Page 42

a place to land

ELLIE

M y eyes flutter open, and for a moment, I don’t know where I am.

Then it hits me—all of it. The heaviness in my chest, the unfamiliar weight of the duvet, the smell of pine and something citrus clinging to the air. Not home. Not David’s. Kieran’s.

The last twenty-four hours spill in like floodwater—my parents’ cold disbelief, the sick thud of truth when I opened David’s computer, the way my hands shook as I called Kieran. And the way he caught me.

No questions. No judgement. Just that one quiet command— “Come to me.”

Like there was no version of this where he wouldn’t want me.

And God , the way he said it—low and certain, no hesitation—like I was his to protect.

It lodged somewhere deep inside me, quiet and warm. A lighthouse in the wreckage.

I close my eyes again, just for a second. Just long enough to pretend I’m still floating in that quiet space between knowing and breaking.

The room is awash with soft morning light, spilling through the half-open blinds in long stripes of gold that stretch across the bed like fingers. There’s a stillness here, one that’s gentle and unfamiliar. A silence that doesn’t make me brace for impact.

I breathe in. Bergamot, soap, and something else. Something warm and worn in—so undeniably him . The scent wraps around me like a memory, and I pull the duvet tighter, burying my face into the pillow, letting it hold me just a little longer.

It’s been so long since I slept like this. Deep and dreamless. Without the jittery dread of what tomorrow might bring or the relentless loop of thoughts I can’t silence. I’d forgotten what it feels like to wake up not already exhausted.

My gaze drifts around the room. Every inch breathes Kieran—the battered guitar leaning against the wall, shelves crammed with old records, faded books, crooked frames of frozen moments.

My phone buzzes against the nightstand. I reach for it reluctantly, the vibration slicing through the quiet.

David [07:23]

Babe where are you? We need to talk. Call me.

Twelve missed calls sit beneath it.

The cold creeps back, chasing out the warmth like smoke through a cracked window. The illusion of peace slips. I lock the screen and set the phone face-down, pushing it aside.

Not now.

Not here.

The door creaks open. I shift, propping myself up as Mia peeks inside, curls a tangled halo around her sleepy face. She rubs at her eye, an oversized t-shirt swallowing her frame.

“Hey, bug,” I whisper, lifting the duvet.

She doesn’t hesitate. Padding across the room in socked feet, she climbs into bed beside me, curling into my side like she used to when she was little and scared of storms. I wrap my arm around her, anchoring myself in her familiar weight.

“Morning, Mum,” she mumbles, voice thick with sleep. She rests there for a moment, fingers toying with the duvet, before she lifts her head, eyes searching mine.

“Mum... what are we really doing here?” Her question slices clean through the quiet.

I brush a strand of hair from her forehead, my hand trembling slightly. “We’re just taking some space, sweetheart. Just until I figure things out.”

She nods, but the crease between her brows deepens. “How long are we staying?”

I swallow the lump rising in my throat. “I don’t know yet, sweetheart.”

There’s a pause. Heavy and quiet. “Is it... because of David?”

The air leaves my lungs in one harsh exhale. I blink, throat thick, heart cracking a little under the weight of her words. I forget sometimes how much she sees. How much she understands without me ever having to say a thing.

“Partly,” I admit. I tilt her chin until our eyes meet. “But mostly, it’s about finding what’s best for us. For you and me.”

She watches me for a long moment. Then simply says, “Okay.” And burrows back into my side. “I love you, Mum.”

Tears sting behind my eyes. I press a kiss to her curls, holding her tighter. “I love you too, bug. More than anything.”

We stay there for a little longer, letting the peace of the house wrap around us. Then my stomach betrays me, rumbling loudly enough to make Mia giggle. “Hungry?” she teases, nudging my side.

I roll my eyes, laughing as I sit up, stretching the last traces of sleep from my body. “Starving. How about you? Want to see what we can find in Kieran’s kitchen?”

Mia nods, slipping from beneath the sheets. She smooths her tangled curls back with both hands, flashing me a playful grin. “Definitely. Think they’ll have pancakes? Or waffles?”

“I don’t know,” I say, smiling as I pull myself out of bed. “But we can have a look.”

She springs out of bed, tugging her hair into a messy bun as she leads the way downstairs, her footsteps whispering against the worn wooden steps. The house holds that soft, lived-in smell of wood, earth, and something yeasty, like fresh bread.

In the kitchen, light spills across the scarred counters. Mia beelines for the fridge, throwing it open with a delighted squeak. “Mum! They’ve got everything! Eggs, bacon, milk, even strawberries!”

“Looks like we’re making breakfast for everyone,” I say, grabbing eggs and flour.

