Chapter 47
The weeks carried me forward like a current. Not calm, not entirely safe, the trial loomed, the blocked calls still came, but steady enough that I could imagine life after.
The Crown confirmed Andrew’s trial date, yet his side had yet to confirm his acknowledgement.
My lawyer used words like “airtight” and “compelling evidence,” but no matter how many times I heard them, the reality didn’t sit right with me.
Andrew was gone, having disappeared into silence, and somehow that felt scarier than his presence had ever been.
Every buzz of a blocked call reminded me that he was still connected to me, like a thread tugged tight at the edge of my nerves.
Every tingle, every gut feeling that I was being watched, but couldn't see who it was, notched up my angst for what was to come.
Brody had finally had enough. One night, after watching my screen light up and my jaw clench again, he plucked the phone out of my hands. He handed me his instead, our contacts already swapped.
"Let me carry this one," he said simply. "You’ve carried enough."
For the first time in months, my phone didn’t feel like a bomb waiting to go off.
In the space the trial carved out, life still pressed forward.
Marin and my publisher had shifted from edits to planning my book launch, cover reveals, pre-orders, and a tight little tour I’d reluctantly agreed to.
Not endless flights, no endless media blitz, just a handful of curated events.
Enough to count, not enough to drown me.
At night, I’d sit with my laptop open, staring at a blank page that wasn’t edits anymore, wasn’t notes or rewrites. It was… possibility. What came next.
I had written my story, my truth, into fiction as a way to get it out. As a way to push back without saying that was what I was doing.
And now... now I could write something for me. I could pluck a story from my imagination and set it free.
At first, I thought maybe I should stick to a genre, but that didn't seem appealing as I worked through some of my ideas. They spanned several genres and most mixed them. I wanted my writing to feel and sound like me, but I didn't want to be restricted to writing one specific thing.
I reviewed my notes and ideas. My one-liners and voice notes from over the years.
I organized them into something manageable and then picked the one that got my mind racing and made me excited to write.
A story quickly formed, half-formed at the edges, not demanding, but present.
The fact that I even wanted to think about another book felt like proof that maybe healing had a kind of muscle memory after all.
And then there was Brody. Steadier than breath, more constant than the blocked calls, still somehow making me laugh so hard I had to clutch my stomach. We were better than good. We were becoming something I’d once thought I’d lost the right to believe in.
The nightmares had come back. At first, I was ashamed to admit it, but Brody knew.
He reassured me it was the stress of the upcoming trial and asked if he should come over and hold me until I fell asleep.
I wanted more than anything to wake up in his arms every morning, and not just because of the nightmares.
I wanted to be with him, because he felt like home.
On the way to Mason and Clara’s new house for the housewarming party, my mom had started planning the moment their offer was accepted.
Brody's palm was resting on my thigh; his fingers relaxed in the gap between my legs.
It was something he had started doing without thought. It was proprietary, and I loved it.
Today, his jaw was set in that way it got when he was thinking about something but hadn’t said it out loud yet.
“It’s hard sometimes,” he admitted, glancing at me. “Living with our families still. Not the people, I love mine, I love yours. But us. Finding time for just us.”
I nodded, because I’d thought the same thing a hundred times. The camping trips, the late drives, the stolen hours… they were beautiful, but they felt like they were borrowed.
“I’ve been thinking about an apartment,” he said. “But that doesn't necessarily make sense...” He cut himself off, grinning sideways at me. “Actually, I’ve got another idea. You trust me?”
I smiled because he looked cute when he was nervous. And for some reason, Brody looked nervous in this moment. “Of course.”
“Good.” His grin widened, boyish and secretive. “Then let me take care of it.”
A warmth that could only be attributed to Brody spread through me. Trust had always been dangerous with me. With him, it felt like breathing.
The housewarming party looked like joy had exploded across the property. Mason and Clara’s new place wasn’t flashy like their first house. It was smaller, manageable, precisely what they needed, but the energy hummed.
I walked through the front door and took in the bright, warm, open-concept main living space.
Light from the large windows facing the backyard fell over boxes that hadn’t been unpacked yet.
It smelled faintly of fresh paint, and the bread Clara must have baked that morning.
Our families and friends filled every corner: with new neighbours, book club ladies, Judy and Dean Palmer with a bottle of wine, Adam already pouring himself a beer, Chase by the kitchen island with that easy watchfulness he wore like a uniform.
Clara's whole face lit up when she saw us. "Come, let me show you around."
