my footsteps until the solarium comes into view.
I sent Liam upstairs to find Billy, unwilling to pass up a few minutes alone with Fallon.
She’s spent most of the day orbiting the kids, keeping herself occupied every time I get too close.
A low breath leaves me as I close the distance.
Then there she is.
Curled into the corner of the couch beneath the glow of hanging lights and open windows, papers scattered across her lap. Plants crowd the room around her, green vines climbing toward the glass ceiling. The space feels like her—warm, alive, impossible not to look at too long. I clear my throat.
“Hey there.”
The words come out hoarse, the desperation I feel leaking through with every syllable.
Fallon glances up from her paperwork, charcoal-lined eyes catching mine over the top of her glasses.
The dark makeup drags attention to the green of her stare, sharp and vivid enough to pin me in place.
Her mouth curves slightly at the sight of me, familiar enough to wreck my concentration on contact.
I stop a little too close. Close enough to smell vanilla and coffee.
Close enough that my fingers twitch with the urge to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear and see if she’d let me.
When we were younger, I used to think Fallon Lawson’s beauty was some kind of cosmic punishment—proof the universe enjoyed making a fool out of me. Because even then, I couldn’t picture a future that didn’t somehow circle back to her.
Adult Fallon is worse.
So much worse.
Intentional in a way that knocks the air from my lungs before I can brace for it.
Loose strands of red hair spill free from her messy topknot, catching gold beneath the hanging lights.
The faded Elton John shirt hanging off one shoulder looks old enough to fall apart completely, thin in places from years of wear.
Bare toes rest against the edge of the lounge chair while she works, entirely unaware she’s become the center of my attention again.
God. Simplicity should not look this tempting. Not on a woman determined to keep me at arm’s length.
“I didn’t hear you come in.”
“You were in the zone.”
Fallon’s fingers hover over her papers for a second before continuing their task, shoulders drawn tight with concentration. Even now, she fills a room without trying. And I’m still standing here watching her like she hung the damn moon.
She tilts her head, studying me, eyes narrowing slightly, measuring, weighing, deciding—she’s always so contemplative.
Does this woman do anything without over-analyzing?
I shift, letting the quiet between us linger, letting her set the pace.
Every inch of me wants to close the meager distance, to reach out and touch her, but I hold on to my restraint.
Her fingers tap a light rhythm on the counter, and I notice the smallest smile tug at her lips. The corner of her mouth, subtle but undeniable, pulls me in, and I realize how often she does this—draws me out without even trying. Her gaze flicks past me, down the hallway.
“Is Liam with you?”
“Yeah,” I say, voice still low. “He’s upstairs looking for Billy.”
Her eyes flick back to me, sharp, curious. That pause—it’s a conversation all on its own. No words needed, yet everything is said. Why are you here then? Leave me alone. I hate the air you draw into your lungs, because it keeps you able and willing to pester me.
My mind made up, willing to take her ire if that means she will look at me again, speak to me again. I start.
“He would have stopped to say hello, but the anticipation of driving his older sister crazy won out.”
Her expression turns tender, with the mention of the kids. And I know there isn’t a single shred of my soul I wouldn’t sell for her to look at me like that. “Good,” she says. “We were going to ask if he could stay the night.”
Relief that they all get along so well hits harder than I expected. “He’d love that.” I pause, then add carefully, “Actually…that’s part of why we’re here.”
She sets the papers aside, giving me her full attention now. “Okay,” she says gently. “What’s up?”
I shift where I stand, tension pulling tight across my shoulders as the moment settles around us.
The kind that leaves a mark whether you survive it or not.
Fallon studies me in that quiet, devastating way of hers, and I have the uncomfortable realization that I’m being measured again.
Weighed. Judged. And no matter how hard I try, I keep coming up lacking in the eyes of the woman whose opinion still has the power to gut me.
“I was thinking…that we could all go out. Together. Get ice cream, or something small. No pressure, it’s a fun outing with the kiddos for a cold treat.” The change in her is subtle but unmistakable. Her shoulders stiffen slightly. Her eyes lose some of their warmth, replaced with caution.
“Cyrus…” she says quietly. “Is that a good idea?” The words shouldn’t hurt. They do anyway.
“Why not?” I ask, keeping my voice even.
She exhales slowly, gaze dropping to her hands. “Because people talk. Because Bluestone is small and nothing stays private here. Because I’m finally in a place where things feel steady for Billy, and I can’t afford to…complicate that.”
I take a step closer, slower this time. Not crowding. Just closing the distance. “Fal,” I say gently, “being with me shouldn’t be something you have to protect your daughter from.”
Her eyes ignite. “You don’t get to say that. You were gone. While I was the one here picking up the pieces and navigating how to be a single mother.” Fair. Painfully fair.
“I know,” I admit. “Believe me, living with the truth of what I did is not something I can adequately articulate to you. It’s a constant shame that I will never outrun.
I’m not asking you to trust me overnight.
I’m not asking for labels or expectations or anything you’re not ready for.
” I pause, searching for the right words.
“I’m asking for time. Real-time. Not stolen moments.
Not hiding in our separate corners of town like we’re something shameful. ”
Her beautifully guarded eyes lift back to mine, conflicted. “You’re not shameful,” she says quietly.
“No,” I agree. “But the way we’re doing this? It feels like we are. And that’s not what I want for you. Or for Billy. Or for Liam.” That lands. It shows in the way she stills. “Jonah and Amos will be there too. It’s just a group of friends doting on our kids.”
“They already have people who love them,” she says softly.
“Billy has stability. Routine. Community. A life that works. We have adjusted so that Liam fits into that life perfectly as well. We care for him deeply already. It’s impossible not to, but I have to think about the repercussions this will have on our daughter and me. ”
“I know,” I say quickly. “And I’m not trying to replace any of that. I know how loved she is. The effort you put into Liam. That’s not something I’m here to disrupt. That’s something I intend to respect.”
Her haunted eyes roam over me, every other part of me, instead of where I am want them. Look at me. “I…want to be part of it,” I finish. “Not in secret. Not on the sidelines. Not as someone you have to keep hidden because it’s easier.”
The silence stretches between us, as I silently pray for her to look at me, to give me back her fire, her hate, anything but being iced out again.
“You make everything feel…big. You always have,” she says finally.
“It is big.” Her eyes dart to me with that, catching the innuendo. I shrug. “It’s family. That’s always big.”
Her gaze drops again, a strain dusting her cheeks.
After a moment, she nods once. Small. But real. “Okay,” she says quietly. “Ice cream. Just…ice cream.”
Too late to stop it. I smile. “Just ice cream.”
She stands, already reaching for the hem of her shirt. “Let me change first.”
“Take your time,” I say, stepping back toward the doorway.
“I’ll grab the kids.” I should keep my mouth shut and count my blessings, but I can’t.
Before I leave, she has to know. “Hey, Fal.” Bright green eyes lock with mine, stealing the fucking air from my chest, “I think the tattered rock shirt and skirt are fucking hot.” One day very soon, I will peel that shirt and skirt combo off with my teeth.