25. Elodie
Chapter 25
Elodie
I forced myself to walk into Keaton's house, one foot in front of the other. My breath hitched as I crossed the threshold, but I reminded myself to be brave. This wasn't the time to falter.
Keaton's hand wrapped around my waist, his touch grounding me in the moment. It surprised me how much comfort I drew from that simple gesture. Despite everything, I found a kind of peace in his presence.
We moved through the grand hallway, each step echoing against the polished floors. I couldn't help but feel out of place in this lavish environment, but I kept my head high, determined not to let it show.
As we approached the dining room, I heard a murmur of conversation drifting through the air. My heart pounded louder with each step. Among those voices was one I didn’t recognize at all—Lola. I didn't understand why she would be here, but I knew better than to draw attention to it. Keaton was my husband now, and that meant standing by his side.
Keaton didn't stop at the dining room. Instead, he guided me toward a staircase leading to the upper floors. I glanced at him, wanting to ask why we were heading upstairs instead of joining the others, but something in his expression told me to trust him.
We reached our bedroom door, and he pushed it open gently. He led me inside and closed the door behind us.
"Why are we here?" The question slipped out before I could stop it.
He looked at me with those piercing blue eyes that always seemed to see right through me. "I wanted a moment alone with you," he said simply.
His words brought a strange sense of relief. In this house full of people and expectations, a moment alone sounded like a gift.
I nodded and took a deep breath, letting myself relax for the first time since we arrived. This wasn't going to be easy, but for now, I'd trust Keaton and find strength in his presence beside me.
"You did good," Keaton said, not looking at me as he tucked the door almost shut but not quite. "Driving."
I gave him a soft smile. "I had a good teacher."
Something caught my eye, and I noticed his hands as he dropped the keys on his desk. They were battered and bruised, his knuckles raw. "Hey," I said, reaching out before he pulled back.
I ignored the way it hurt me. "Do you have bandages, or?—"
"Leave it," he said dismissively.
I clenched my jaw. I knew I should listen to him, but decided not to. "You're my husband," I said, determination lacing my voice. "I want to take care of you. Please?" I held out my hand.
"Why the fuck do you care?" he asked, though he didn't pull away this time.
"Because," I murmured, slowly reaching for his hand again, giving him an opportunity to pull away. But he didn't. "Because I do."
I looked at him then before dropping my gaze to his knuckles. His hands were rough, the skin split and bruised in several places. Red and swollen, they looked painful even at a glance. The signs of recent strain and old scars intertwined like a map of battles fought in silence.
His fight with Ashton had just been the most recent thing.
My fingers gently traced over one of the raw knuckles, feeling the heat of the inflammation beneath the skin. His breath hitched slightly, but he didn't pull away.
"Let me help," I whispered.
He remained silent, but his silence felt like permission. Carefully, I reached into my bag for the small first aid kit I always carried. It was a habit from years of taking care of myself with no one else to rely on.
I focused on Keaton's hands, carefully cleaning each cut. The wounds looked worse up close, a testament to his recent struggles. I dabbed the antiseptic gently, mindful of the sting it might cause. His silence was heavy, but I knew better than to push him.
"If you're going to the draft in a couple of weeks," I said softly, wrapping the bandages around his knuckles with care, "you need to take care of yourself."
He scoffed. "I ain't going to the draft."
My fingers paused for a moment before resuming their work. "And why not?" I asked, glancing up at him.
"You think I'll actually make it?" He shook his head, disbelief written across his face.
"Of course I do," I said firmly. "I've seen you play. You're quick on your feet, your defense is solid, and you have this way of reading the game that’s incredible. You’re a natural leader on the ice."
He rolled his eyes, dismissing my words. "Stop," he muttered. "You don't mean it."
I tightened the last bandage and looked him square in the eye. "Quite frankly, you don't get to tell me what I do and what I don't mean," I replied, my voice steady. "I already know you have teams looking into you. Keaton, you're… you're amazing. Don't you realize that?"
In an instant, he yanked his hand away from mine. "What would you know about it?" he snapped. "You don't know me. Just because we fucked a few times doesn't mean shit, little girl. Fuck, are you really that easy? One or two times and you suddenly care? Fuck off with that."
His words cut deep, but I refused to let them see how much they hurt. He stormed toward the door.
"Where are you going?" I asked, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside me.
"Out," he snapped.
And then he was gone, leaving me alone in the room with nothing but my thoughts and the lingering echo of his anger.
I blinked away the tears that threatened to spill, my heart pounding painfully in my chest. Was he right? Was I really that easy? The words echoed in my mind, slashing deeper than I wanted to admit. I forced myself to take a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside me.
