Chapter Twenty-Six
Elise
Morning light filtered through the window blinds in soft, uneven stripes of gold across the mattress. I woke slowly, becoming fully aware of the physical warmth of the bed before my brain could boot up its regular sequence of defense mechanisms.
Brady’s chest was solid beneath my cheek, the steady, rhythmic thud of his heartbeat keeping perfect time right beneath my ear.
One of his heavy arms was draped possessively across my back, anchoring me down in a way that felt incredibly grounding rather than confining.
For a long, uninterrupted moment, I chose not to move a single muscle.
I lay there and listened, allowing myself to simply exist in the space without analyzing the potential fallout.
I didn’t want to predict what came next; I just wanted this exact moment.
This is what I came to Basin Ridge for, I thought.
Not the apartment itself, but the illusion of normal.
A place where I could sit in a waiting room beside Mrs. Donnelly for hours, existing near people without the pressure of performing connection.
Where I could bring my car in for the smallest issues simply to occupy the same quiet space as others who didn’t demand explanations or small talk.
Predictable routines. Safe proximity. No one expecting me to know the script.
Brady stirred beneath me, his hand gliding up my spine with practiced ease as his fingers threaded into my hair.
“Morning,” he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated straight through my cheek.
I answered by shifting up to kiss him properly. He let out a soft, approving sound and rolled us gently so I was half beneath him, his weight a warm, welcome shield. He settled over me naturally, a perfect fit that felt entirely safe.
I dared to let the hope take shape while his thumb traced lazy circles on my hip.
What if my father sees it? What if he meets Brady and for once the walls don’t go up?
I wanted my father to witness the man who had dismantled my firewalls without force.
I wanted the impossible: a bridge instead of another locked door.
A family that could expand instead of contracting tighter around old wounds.
We ended up in the kitchen without any conscious decision, moving around each other in easy synchrony.
I started the coffee maker while he located eggs and bread, navigating my small space as if he’d already mapped it to memory.
He bumped my hip on purpose while reaching past me for a plate.
I stole a sip from his mug and immediately wrinkled my nose.
“How much sugar did you put in this?” I demanded.
“Enough,” he said, looking completely, hilariously unapologetic.
I shook my head, setting the mug back on the counter. “That isn’t coffee, Brady. That’s a dessert.”
“Maybe I’m a sweet guy,” he shot back, his eyes dancing with that familiar wit as he grinned at me.
I rolled my eyes, but the smile broke through anyway. The sudden levity helped; it made the reality of what we were about to do feel possible. I set my own mug down and leaned against the table to look at him fully. “Are you ready to go?”
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he studied me, his gaze zeroing in to make sure he wasn’t missing a single expression. “The real question is,” he said finally, his tone shifting into something steady, “are you okay with doing this?”
I reached across the small table and took his hand, threading my fingers firmly through his.
I want my father to see what I see. Someone who fixes things not for control, but because he genuinely cares.
Someone who makes me believe connection doesn’t have to come with a hidden exploit.
The hope felt dangerous, but I held on to it anyway.
“Yes,” I said, my voice coming out significantly steadier than I actually felt. “I need to see exactly who my father becomes when he meets you. But I want to be clear about something.” I held his gaze, locking our fingers together. “My father is an intense man, but not a dangerous one.”
His dark eyebrows lifted slightly, his expression shifting to let me know he’d caught the underlying severity of my tone.
“That sounds like what someone would say when their father is dangerous.”
I expelled a breath that was somewhere between a laugh and a sigh.
“Maybe. But you have to understand, I’ve never brought anyone home before.
Not like this. And I definitely haven’t brought home the son of a man who had a falling out with him.
So,” I finished quietly, “I can’t predict his reaction. ”
Brady’s mouth curved into a slow, lopsided smile.
It wasn’t quite as effortless as it had been a few minutes ago.
“Fair enough,” he said. He glanced down at his rumpled clothes from yesterday, then looked back up at me with a slight wince.
“Although, let’s stop by my hotel room so I can get some fresh clothes. I don’t want to meet him like this.”
A genuine laugh slipped out of me. “Good call. First impressions are critical to the outcome.”
“Exactly,” he grinned, stepping around the counter. “I want him to like me.”
As I stood up, he closed the remaining distance in a single stride, his large arms coming around me to pull me into a brief, solid hug. I closed my eyes for one final second, letting myself settle into his warmth before the entire world shifted parameters again.
Brady represents the variable I never accounted for, I thought. The one that made all my carefully built defenses feel optional instead of essential. The one who made me hope, not just for myself, but for the possibility that my father could see healing instead of another betrayal.
“He will,” I murmured, even though the likelihood of that being true was pretty slim.