Chapter 21 Bailey #2
Daniel's hands on my thighs, spreading them gently. His mouth on my throat, my collarbone, lower. The way he'd looked at me like I was the only thing in his world that mattered.
"Tell me what you need."
"You. Just you."
I bite my lip to stay quiet. Gretchen's bedroom is too close, the walls too thin. But my fingers find their rhythm—the one Daniel learned, the one that made me gasp his name.
In my fantasy, it's his touch. His voice, rough against my ear. His body pressed against mine in that enormous London bed where everything felt possible.
The pressure builds slowly. My breathing quickens. I chase the sensation, letting myself sink into the memory of being wanted, being held, being told I was perfect exactly as I was.
My free hand grips the blanket. Heat coils tighter and tighter as I remember—
The weight of his body. The way he'd whispered my name like it was everything. That moment when he'd looked into my eyes and I'd seen everything he usually kept hidden.
"I don't plan on letting you go," he'd said.
But he did let me go.
The thought nearly pulls me out of the fantasy, but my body is too close now. Too desperate for release.
My back arches slightly. The orgasm builds and crests, washing over me in waves that feel as much like grief as pleasure. I press my face into the couch cushion, swallowing the sound that wants to escape.
For a few perfect seconds, everything else disappears.
Then it’s over.
I'm alone. Daniel isn't here whispering promises he couldn't keep. He's probably sleeping soundly, not thinking about me at all.
And I just touched myself fantasizing about the man who broke me.
I curl onto my side, pulling the blanket tight, whilst tears slide across my temple into my hair.
My body feels satisfied in the most hollow way possible. The ache is gone but the emptiness is devastating.
I can't separate it. The physical from the emotional. The desire from the love from the hurt. With Daniel, it was never just sex. Every touch meant something. Every time he held me, I felt safe.
And now I'm lying here still wanting him despite everything.
My hand finds my stomach again—the curve where the baby grows.
"I'm sorry," I whisper. "I'm sorry you're stuck with a mother who can't even hate your father properly."
More tears. I let them fall because fighting them takes energy I don't have.
Eventually, exhaustion wins. I fall asleep with tears still wet on my face and the taste of shame bitter in my mouth.
When I wake up three hours later to get ready for my shift, I shove this moment into the same locked box where I keep all the other things I can't afford to feel.
Survival means putting one foot in front of the other.
Even when your body still aches for the person who broke you.
***
Trevor calls on a Tuesday morning, a much needed day off three days after I give up on sleeping through the night.
"Hey," I answer, trying to sound normal.
"You've been weird for weeks." His voice is sharp. Suspicious. "What's going on?"
"I'm fine. Just busy with the new job."
"What new job? You loved Williams."
Silence stretches between us. I can feel it cracking, this facade I've been maintaining.
"Bay." His voice softens. "Talk to me."
And suddenly, I can't hold it together anymore.
"I got fired." The words tumble out. "Three weeks ago. By Daniel."
The silence on the other end is deafening.
"Daniel?" His voice changes. Gets quieter. Which is somehow worse. "My Daniel? What the fuck happened?"
So I tell him.
Not everything—I skip the intimate details, the way Daniel looked at me in London, the mornings waking up in his bed.
But I tell him about the fake dating arrangement.
About it becoming real. About falling for someone who was too broken to let himself be loved.
About Daniel ending it with brutal efficiency and firing me in the same breath.
And then, because I can't keep it from him anymore, I tell him about the baby.
The silence when I finish is bad.
"Trevor?"
"You're pregnant." His voice is flat. Controlled. "With Daniel's baby."
"Yes."
"And he fired you. While you were pregnant."
"I didn't get to tell him. He wouldn't let me finish—"
"Where is he?"
The question is so calm it sends ice down my spine.
"Trevor, don't—"
"I'm not asking as a request, Bailey. Where. Is. He?"
"It's Tuesday. He'll be at the office until seven, then probably the gym on Fifth—"
"Stay away from your phone for a few hours."
"Trevor, please don't do anything—"
But he's already hung up.
I stare at the phone in my hand, my heart hammering.
What have I done?
***
I pace Gretchen's apartment for the next four hours.
"Trevor can handle himself," Gretchen says, watching me wear a path in her carpet.
"What if he does something he regrets?"
"What if Daniel finally faces consequences?"
I check my phone obsessively. No calls. No texts. Nothing.
I imagine the confrontation. Trevor's protective rage. Daniel's cold control. Or maybe not cold anymore—maybe Trevor will break through that carefully maintained distance.
Part of me wants Daniel to hurt the way he hurt me.
Part of me hates that I still care what happens to him.
"Why do I still care?" I sink onto the couch. "After everything he did, why do I still care?"
"Because you loved him." Gretchen sits beside me. "That doesn't just disappear."
"It should."
"Maybe. But it doesn't."
My phone finally rings at 10 PM.
Trevor's name flashes across the screen.
I answer before the second ring. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine." His voice is rough. Strained. "Are you?"
"What happened?"
"We talked. Well, I talked. He listened."
"Trevor, what did you do?"
"Protected my sister."
There's something in his voice—pain, anger, exhaustion all mixed together.
"Is he...?"
The silence stretches too long.
"He's alive," Trevor says finally. "And he's a fucking mess. Which he should be."
"Did he... did he say anything?"
Trevor's voice hardens. "Not much. He just took it. Let me say everything I needed to say."
"Trevor—"
"He's going to therapy. Starting tomorrow. Whether it helps or not, I don't know. But he's going."
I don't know how to feel about that.
"Bay." Trevor's voice softens. "I love you. You're going to be okay. You and the baby both. I promise you that."
"I love you too."
I hang up and sit in the silence of Gretchen's apartment.
Daniel's going to therapy.
Trevor confronted him.
It doesn't fix anything. Doesn't erase what he did, doesn't heal what he broke.
But maybe—maybe—it's a start.
Or maybe it's too late.
I touch my stomach, feeling the growing bump.
"We're going to be okay," I whisper. "I don't know how yet, but we will be."
For the first time in days, the panic isn't quite so overwhelming.
I'm not alone anymore. Trevor knows. Trevor's got my back.
And if Daniel's really going to therapy, really doing the work...
No. I can't think like that. Can't let hope creep in.
But whatever happens next—whether he tries to make amends or disappears forever—at least I won't be carrying this secret alone anymore.
I curl up on Gretchen's couch, pull the blanket over me, and close my eyes.
Tomorrow, I'll wake up at 4:45 AM. I'll go to Luna's. I'll make coffee and smile at customers and survive another day.
Because that's all I can do right now.
Survive.
One day at a time.