26. Cassian
CASSIAN
The penthouse feels too quiet without June's chaos.
No questions about why clouds float, no impromptu dance performances using the coffee table as a stage, no sticky fingerprints appearing on glass surfaces I just had cleaned.
Just me, a stack of legal documents, and the persistent ache in my ribs that flares every time I breathe wrong.
A week since the hospital. Seven days of healing slow enough to drive me insane while the world outside keeps spinning.
Raylin's been charged—reckless endangerment, attempted assault, half a dozen other counts my lawyers rattled off with satisfaction.
She'll face trial. Her father's threatening countercharges but nobody takes Leonard Hart seriously anymore, not after witness testimony and the recording that proves exactly what his daughter did.
The recording that's been leaked everywhere.
Not by me, though I'd considered it. Someone at the police department with a vendetta or a price tag shared it with every major news outlet.
Now Raylin's voice admitting she leaked June's photos, considered calling CPS, orchestrated the entire sabotage plays on repeat across gossip sites and legitimate news channels alike.
Dior dropped her within forty-eight hours. Her fashion line, the one she'd been building for years with her father's money and connections, dissolved overnight. Every partnership, every collaboration, gone. She's become a pariah so thoroughly that even her society friends won't return calls.
I should feel vindicated. Instead, I just feel tired.
My phone buzzes. Amara's name lights up the screen followed by a text. "We're outside."
I stand too fast, ribs protesting. The elevator takes forever. By the time I reach the lobby, Amara's already signing in with security while June bounces on her toes beside her, clutching something pink in her hands.
"Cassian!" June spots me, breaks free from Amara's grip, runs across marble floors with zero regard for the elderly couple she nearly collides with.
I crouch down, catch her as she launches herself at me. The impact hurts but I don't care. She smells like coconut shampoo and that indefinable kid scent I've come to associate with happiness.
"Hi, June-bug."
"Are you still hurt? Mama said you were in an accident but you're okay now but I made you something just in case." She shoves the pink object at my chest. It's a bracelet, threaded with beads spelling out Best Dad.
My heart swells.
"You made this for me?"
"Uh-huh. Because you're my dad. Mama told me. She said you didn't know about me before but now you do and you want to be my dad forever." She examines my face with those hazel eyes we share. "Are you crying?"
"No." Tears are definitely welling up. "Just something in my eye."
"That's what Mama says when she's sad but doesn't want me to worry." June pats my cheek with sticky fingers. "It's okay to be sad sometimes. Feelings are normal."
Amara reaches us, expression soft in a way I've rarely seen. "Hi."
"Hi." I stand, June still attached to my side. "Thanks for coming."
"She's been asking about you nonstop since I told her the truth. Figured it was time for another visit." Amara glances at the bracelet now dangling from my wrist. "I see you've been accessorized."
"It's my most prized possession now."
June beams. "Do you want to see my rock collection? I brought the best ones to show you. This one looks like a potato but Mama says it's called sedimentary which is a fancy word for boring."
We head upstairs. June catalogs every rock in her collection with scientific seriousness while Amara watches from the kitchen counter, coffee mug warming her hands. The late afternoon light catches her profile, turns her into something I want to paint if I had any artistic ability whatsoever.
After June exhausts the geology lecture, she discovers my piano. "Do you play?"
"Not really. My mother did. I kept it after she passed."
"Can I try?"
"Go ahead."
She attacks the keys with enthusiasm that far exceeds technique. The resulting cacophony would make any serious musician weep. I love every discordant note.
Amara slides off the counter, moves to stand beside me. "She's been different since we told her. Lighter, maybe. Like she was carrying something heavy and finally got permission to put it down."
"What exactly did you tell her?"
"That you're her father, and that you didn't know about her before but now you do and you want to be part of her life.
That you and I love each other and we're figuring out what that means.
" She looks up at me. "I kept it simple.
The complicated stuff can wait until she's older and actually understands concepts like sabotage and media circuses. "
"Smart."
"I also told her that she has a grandfather now. Your father's been calling, asking to meet her. I figured that's your call to make."
My father isn't exactly warm and fuzzy, but he's been surprisingly vocal about his granddaughter's right to privacy and safety. Maybe he'll surprise me.
"Next week," I say. "When I'm healed enough to supervise and intervene if he says something that scars her permanently."
Amara smiles. "Deal."
June abandons the piano, races over with flushed cheeks. "Dad, do you have any books about horses? Mama said you know about horses because you grew up rich and rich people always have horses."
"I said rich people sometimes have horses," Amara corrects. "Don't misquote me."
"Do you have horses?"
"My father does. At his estate upstate. Maybe we can visit sometime and you can meet them."
June's eyes go wide. "Real horses? Not the kind in books?"
"Very real and big ones."
She looks at Amara with an expression that clearly says can we please go immediately. Amara laughs, that genuine sound I've missed hearing. "We'll plan something. Maybe next month when the weather's better."
"Why can't we go now?"
"Because your dad's still recovering and horses are patient. They'll wait."
June considers this logic, finds it acceptable. She wanders off to explore the rest of the penthouse, leaving Amara and me alone in the too-large living room.
"How are you really?" She reaches up, fingers ghosting across the fading bruises on my face. "You look tired."
"I am tired. Healing's boring work." I catch her hand, press a kiss to her knuckles. "But having you here helps."
"June wanted to see you. I couldn't say no."
"And you? Did you want to see me or did you just come for chauffeur duty?"
She rolls her eyes but doesn't pull away. "I wanted to see you. Happy?"
"Ecstatic."
"Don't let it go to your head."
