Chapter 54 Chapter 54 — Stay Here

Chapter 54 Chapter 54 — Stay Here

The house feels different when we walk back in.
Not safer.
Just closed.
The doors lock behind us with a heavier sound than usual, and for a second, nobody moves past the entryway, the tension from the courthouse still clinging to all of us like something carried in from outside.
Josh heads toward the office first without saying anything, already pulling his phone from his pocket. Mike follows close behind him, quieter now, the restless edge from earlier sharpened into something more focused.
Jake lingers near the stairs, his gaze flicking toward me before settling on Patrick instead. “You want me upstairs or down here?”
“Downstairs,” Patrick says immediately.
Jake nods once and disappears toward the kitchen.
Drew stays beside me as I slip my shoes off near the door, his hand brushing lightly against my back before falling away again.
“You should eat something.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“That’s never stopped you before.”
The corner of my mouth almost lifts at that.
Almost.
Drew notices anyway.
His expression softens just slightly before footsteps pull his attention away. Josh’s voice carries faintly from the office, low and controlled, and Mike answers with something sharper underneath it.
Already moving.
Already planning.
Patrick loosens the cuffs of his shirt slowly, his focus somewhere else entirely as he listens to the conversation drifting through the partially open office door.
“He’s calling people,” I say quietly.
Patrick’s gaze shifts to mine.
“Yes.”
“You expected this.”
“I planned for it.”
The honesty lands cleanly between us.
No softening.
No reassurance.
Just truth.
Drew studies Patrick for a second longer before stepping back toward the kitchen. “I’ll make food.”
I nod even though I know I probably won’t touch it.
The room quiets after he leaves, the silence settling differently now that it’s only the two of us standing there. Patrick watches me for a moment without speaking, his attention steady enough that I feel it before he finally steps closer.
“You held yourself together well in there.”
The words should feel simple.
They don’t.
Something tightens low in my chest instead.
“I wasn’t going to give him anything.”
“No.” His voice stays calm, certain. “You weren’t.”
I look away first, my attention drifting toward the office where Josh and Mike are still talking quietly. I can’t make out the words anymore, only the cadence.
Controlled.
Contained.
Like everyone in this house is holding the same line.
Patrick steps closer again, near enough now that the space between us disappears completely.
“He used your name on purpose.”
“I know.”
“He wanted to see if you’d react.”
My jaw tightens slightly. “I didn’t.”
His hand lifts before I fully register the movement, fingers settling lightly against my chin just long enough to turn my attention back toward him.
“No,” he says quietly. “You didn’t.”
The contact is brief.
Still grounding.
Still enough to make my pulse shift.
Patrick studies me for another second, his thumb brushing once along my jaw before his hand lowers again.
“You’re angry.”
Not a question.
I exhale slowly through my nose. “Shouldn’t I be?”
“Yes.”
The answer comes immediately.
No hesitation.
No attempt to calm it down.
Something about that cracks through the pressure that’s been sitting in my chest since the courthouse, not enough to break it open, just enough to let me breathe around it.
“I hate that he still thinks he can do this,” I admit quietly. “That he can still reach into my life whenever he wants.”
Patrick’s expression hardens slightly at that, something colder settling behind his eyes.
“He can’t.”
“He already is.”
“Not for much longer.”
The certainty in his voice pulls my attention back to him completely.
Not confidence.
Decision.
“You sound very sure of that.”
“I am.”
There’s something dangerous in the calm way he says it, something controlled enough to make it worse instead of better.
“What are you going to do?” I ask.
His gaze holds mine for a second longer before he answers. “Whatever’s necessary.”
A chill works slowly down my spine.
Not fear.
Recognition.
Patrick notices it immediately.
His hand settles lightly against my waist this time, grounding instead of restraining, and when he speaks again, his voice lowers slightly.
“You don’t have to carry this alone anymore.”
The words land harder than they should.
Because I realize he means them.
Not just now.
Not just today.
Always.
My fingers curl slightly against the front of his shirt before I fully think about it, and his attention drops briefly to the movement before returning to my face.
“You’re shaking,” he says quietly.
I didn’t notice until he said it.
Now I can’t stop noticing.
“Adrenaline,” I answer.
“Maybe.”
His thumb brushes slowly against my waist once.
Then again.
Steady.
Intentional.
Grounding.
The tension in my shoulders starts to loosen before I can stop it, exhaustion settling in beneath everything else now that we’re home and the waiting part is over.
Patrick sees that too.
He always sees too much.
“Come upstairs.”
The words aren’t demanding.
They still feel impossible to ignore.
I follow him anyway.
The house stays quiet around us as we move, voices carrying faintly from downstairs, drawers opening somewhere in the kitchen, the familiar rhythm of people I trust continuing underneath everything else.
Patrick’s room is darker than the hallway when he opens the door, the late afternoon light cutting across the floor in long shadows as he steps inside and waits for me to follow.
The door closes softly behind us.
Not locked.
Just closed.
For a second,d neither of us speaks.
Then Patrick reaches for me again, slower this time, his hand settling against my waist before pulling me carefully toward him.
No rush.
No hesitation.
Just certainty.
My hands slide against his chest, fingers curling lightly into the fabric of his shirt as his forehead rests briefly against mine.
The contact shouldn’t feel as intimate as it does.
It does anyway.
“You stayed steady in there,” he says quietly.
“So did you.”
A faint shift touches his mouth, not quite a smile.
“I had less to lose.”
Something in my chest tightens at that.
“You really believe that?”
“Yes.”
The answer comes too easily.
Before I can think better of it, I kiss him.
The movement surprises both of us for half a second before Patrick’s hand tightens slightly at my waist, and he kisses me back, controlled at first, measured in the same way everything about him is measured.
Then deeper.
Still not rushed.
Still deliberating.
But no longer restrained by distance.
I feel the moment his control slips just slightly, not enough to lose it completely, just enough to let me see it’s there.
That it always was.
His hand slides up my back slowly, steady and grounding as he pulls me closer, and the tension that’s been wrapped around me since this morning finally starts to loosen piece by piece beneath his hands.
Not gone.
Just quieter.
Patrick breaks the kiss first.
Barely.
His forehead rests against mine again as his breathing steadies.
“This isn’t over,” he says softly.
I already know that.
I nod anyway.
His thumb brushes once against my jaw before he kisses me again, slower this time, like neither of us needs the reminder anymore.
Downstairs, a door closes somewhere in the house.
Voices carry faintly through the floor.
Life continuing.
But up here, with his hands steady against me and his attention fixed entirely on mine, the pressure in my chest finally loosens enough for me to breathe.
Not safe.
Not yet.
But not alone either.