“I feel like I should stay,” I whisper and I don’t recognize my own voice. It begs for permission.
Zander’s hand flexes, the motion drawing my gaze as his fingers spread wide before forming a fist. It’s his warning signal for me to behave. Heat flows down my shoulders instantly.
Sucking in a breath, I attempt to collect myself as I stand slowly. It’s then that Zander reaches out, his hand meeting my thigh with a tender touch.
“I will be there tomorrow. I promise,” he tells me and with that I can finally breathe.
As I prepare to leave, glancing at Silas and assuming my driver here will be the one to take me home, Kamden stands behind me.
“I’ll drive you,” Kam comments and I turn to face him and his sharp blue suit. It’s custom tailored for him and meant to appear expensive, which it does. But Kam looks nothing but beat down.
My gaze drifts between a nodding Zander and Kamden.
My throat tightens as I leave the room, attempting to lead the way, but Kamden opens the door for me.
The clicking of my heels beneath me is all I can hear as I follow Kam in silence. As I climb into the passenger seat of his car, not even the sun can offer me warmth.
I hadn’t even considered sitting in the back, as I never have before with Kam—not in all my life—until the seat belt clicks and his keys jingle as he slips them into the ignition.
I can barely stand to look at him without feeling like I’ve been stabbed in the back. Taking in a shuddered breath, my hair flattens as it meets the headrest and I attempt to relax into it. The gray stone wall shrinks in the distance as he backs out and we leave The Firm behind.
“Nothing to say?” I barely breathe, the words attempting to stay buried inside of me but somehow I pull them out.
All I’m met with is the ticking of the turn signal and a heavy exhale. Another minute goes by and Kamden hesitantly asks, “If he hurt you, you would tell me, wouldn’t you?”
Turning my head to give him my utmost attention, I swallow down every emotion and answer him simply, “Yes.”
He nods shortly and continues to drive, although the atmosphere in the car is suffocatingly broken.
Ella
The morning after what seems like war feels nothing like victory. Even if you’ve won. It’s as if I’m terrified to drop my guard, ready for the next hit. Taking into account everything that’s happened over the last three years up until just yesterday, it’s all felt like fate’s been toying with me, but also like dominoes toppling. One after the other, each one poised to fall, starting on that day I watched James step onto the crosswalk.
And now I wait on edge for the next piece of the game to forsake me.
Pushing my hair still damp from the shower away from my face, I try to tell myself it can get better. It doesn’t have to be like this. A constant spiral downward.
Although sleep didn’t come easy, the anxious ball in the pit of my stomach has left. Even after I took the sleeping pills Aiden had prescribed, it still took another hour or so before I had a dreamless rest.
Damon’s towering figure steals my attention from the steam of the teacup. It billows out as I blow gently across it, both of my hands wrapped around the porcelain vessel.
“Did you sleep well?”
Giving his suit a once-over, I make a mental note that he’s back to business attire. Ever so serious. Damon was the one I was certain would speak up for me. Instead he said himself, he tried to stop Zander.
The cup clinks softly when I set it down on the counter as I answer, “Once I got to sleep, it was a deep sleep.” I can’t look at him, but at least I’ve given him the truth.
My father told me once, when I was much younger, that if I didn’t want to fight, if I didn’t want to feel the blows of incoming war, that I had to stop. I couldn’t keep my hands up, prepared for battle, and expect the other side not to react. It’s one of the hardest things I ever had to learn: to stop fighting. Although Damon told me it’s called decompressing.
Apparently I don’t decompress well.
Damon pulls out the stool beside me and the legs of it groan against the floor.
Gently, I push a tray of danishes his way.
“Kamden?” Damon questions and I nod.
“I’m not sure where he is, I’ve only just come down,” I explain to Damon, “but they were waiting for us.”
I’ve already eaten two of the small cream cheese danishes. Damon opts for a raspberry one, taking a piece off with his left hand, holding the rest of it in his right. Before popping the small morsel into his mouth, he asks, “Did you talk to him?”