ELLA
Partners of The Firm will document client interactions and provide status updates to their team members at each shift change. Client records will be maintained by each partner and supervised by Cade Thompson, owner.
Ihaven’t spoken a single word all day today. My throat hurts, but that’s not why I’ve been silent and avoiding the other men from the Firm. Not overtly avoiding them.
I’m not trying to make it obvious, or draw attention to my mood.
It’s because I want to save my voice for him. On the days my throat hurts, I save my voice for what matters most. And what matters most right now is talking to Zander. It’s not something I can explain. It feels dangerous to talk to him. So risky that I know I shouldn’t be doing it. And yet the sound of him—just the pure sound of his voice, the rumble of it over my skin—it made me crave more.
I’ve been craving him all day.
No, not him. Just talking to him. Just his presence. I don’t crave Zander the man. That’s not why he’s here. He and the rest of the men from the Firm are here to protect me. To … care for me.
I’m certain that’s why I feel this need. He’s obligated to care for me and he reminds me so much of the life I had before.
It scares the hell out of me, honestly. It’s good to be home but it’s terrifying in these ways I didn’t expect. When I was at the Rockford Center, I knew things were bad. How could I not know? You don’t go to a place like that unless the situation is dire. The rules there tell you exactly how bad things have gotten. Exactly how far you’ve fallen. People who are still holding it together don’t need escorts to the bathroom or constant monitoring to make sure you’re still breathing every night.
I woke last night, twice, when they came in to check on me. The creak of the door ripped my eyes wide open and just as I have for months, I woke with my heart racing. Thankfully, I don’t remember what I dreamed, but I can imagine what it was. It doesn’t take a shrink to point out the obvious.
They’re still checking, the guys from The Firm. I know they are. But there are no harsh lights, and no nurses shaking me awake in the morning, and it’s my house. Which means I have something to lose. A height to fall from. I don’t want to go back. I can’t. All I can do in that place is remember. The white walls are painted with memories. The empty chairs are filled with ghostly visitors.
I won’t go back. I’ll be good. I’ll listen. So long as they’re here, I promise to behave.
Zander feels like a risk because he is. The warmth that moves through me when he looks at me, when he talks to me—it’s dangerous with what it could do to me. He makes me forget it all. It occurred to me last night that it’s because he doesn’t know. I don’t want him to know. If I’m only given the chance for a single line to speak today, it’ll be a plea for him not to read the file. For him to keep looking at me as if he doesn't know I’m so unwell and damaged.
That’s what my breath is saved for. It’s why I’m still awake, fighting the pull of the medication I was given at dinner. It didn’t go unnoticed that my pills are different here. Kamden told me what was changed, but I don’t remember. Either way, I’m so damn tired. Too restless. And wanting.
I’m not sure what my emotions are capable of. That’s why I was in the Rockford Center in the first place. I used to wonder what was so wrong with being emotional … now I know.
The sun sinks below the horizon early, an autumn fireburst in the trees outside my windows. Dying light paints the blue sky gold and I drift between the windows, watching. The old restlessness from the Rockford Center creeps through my veins. It used to happen every night there. The sky would get darker, and my heart would beat faster, as if the night were something to be afraid of. I don’t know why that happened. There were always lights on in that place.
Maybe I knew it was because that marked the point when I couldn’t resist sleep for much longer. My worst fear was dreaming, remembering, and waking up screaming.
But this … this is different.
My quickening heartbeat is the same. The urge to walk around, to pace, is the same. Only it’s not anxiousness I feel.
It’s anticipation.
For Zander to get here. I want him to arrive, to start his shift. I want to sense the danger in the air. I want to put myself near the risk of him. It’s safe, although it seems the antithesis. I know it is. Maybe that’s why I feel so brave, and so reckless. He has to protect me. He’s obligated to.
With the warmth of the ceramic mug pressed against my palm, my gaze shifts from the handmade lantern seated near the covered porch to the stone driveaway. My heart races, although I don’t show it. Damon’s eyes are still on me, so I merely sip the tea and return to the blank notebook in my lap. Blank with the exception of the sketch of the lantern. It was a gift from my girlfriend, Kelly, on her last trip to Alaska—she thought it would suit my home perfectly, and she was right. The light is brilliant at night, peeking through the varying sized holes of the glazed pottery. It creates a constellation against the dark wood roof. It’s one of the things I dream of that doesn’t bring the past to haunt me. Staring at the stars, imagining the northern lights I still have yet to see.
His car trundles down the street in front of my house at five minutes to nine. I take the interruption of the quiet night as my cue to stand, gathering my teacup to take to the kitchen. I allow myself a single glance before opening the large glass porch door. I can’t see him, except for the outline of his shadow and his hands on the wheel, but every inch of my body tightens. Air flowing through my house caresses every inch of exposed skin. There’s not much, what with my cashmere burgundy sweater and leggings. Headlights illuminate glimpses of the picket fence and the planters outside as he makes his way to the back of the house.
Where am I supposed to be?
My room? The sitting room? He’ll come through the kitchen, through the door in the back entrance, and I have the urge to present him with a pretty picture. A relaxed woman, waiting on him. Exactly how he’d like me to be. The heat of my skin only adds to the untamed gallops in my chest.
But I’m not that woman. This is not a normal evening, and Zander’s not coming home to me. He’s coming to do his job.
I want him to do that job. Call me a sinner, or whatever name suits me best; I can’t help what I want.
Striding through to the kitchen, I offer Damon a tight smile when he peeks up at me, checking as he’s done all day. When I flip on the recessed lights over the stove, I’m certain Zander will know I’m in here, and I wait in front of it. The tap to the heated water begs me to fill my cup and I do, then add in a fresh sachet. Inhaling the comforting aromas of peppermint and chamomile, I do what I can to calm myself.
My heart pounds with the silence of the day and with Damon’s prying eyes.
Damon steps into the kitchen as Zander’s headlights cut off. “Is there anything I can help you with?” he asks softly. He’s almost casual about it, the way he might be if he were a guest in my house and not one of my bodyguards. Or prison wardens, as my internal voice sarcastically jokes.