Chapter 38
There’s nothing like coming home when you’ve been away. It’s been five days of doctors, cops, and hospital showers, but it’s comforting to be back in Huxley Bay. There’s a saltiness in the air that hits differently, like it knows me in a way no other place does.
As soon as we walk through Chase’s front door, the faint plastic smell of balloons fills the entryway. It mixes with the clean scent of Chase’s place. I take in the banner hanging on the wall. It shouldn’t make my eyes sting, but it does.
Welcome home, Erin is scripted in the middle of it. At the bottom right-hand corner it reads: Made by Roman and Olliepoop Oliver.
I can’t hold back the burst of joy inside of me.
As soon as I kick off my shoes, Chase scoops me up. My body is a bit off balance, but being lifted into his arms reminds me that I’m safe.
He carries me up the stairs, into his room, and straight to his en suite. He places me on the counter, then leaves the bathroom to return a few seconds later with a T-shirt, a pair of sweats, and a towel, which he hangs on a hook.
“Shower, then bed rest for two weeks. Doctor’s orders,” he says, placing his hands on my upper arms. “Valerie will swing by your place and get some things packed up for you.”
“I wish I could take a bath instead. I’m not sure I can stand.”
“I’ll hold you up any time, Bookworm. Just say the word.”
My brain knows he’s being sweet. My body knows he’s dangerous in ways that make my skin crawl with desire.
I turn my head to face his very open shower with no doors. Looking back at him, I know my cheeks are pink.
He chuckles and kisses my forehead. “I won’t take a look at the goods if that’s what you’re worried about, not unless you want me to look.”
“Such a gentleman,” I mumble.
It’s ridiculous how much that reassurance flusters me.
“When the stitches are healed, I’ll get you the world’s best bath salts. I promise.” He gives me a small peck on the lips and leaves me alone.
I exit the bathroom fifteen minutes later wrapped up in Chase’s clothes. Just as I’m entering the bedroom, he walks in with a tray. Toasted bread and melted cheese—comfort in edible form—fills the air, and my stomach grumbles.
He sits beside me on the bed, saying nothing as he watches me eat. His hand strokes my knee the entire time, and it’s exactly what I need.
“Did you call Brax?” I ask, putting the empty plate back on the tray.
“He’ll be here in a couple hours.”
“Okay.”
He moves the tray away from me and leans in, taking my hands in his.
“I want you to listen to me,” he says, his tone gentle. “I want you to remember five words when Brax gets here. Okay?”
I nod.
“It changes nothing between us.”
The words knock the breath out of me, preparing me for the worst. I close my eyes and repeat his words so many times they take on their own sense of life, providing comfort.
It changes nothing between us.
It changes nothing between us.
It changes nothing between us.
My eyes flutter open to the sound of a doorbell. I sit up and Roman’s voice echoes through the place.
“Hi, Uncle Chasey. You stink.”
I snort and shake my head. Chase was in the middle of a bicep curl when I drifted off, so yes, he absolutely smells.
Chase’s voice draws closer. “Hey, Romey Gnomey.”
“You know I hate it when you call me that. It’s mean,” Roman whines. “Gnomes are scary.”
“You said I stink—that was mean,” Chase fires back playfully just as the bedroom door opens. He, Roman, and Brax walk in.
“I’m just being honest. Honesty is the bestie’s policy—ERINNNN!” Roman squeals, his eyes lighting up when he sees me.
“Be careful, buddy,” Brax calls out as Roman climbs on the bed and gently throws his arms around my neck.
“Thank you so much for my banner,” I say, holding him tightly. “Best way to come home.”
Roman grins and launches into everything he’s been up to in the last week. His eyes brighten with each sentence.
“Oh! Oh! Annnd Nightwing finally defeated the troll gargoyle. Now I’m on level twenty-two.” He beams, throwing up two fingers on each hand.
“Ahem,” Chase scoffs.
Roman rolls his eyes.
Chase gasps. “You said helping you defeat the troll gargoyle put me at number three on your favorite people list,” Chase says, folding his arms and clearly miffed Roman isn’t including him in the victory.
Roman grumbles intangible words under his breath.
“Hey, buddy.” Brax chuckles. “Why don’t you carry on defeating gargoyles. You can sit with Erin a little later. After we finish talking about grown-up stuff,” Brax says, ruffling Roman’s mop of hair when he walks over to the bed.
“Cool,” Roman agrees and climbs off after giving me a kiss on the top of my head.
I practically melt at his cuteness.
