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We’d been working on it together, picking out paint and furniture.
When Alaric said he was going to put up built-in bookshelves in the living room—despite the fact that he didn’t enjoy reading—I had debated styles and trim and paint colors with him.
When I’d come back from a walk to find that he’d set up one of the guest rooms as a little makeshift studio for me to start my photography business, I knew I would never be leaving.
Maybe to some people, it would feel too fast. To meet and fall and move in so soon.
I knew my mom would have alotto say about it, for one.
But this wasn’t their lives.
We knew what we had.
We knew where we wanted things to go.
There was no going back.
Kylo was right.
“How’s your place doing?” I asked, knowing he’d been working on it little by little. Like me, mostly just clearing it out.
He didn’t plan on staying somewhere that he’d been beaten and shot, where he’d been sure he was going to bleed to death all alone, with no one to care.
Our landlord would be over the moon when we left, knowing how much the rents had risen around the area, and not being able to cash in on that with our lease agreements.
When I’d talked to him about it, about the potential for sub-letting it until my lease was up, he was all-too-happy to break the lease early, and even give me my security deposit back, despite all the changes I made. I could practically see dollar signs in his eyes at the news.
Kylo had a little longer to go than I did, since he was moving much slower. Alaric and I had been over twice, trying to do the heavy lifting for him, but there was still a lot he needed to handle himself.
And, unlike me, he had to find a new place.
“Yeah,” I agreed, releasing a slow, deep breath.
“It’s nice seeing you happy,” Kylo said. “He’s a good man,” he added.
“The best,” I agreed.
“You nervous about giving all this up?” he asked.
“Surprisingly, no,” I admitted.
“When it’s right, it’s right,” he said, nodding. “And you get a whole new family with that crew,” he added.
I did.
I’d always loved the concept of “found family.” I ate it up in films and in books. But fiction paled in comparison to what it was like to have it for yourself.
In the days following my attack, I had endless visitors. Mostly the women in the club, dropping by to check on me, to do little tasks around the house like laundry and dishes, not wanting me to have to lift a finger.
The men showed up too, spending most of their time outside. Building a fence for Frida.
And Eddie, of course, was an ever-present fixture in our kitchen. Cooking. Or simply dropping off food. And, yeah, adding supplies to it that we desperately needed.
I’d never felt quite so loved and cared for as I did while I’d been hurting and recovering at Alaric’s home.
It was everything I’d been craving my whole life, a piece I hadn’t really realized had been missing.
A deep sort of peace had settled inside of me, chasing away some of the anxieties that used to plague me endlessly.