It’s strange how natural this feels. My hands work automatically, pulling bowls, whisking batter, moving through the steps with an ease I forgot I had.

Mia shifts onto a stool and starts slicing the strawberries with the careful focus only a thirteen-year-old can muster.

Her tongue peeks out at the corner of her mouth, the way it always does when she concentrates.

“You know,” I say, cracking another egg into the bowl, “I don’t remember the last time we cooked together without rushing.”

Mia glances up, smiling. “That’s because you’re always working or at uni. But we can do it more now, right?”

That small, hopeful look on her face undoes me.

“Absolutely,” I promise. “We can.” And we will.

The first pancake sizzles in the pan, the smell rising like something holy. Mia slides her strawberries across the counter and sneaks one into her mouth.

“These smell awesome,” she says between bites. “Even better than Brenda’s.”

“Don’t let her hear you say that.” I grin, flipping the pancake. “But, I did learn from the best.”

The moment breaks as a sleepy voice calls from the hallway. “Oi, Kieran!” Ryder’s voice carries, loud and theatrical. “Ellie’s making pancakes. Actual pancakes. She’s a keeper, mate!”

I roll my eyes, stifling laughter, as he appears in the doorway, all bed hair and smug expression. “Good morning to you too, Ryder.”

He snags a strawberry from Mia’s bowl and she swats at him. “Those are for the pancakes!”

“Apologies,” Ryder says, holding his hands up. “I didn’t realise I was stealing precious cargo.”

“Hands off Mia’s strawberries,” I warn, playful.

He gives her a wink.

A moment later, Kieran—who insisted on sleeping on the sofa—walks in, and all coherent thoughts vacate my brain.

He’s rumpled and golden in the morning light, wearing only low-slung pyjama bottoms, sleep-mussed hair sticking up in every direction. Strong arms. Broad shoulders. Defined chest. A trail of dark hair disappearing beneath the waistband…

And on his side, just to the left of his ribs, a small tattoo catches my eye. It catches my breath mid-thought.

I can’t quite make out what it is from here. Just the curve of something intricate, delicate. A tangle of lines and soft edges that weave together like they mean something. Like they matter.

A fresh, traitorous flutter sparks low in my stomach, the same stray butterfly that keeps surfacing whenever he’s near.

I snap my gaze upward, cheeks flaming, and his eyes meet mine. Dark and amused. And of course he’s smiling. Like he’s caught the exact direction of my gaze and isn’t the least bit sorry for it.

Bastard .

“Pancakes, huh?” he says, moving toward the coffee machine and preparing mugs for everyone. “You’re spoiling us.”

Ryder leans against the counter, grinning. “Look at this. Mum and Dad making breakfast together.”

“Ryder.” I groan.

“What? It’s domestic bliss.”

Brian appears then, smiling as he surveys the bustling kitchen. “Is that pancakes I smell, or are you lot just teasing an old man?”

“Morning, Brian,” I say, stacking pancakes. “Hope you don’t mind us invading your kitchen. I’ll make sure we replace everything we’ve used. I just wanted to do something nice, to thank you for letting us stay.”

Brian waves a hand, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he offers me a reassuring smile.

“Nonsense, Ellie. While you two are here, this place is your home too. Use whatever you need. And besides,” he says, glancing around the bustling kitchen with genuine fondness, “you have no idea how much I’ve missed this.

Having the house full of noise again is better than any thank you. ”

Something cracks open in my chest at the ease of his acceptance. “Thank you,” I say, my voice small but sincere. “Really.”

And I mean it. I don’t remember the last time someone said I was welcome without conditions.

“Careful, Bri,” Ryder pipes up, stacking another pancake onto his plate and flashing a mischievous grin Brian’s way. “Keep up that sentimental talk and we’ll have to find you a job writing greeting cards.”

Brian shoots Ryder a mock glare, shaking his head in amused exasperation. “Watch it, son. I’m not above grounding grown men.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” Ryder gasps, clutching a hand to his chest in mock horror. “Who else would you rope into your DIY projects?”

Brian raises a brow, fighting off a smile. “I’m sure I could find some other unfortunate soul.”

Kieran clears his throat, breaking through the playful banter with a warm smile. “Alright, enough emotional chats before breakfast. Pancakes are getting cold, and I don’t know about you lot, but I take breakfast pretty seriously.”

Ryder nods, already drowning his pancakes in syrup. “Seconded.”

Brian chuckles, glancing at Mia with amusement. “Better get used to these two, Mia. They don’t leave room for hesitation at breakfast. It’s a survival-of-the-fastest type situation around here.”