Chapter 20
JESSE
The van pulled into the familiar driveway as golden afternoon light streamed through the windshield.
The old Victorian looked exactly the same—weathered siding, the pride flag hanging in the front window like a beacon—but I felt like I was seeing it through thick glass.
Everything seemed muted, distant, like I was watching a movie of someone else's life.
This house where I'd lived for two weeks. Where I'd been happy, for the first time in my life. Where I'd fallen asleep on Adrian's chest and woken up feeling safe. Now it felt like visiting a museum of a person I used to be.
"What if I don't belong here anymore?" I asked suddenly, panic rising in my throat. "What if I'm too broken now?"
"You belong here," Adrian said firmly, his hand finding mine. "This is your home, Jesse. Your family."
Diana parked and turned off the engine. Through the windows, I could see faces watching for us—Phoenix's bright hair, Sam's silhouette, others I couldn't quite make out. They'd been waiting.
The front door opened before we reached the porch. Phoenix, Sam, Elijah, and Andrew spilled out with careful excitement on their faces, moving slowly, gently. They'd learned to be careful with broken things.
"Welcome home," Phoenix said softly—unusually subdued for them, but their eyes were bright with unshed tears.
Adrian steadied my elbow as I swayed slightly. "Easy," he murmured. "One step at a time."
I knew these people. Had lived with them, laughed with them, been part of their chosen family. So why did I feel like I was meeting them for the first time? Like there was a wall of glass between us that I couldn't break through?
Elijah stepped forward, his expression gentle but direct. "How are you feeling? Really?"
"Tired," I managed. "Everything feels... far away."
"That's normal," Sam said knowingly. "It takes time for your brain to believe you're really safe."
They led me inside—this living room where we'd planned my legal defence, where I'd collapsed in tears before I went to Montana. The couch where Adrian and I had fallen asleep watching movies. Everything exactly where it had been, but I felt like a ghost haunting my own life.
"Want to rest for a bit?" Adrian asked, and I nodded, not trusting my voice.
He led me upstairs to our room—the corner room with two windows that I'd shared with him for those precious two weeks.
But something was different. The bed had been moved, positioned so I could see the door from every angle.
New blackout curtains hung beside the regular ones.
A reading chair positioned in the corner, facing the windows.
"The others made some changes, while they waited for us to get here," Adrian said carefully. "The doctors said... they said trauma survivors sometimes need to feel more in control of their environment. But if anything makes you uncomfortable, we can change it back. Just tell me and I'll do it."
I stood in the doorway, overwhelmed by the thoughtfulness. They'd prepared for my return, anticipated needs I didn't even know I had.
"It's perfect," I whispered, meaning every word.
I collapsed onto the bed—our bed—and for the first time in weeks, felt something approaching safety. Adrian sat beside me, not touching, just present.
"I keep expecting to wake up back there," I admitted.
"You're here. You're safe. That place can't touch you anymore."
I wanted to believe him. I tried to believe him. But my body still jumped at every unexpected sound, my heart still raced when doors closed too loudly.
"Will it ever stop? The fear?"
"I don't know," Adrian said honestly. "But whatever it looks like, we'll figure it out together."
Dinner was surreal. The whole group gathered around the kitchen table—the same table where I'd shared countless meals before Montana, where Diana had fed me soup and Phoenix had made me laugh until I cried. But now I sat at the familiar table feeling like an outsider looking in.
Diana had cooked something that smelled like comfort and probably tasted like belonging, but I could barely manage more than a few bites. My stomach, still recovering, couldn't handle much.
I watched them instead. Really watched. Phoenix telling some elaborate story with wild hand gestures. Sam making dry observations that had Andrew laughing. Elijah quietly making sure everyone had enough to eat. Diana fussing over whether the seasoning was right.
This was what I'd missed during those eight weeks in hell. Not just the safety or the food or the warm bed. This. Family that wasn't performance, wasn't judgment. Just people who'd chosen each other, accepting all the messy, complicated, beautiful parts.
And they'd chosen me too. Even broken. Even traumatized. Even hollow.
"Jesse?" Diana's voice was gentle. "You okay?"
