Chapter 60 Garrett
Garrett
The second I saw who was messaging me, I didn’t even wait to read it or risk raising suspicion. I casually walked upstairs to one of the bathrooms on the third floor, locking the door behind me.
Only then did I look.
It was a risk, but Aslan was messaging me on a Saturday night, and I needed to know why.
The second he wrote that we had to talk, my heart began to hammer violently against my chest. If Dr. Graves had been watching me right now, he would’ve locked me up.
When I typed back that I was alone, I expected another message.
Instead, he called.
Was he out of his mind?
This could have gotten me into so much trouble.
“What the hell are you calling me for?”
There was a breath on the other end. Unsteady.
“I miss you.”
His voice was shaky. Vulnerable.
And just like that, I was undone.
Three words.
That’s all it took for the wall to crack straight down the middle again.
“This isn’t funny,” I said, but the anger was already dissolving.
“I’m not joking,” he replied. “I know you’re with Trisha. I know I’m getting closer to Aitor. I know everything you think I don’t understand. I don’t even know what I feel, Garrett. I just… I miss you.”
My hand tightened around the edge of the marble sink.
“I wait for you,” he continued. “And I don’t know why. I don’t know if it’s physical or emotional or just fucked up. I just know I’ve never felt like this before.”
My chest felt like it was being crushed from the inside.
“And if there’s even one chance,” he said, voice cracking now, “just tell me. If there’s any way we could ever be… that’s what I want.”
I closed my eyes.
Because the truth was, I wanted it too.
“Aslan,” I said slowly, forcing control into my voice because if I didn’t, I was gonna shatter. “I don’t know what this has been between us. I don’t know what you feel. I don’t even know what I feel. I just know I want you near me. I know I crave you. I know right now I wanna get in my fucking car and drive to wherever you are.”
There was a sharp inhale on the other end.
“But this cannot be emotional,” I continued. “It can’t be more than what it was... My family won't allow it.”
Silence fell between us, heavy and alive.
“You’re twenty-one,” he said quietly. “No one can control you.”
“You don’t understand,” I replied, sharper than I intended. “My parents aren’t just strict. They are powerful. They believe this is a defect. They believe it’s something that can be corrected.”
“Garr–”
“I’ve made mistakes. I have a history… And now, they have legal authority over my medical care,” I said. “They’ve already intervened once. They can make me disappear again.”
“C'mon… You can't be serious. You're fucking with me now, right?”
“I’m not.”
My reflection in the mirror looked pale. Younger than I was.
“They can hurt me,” I said more quietly. “And they can hurt you. You don’t know them the way I do.”
Silence again.
“I won't let them hurt you. And if you care about me,” I forced myself to say, “you’ll do the same for me.”
The words felt like swallowing glass.
“Whatever this is that you feel for me, it has to end. And whatever I feel for you… it can’t go any further.”
He didn’t speak.
I could hear him breathing.
“I’m sorry,” I added, because it wasn’t enough and it was everything at once. “Please, Aslan, if you care about me, let me go.”
The line stayed open for a moment too long before it went dead.
For a second I just stood there, staring at my own reflection as if I didn’t recognize the person looking back.
Then my hands started shaking.
Not subtly. Not controllably.
My fingers trembled so hard I had to grip the edge of the marble counter to steady myself. My chest felt tight, too tight, like something inside it was expanding past capacity. Air refused to go in properly.
My pulse was everywhere—throat, wrists, temples. My vision narrowed slightly at the edges. I pressed the heel of my hand against my sternum like I could physically push the sensation back inside.
If this was only physical, then why did it feel like something had been ripped out of me the moment I told him to go? And why did I feel like I was dying now?
The realization hit harder than the call itself.
I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, trying to regulate my breathing the way Graves had drilled into me.
Four in.
Hold.
Six out.
Again.
Again.
My gaze dropped to my wrist as the faint scars caught the light.
Not now.
I could not fall apart again.
They were all waiting downstairs.
I pushed myself to my feet, turned on the tap, and splashed cold water onto my face. The shock of it forced my nervous system into submission. I stared at myself again until the trembling reduced to something manageable.
Just a couple more hours.
You can do this.
You have done worse.
I inhaled slowly, straightened my jacket, and opened the door with a composed expression already in place.
When I stepped back into the sitting room, no one looked up with suspicion. Coffee was being poured. Cards were being shuffled… I took my seat beside Trisha and let my hand rest casually on her knee.
“Everything alright?” she asked quietly.
“Fine,” I replied with a smile.
She nodded, satisfied.
We played two rounds of cards, and I contributed at the appropriate moments, even won once with my usual cocky attitude. Might as well make it believable.
The entire time, my mother kept Trisha locked in conversation about everything from her father’s board affiliations to Christmas plans. She even tried dragging Olivia into it.
I could tell my sister was rolling her eyes on the inside, and probably worried about me too by the way she kept looking at me to make sure I was gonna make it through this, so I gave her a reassuring smile—I was very good at those.
Trisha, blissfully clueless, leaned into me at one point and whispered that she was having fun. I kissed her temple, almost grateful that she was every mother’s dream. Even mine.
That would make things a hell of a lot easier.
When Trisha finally rose to leave, the entire family performed the hugging and bullshit ritual before the door even opened. My mother obviously invited her to the next dinner, and she obviously accepted.
I walked Trisha outside then, and I almost felt bad that she looked so genuinely happy with me, when I felt so fucking miserable with her.
But then again, she probably got the better end of the deal.
“I really had a great time,” she said.
“Me too,” I lied.
I kissed her. Least I could do after she survived my mother for three consecutive hours.
“Drive safe.”
I stood there until her headlights disappeared down the drive, then turned and walked back inside.
My mother was waiting in the foyer.
“I like her,” she said.
“I’m glad,” I answered. “She likes you as well. Thank you for inviting her.”
There it was again—that faint satisfaction in her expression. Approval earned.
“Get some rest,” she said. “Church tomorrow.”
“Yes, Mother.”
I went to my room without another word and lay down in the dark, staring at the ceiling.
My mind was blank.
Not calm or peaceful.
Blank.
Minutes passed. Maybe an hour before old habits kicked in.
I got up, slipped quietly into the hallway, and walked the familiar path I used to take when I was eight and Mother was having one of her episodes. I stopped outside Olivia’s room and knocked softly.
It opened almost immediately.
She didn’t look surprised.
She just stepped aside.
I walked in and sat on the edge of her bed for a second before lying back, staring at the ceiling, and finally letting the tears slide down my face.
No holding it in. No regulation. No measured breathing.
Just quiet, steady breaking.
She lay down beside me without a word and pulled me into her arms, holding me there until the shaking eased and the worst of it passed.
Then I told her everything.
Even the part I was still trying to deny.
She listened without interrupting, her expression shifting from worry to something steadier. Stronger.
“Do you trust me, Garr?”
“I do.”
“Then I need you to listen carefully,” she said. “Because I have an idea.”