Chapter 43 Recovery #2
“Yeah. He kind of reminds me of Jack.” The words slip out, and I curse internally. There’s another shadow I have to free myself from.
I can tell Brandon has a few choice words to say about both Jack and the fickle professor, but all he says is, “At least Lockhart wouldn’t pass off someone else’s work as his own.”
I press my lips together and hum a noncommittal sound. No spoilers. “You finally understand the Skele-Gro reference now,” I tease, then sigh and stare at my cast. “If only it were that easy—a healing potion.”
“You’ll get there in time,” he promises.
“In time? Brandon, I’m not as patient as you.”
“You’re more patient than your sister.”
I huff a laugh. “True.”
A silence falls, the temperature dropping as the yard darkens, but neither of us moves. I draw the blanket closer around me, bracing myself for the trek inside.
Brandon seems content to sit with me, however, and I find myself humming a tune.
“Goodbye Shadow,” he murmurs, recognising it.
I smile and nod.
“I’ve missed you singing,” he says.
“That was just humming.”
“I’ve missed both.”
I meet his eyes for a heartbeat longer than I should.
“Thank you,” I murmur.
That night, Mum hovers at the foot of the bed like she’s not convinced I’ll survive eight hours without her.
“Are you sure you don’t want me down here again?” she asks for the third time.
“I’m okay, Mum,” I insist gently. “I’ve slept straight through the past few nights. And Brandon’s down here—he’s offered to help if I need it.”
Sharing the bed with Mum was comforting at first, but I don’t feel quite so fragile anymore. I want to try managing on my own.
I can even dress myself without assistance. The pants are still tricky, but nowhere near as bad as the lacy underwear that kept snagging on the edge of my cast as I drew them up. Ellenor wickedly packed only those and none of my cotton ones—a problem that has since been rectified.
Though I still have no idea why she gave me a lone sock marked Dobby’s.
“Don’t you know what to do with it?” she teased after my first night home.
I’d lobbed it at her. “Take your dirty things and go.”
Now, sitting on the edge of the bed brushing my hair, I find myself justifying my reasons for staying in Brandon’s bedroom aloud to Ellenor.
“I just don’t want Brandon carrying me up the staircase—and I don’t want to struggle up and down in crutches by myself.”
“The stairs are too dangerous,” Ellenor says solemnly.
“Exactly. I could fall.”
“We wouldn’t want that. And your upstairs room is the least accessible in the cottage.”
“Yes,” I breathe, glad we’re on the same page for once. “It’s easier down here, that’s all.”
“It’s pure logistics,” Ellenor agrees. “Only logical choice, really. To stay shacked up in your boyfriend’s room while he broods on the couch—”
She narrowly ducks the crutch I swing at her.
“Too slow,” she cackles, twinkling her fingers at me. “Night night.”
She trots out before I have a chance to tell her that Brandon is definitely, indisputably not my boyfriend.
But…
It wouldn’t be so bad if he were.
Mum kisses my forehead, reminds me to call her if I need her, and climbs the stairs.
Left alone, I lie awake in the hush she leaves behind. The room feels too still, the sheets cool against my skin, the bed far too big with just me in it. Even the usual creak of footsteps above has faded into a heavy, waiting silence.
And my thoughts drift to Brandon, like they do every night.
For the thousandth time since I got back from the hospital, I think of how he flew all the way to Sydney and back, jet-lagged to oblivion, only to end up sleeping on his own couch while I take over his bedroom.
It doesn’t seem fair. None of this does.
I could call out to him. He’d come. I know he would.
The thought alone quickens my pulse, a quiet rush of wanting I can finally admit to in the dark.
I don’t call him.
I won’t.
I’ve already taken so much from him—his space, his bed, his sleep.
Not to mention my presence, along with my family’s, has already turned his quiet life upside down.
I’m determined not to add my restless nights to the list. Besides, he’s been endlessly generous, letting me stay down here while I’m healing.
He’s made everything easier without ever once making me feel like a burden.
He’s not just decent. He’s the very best kind of man. And I feel that more deeply than ever.
The thought warms and aches at the same time. He’s been so selfless, steadying my world even as mine was falling apart. I want to be someone who can steady his too. I’d like to try, if he gives me the chance.
For now, I can start by steadying myself.
Maybe I can start tomorrow.
Eventually, exhaustion pulls me under, though it hardly feels like sleep at all.
I wake with a violent jolt. A rush of air—then the sickening thud of impact—shatters through my mind. I gasp and claw at the sheets, heart hammering.
I’m still in bed.
I wasn’t falling at all.
Fumbling for the bedside lamp, I knock the shade with a clatter before finally finding the switch. A soft glow fills the room. I push myself upright, spine stiff, breath still caught somewhere high in my chest.
I sit there for a long moment, perfectly still. Waiting. Willing my breathing to even out. If I dreamt anything, it’s already slipped away, leaving only the faint echo of impact ringing in my bones.
Then I hear it.
Footsteps in the hallway.
Slow. Careful. Hesitant.
Brandon.
He pauses outside my door. I can sense him hovering, debating.
I whisper, “You can come in.”
He steps into the doorway. His hair is mussed from sleep, his charcoal pyjamas rumpled, his sleepy expression heartbreakingly gentle.
“Sorry,” he murmurs. “I just wanted to check you hadn’t fallen…”
I shake my head, smiling a little. “No. Just woke up.”
“A nightmare?”
“It wasn’t so bad. I’m…sorry if I woke you.”
“That’s alright. I couldn’t sleep.”
“Oh. I’m guessing the couch is uncomfortable,” I say, my fingers worrying the sheet as guilt drifts in.
“The couch is fine.”
He says it quietly, and the way he looks at me tells me it isn’t the couch keeping him awake.
I wonder if…
I sort of hope I was on his mind.
He gives a small nod and starts to step back towards the door. “I’ll let you rest.”
“Brandon, wait. Actually…would you stay?”
He freezes, eyes softening as he looks at me. “Of course. If you’d like me to.”
He glances at the chair Mum brought in a few days ago—the one I’ve been leaning on when getting in and out of bed. He moves towards it, as if preparing to sit.
“I was thinking the bed,” I murmur.
He stops, breath hitching almost imperceptibly. “The bed?”
“I think we could both use the rest,” I say carefully, holding his gaze. A faint heat rises in my cheeks, but I’m not overly embarrassed. I know what I’m asking.
“Alright,” he says, voice low. “If that’s what you want.”
“It is.”
I ease back onto the pillows, careful of my ankle, and pull the blanket higher. My pulse skitters as he circles around the foot of the bed, his steps quiet on the floorboards. I worry he’ll change his mind, but he pauses only to slip off his socks before lifting the edge of the covers.
He hesitates before climbing in beside me, the mattress dipping under his weight. He keeps a respectful distance as he settles on his side of the bed. Not too near. Not too far. Just there.
I switch the bedside lamp off and sink into the comfortable dark, sleepiness washing over me. The silence feels warmer now, softened by the quiet sound of his breathing.
“Goodnight, Lily,” he murmurs.
“Goodnight, Brandon.”
I’m smiling as sleep takes me.