“Are you allowed to eat ice cream?” Roman asks. “I can get you a bowl.”
“I’d love some.”
Roman blanches when he walks past Chase. “Don’t kiss him unless he showers.”
I chuckle. “You got it.”
“Don’t make a mess in my kitchen and try to leave me some sour cherries. I just restocked them,” Chase calls after him.
“No promises,” Roman hollers back.
Chase lifts his shirt to his nose, takes a whiff, and grimaces. “I’ll be right back,” he says as he grabs some clothes from the drawer and heads into the bathroom.
“Are you okay?” Brax asks, lowering himself onto the end of the bed. The mattress dips under his weight.
“I’m happy to be home,” I say. “Glad I don’t have to talk to any more cops about the shooting. And, thank you, for everything you did.”
“Listen,” he murmurs, leaning forward a little. “Before we get into everything, I need to be honest.”
My hand slides behind my pillow, fingers brushing fabric, and then there’s a crinkle of plastic.
Griff never forgets.
When I pull out the Jelly Tots, the packet shines in the bedroom lighting. The first one I fish out is green, and I offer it to Brax.
“Watermelon is still your favorite, right, Detective Langford?”
His lips twitch, taking it from me. “You remember me?”
“Yeah,” I say, quieter now. “I just didn’t recognize you. Which seems to be a theme with me lately.”
“When did you figure it out?” he asks, amusement coating his voice.
“I had my suspicions,” I admit. “The number of ice cream toppings you use is so unhinged it should probably be illegal.”
He chuckles.
“And when I was half asleep in the hospital, I heard you answer a call using that name,” I say, the words lingering between us. “It’s ironic, you know? You grew up wanting to catch bad guys…and the bad guy turned out to be my mother.”
“And you didn’t stay in school and become a library lady,” he fires back gently.
“But you became an incredible fucking person. And that’s so much better.
” There’s a slight tremor in his voice, just enough to reveal the sincerity behind his words.
“I’m so damn proud of you, Jelly Tot.” A small laugh escapes him.
“Erin Callahan, huh? The Detective and Me? I should’ve put it together a lot sooner,” he says, shaking his head.
I laugh, the sound catching on a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
“Even with everything going on—finding Griff, finding you. Huxley Bay keeps giving me people who make me feel safe.”
Brax squeezes my hand as Roman walks in, carrying a tray stacked with three bowls of ice cream.
Chase steps out of the bathroom a moment later, no longer smelly.
Roman approaches, and Brax and I burst out laughing at the avalanche of toppings piled into one bowl. Roman grins, drops the tray on the nightstand, and leaves us to it.
Chase settles beside me. His fingers lace with mine like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Goosebumps rise instantly when he lifts my hand and presses a slow, deliberate kiss to my knuckles. My pulse kicks, tripping over itself.
And somehow, despite the conversation that’s long overdue and the way the unknown has a habit of tightening rooms, a sense of serenity flows through me.
“Whenever you’re ready,” Chase says, kissing my knuckles again.
I let out a breath.
“My mother said she showed up because of a package,” I say quietly. “Originally, she thought the photos inside were from me.” Brax and Chase wait patiently, giving me space and time to work through the memory at Hunter’s Pavilion.
“She kept asking me who knew—who I told. At first, I thought she was talking about the shooting. But she wasn’t.”
I pause, shaking my head and trying to slow down my racing thoughts. The memory of my mother’s words hit me like a runaway train.
I love him.
You should have known better.
I never wanted this to happen, but you left me no choice. You ruined everything.
“The man with the tattoo—The Octopus.” A cold tremor runs through me. My body recognizes the truth before my brain does. “I think the man I saw with my mom at the hotel was him.”
Chase’s hand tightens around mine, and when I look at him, his eyes tell me he’s already familiar with the name.
My brows pinch together.
Did Brax tell him?
I bury the thought for now and continue.
“Maybe my mother did send The Octopus. Maybe she stayed gone for years because she didn’t think I remembered him. And maybe whatever was in that package showed her I did, and she came to see for herself if she needed to be worried about me talking.”
I pause again.
“Her words from thirteen years ago,” I say as they rattle in my brain. “It almost sounds like she was protecting The Octopus.”
Brax releases a breath. “I think you’re right about that,” he admits. “I looked into your father’s death. The death certificate says Carlos Alvarez died in a car accident. A seizure caused him to crash into a tree.”
Air rushes out of my lungs in a strained exhale. “I always thought Roger just made it up to hurt me,” I whisper.