A gentle knock on the door interrupted my thoughts. Thinking it was Keaton coming back, maybe to apologize, I called out, "Come in."
But it wasn’t him.
Lola stood there, framed by the doorway. She was every bit as stunning as I remembered, her black hair cascading in perfect waves over her shoulders. She wore a dress that clung to her curves just right, making her look like she belonged in a high-end fashion magazine. Her blue eyes sparkled with a mix of amusement and pity as she looked at me.
"I couldn't help but overhear your fight," she said, stepping into the room with an air of confidence that made my skin crawl.
My face burned with embarrassment and anger. I hated the way she looked at me, both knowingly and with pity. It felt like she was dissecting every vulnerable part of me and finding it lacking.
"What do you want?" I asked, my voice harsher than I intended.
Lola shrugged gracefully, a small smirk playing on her lips. "Just thought I'd check on you. You look pretty upset."
"Well, I'm fine," I snapped, crossing my arms defensively over my chest.
She took another step closer; her gaze never leaving mine. "You know," she said, almost conspiratorially, "Keaton has a way of getting under people's skin. Don't take it personally."
"Don't take it personally?" I repeated incredulously. "How can I not?"
She tilted her head slightly, as if considering my question. "Because that's just who he is," she replied with a shrug. "He's always been like that—pushing people away before they can get too close."
I bit back a retort and turned away from her, focusing on the window instead. The last thing I needed was advice from Lola of all people.
"I don't need your pity," I muttered.
Lola sighed softly and took a step back. "It's not pity," she said. "It's just... understanding."
I glanced at her over my shoulder, searching for any hint of sincerity in her expression. But all I saw was that same infuriating mix of amusement and pity.
"Whatever," I mumbled.
Her smirk widened as she sauntered closer, her heels clicking on the polished floor. “You know, Keaton and I go way back,” she began, her voice dripping with a mix of nostalgia and disdain. “I’ve seen every side of him—especially that temper of his. Volatile doesn’t even begin to cover it.”
I clenched my jaw, unwilling to give her the satisfaction of seeing me ruffled. “What’s your point?”
“My point is,” she continued, leaning against the bedpost with a casual grace that belied the venom in her words, “you don’t have to put up with it. I wouldn’t blame you if you found someone... more stable.” Her eyes glinted as she spoke, clearly enjoying the little game she was playing.
I made a face, feeling a surge of anger. “I would never cheat on my husband.”
She laughed, a cold, sharp sound that echoed in the room. “Oh, Elodie. You’re so... quaint. Caring about a man like Keaton? It’s almost sweet in a pathetic sort of way.”
Taking a deep breath, I steadied myself. “I don’t care what anyone thinks,” I said firmly. “I do care about him. And there’s nothing wrong with that.”
Her smile faded slightly, replaced by a look of mock pity. “You really don’t get it, do you? Keaton is... damaged goods. He’ll chew you up and spit you out without a second thought. Trust me, I’ve seen it happen. He did it to me multiple times."
“He’s my husband,” I shot back. “I won’t just give up on him because it’s difficult.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly, but the amusement returned quickly enough. “Oh, sweet Elodie,” she purred. “You’re setting yourself up for heartbreak. He’ll never change—not for you or anyone else.”
I squared my shoulders, meeting her gaze head-on. “Maybe he doesn’t have to change for me to care about him.”
She pushed off the bedpost and took a step closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Do you really think you can handle his darkness? His anger? Because he’s not going to soften just because you wish he would.”
“Maybe not,” I admitted quietly but resolutely. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll stop trying.”
Lola gave me a long, calculating look. "You think staying with him is going to help that pathetic family of yours?" she asked, her voice dripping with condescension. "I looked into you, you know. When I found out Keaton married someone—coward. I know your stepfamily is in debt. I know that's the only reason why you'd marry Keaton. But, see, I can pay off the debt. And all you'd have to do is annul the marriage."
I straightened up, a smirk playing on my lips. "It was consummated," I said, meeting her gaze steadily.
Her eyes flickered with anger, a flash of fury breaking through her composed facade. "Then divorce," she snapped. "Keaton is mine. He may not know it yet?—"
"He wants nothing to do with you," I interrupted, my voice cold and firm. "You cheated on him. With his cousin. With his best friend. You're nothing more than a whore."
The word hung in the air like a bitter curse.
Lola's face twisted in rage, and before I could react, her hand flew up and slapped me hard across the cheek. The sharp sting burned through my skin, and I staggered back a step, my hand instinctively reaching up to touch the spot where she'd struck me.
My heart pounded in my chest as I steadied myself, refusing to let her see the pain she had caused. Instead, I met her furious gaze with defiance.
