Admissions
Chapter fifty-one
Fallon
I’m curled up in an old pair of faded jeans and an oversized sweater to ward off the evening chill. We sit side by side, gently rocking on the porch, both of us lost in our thoughts.
I know anything put in print or voiced on the internet will have repercussions—for Cyrus, me, our kids, the neighborhood, possibly my meager public image. Lawyers have been called. Statements written. But none of that matters right now. What matters is Cyrus. Being here with me.
What we shared upstairs, the connection between us, it was earth-shattering; our love for one another should be cherished.
Not tarnished by hit pieces and rumors. It’s every nightmarish insecurity that I had coming to fruition before me.
My dirty laundry aired out for the world.
I lean into Cyrus, his arm instinctively wrapping around me, allowing me to borrow his body heat.
For weeks, we’ve been getting closer, spending more time together, with and without the kids.
Liam practically lives here now. His bond with Billy growing stronger every day.
I read every article, watched every video, read every comment.
I know who said what, and I will never be able to forget.
My heart breaks for Cyrus. He’s always worn a smile, chin up, like the world could never touch him.
I had no idea what kind of hell he had to crawl through to get back to us.
I’ve wanted to ask about his time in D.C, but considering how horrendous it sounded, caution has held me hostage for weeks now. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hurt. No, that’s not the word. Disappointment coats my tongue that he hasn’t trusted me enough to share this part of himself sooner.
Is that a fair assumption, though? Or, am I peeved that all of my skeletons seem to dance down the street for everyone to dissect while he gets to have his for himself?
Is it even fair for me to be questioning his pain?
Everyone carries their scars differently. Who am I to tell someone how to grieve?
I know when he’s ready if he’s ever ready to share that with me. I’ll be here for him; this is enough. What we are, what we have, is enough.
What I can offer him now is time. That, and the courage to face whatever comes next. His hand tightens around mine. With his other hand, he rakes it through his hair nervously, grounding himself. I focus on his profile and wait.
“They got it somewhat right,” he finally says.
“About Caleb? Or…your love child? Or would it be two? You’re very tight lipped about Laim’s birth mother.”
His laugh is short and hollow. “Both, I guess. Liam’s birth has an airtight NDA attached to it.”
I shift closer, careful not to crowd him, my hand resting lightly on the edge of his. “You don’t need to say a word, Cyrus,” I murmur, my voice soft. “We don’t have to talk about it right now.”
He swallows, eyes flicking to mine, caught somewhere between relief and something deeper—something unspoken. The silence stretches, but it isn’t empty. It’s full of trust, the quiet understanding between us.
I let my hand linger near his, close enough to reassure without pressing, and he finally exhales, a sound that tells me he’s listening, that he knows he can lean on me without fear. In this moment, life for us becomes lighter, carried not in words, but in the space we share.
He lifts my hand, kissing my knuckles once, soft and measured.
The tightness in his face turns tender. “You’re fucking perfect, Fallon.
But you’re wrong. You deserve to know. I’ve tried to start this conversation a hundred times since it all went down.
Every time, I end up empty-handed, no words that make sense. ”
His chest rises and falls slowly, carefully. He’s holding on by a thread, every inch of him pulled taut as one wrong word might unravel him.
“Liam’s mom is the easier part of my story.
We met in college. Both of us were nursing broken hearts, looking for distraction.
There was an understanding—when school ended, so would we.
No strings. She was on birth control, and we used protection every time.
But then came Liam.” He pauses. The first real smile since this morning touches his lips.
“They didn’t want Liam. A bastard-born child didn’t fit the political career mold that his mother was being forced into. She wasn’t a bad person. Sarah was another young woman crushed under the pressure of what was expected from her.”
Not exactly what I had envisioned when it came to Liam’s mother, but I bite my tongue. Liam’s here now, and he’s perfect.
“Legally, I can’t say who she is. When Liam turns eighteen, he gets to decide what happens with that truth.
Until then, I’ll stay quiet. And, as you can probably guess from your own experience, not being able to talk about it much doesn’t make it any easier.
Liam, the sole child in class that doesn’t have a mom, or especially around the holidays or when he’s sick—it’s gut-wrenching, isolating. ”
“Cyrus, that sounds like a lot to have to carry alone.” I relate to him so much. The years I carried around my secret about Billy, of not being able to trust anyone enough to confide in them.
I curl into him, resting my head against his shoulder.
His scent—familiar, masculine, grounding—cuts through the slow ache in my chest. A different kind of heat coils in its place, something sharp and dangerous.
The urge to hunt all of them down, to end them the way they tried to end him, pulses through my blood.
He kisses the top of my head, and we lean into one another, finding comfort in the silence. “I didn’t do it alone. Caleb was my partner. He was my brother in the ways that it counted.” There’s a small smile, warm and sad.
“He grew up with a single mom and a bunch of younger siblings. He used to tuck Liam football style under one arm and toss him around on Sundays. Raising kids came naturally for him. He treated my kid as family. He taught me how to be a dad.”
His chest heaves as he lifts a hand to roughly wipe away his tears.
I latch onto his hand, grounding him as he once did for me.
“It sounds like he loved you both very much,” I whisper.
Cyrus nods, eyes shining. There was a look of torment he held in his broken gaze.
My chest cleaved in two, knowing he’s been living with this much pain.
“He was a dork off-duty and on the clock. Always had a joke for every occasion. Always quoting action movies as he lived in one.” He gives me a quick squeeze.
“God, I fucking miss him. Learning to live without him every fucking day has been damn near impossible. It’s worse when the good things happen, ya know?
I pick up my phone to dial his number, remembering a moment to late that he isn’t here to celebrate the wins anymore.
Hearing a robotic voice in place of his, announcing his number is no longer in service…
” He shudders. “It’s the hardest thing I’ve had to live with, next to losing you. ”
His silhouette goes hazy as my eyes cloud with unshed tears for the man beside me and his pain.
Such an indescribable emotion to be held with so much esteem in someone’s eyes.
That he would compare losing me to a loss that he lives with every day.
To be so treasured by another human in that way.
The tears slowly fall, my sniffle sounding so loud with the near-silent night as our backdrop.
Needing to comfort him, to be there for him.
I whisper, “I wish I’d met him. And whatever happened, Cyrus, you’re not responsible.
Caleb wouldn’t want you carrying that guilt. ”
His thumb strokes mine slowly. “Please, know, I will never take you or our life for granted, Fallon.”
“I don’t think you give yourself enough credit, Mr. McCoy.”
My smile falters as I think about the other part of his confession. “Do you think the shitshow we’ve found ourselves in will make it to Liam’s mother?”
“That’s the last thing this town needs; if Jordan doesn’t have competition in the petty bitch department, she will if Sarah comes.” His eyes go wide at his omission of her name before winking. My laugh sounds strained.
“She could be standing right here, and there would only be you, Freckles.”
I press a soft kiss to his shoulder.
“I don’t think Laura wants to be anywhere near this scandal. Her name hasn’t been mentioned yet, thank fuck for small favors.”
“Can you share some more memories of Caleb with me?”
Cyrus sighs. Not out of pain, but something gentler. Reverence possibly. When he speaks- it’s stories about how they met, became partners, became family.
He tells me about the day Caleb died. And how life was with him in it.
When the story ends, it’s not a mournful feeling that lingers between us. But, a quiet acceptance.
A painful invisible burden we endure, together.