She nods.“That’s all anyone can ask.”
She doesn’t know that trying means relearning how to sleep without jolting awake, relearning how to walk into a room without scanning for exits, relearning how to let someone touch me without expecting pain.
Now I live in Medina, Washington—a place where the water glitters and the trees guard sprawling estates that look carved out of another world.The mansion feels unreal, with glass walls that let the morning light pour in and views of Lake Washington that stretch like forever.It’s surreal.It’s absurd.And it’s mine—or rather, ours.Eddie’s.Barret’s.And mine.
“I’m not the same girl who walked into his house terrified of every shadow,” I tell my therapist, my voice shaking just a little.“And I’m not the same woman who ran from Eddie and Barret because I thought love would undo me.I’ve been undone before.I know what it feels like.And now I know I can put myself back together.”
She doesn’t interrupt.She lets me say it out loud, lets me hear the proof in my own voice.
“I’m not just surviving anymore,” I continue.“I’m learning how to live.To laugh again.To trust.To let them touch me without flinching.To walk into a room and not be afraid of what’s waiting.”My throat tightens, but I push through.“I’m still healing, but I’m not trapped in the past.I’m ...here—I’m here.”
The therapist writes something down, her expression soft, but I don’t need her notes to validate it.I feel the truth of it in my bones.For the first time in years, I can look at my life and not see Dorian’s fingerprints smeared all over it.
“You sound different today,” she says, setting the pen aside.“What do you think has changed?”
“I’m facing my fears.”I let out a shaky breath.“When I walked away from Eddie and Barret, I told myself it was because I wasn’t ready.But the truth is, I was terrified.Love felt like giving someone the blade that could cut me open.I thought if I ran, I’d be safe.”My throat tightens.“But running didn’t protect me.It led me straight into Dorian’s hands.And with him ...survival became everything.Every move I made, every word I spoke—it was all about keeping him from snapping.I didn’t realize how much of myself I was erasing just to stay alive.”
Her eyes soften.“And now?”
“Now I know love isn’t what destroys me.Fear is.”My voice cracks, but I push through.“Fear of being hurt.Fear of not being enough.Fear of losing myself again.Eddie and Barret—they don’t take from me.They give.They remind me I can be more than what Dorian left behind.”
Her smile is small, encouraging.“That’s growth, Cleo.Not forgetting what happened, but building something new in spite of it.”
Tears sting my eyes, but they don’t feel like weakness.“Yes.I’m not just surviving anymore,” I whisper.“I’m living.I’m learning how to laugh again.To trust.To let them touch me without flinching.To walk into a room and not be afraid of what’s waiting.I’m still healing, but I’m not trapped in the past.I’m here.I’m here.”
She nods, her voice steady.“And that’s enough—for now.Healing isn’t a finish line, Cleo.It’s something we keep building, piece by piece.The important thing is, you’re not building alone anymore.”
I close my eyes for a moment, and their faces come to mind.Eddie, with the guarded walls he lowers only when he’s looking at me, his laugh cutting through the silence of the house in a way that makes me forget how long I lived without it.He protects us not with grand gestures but in the little ways—checking the locks twice before bed, making the late-night calls I can’t bring myself to dial, standing between me and the world when it tries to press too close.
And then there’s Barret.He doesn’t need to speak much for me to feel him beside me.He’s the one who notices the small things—the way he makes sure there’s tea waiting when I can’t sleep, or the quiet way he brushes his hand against mine at the table just to remind me I’m not alone.I never thought I’d be allowed to lean on anyone like that, to let someone see me break and trust they’d still hold me.
I left them once because I thought love was a danger.But now they’re the ones teaching me that love can be a shelter, a place where I don’t have to be afraid.With them, I’m not erasing myself to survive.I’m learning how to live.
A shaky smile pulls at my lips.“You’re right.I’m not building alone anymore.I have them.My guys.”
When the session ends, I drive back along the winding streets of Medina, past the hedges that guard other lives of impossible wealth, until I reach the gates of the house.The place that feels like the beginning of our lives.
Inside, laughter carries faintly from the kitchen—Eddie’s sharp wit, Barret’s deep rumble.The sound tangles together, warm and alive, and my heart stumbles in my chest.
I push open the door, and they look up at me like I’m the only thing that matters.
And in this life—finally—I believe it.
Barret’s Epilogue
Six months later ...
The sticks crack against the snare, rattling the glass of the control room window.Alec’s anger is in every hit, a rhythm that doesn’t just keep time but threatens to splinter the song apart if he pushes too far.Across the room, Dexter’s fingers glide over the keys, threading a darker mood over Alec’s fire.Together, it’s jagged and unpolished, but beneath the rough edges I can hear what it could become.
They’re thinking about starting a band.We still have to find a few more members if this happen, but every time I open auditions neither one of them shows up to hold them.I end up forming new bands or referring those poor bastards to someone who is serious about being in the biz.My friends ...somedays they don’t even know what they want for breakfast.
“Too fast,” I bark into the talkback mic, my voice filling the live room.“You’re not racing anyone, Alec.Let the track breathe.”
He shoots me a glare, sweat dripping down his temple, drumsticks hovering midair.“I feel it faster.”
“Yeah, and that’s why it sounds like shit,” I shoot back, leaning forward to adjust a fader.“Feel it, sure.But control it.Otherwise you’re just pounding your rage into wood and hoping someone calls it music.”
Dexter smirks without looking up, his fingers walking over the keys.“Told you he’d say that.”
