Page 89 of Was I Ever Free

I drop the smile, my heart suddenly too big for my chest. “You—you’d build me a house?” I whisper, then, a little more cautiously, I add, “For us?”

He nods, settling back in his chair, his gaze a lot more intense than a few seconds ago. Grabbing my hand, he rubs it distractedly. He seems to mull something over before speaking again. “Would you believe me if I told you that I saw our future, Luce?”

I blink back at him a few times, wondering if I heard him right. “You—you saw…ourfuture?”

He shrugs trying to look nonchalant but he’s clearly nervous as he pulls out a cigarette and lights it. “I mean, who knows what I saw? It’s just—” He drags his hand over his face. “There’s just too many coincidences adding up to ignore it.” Then Bastian tells me all about his last overdose when he was eighteen, the resulting itemized list, and how those same objects started to appear on the road trip. “That map you brought with you was the first thing,” he says with a shy half-grin. “I ignored it, but then I saw you in that store trying on your baby blue cowboy hat and it felt like…” His gaze lands on the crashing waves for a beat, then back on me, his expression serious yet so open. “It felt like fate.”

It shouldn’t make sense, still, I’m left with this overwhelming sense of nostalgia. My tears well up, my bottom lip trembling while I continue to listen to Bastian speak.

“What I’m trying to say is that I think… this whole time I was being led here—to you.” He sighs, looking out to the water, his cigarette still hanging loosely between two fingers, which he then stubs in the ashtray. Taking a hold of my hand again, his thumb caressing the top, he stares at our joined hands for a beat, then looks up, his gaze searching. “Luce… I think I loved you before I ever met you,” he says so quietly I barely catch it.

My palm flattens over my mouth, a sob filtering through my fingers while I sit with what Bastian just confessed. He keeps his gaze steady, but I can detect uncertainty in his body language while he waits for me to compose myself long enough to speak.

“What did you just say?” I can’t help the disbelief laced in my voice, half convincing myself that I just made it all up.

“I said I love you, Lucy,” he says with a slight huff. I can tell that being this vulnerable is making him uncomfortable, so I unfurl from my position and step forward, falling into his lap. His arms circle my waist, pulling me closer to his chest as I bury my nose into the crook of his neck. Pulling back, I wait until his gaze meets mine before I speak.

“I love you too, Bastian.” I feel his throat bob on a hard swallow, and I give him a watery smile. “How could I not?”

He shrugs. “A lot of reasons.” His words don’t sound self-deprecating, more factual than anything. I roll my eyes. And he gives me a sad half-grin.

“There’s also a lot of reasons why I would, you know,” I answer a little playfully because I’m suddenly so tired of always being sad.

And it’s as if Bastian picks up on it too, the mood shifting.

“Oh yeah?” he says, giving me a quick squeeze around the waist. “Like what?”

I smile, and hum, looking upwards, pretending to think. “Like you saying that you’ll build me a house near the water,” I say with a laugh.

Bastian smiles back, leaning over, and whispers, “I’ll rebuild the entire world for you Baby Blue. Just the way you want it.” His following kiss is so tender that I try my hardest not to let the tears fall again while my hands comb through his hair, then link around his neck.

It’s that kiss that solidifies it for me—that knowing feeling that the worst is finally behind us. That everythingwillbe okay. And that these words, filled with such trepidatious hope, no longer exist solely inside a half-hearted prayer. It’s a tangible thing now. Floating all around us, like a cocoon keeping us safe. If only for a little while.

Because at least now, we have each other.

And it feels like home.

When we finally pull away, Bastian leads us back inside for breakfast. I find him a few minutes later, in the bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror, a distant look in his gaze. My heart sinks thinking it’s because of his missing eye. But then he pushes his overgrown hair off his face, the roots even darker than the last time I noticed.

“What’s wrong?” I find myself saying.

He shrugs, not answering right away. “I don’t like who I look—I mean, how I look with dark hair.” His gaze finds mine through the mirror. “Want to help me bleach it?”

This simple ask shouldn’t affect me this much. But it does. Something about being welcomed in such a domestic task makes tears prick the back of my eyes. I smile, nodding slowly, then circle my arms around his waist from the back and press my cheek against his warm skin. “Of course.”

47

One year later

Ikept my promise.

I built Lucy a house near the water, a few miles down from Midnight Cove.

First, I went to rehab. Connor was adamant I’d go to the top facility in California, so I spent two months attending morning group therapy with depressed pop stars and socialites.

It was awful.

But it also helped a lot.

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