11. Gage
Gage
T he constant attention was starting to make my skin crawl.
I sat at Booker's kitchen table, my casted leg stretched out to the side, watching Reece fuss over my breakfast like I was an invalid instead of someone who'd been feeding himself for most of his twenty-nine years.
She'd already checked my medication three times, asked about my pain levels twice, and was now hovering near my elbow like she expected me to collapse into my eggs.
"I'm fine," I said for what felt like the hundredth time since Barrett's birth four days ago. "Really. You don't need to watch me eat."
"I'm not watching you eat," Reece said, but she didn't move away from the table. "I'm just... making sure you have everything you need."
It was strange to have someone I barely knew so invested in my wellbeing, and yet she felt so much like family to me already.
I imagined this was what people with normal loving parents would have had.
Those people who had someone looking out for them, caring to an extent that they smothered you with love and affection and you never really knew how lucky you were.
The thought of Regina acting as a nursemaid sent a shudder down my spine. No one needed that sort of attention from someone like her. I still couldn't quite believe that she was gone, that she'd given up on this town she'd fought so hard to dominate that easily.
What I needed right now though, was five minutes without someone monitoring my every breath. What I needed was space to think without feeling like I was being studied for signs of imminent breakdown or escape attempts.
Don't get me wrong. The love and care were wonderful in theory.
After eleven years of self-imposed loneliness, having people who worried about my wellbeing should have felt like a gift.
But instead, it felt suffocating. Like I couldn't move without someone asking if I was okay, if I needed help, if I was planning to disappear again.
"Where's Booker?" I asked, partly to change the subject and partly because I genuinely missed his gruff presence. At least with Booker, silence was comfortable. He didn't feel the need to fill every moment with concerned conversation.
"Checking on the horses. Said to tell you he'll be back before your therapy session with Billie."
Right. Billie. Another layer of complexity in an already overwhelming situation. Our sessions had been professional to the point of being painful, but I could see cracks in her careful composure. Moments when she forgot to maintain distance, when concern bled through her clinical mask.
It gave me hope I had no right to feel, and a chance I wasn't sure I had any right to take.
If I was a better man, I'd leave her alone.
Like I'd promised I would when I left. Everything was so confusing now that I was back here.
I'd made such a mess by running away and I didn't know how to fix it, or if I should let it be.
Would stepping back in and trying to right the damage I'd caused just make everything all the worse for those I'd hurt?
"Reece," I said carefully, "I appreciate everything you and Booker have done for me. More than I can express. But I think I need some space. Some privacy to figure out what comes next."
Her face immediately fell with worry. "Are you planning to leave again? Because if this is about the attention, we can give you more space here..."
"I'm not leaving," I said firmly, the words feeling more true every time I spoke them.
It should have started to get annoying having to repeat it so many times, but there was something reassuring about hearing it said aloud.
"But I can't be someone's houseguest indefinitely. I need my own space, my own routine."
She sighed and her gaze darted to the door like she was trying to figure out if she should say whatever it was that was on her mind.
"There was a last-minute cancellation for one of the guest cottages," she said after a moment. "Someone who was supposed to arrive next week for equine therapy had to postpone. It's furnished, has a kitchenette, completely private."
"Perfect. When can I move in?"
"Today, if you want. But Gage..." She sat down across from me, her expression serious. "You're not a burden here. We want you close. We want to be part of your recovery."
"And you will be. Just from a cottage instead of a guest room."
I had no right to demand it. This was how they made their money, it was the beginning of an incredible venture that Booker had been building for years. But the walls were closing in around me here, and I just needed somewhere I could finally sit in the silence and breathe.
The relief I felt at the prospect of private space was immediate and overwhelming.
Somewhere I could process the emotional complexity of being home without feeling like I was being watched for signs of breakdown.
Somewhere I could figure out what staying in Willowbrook would actually look like without constant family input.
"I'll pay whatever rent you would have gotten from having a guest in there. I don't want you to think that I'm freeloading off any of you. But, Reece..."
"I know," she said gently. "You need a place to gather your thoughts and not have anyone hovering around you... even if we do mean well."
I smiled gratefully. Hopefully the rest of my family would understand that this was something I needed too.
Somewhere I could think about Billie without my brothers reading every expression on my face.
By afternoon, Reece had helped me move the few belongings I had into the cottage.
It was perfect for my needs. Simple, clean, with a small living area that opened onto a view of the horse pastures.
Most importantly, it was mine. For now at least. For the first time in eleven years, I had a space that felt permanent, even if it was technically still temporary.
I was settling onto the cottage's small porch with a beer when a car I didn't recognize pulled into the ranch driveway. Expensive, understated, driven by someone who clearly wasn't a ranch worker or family friend.
My stomach dropped when Jasper Farrington climbed out of the driver's seat.
It had been eleven years since I'd seen my father, and he looked older than I'd expected.
Grayer, more fragile, with the careful movements of someone who wasn't entirely comfortable in his own skin.
He stood by his car for a moment, staring toward the cottage like he was gathering courage for what came next.
Part of me wanted to disappear inside, to avoid this conversation entirely. But Barrett's birth had taught me something about facing difficult moments instead of running from them. And maybe it was time to stop being a coward about everything.
Jasper approached slowly, his hands empty, his expression carefully neutral. "Gage."
"Dad."
We stared at each other across the small porch, two men who shared blood and history but had been strangers for over a decade.
He looked nervous, which was something I'd never seen from him before.
Jasper Farrington had always been confident to the point of arrogance, secure in his position as patriarch of one of Willowbrook's most influential families.
This version of my father looked almost... humble.
"May I sit?" he asked, gesturing toward the empty chair beside me.
I nodded, not trusting my voice. Whatever he'd come to say, it was important enough that he'd driven out here despite knowing I might refuse to see him.
"I heard about the accident," he said after settling into the chair. "About your injuries. I'm glad you're recovering well."
"Getting there."
The silence stretched between us, loaded with everything we'd never said to each other. I could see him struggling with where to start, how to bridge eleven years of estrangement and mutual disappointment.
"I came to apologize," he said finally. "For failing you as a father. For not protecting you from Regina's manipulations. For letting you carry guilt that should have been mine."
The words hit me like physical blows. This wasn't what I'd expected. I'd thought he might lecture me about family responsibility, or maybe try to convince me to stay for the sake of appearances. I hadn't expected... accountability.
"Dad..."
"Let me finish," he said quietly. "I know what Regina did to you.
How she used your need for approval to turn you into her weapon against Trace and Delaney.
I know she threatened our family's destruction if you didn't cooperate.
And I know that I failed to protect my seventeen-year-old son from a master manipulator.
I failed to protect you all, but you had the worst of it.
You suffered through her abuse because I wasn't enough of a man to stand against her, I wasn't enough of a father to protect you. "
My throat felt tight with emotions I couldn't name. This wasn't the man who'd enabled Regina's cruelty for decades, who'd stood by while she destroyed her children's sense of self-worth. This was someone who seemed to understand the full scope of what had happened.
"You were a child," he continued. "A scared child trying to protect the people you loved from someone who held all the power. But Gage, there's something else you need to know. Something about why Regina became so vengeful toward our family."
I looked up, seeing something in his expression that looked almost like shame.
"I had an affair," he said quietly, the words coming out like they were being torn from his chest. "When Trace was a baby. With a woman named Caroline. I... I fell in love with her. Loved her more than I ever knew it was possible to love another person."
The confession hit me like a physical blow. My father, who I'd seen as weak but fundamentally decent, had betrayed his family in the most fundamental way possible.
"Why?" The question came out harsher than I'd intended, but I couldn't process this revelation without understanding it.