Too late. June reappears from wherever she'd been exploring, announces she's hungry. We order pizza despite Amara's protests that it's not a proper dinner. June negotiates for extra cheese with the confidence of a seasoned diplomat.
While we wait, June asks if she can draw. I set her up at the dining table with paper and markers I definitely didn't have a week ago but ordered specifically for her future visits. She attacks the blank page with the same enthusiasm she brought to the piano.
Amara and I retreat to the kitchen under the guise of getting drinks. She leans against the counter, arms crossed, looking at me like she's trying to solve an equation.
"What?"
"This is weird."
"What's weird?"
"Being here. With you. With June calling you Dad like it's the most natural thing in the world." She shakes her head. "A month ago, I was convinced you were the worst decision I'd ever made. Now you're wearing a bracelet my daughter made and ordering pizza like we're a normal family."
"We are a normal family. Just one that took a strange route to get here."
"Strange is generous. Catastrophic might be more accurate."
"But we survived it." I move closer, careful not to crowd her. "Raylin's facing charges, the recording proved what she did, and my father's actually defending the collaboration instead of shutting it down. Things are looking up."
"Your father still tabled the collaboration."
"Temporarily. He called yesterday, said once the media cycle dies down and Black Lake stabilizes, we're moving forward. Katheryn's already been contacted about revised timelines."
Her expression shifts, surprise and something like relief. "He didn't mention that to me."
"Probably wanted to make sure I was on board first. Which I am, obviously. Your work is exactly what Black Lake needs. That hasn't changed."
"Even though I come with considerable baggage?"
"June's not baggage. She's the best thing that's ever happened to me." I risk touching her face, thumb tracing her cheekbone. "And you're not baggage either. You're everything."
She softens under my hand, leans into the touch. "You're too good at saying things that make me want to cry."
"Is that a compliment or an accusation?"
"Both."
June calls from the dining room that she finished her drawing and needs us to see it immediately. We comply, because when a five-year-old demands an audience, you provide one.
The drawing features three stick figures. One tall with brown scribbles for hair, one shorter with impressive curly lines, and a tiny one between them holding both their hands. Above them, she's written FAMILY in uneven letters that tilt sideways.
"That's us," June explains unnecessarily. "You're the tall one because you're very tall. Mama's the pretty one. And I'm the best one because I'm the youngest and youngest is always best."
"Solid logic," I say seriously. "Can I keep this?"
"Yes. But you have to put it somewhere important so everyone knows we're a family."
I look at Amara. She's staring at the drawing with wet eyes, bottom lip caught between her teeth.
"I'll put it on the fridge," I tell June. "The most important location in any house."
She nods approval. The doorbell rings—pizza arriving right on schedule. June abandons art for food with the speed only children possess.
We eat at the dining table, June between us, sauce smearing across her face while she explains her elaborate theory about why dinosaurs would've been friends with unicorns if they'd existed at the same time.
Amara occasionally interjects with questions that keep the monologue going.
I just listen, commit every moment to memory because this is what happiness feels like and I refuse to forget it.
After dinner, June crashes hard. One minute she's explaining something about pterodactyls, the next she's slumped against my side, eyes closed, breathing evening out into sleep.
"I should get her home," Amara says quietly.
"Or you could stay." The words come out before I can stop them. "Both of you. The guest room's ready, June's already asleep, and honestly I don't want you to leave yet."
She studies my face, looking for ulterior motives. "Just sleeping?"
"Just sleeping. I'm still recovering, remember? Not exactly in condition for anything more athletic."
"That's probably for the best." But she's smiling. "Okay. We'll stay. But June gets the guest room and I'm taking the couch."
"You're not taking the couch. We'll share my room like adults who can control themselves for one night."
"Bold assumption about our self-control."
"I have faith in us."
She laughs, that sound I want to bottle. I carry June to the guest room, lay her down gently, pull the covers up to her chin. She doesn't stir. Amara appears in the doorway, watching with an expression I can't quite name.
"She trusts you," she says softly. "Completely. That's not easy for her."
"I'm honored."
"You should be."
We retreat to my room at the end of the hall. The space feels too intimate suddenly, too loaded with possibility. Amara stands near the door like she's calculating escape routes.
"I can still take the couch?—"
"Get in the bed, Amara."
She huffs but complies, sliding under covers on the left side. I take the right, careful of my ribs. We lie there in darkness broken only by city light filtering through curtains, the space between us feeling both vast and nonexistent.
"Thank you," I say into the quiet. "For telling June about me."
"You're her father. She deserves to know you."
"And you? Do you want to know me or are you just here for June's sake?"
She rolls toward me, close enough that I can make out her features in the dim light.
"I want to know you. I want to fall asleep next to you and wake up with you and figure out what a life together actually looks like.
" Her hand finds mine under the covers. "I'm terrified I'll mess it up again.
That I'll run or push you away or let fear make my decisions.
But I want to try. If you're willing to be patient with me. "
"I've waited six years. I can wait longer if that's what you need."
"I don't want to wait anymore. I just want this. Whatever messy, complicated, imperfect thing we're building."
I pull her closer, ignore the protest from my ribs, kiss her forehead and her nose and finally her mouth. She kisses back soft and certain, like she's made a decision and intends to keep it.
"I love you," I say against her lips. "Just so we're clear."
"I love you too. Even though you're insufferably stubborn and have terrible taste in ex-friends."
"Former acquaintance. Raylin was never actually my friend."
"Semantics."
We fall asleep like that, tangled together in my too-large bed, June dreaming in the next room, the future unwritten but finally, finally within reach.