I also find an entry about his suicide attempt.
The tears don’t stop running down my cheeks as I read it.
"I owe your life to Ennio… and you owe mine… to Jared."
Bay is sitting on the couch, quietly playing his guitar, a plaintive, sorrow-tinged melody. He lifts his gaze, and his eyes hold a vast, endless sadness.
"What a tragic symmetry there was between us,” he says softly. "We lived for others, because there was nothing left ofus."
I walk over to him and wrap my arms around him. I cry quietly, and his eyes grow wet as well.
But I believe that every day will bring us a little more cleansing from this pain we carried for so many years, and I know that Bay and I will never stop working toward that.
???
By the end of the week, I visit Blue and tell him I want to try going off Compatron for a week, just as a test.
Blue thinks it over, nods, and says, "Okay. True Mate magic can do incredible things. If it can regrow missing organs, it can certainly fix altered DNA. I’m all for it. Let’s pause Compatron."
He glances at me with a smile and adds, "By the way, you brought millions to our company, Alex. Compatron, in tiny amounts, is a powerful anti-allergy medication. It’s already causing a sensation on the market."
"Does that mean I get a share at Malden Pharmaceuticals?"
Blue snorts but shoots me a wink. "Who knows, who knows!"
On the drive back with Bay, we talk about going off Compatron. We both feel a bit uneasy, but in the end, we agree to the plan.
The next few days are tense. I keep searching Bay’s scent for the return of that metallic note that once pushed us apart, that burning feeling that came with touch, that wave of revulsion that separated us for years. But nothing comes back. A week goes by, then a second, and the only symptoms I feel are… the first signs of pregnancy.
My body changes, becoming more sensitive, and my sex drive shoots up even higher. I get needy and clingy, feeling like I literally need to glue myself to Bay. And he seems to get it. He doesn’t push me away. He arranges his work and his travel for concerts in a way that lets him spend as much time with me as possible, or so I can go with him.
Sometimes I worry I might get in the way of his career, but I notice that Bay is running it in a way that doesn’t consume his whole life. Maybe that’s why his career never hits the global level. He’s well known in the country, especially in the south, but because he limits the number of shows he performs, his level of fame stays steady. And frankly, I’m fine with that. I don’t think I could handle being the partner of a superstar who can’t even leave the house without being swarmed by fans or paparazzi. Bay’s moderate fame is more than enough for me, and financially we have nothing to complain about.
Still, during that first month I get a growing feeling that something is missing. We live in this happy bubble with Bay, our daily life getting smoother, easier, almost effortless. I feel more and more relaxed, allowing myself to believe this is how things will stay, that nothing new will threaten us. Week by week, that belief grows, solidifying into something tangible.
When I wake up beside him in the morning, when I curl up against him, I feel it. That slow, steady settling of safety in my soul, expanding until it fills me completely. I start to believe, truly believe, that the world we are building will be safe for our child, at least the small part of it we can control.
One day Bay has to stop by his tiny house to grab a few pieces of music equipment. He says he’ll stay for two hours for a quick lunch with his family. I love him for not saying a word about the weirdness of our isolation; he doesn’t push me to go with him. Bay absolutely respects the space I asked for.
And yet the second he gets into the car, something tightens in my stomach, some strange anxiety, like something is spinning inside me and wants to break free.
For all four years of high school I was at the Nolans’ house almost every day. I was practically one of their own, growing up while watching them grow up too. Those four years really shaped me and meant a lot, and Lake was like a stand-in parent for me at times.
Meanwhile, I’m here, dating his son for so many weeks and still doing nothing about it. I’m hiding, crouching in my little cave of safety and shyness.
I grit my teeth in a sudden burst of reckless impulse, pull on a purple hoodie that brings out my eyes, put on loose pants covered in purple and green patterns, and call an Uber.
As I ride to their house, everything comes back to me.
The past, that first time I walked into their home, shocked at how big Bay’s family was, amazed at how different the brotherswere from each other, but I watched all of it with curiosity and admiration. I was surprised by the way Lake and Aiden built such a beautiful family despite all their problems and differences, held together by this powerful bond, the one tie that kept everything connected.
Forty minutes later, the car pulls into the Nolans’ driveway. My heart is pounding, and my throat is dry.
The gate is open, so the vehicle stops inside, right in front of Bay’s tiny house.
I step out and look around, stunned at how much has changed. The little house I helped pick and design is still beautiful and well kept, though now surrounded by new, lush greenery. Bay lived here for years, but he kept its original spirit alive. I notice the windows are dark, so he’s probably in the main house with his parents.
To my surprise, on the other side of the property, I spot another tiny house. From far away I can see two figures sitting on its small porch, watching in my direction, but a wave of shyness keeps me from going toward them.