Without thinking, I slapped her back. The sound of my hand connecting with her cheek echoed in the room, loud and shocking. My anger flared, hot and consuming. No one talked about Keaton that way. No one. Even though I was furious with him, he was still my husband.
Lola's eyes widened in surprise for a split second before narrowing with pure rage. She lunged at me, her fingers clawing for my face. I stepped back just in time, but she managed to grab a handful of my hair, yanking it painfully.
I gritted my teeth and swung my arm, catching her in the side with my elbow. She grunted and released her grip, but only momentarily. She came at me again, this time aiming for my throat.
Instinct kicked in. I blocked her hand with my forearm and shoved her back with all the strength I could muster. Lola stumbled but quickly regained her balance, her face twisted in fury.
"You're going to regret that," she spat, charging at me once more.
I dodged to the side, grabbing a nearby vase and hurling it in her direction. It missed her by inches, shattering against the wall behind her. Lola didn't even flinch; she was too focused on me.
She tackled me to the ground, and we both went down hard. Pain shot through my shoulder as we landed, but I ignored it. I couldn't afford to show weakness now.
We grappled on the floor, a tangle of limbs and fury. Lola scratched at my arms and face, trying to gain the upper hand. I fought back just as fiercely, landing blows wherever I could. Despite her privileged upbringing and polished exterior, Lola fought dirty.
But so did I.
I managed to roll us over so that I was on top, pinning her wrists to the ground. Her eyes blazed with hatred as she struggled beneath me.
"Get off me!" she screamed.
"Not until you learn some respect," I growled back.
She bucked beneath me, trying to throw me off balance. But I held firm, using every ounce of strength I had left.
"Keaton doesn't want you," I said through gritted teeth. "And no amount of manipulation or cruelty is going to change that. He's mine. He's my husband. And he'll always be mine."
Lola's eyes flashed dangerously as she stopped struggling for a moment, glaring up at me with pure venom.
The door burst open with a loud crash, and Keaton's father stormed in. "What the hell is going on here?" he demanded, his voice echoing through the room.
"Lola was just leaving, Mr. Douglas," I said, getting up from the floor and brushing myself off. "And she won't be back here."
Lola's face twisted in rage as she pushed herself to her feet. "He'll come crawling back," she snapped. "You'll see."
"No," I said firmly, meeting her gaze with unwavering determination. "He won't."
She glared at me one last time before storming out of the room, slamming the door behind her. I took a deep breath and turned to face Keaton's father.
"What the hell were you thinking?" he asked, his voice dripping with disdain.
"With all due respect, sir," I began, choosing my words carefully but speaking with conviction, "I know you invited her here. And while I'm doing my best not to take it personally, I think you should know that I'm in this for the long haul. I'm Keaton's wife. And while I understand you don't like how our marriage was handled, I'd appreciate it if you didn't try to manipulate either of us by involving her."
Mr. Douglas's eyes narrowed as he studied me, clearly taken aback by my defiance. For a moment, the room was filled with a tense silence, each second stretching longer than the last.
"I don't understand the nature of your relationship with my son," he said, his voice laced with skepticism. "Surely, you can understand my doubts."
"Sir," I began, trying to keep my tone steady, "I know I've been with your son maybe less than two weeks, but even you should know Keaton wants nothing to do with Lola. She betrayed him, and that's important to Keaton. All he wants is respect."
He scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "He has to earn that."
"By doing what you tell him to?" I challenged. "How can he be his own man and follow your strict rules at the same time?"
"What are you talking about?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.
"I know you're threatening his inheritance if he doesn't work for you," I said, standing my ground. "I'm sure you're close to it, considering he didn't marry Lola."
"He's rebelling," Mr. Douglas replied gruffly.
"He's finding out who he is," I told him. "Have you seen him play hockey?"
He opened his mouth but then looked away, unable to meet my gaze.
"He's amazing," I said softly.
"You don't know him," he replied coldly. "He's angry and violent. You're a good little actress, but he'll scare you off."
"No." I shook my head firmly. "I understand his anger. Heck, I'm angry for the same reasons. He doesn't scare me, sir. I won't leave him. I… I understand if you don't trust me. But just know, I'll prove it to you. I just ask that you give him a chance to be his own man without dangling an inheritance or pulling strings."
"He hasn't had to earn anything in his life," he snapped.
"That's not true," I countered quickly. "He's had to fight for your approval every minute, and you still haven't given it to him."
"And what do you think I should do?" he asked snidely.
I paused, taking a deep breath before answering. "You should watch him play and see for yourself just how amazing he is," I said earnestly. "He taught me how to drive today. He protected me when I was attacked. He's a good man, sir. And I think you need to stop pushing that idea away. He may not be what you envisioned he would be, but that doesn't make him a disappointment."