Casey
Tuesday.
The final Tuesday.
Next week, she’ll be released back into the world.
Back to me.
Whether I’m ready or not.
Elliot sits across from me now, an elaborate side braid draped over one shoulder. Even under fluorescent lighting—even in orange, which is, quite frankly, a disastrous color on anyone—she is still, somehow, insanely beautiful.
But she looks worn. Thinner. Cheekbones a bit sharper than they used to be.
Hair fraying at the edges. Her eyes—still the same ethereal green, still capable of undoing me—have lost their brightness, and she’s definitely too pale.
I can’t tell if it’s a trick of the lighting, or if she’s become truly malnourished in this godforsaken place—and I worry.
Is she eating enough? What kind of food passes for food in here?
Does she get enough sunlight? Enough sleep?
I don’t trust what she tells me of jail life, not that she ever tells me much.
What I do trust is my own ability to bring her back to optimum health—to put a rosy glow back in her cheeks—when she’s released.
The kitchen at Nic’s might look vastly different to how she remembers it, but I still know my way around the place.
In addition to making sure her meals aren’t comprised entirely of rubbish, I’d also like to provide a little familiarity in a world that looks nothing like the one she left behind.
More than her physical well-being, this concerns me most. She doesn’t like change, and pretty soon she’ll have to grapple with just how thoroughly everything has changed.
“I can hardly believe it,” I say, reaching for the bracelets on my wrist—even though, as usual, the rather terrifying guard up front instructed me to remove them. “This time next week, you’ll be free.”
“Free,” she repeats, but there’s no spark to it. She stares at the white cinderblock wall over my shoulder, eyes glazing over like she’s about to cry. “What if it’s too much?”
“What do you mean?”
She lets out a shaky breath. “Just—everything. What if I can’t deal?”
I lean forward, more bothered than I want to be by the tremor in her voice. “If it’s too much—and it probably will be, at least for a little while—all you have to do is tell someone. Tell me, and I’ll help you through it. You won’t be alone.”
She nods, a bit calmer now, but she doesn’t look at me. Her fingers twist on the table, a slight tremor in them, too. I hate seeing her like this: scared, unsure, doubting everything.
“Things will look different,” I tell her, because there’s no sugarcoating that.
“But Nic’s getting your room ready. He’s had Henriette stock up on all your favorite foods.
She’s prepared a special menu for dinners and brunch.
And I’ll only be a short distance away—by car, I mean—the walk’s quite a trek unless the weather’s ideal and you’ve got the time.
But I’ll stick round the house while you transition back—if you want me to. ”
I make it sound as if she has a choice, but she doesn’t. I’ll be there regardless. This woman fucking destroyed me two years ago, but I can’t leave her to struggle alone. I’ve come too far to abandon her now.
“Tell me what else you’d like to do when you get out,” I say, shifting her focus to something lighter. “Name the first thing that comes to mind.”
She takes a deep breath. “I want a real cup of coffee. All the coffee—hot, iced, every way it comes. Every day.”
I nod. “Absolutely. We’ll go as often as you like.”
She’s got some of her sparkle back. Those eyes—they’re lighting up her whole face, quickly breaking through my defenses.
She’s so subdued in here, a washed-out version of herself that I barely recognize.
I can’t even remember the last time she laughed.
If I ever hear the sound of Elliot’s laugh again, it’ll probably bring me to my knees.
“And a cheeseburger,” she says.
I smile. “Done. What else?”
“Tea,” she says. “With biscuits.”
“Well, obviously.”
“We never finished Gossip Girl. I still don’t know who she is.”
I press my lips together, trying not to give anything away. “Then we’ll finish it.”
“I also…” Her voice wavers. “I want to find my mom.”
That one throws me. “Find your mum? How?”
“I’m twenty-one now, which means I’ll have access to my trust fund. So I’ll give Nic a chance to tell me himself, and if he won’t? I’ll hire someone to find her.”
“And then what?”
“I’ll go meet her.”
“Don’t you think maybe…that can wait? Until after you’re settled?”
“I’ve waited long enough, Casey. I need these answers.”
“Why?”
“Because I need to understand who I am.”
I can’t fault her there, can I? Even if I’ve learned from experience that the answers don’t always help. Sometimes they just leave you hollow, wondering if they were ever worth finding in the first place.
“What if the answers hurt you?” I ask.
“I still need them,” she says. “The same way you needed the truth about everything—even though it hurt you.”
The memory of that horrible night flares inside me. The picture of her in Michael’s bed. Her tear-streaked face. How small and battered she looked, shivering in my jacket.
Her hand, pushing me back.
That’s the part I can’t stop replaying. I backed her into the car. Raised my voice. Made her flinch.
I weaponized my pain instead of walking away—exactly like my adoptive dad does.
That night, I became him. With her—the woman I love.
And I’ve been haunted by it ever since.
“I also want us to talk more,” she says. “I’d like to try…being more open with you.”
I straighten. “Or maybe we just focus on getting you settled back in, yeah? One thing at a time.”
Her gaze drops to the table so quickly my chest burns.
“Okay,” she whispers, and that one word—so small, so resigned—makes me want to take it back. All of it.
But I don’t. I can’t.
It’s not that I don’t want her to be more open—I crave honesty from her more than anything. But I can’t rush to reassure her right now, and I certainly can’t risk showing her how far gone I still am.
For the last two years, I’ve been adrift, left lost and floundering, searching for something capable of filling me with happiness like she did, but the only time I ever feel happy again is when I’m sat at this table, across from her.
My world is brighter for having her in it, and in her absence, my world’s been unbearably dark, nothing but darkness every day, so dark I can barely find my way to see.
I can’t find the point of anything without her. I can’t properly breathe without her. I need her.
And that terrifies me.
“One thing at a time,” she says. “Right. I have to remember that.”
“Listen,” I say, much softer. “Next week, when you get out, I’ll be waiting with Hal to pick you up, and we’ll take it from there, alright? Everything will work out the way it’s meant to.”
I’m not making any promises. I’m not giving mine or always back. But I’m not saying it’s over, either.
It should be. I shouldn’t risk letting her smash my heart to pieces again. I barely survived the first time.
But if there’s one thing I know about myself, it’s how desperately I cling to hope.
If Elliot wants another chance, she’ll have to stop hiding from me, stop deciding what I can handle, stop shoving me away every time I’m brave enough to give her one of my truths.
If she does all that?
I’ll take her back. I know I will.
Even if it wrecks me.