She grabbed my hand and excitedly gave us a tour of her new home. Jackson popped in when we arrived at his new room and told us all about how he and his dad were going to decorate it for a big boy... because he was almost eight.
We made our way out back, and Mason introduced us to his new neighbours.
We listened as he talked animatedly about the school district and how it was perfectly central to both his and Clara's businesses.
It was endearing to see him like this; it reminded me of how he used to be when we were younger.
Clara’s cheeks were flushed as she joined us in the backyard, where everyone had gathered. She looked like she was about to burst, her hands twisting nervously until Mason caught one and laced their fingers together.
“We wanted you all here today for more than just the house,” Mason said, his voice steady but his smile soft. “We’ve got another reason to celebrate.”
Clara pressed her free hand to her stomach, eyes shining. “We’re having a baby.”
The reaction was immediate. Mom covered her mouth, tears spilling before she could stop them.
Dad wrapped Mason into a hug, then held Clara close, whispering something for only her to hear.
Judy and Dean clapped, Adam let out a cheer, and Jackson, sweet, wide-eyed Jackson, jumped up and down shouting, “I get to be the best big brother ever!”
Tears of happiness and laughter surrounded us as I made my way to my sister.
I felt the ache of the moment, the beauty of it, something new blooming in my chest. Proof that healing wasn’t just possible, it was happening all around us.
Later, Mason found me leaning against the deck rail. “With everything you did for me, I thought you'd want to know what ended up happening to Mel,” he said, his voice lower than the crowd’s hum.
I looked up. He hadn't brought her up since we had fixed everything with his business.
“Last I heard, she started stalking someone else. Got into some serious trouble. Her family finally admitted she needed help. The judge signed off on a private facility.” His jaw tightened. “Her family gave some of what she stole back. We’ll be able to start paying you soon.”
Clara slipped beside him in time to hear everything, lacing her fingers with his. He didn’t flinch, didn’t dodge. You could see how much they had worked on their relationship, themselves.
“Don’t worry about it,” I said firmly. “Put that money into accounts for your kids. Think of it as a gift.”
Clara’s eyes welled. Mason’s throat worked. But they didn’t argue.
By the time dusk fell, the backyard glowed with strings of lights and the low hum of conversation. Fireflies blinked in the grass. Someone had put on music. My parents danced, slow and silly, while Adam tried to teach Jackson how to shuffle like a drunk uncle.
I’d been laughing so much my cheeks hurt, my voice raspy from telling the same story three times to three different groups of people about my book, the preorders, the tour.
My family were proudly telling everyone about it and encouraging them to get their hands on a copy.
Neighbours and friends slipped away, leaving our families to finish the night.
As the noise finally settled, Brody tugged me onto his lap. The temperature had dropped, and the hum of crickets filled the air.
“Clara and Mason,” he said softly, glancing back at the glowing kitchen window where they moved around each other, cleaning up. “They’ve got a new house. A baby coming. A whole fresh start.”
I nodded, my throat tight with happy ache. “I am so happy for them. They deserve it.”
He kissed me softly, expression serious in a way that made my pulse stutter. “We deserve it all, too.”
Something fluttered low in my stomach. “Brody…”
He kissed me again. “I meant what I said in the truck. About trusting me. About giving us more space. It’s not just about having four walls that are ours.
It’s about…” He hesitated, exhaled hard.
“It’s about building something with you, not just borrowing moments in borrowed spaces.
You’ve given me pieces of your life, Cass.
And I am so happy. I am deeply grateful for what you have given me, and for what we have together.
But I want more. I want to give you somewhere that feels like ours. ”
My heart beat wildly, sharp and tender all at once. “You already do. You could set a blanket down in the middle of a field, and it would feel like ours.”
He chuckled, brushing a kiss against my temple. “Yeah, but I’m thinking bigger than a blanket. I don't want to wait for the house to be built. I want to start our life together now.”
I almost laughed, but his tone, the way his fingers threaded between mine, told me he wasn’t joking. He wasn't just dreaming. He was planning. He was showing me that he meant what he said. That I was it for him, and he wanted everything with me.
The screen door banged open, Chase's voice cutting across the yard: “Cassidy! We’re opening the last bottle of champagne, get in here before Adam hogs it!”
Brody groaned, pressing his forehead to mine. “We’ll finish this later.”
“Promise?”
He tipped my chin up, his eyes burning with that steady fire that had undone me since the start. “Promise.”