Chapter 33 The Weight Of Morning Light 3
When Cedric woke again, the light had changed. Afternoon, based on the angle of the sun. He'd slept for hours~something he hadn't done in weeks. Maybe months.
Falcone was still asleep beside him, his face peaceful in a way it never was when he was awake. One arm was still around Cedric, holding him close even in sleep. Possessive even unconsciously.
Cedric extracted himself carefully, trying not to wake him. Falcone needed the rest more than he needed company right now. He managed to slip out of bed and pad toward the door, glancing back once to make sure Falcone was still asleep.
He was. Finally. The lines around his eyes had smoothed out, and his breathing was deep and even. Good. Maybe he'd actually sleep for a few more hours.
Cedric's phone was still in his room, and when he checked it, he had seven missed texts. Three from Marcus~increasingly urgent, asking when they could meet. Two from his mother~one asking about Saturday, one just saying she loved him. And two from an unknown number that turned out to be Natasha from the club, asking if he was working tonight.
Tonight. Thursday. He'd completely lost track of what day it was.
He responded to Natasha first: Yeah, I'll be there. Same time?
Then his mother: Saturday is still on. Can't wait for you to meet him. Love you too.
Marcus's texts he stared at for a long time. The most recent one read: Cedric, we really need to talk. I have information about Falcone's brother. It's urgent. Please call me.
His brother. Dante. The one who was supposed to be executed but apparently wasn't? Cedric remembered the name from the outline Falcone had given him of the family structure, back when he was supposed to be gathering intelligence. Back when he was still pretending this was just a job.
He should call Marcus. Should find out what the information was. Should maintain his cover, keep his options open, do all the smart, rational things that would protect him if this all went south.
Instead, he deleted the texts and tossed his phone on the bed.
He'd deal with Marcus later. Or not. Probably not.
The house was quiet in that afternoon way~the morning rush done, the evening preparations not yet started. Cedric made his way downstairs and found himself gravitating toward his study. The room that was his, that Falcone had created specifically for him.
The textbooks were still where he'd left them, marked with sticky notes and highlighter. His notebook was open to the page where he'd been taking notes about canine behavior modification. Normal things. Student things. The life he was building alongside the impossible situation he was living in.
He sat at the desk and opened his laptop. Cornell's website loaded immediately~reliable wifi, because of course the mansion had the best internet money could buy. He navigated to the registrar's page, to the spring semester course catalog.
Introduction to Veterinary Medicine. Animal Anatomy and Physiology. Veterinary Biochemistry. All the classes he'd taken once before, when he was eighteen and stupid and thought the world made sense.
He started filling out the registration form. Name, student ID number (they'd reactivated his old one), address. He paused at that last one. What was his address now? The mansion? His burned-out apartment that he hadn't been to in weeks? Some nebulous in-between space that didn't have a zip code?
He put down the mansion's address. It felt like a commitment. A declaration. This is where I live now. This is real.
Course selections. He checked the boxes for three classes~enough to be full-time, not so many that he'd drown while also working at the club. Introduction to Veterinary Medicine, Animal Anatomy, and General Chemistry. The basics. Building back up to where he'd been before everything fell apart.
Payment information. He hesitated again. His own bank account had maybe three hundred dollars in it. Not enough to cover even one credit hour, let alone an entire semester.
There was another account listed though. One he didn't recognize. Clicking on it brought up a note: Educational expenses account, established by G. Falcone.
Of course. Of course Falcone had already set up a separate account just for school. Had probably funded it with more money than Cedric would make in five years. Had planned for this, prepared for it, made it possible before Cedric had even decided he wanted it.
It should have felt controlling. It should have made him angry.
Instead, he just felt... grateful. And guilty about being grateful. And frustrated about feeling guilty.
He selected the payment method and hit submit before he could overthink it more.
The confirmation page loaded. He was officially enrolled. Spring semester, starting in January. Three classes that would hopefully, eventually, lead back to the dream he'd thought was dead.
Cedric stared at the screen for a long time, trying to process how he felt. Relief? Terror? Hope? Some combination of all three that didn't have a name yet?
His phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number: This is Mrs. Kozlov. Mr. Falcone has asked me to remind you that you're working tonight at nine. Marco will drive you at eight-thirty. Please eat dinner before you leave.
He smiled despite himself. Even asleep, Falcone was managing his schedule. Making sure he ate, making sure he had transportation, making sure all the details were handled.
It should be suffocating.
Why wasn't it suffocating?
Cedric closed his laptop and leaned back in the chair, looking around the study that was his. The books, the desk, the comfortable chair, the window overlooking the garden. This space that existed separate from Falcone, even though Falcone had created it.
A room of his own. A future of his own. A life that was his, even if it existed within the framework of Falcone's world.
Maybe that was enough.
Maybe that could be enough.
He pulled out his phone and opened a new text to Falcone: Just registered for spring classes. Thank you. For all of it.
Then, because he was feeling brave or reckless or both: I love you. Still getting used to saying it, but I do.
He hit send before he could delete it and spent the next five minutes staring at the screen, heart pounding, wondering if he'd just made a mistake.
The response came three minutes later: I know you do. Now eat something. You have work tonight and I need you safe.
Followed immediately by: I love you too. Always.
Cedric pressed the phone to his chest and let himself feel it~the warmth, the certainty, the terrifying beauty of being loved by someone who saw all of him and wanted him anyway.
Saturday was coming. His mother would be here. Questions would be asked, answers would be given or avoided, and everything would change or stay the same or do that thing where it was impossible to tell the difference.
But right now, in this moment, he was okay.
He was more than okay.
He was choosing this. Actively, deliberately choosing it.
And that made all the difference.