Page 53 of The Promises We Broke
I laughed, the sound surprising me with how genuine it felt. "You comparing me to a traumatized horse?"
"I'm comparing you to a survivor who's learning to trust again."
We sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, watching Bullet graze near the fence while the sun climbed higher. It was peaceful in a way I hadn't experienced since coming home. No pressure to talk about feelings or make amends or prove I'd changed. Just two brothers sitting in the morning quiet, sharing space without needing to fill it with words.
"Billie's been watching your sessions," Booker said eventually.
"So Laura mentioned."
"That bother you?"
I considered the question honestly. A month ago, the idea of Billie watching me struggle through physical therapy would have felt like exposure, like being caught in my weakness. Now it felt like... care. Like maybe she was invested in my recovery for reasons that went beyond professional duty.
"No," I said finally. "I think it bothers her more than it bothers me."
"Because she's trying not to care."
"Because she's trying to protect herself from caring too much." I finished my water and set the bottle aside. "Can't say I blame her for that."
Booker studied my profile for a moment. "You sound different."
"Different how?"
"Hopeful. Like you actually believe good things might happen."
I turned that over in my mind, testing it for truth. Was I hopeful? The Gage who'd arrived in Willowbrook six weeks ago had been focused entirely on survival. And not just physical recovery, but basic family reconciliation, getting through each day without causing more damage. Somewhere along the way, survival had transformed into something bigger.
"You thinking about asking Billie to help with the renovation?" Booker's question was casual, but I could hear the underlying curiosity.
"I'm thinking about taking it slow," I said carefully. "She knows about the house. Saw the potential underneath all the mess I made with my demolition project. But pushing for more than friendship right now would be stupid. She offered friendship, and that's what I'm going to focus on earning."
"And if she's never ready?"
The question should have terrified me, but it didn't. Not the way it would have even two weeks ago.
"Then I'll have a house I restored myself, in a town I once loved, surrounded by family who want me here." I shrugged, surprised by how genuine the acceptance felt. "That's not exactly a consolation prize."
Booker smiled. It was the first completely unguarded smile he'd given me since I'd been back. "You really are different."
"Working on it."
"No," he said, clapping me on the shoulder. "You already are."
As I made my way back toward Booker's guest house that had become my temporary home, I carried that assessment with me. Different. Hopeful. Someone building a future instead of just surviving the present.
It wasn't the future I'd dreamed of as a seventeen-year-old kid who thought love conquered everything. But it was real and solid and mine in a way that felt sustainable.
And if Billie decided she wanted to be part of it, as a friend or something more, then we'd figure out how to build it together.
But if she didn't, I'd still have something worth keeping.
That felt like progress worth celebrating.
Chapter 18
Billie
The rehabilitation center's observation window had the perfect view of the main therapy room. Perfect for monitoring patient progress, ensuring proper technique, and definitely not for watching your former patient work with his new therapist while your heart did uncomfortable things in your chest.