“There have always been rumors about The Octopus having people everywhere—judges, doctors, cops. Your dad’s case went through the proper channels. It looks clean but it’s fake.”
“You think The Octopus buried the truth?” I ask Brax.
“He has the reach. No document says Carlos Alvarez was shot. Why your mother pulled the trigger, I don’t know, but The Octopus controlled the narrative. Kept Clarissa Rose safe. My guess is because he loved her.”
“But who is he, Brax?” I whisper.
“That’s the million-dollar question. I’m sorry I don’t have more,” he says quietly, and I close my eyes, trying to vanquish the storm inside of me.
“So, that’s it?” I ask. “All cards are on the table?”
Brax isn’t looking at me. He’s looking at Chase.
There’s more.
Brax’s phone rings, and he excuses himself to answer it.
“Do you remember those words I told you to hold on to?” Chase asks.
“Yes.”
“Say them,” he says.
“‘It changes nothing between us,’” I whisper.
“You know we’ve been looking into what was going on with Elliot before he died,” Chase says.
I dip my head.
“The drugs we got rid of belonged to The Octopus. It’s possible Elliot and Laurel had some involvement with him. We’re just not sure on the specifics. That’s what we’ve been trying to find out.”
My lip wobbles.
No. Not Elliot. Not Laurel.
The room tilts. It’s sluggish at first, but then the ground opens up beneath me, and I’m falling fast and hard.
“Oh, God.” I shake my head quickly. “If I’d told someone sooner what I saw maybe—”
“Hey,” he murmurs, voice low. His hands slide around the back of my neck, grounding me and holding me in place. “Look at me.”
I shake my head.
I can’t.
I can’t look at him.
“Erin. Baby, look at me.”
I drag my eyes up to him and focus on his ocean blue eyes and I notice he’s not angry. He’s not hurt. He doesn’t look betrayed. He’s just… worried. For me.
Always for me.
“This. Is. Not. Your. Fault.”
He pauses after each word, like he really needs every single one to sink into my skin. Like he needs me to understand it and believe it. The words scrape against every scar I carry.
“You weren’t part of any of this.”
“She’s my mom. She—”
“No.” His voice sharpens, but it’s not cold. It’s resolute. Strong enough to cut through my spiraling. “Your mother made choices. The Octopus made choices. Elliot and Laurel made choices. They were adults. You were just a child, baby.”
“I stayed quiet.”
“You were afraid.”
“I should have told someone.”
He pulls me into him, wrapping me up tightly, trying to keep the pieces from falling. My fists curl into his shirt, bunching the fabric, desperate for an anchor.
It’s not enough.
The pain is too much.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper over and over. “I’m so, so sorry.”
His hand slips into my hair, stroking gently. His chin rests on the top of my head.
“You are not responsible, Erin.” His voice is strained, like he’s hurting for me. Like he knew I’d hear the words and take the blame. “You didn’t cause any of this. None of it.”
I turn my face away, a small shake rattling through me.
“If there’s one thing in this world I need you to believe,” he says. “It’s that you are not responsible for other people’s actions. Not your mother’s. Not The Octopus’s. Not anyone’s.”
“If he touched your family because of her, then everything that’s happened to you… Everything you lost…”
“Sweetheart,” he whispers, pulling back just enough to tilt my chin up.
My breathing stutters. His thumb strokes my cheek.
The world suspends with a quietness falling over us, the only sounds our two hearts beating too fast. “Don’t take that on.
Please. Don’t put that weight on your shoulders.
I know what it’s like. It’ll crush you. You will break under what was never yours to carry.
I can’t watch that happen to you, baby. Please. I can’t lose you to this. I need you.”
His forehead presses to mine, almost like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he lets go.
“I love you, Erin,” he says softly, a clear confession he can’t hold back anymore.
“I’ve loved you from the moment I first saw you, and I’ve been falling harder and faster ever since.
All of this changes nothing. You’re my fucking everything.
And I’m gonna keep telling you, okay? I love you, Bookworm.
I always have and I always will. Nothing about your past is ever going to make me look at you any differently. Ever.”
Another tear slips free. Then another. Unstoppable. His thumbs brush them away as fast as they come, as if he’s trying to erase my pain.
“You love me?” I choke.
He doesn’t hesitate.
“I love you.”
I crash into his arms and let him hold all the broken pieces of me.
“Let it out, baby. Let it out. I’ve got you.”
His arms tighten, the room blurs, and every wall I’ve ever built crumbles.
And then, I shatter.