I realized I'd been staring, lost in thought. Everyone was looking at me with concern, not judgment.
"Yeah," I said, and for the first time in weeks, I almost meant it. "I'm okay."
After the dishes were cleared, Adrian nudged my shoulder.
"Let's get you into something more comfortable," he said gently. We went upstairs together, a simple, domestic act that felt more intimate than anything we’d had in weeks.
He passed me a soft t-shirt and a pair of worn grey sweatpants—his—and I changed while he did the same.
There was no awkwardness, just a quiet comfort in sharing the space.
When we went back down for movie night, wrapped in soft cotton instead of daytime armour, I felt a layer of tension I hadn't known I was holding finally release.
Adrian settled onto the couch first, and without really thinking about it, I found myself gravitating toward him.
Not just sitting beside him, but curling into his side like I was seeking shelter.
My body seemed to know what it needed even when my mind felt disconnected from everything.
Adrian's arm came around me immediately, solid and warm. A soft fleece blanket appeared over my shoulders—the one from our bedroom that smelled like him, like safety. I pulled it closer, breathing in the familiar scent that made something tight in my chest finally loosen.
I pressed closer without meaning to, my head finding that spot on his shoulder where it fit perfectly, as if it were meant to be there. His free hand settled gently in my hair, fingers moving in slow, soothing strokes that made my eyes heavy.
The opening credits rolled—something light, nothing that would trigger anyone—but I couldn't focus. The sounds felt too loud, the room too bright. But Adrian's heartbeat under my ear was steady, reassuring, and I found myself matching my breathing to his without conscious thought.
I must have dozed off in the warmth of his arms, because I woke hours later to find the room quiet and dark. Everyone else had gone to bed, but Adrian was still there, reading in the nearby chair by lamplight, keeping watch.
"You don't have to stay," I whispered.
He looked up, marking his place in the book. "I'm not going anywhere."
"What if I have nightmares?"
"Then I'll be here when you wake up."
"What if I never get better?"
Adrian set down his book and moved to the couch, settling beside me carefully. "Then I'll love you anyway. Broken or whole, traumatized or healed. You're stuck with me, Jesse Miller."
I leaned into him, feeling his warmth, his steadiness.
For the first time since Montana, I felt like maybe I could breathe.
I felt the solidness of his arms around me, the quiet hum of the house, the safety of the people sleeping under this roof.
But sitting there, I realized it wasn't just about being safe anymore.
A new thought rose, quiet but insistent.
This was deeper than desire; it was a need to reclaim territory.
To take the landscape of my own body—so long a source of shame, then a site of trauma—and plant a new flag. One of my own choosing.
I shifted, pulling back just enough to look at him. "Adrian," I whispered, my voice rough.
"Yeah?"
"I want…" I had to swallow. The words felt huge, momentous. "I want to feel like I'm mine again."
He watched me, his expression softening with a dawning understanding. He didn't push. He just waited.
"They tried to make my body a prison," I said, the words coming out in a rush. "A thing to be broken. I want to… I want to make it mine again. With you." I took a shaky breath, meeting his gaze. "I trust you to be inside me."
The directness of it hung in the air, raw and real. Adrian’s eyes glistened, and he brought a hand to cup my cheek, his thumb stroking my skin with a tender pressure that made my nerves sing. "Jesse," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "You don't have to prove anything."
"I know." My voice was surprisingly firm. "This isn't a test. It’s a choice. My choice." I leaned forward, my forehead resting against his. "And I want to be the one who lets you in."
Adrian’s breath hitched. "Are you sure?" he murmured, his lips brushing my skin. "One hundred percent? Tell me to stop at any point."
"I'm sure," I said, pulling back to meet his gaze. A slow, beautiful smile touched his lips. He nodded.
"Okay," he breathed. "Okay, Jesse. Lead the way."
I stood and took his hand, leading him upstairs.
In the sanctuary of our bedroom, I closed the door.
In the soft glow of the lamp, I turned to him and slowly peeled his t-shirt up and over his head.
The lamplight gilded the planes of his chest and the sharp definition of his abs.
When I was done, he looked at me, his eyes asking a question.
"My turn?" he whispered.
I just nodded, my throat suddenly tight.