Page 127 of Love Bleeds Red
Jasper: You sly dog. Why am I hearing from my mom that you’re back and staying in MY HOUSE?! I’m genuinely hurt.
Damon: He really is. I think he cried but he tried to hide it saying he ate something spicy. Bullshit. He eats his mom’s wings no issue… man can handle spice.
Me: I’m sorry, don’t be pissed off. I wanted to see how Bailey’s doing. Plus, we talk every day. I know you guys are fine.
Jasper: You love her more than me, I know it
Me: Umm… I’d hope so
Jasper: Well you better keep your hands to yourself… PG rating
Damon: You know that’s not going to happen
Me: Sooo some scenes may be unsuitable for children, then? Which means…
Jasper: Keep that pierced monster away from my sister
Me: ;)
Damon: I’m gonna have to mute this group chat, aren’t I?
It’sodd living in Jasper and Damon’s old room after everything that’s happened. It’s almost like fitting myself into a pair of shoes that are too small. The person I was two years ago when we’d go to parties and goof off, he feels so far away. Being near Bailey is the only thing that helps me find pieces of him again.
Since I arrived a few days ago, I’ve settled into the rhythm of the house. I get some work done early in the morning, taking calls from the team I hired to oversee the estate project. They know I want to be as hands off as possible in the majority of the planning. Some things just hit too close to home.
Bailey’s parents wake up around seven, when I’ve already been up for hours. I can hear their muffled conversations through the ceiling as they get ready for work. Mr. Shea leaves first. His truck rumbling to life in the driveway gives him away. Followed by Mrs. Shea about an hour later. The house settles into quiet after that, except for Bailey.
She’s usually up by eight, sometimes earlier if she’s had a rough night. I’ve learned to recognize the difference between her normal morning sounds and the aftermath of a sleepless night.On bad days, she moves more carefully, her footsteps barely audible. Almost like she’s afraid to take up space. But on good days, I’ll catch her humming as she makes breakfast, shuffling around the kitchen like old times.
I hope today is a good day.
I finish my call with the contractors. They went on about soundproofing the therapy rooms for way too long. With my laptop closed and calls finished for the day, the guilt that’s become my constant companion settles heavier in my chest. Every conversation about the Firefly Center reminds me why we’re building it. Reminds me of all the people my father hurt. All the people I couldn’t save.
But being with Bailey is helping. When I see her laugh at something ridiculous on her phone, her face lighting up, it feels like forgiveness. Like all the violence I committed, all the lines I crossed, led to something worthwhile.
My phone buzzes with a text from Falin. Another update about Brotherhood arrests. She’s been tracking them obsessively, sending me screenshots of news articles and mugshots like trophies. Seventeen have been arrested so far. Five were found dead in their holding cells—apparent suicides days before their arraignments, though we all know what that really means. The empire is crumbling from within. Exactly what we planned for.
Falin: They got Fairfax! Although, I think he’ll get out on bail. I’m keeping an eye on it.
I click out of the message, feeling hollow. It’s ridiculous. I should feel some amount of satisfaction with each arrest. But justice doesn’t bring back the lives lost. It doesn’t erase what Bailey went through. It doesn’t make my blood any less Colter.
Footsteps creak overhead. Bailey’s awake. Warmth spreads through my chest knowing I get to go upstairs and see her. That’s a feeling I’ll never take for granted again.
I listen to her move around up there while I use the bathroom and get dressed in some casual sweats and a T-shirt. She’s making her way to the kitchen, and from the soft sound of cabinets opening and closing, I’d bet she was making herself something to eat. Some might call me creepy, I know I’ve definitely called out Damon for hisobservance, but I’ve memorized her patterns, learned to read subtle changes to judge her mood. I think it’s a skill I’ve always possessed but I’ve honed it in lately.
The difference is intent, I tell myself. Damon watched Blake to possess her. I watch Bailey to protect her. I can picture his expression if I ever threw that comment his way. It’s all out of love.
I head upstairs, taking the steps slowly so she knows I’m coming. No surprises, no sudden appearances. The other day I made the mistake of showing up in the living room while she was reading and she jumped out of her skin. Now, I’m sure to step on every creaky floorboard to announce my arrival.
When I reach the kitchen, she’s standing by the window holding a steaming mug. The morning sunlight catches the auburn highlights in her hair that lighten even more in the summertime. She’s wearing Sanrio pajama pants and the oversized sweatshirt she snagged from my bag the other day while I was unpacking. Seeing her wrapped in my clothes does something to my chest that makes it hard to breathe normally.
“Morning,” I say softly.
She turns, and her face breaks into a sleepy smile that I want to capture on paper. “Morning. I made hot water if you want some tea.”
I glance at the counter and see the chamomile tea bags scattered next to a plate with toast crumbs. “Thanks.” I pour myself a mug, noting her choices. She’s never been a coffee person. I’ve seen her drink boba tea a few times and a matcha once when we stopped at the coffee shop in town. But I’m sure the herbal teas are good for her anxiety. I figure I’ll have the same. As much as I love a strong cup of black tea, she hates the smell.
“How’d you sleep?” I ask, settling at the kitchen table but leaving space between us. I’m always conscious of the distance between us now, reading her body language for signs that I’m too close.
