Page 82 of Kylie

I followed behind them, listening for sounds coming from upstairs. There weren’t any. Not yet, anyway.

Travis unlocked the sideboard in his office and pulled out the glass decanter of scotch. We’d taken to locking it up as soon as Kate was old enough to start snooping. Since Travis kept the office door closed and locked when he wasn’t in there, it was double-secured.

While Travis got three glasses out, Kylie took a seat on the leather couch on the far side of the room. She kicked off her shoes—a pair of simple white tennis shoes that didn’t feel like her at all—and then tucked her legs beneath her while she waited.

“You okay?” I prompted as I joined her, choosing to sit in one of the matching leather armchairs.

“I honestly don’t know how to answer that.”

“I can only imagine.”

Her gaze met mine. “I truly hope you can’t.”

I could feel her pain, knew the memories of what happened were fresh. She was different, understandably so.

“But I will get better,” she whispered. A single tear followed those words, so I wasn’t sure I believed her.

Travis delivered the squat crystal glasses, each containing two fingers of scotch. I took one even though I didn’t really want it. I didn’t want anything to dull my senses, not even a little, but I figured it couldn’t hurt. As it was, I was consumed by a myriad of emotions: fear, elation, sadness, just to name a few.

Kylie was alive, which altered the course of our existence yet again, and while I was grateful and hopeful, I knew this wasn’t going to be an easy road.

For any of us.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Thursday, October 6, 2022

Kylie

Not since the day I woke up from the coma had I come out of sleep peacefully. Once they locked me in that house, I’d merely drifted on the edge of consciousness, never fully giving in to sleep for fear I wouldn’t wake up ever again.

Now … here…

The sounds and scents—so familiar, yet still foreign—brought me out of slumber with a sense of security I hadn’t felt in far too long. I went to sleep last night with Travis and Gage after asking them if it was all right to share their bed. I probably should’ve slept in the guest room downstairs, but I didn’t want to be alone. They had both looked at me as though I’d lost my mind, but I couldn’t help it. The house, the people, it all felt like my life, but not. I wasn’t sure that made any sense, but it was as though I was a puzzle piece and they were the puzzle. I belonged, but I hadn’t quite gotten to the place where I would connect with the other pieces.

Granted, I’d only been home for a few hours, so maybe in the coming days, weeks, months, I would feel differently.

“You awake?” Travis mumbled behind me, his breath fanning my hair.

“Yes.”

He moved in closer, one arm under my head, the other draped over my hip. It wasn’t the position we’d gone to sleep in, but at some point, I had settled against him, yearning for the warmth and security I’d always associated with him.

As we lay there in the quiet of the morning, I appreciated that he didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to. Although I wasn’t quite comfortable walking back into my life after all this time, being here with him … it was as natural as breathing.

“Kieran texted me last night,” Travis relayed. “He said he could bring the clothes you had at the⁠—”

“I don’t want them,” I interrupted abruptly.

Travis’s arms banded more tightly around me, and I forced myself to relax, snuggling back against him. I knew that my things were gone because I’d seen the closet last night when Travis went into it to get me one of his T-shirts to sleep in. It was strange to see, but I understood. They thought I was dead. Why would they hang on to that stuff and suffer that loss again and again when they saw it? Did it hurt? Yeah. It did. To know that they had moved on without me…

I drew in a deep breath, shoving the thought aside. There was no reason to dwell on the things I couldn’t change. Not right now, anyway. I had to take this one breath at a time.

“I’ll let him know. Right after I…”

“He’s not to blame,” I said when Travis trailed off.

“The hell he’s not.”