The air between us hums with it, too alive to ignore.And I believe letting go might save me more than holding on ever did.
ChapterEighteen
Cleo
Morning casts a pale stripe across the ceiling.The door remains slightly open, just the way I like it.The house breathes in and out in the quiet, private way of places that have been lived in for so long they seem to forget to be watched.I pull on a knitted sweater and worn jeans that feel like forgiveness.This time, I slide into flats instead of the fuzzy socks I keep meaning to toss.
The hallway smells of cedar and something warm—toast, maybe, or a pan left on low.Voices rise from the kitchen.Eddie stands barefoot at the stove, tilting a kettle.Barret is hunched at the island, tuning a guitar, hair still damp.He looks up when I enter and smiles in that crooked way that should be illegal for people to do.“Morning, princess.”
Eddie lifts his chin.“You sleep through after the second nightmare?”
I nod.
The first one woke me up, and they started running.The second also startled me awake, but when I opened my eyes, they were already in the bedroom.With their arms around me, I finally managed to rest for the rest of the night.
“Did you sleep at all?”I ask.
They both nod.
“To be honest, it’d be easier if we all slept in the same bed,” Barret casually suggests, proving he’s a man who measures a life by what’s comfortable.
“We’re not pressuring her,” Eddie says softly, but there’s no sharpness in it—only care.
Barret lifts his hands in surrender while I say, “I wouldn’t mind.”And then I sigh because it’s more than that.
“Say what you really feel, Cleo,” Barret urges.“We can’t get past anything if we keep bottling it.”
Then, it hit me: the man who usually lets most things slide is the one pushing for answers, for change, for more.That new twist in him is beautiful and a little terrifying.
I study them, then ask, “What changed?”
“Excuse me?”Eddie asks, eyes narrowing with curiosity.
“You two ...the dynamic is different,” I say, watching them both.
“Different—good, or different, like, let me out of here?”Barret asks, half-teasing, half-cautious.
“Different—” I repeat more carefully—“You seem ...more grown-up, somehow.Eddie’s letting you lead more.He’s stepping back from being Boss-in-Chief.”
Eddie grins because he will always joke when things are raw.“I’m still in charge, baby,” he winks.“Just delegating.”
Barret shrugs.“He’ll never let go of everything.We’re figuring out a balance.I hope you’ll be ready to be part of that balance someday.”
I want to say it would be amazing.I want to mean it.Instead, I hold the sentence in my mouth like something fragile, a piece of glass that might shatter if I breathe wrong.
“Why don’t we eat before anyone spirals?”Eddie suggests.
“I’m not spiraling,” I protest.
He shrugs, but it’s gentle.“I want to believe you.If you need to talk, we’re here—and?—”
“The therapist?”I cut him off.
Eddie nods.
“What if I want to leave?Go home?”Not that I know where home is.The last time I was at my apartment was before I agreed to date Dorian.After that, he never let me go back home.
There was always an excuse, a trip, my mother ...fuck, my mom.I don’t even know if she’s colluding with Dorian or if she’s a victim like I was.
