Chapter 7
ELIJAH
It’s nearing four in the morning when I park in my designated space, fingers still tight on the wheel from the near miss—some reporter sprinting across the street to get a shot of Finley and me. The flash, the shouting, the sudden shape in my headlights. My pulse is only just settling.
I hate this attention. I don’t want it to become a thing Finley has to carry.
When I kill the engine, I glance over. She’s still in the baseball cap the equipment manager handed me after I checked in on Jayden, brim low, mouth soft with sleep.
The start to our season has tanked. Every pundit won’t shut up about it—favorites to make the Playoffs to a letdown. At least we have a few days to pull ourselves together before the five-game home run. If Jayden’s concussion and broken nose keep him out long, we’re in trouble.
Concussions are the worst. Last time I had one, two weeks disappeared into migraines—woodpecker in my skull—and a carousel of tinnitus and nausea. The auras come and go. I don’t know which I hate more.
My stomach twists in sympathy as I weigh waking Finley versus carrying her. My phone vibrates—screen face down, Bluetooth off since she drifted off after we dropped Christina at her post-grad housing.
JJ
You home?
Eli
Parking up. You okay?
The dots appear, vanish, return. Then:
Yeah
He’s not fine. Adrenaline, disappointment, the come-down after travel—all of it stacks. Even with the hospital’s painkillers, he’ll be stuck in the loop we always run: review the game, pick apart the bad, re-stitch the good. It’s our ritual when we land. I need it more than I want to admit.
I pocket the phone, circle to Finley’s side, and ease the door open. She stirs when I unbuckle her, but when I lift her, she folds into me, cheek to my chest, breath warm through the cotton.
“We’re home,” I whisper into her hair as the elevator hums. “Go back to sleep.”
“I’m not tired,” she croaks, lifting her head stubbornly.
I don’t argue. The doors part to our floor. She tries to slide down; I set her on her feet.
“It’s dark,” she whispers, eyes on the polished concrete, the black wood doors, the twin round entry tables anchoring the hall. “The flowers are pretty.”
“They’re replaced every week.”
“You do the flowers?”
“Maintenance does. This is a serviced condo, so… yeah.” I fish my keys free. “It’s convenient and they keep the place nice.”
“Do you know your neighbors?”
“Jayden lives there.” I nod toward the door several feet down. “Broussard’s in the penthouse. Hillier was in the other penthouse, but he bought a place in Thompson and Andersen’s neighborhood when his family moved in…”
Her breath hitches. I turn back fast. She’s upright, but the fine tremor in her hand tells on her. Wrists and ankles already tell enough of the story. Ask. Get it out. The words dry up on my tongue.
I couldn’t protect her then. I can’t rewind Havenview.
Christina was right. I never should’ve asked Finley to leave with me—I should’ve taken her. If I had, would her wrists look like that? Would her smile be this close to breaking?
“What’s wrong, Fin?” When she shakes her head, I try, “Are you okay?”
Stupid question. But it’s all I have.
She bites her lip. “This is… You’re…” A breath, steadying. “This is really nice, Elijah. You’re all like a family.”
“Coach is big on that. On the team being close and—”
“In sync...” The nose-scrunch that follows is almost a smile.
“Yeah, in sync.” I offer my hand. When her fingers lace with mine, something in my chest loosens. I guide her inside.
I dim the entry lights, so they glow low and warm. The curtains are open across the living space; the city glitters ahead and, below us, the ocean blinks silver-black.
“It’s not huge. This was a starter place the franchise had when I moved here, and I don’t need bigger. We’re at the facility most days. Sometimes JJ and I leave at dawn and get back at night.”
I open cabinets, show her the basics. Her attention snags on the counter—Jayden’s infamous bottle: rhinestones, his name down one side, number down the other. Hideous. Indestructible.
“You’re close with him?” She rolls the bottle in her hands, sets it back exactly where it was.
“We spend a lot of time together. Training, working out, watching tape… We’re partners, so we have to be in tune and—”
“Makes sense.” Her hand finds mine and squeezes. “Jayden seems like a good person.”
“He is.” I check my phone without thinking.
Eli
Need anything?
JJ
A do over of the game?
Stop watching tape.
Can’t sleep...
Count sheep.
I slide the phone away.
We move down the hall. When I open the door at the end, she looks up at me through her lashes.
“It’s your favorite color, right?”
She nods, eyes glossy.
I lead her in. I’ve stood in this doorway too many times to count, memorizing the deep lavender walls, the purple-and-white blossom canvases above the gray upholstered headboard, the sink of the long-pile silver rug under bare feet. Imagining her in it and telling myself it was stupid.
Her head turns, slow, taking it all in. I circle with her, watching her face—the quiver in her mouth, the fluttering lashes, the small twitch of her nose that always betrays her.
I’ve loved this girl every day of my life. Because of her, I know what love is. And pain. And everything that hurts and still matters.
Now that I have her here, I don’t know where to put my hands or my words. Can I be what she needs out here? She’s a rare flower that survives the transplant and blooms in foreign soil. She adapts. She thrives. Can I keep up?
“Is it okay?” I tried to make it perfect. I know it isn’t. “Anything you don’t like can be changed. If there’s anything you need, I’ll get it for you.”
“No, Elijah,” she murmurs, stepping into me until her chest brushes mine. My heart misfires. “It’s beautiful.”
“Okay.” Say something else. Nothing comes.
“It’s yours… For you.”
“Mine.” Her smile dulls at the edges. The tailspin starts in my gut, spirals out—wrong, wrong, wrong.
“Wait, Fin… I…”
My phone vibrates, then again.
“You should get that,” she says gently, releasing my hand.
“Okay.” I don’t move until I force myself to look.
Can’t sleep. Everything spins. Sucks.
My body is already leaning toward the door. Go check on him. Dizziness is standard with a concussion, and melodrama is his coping mechanism, but the need to see him breathing, upright, alive—yeah.
“Is he okay?” Finley’s voice catches me off guard.
I shrug before I can stop myself. Words. Use them.
“Why don’t you go and check on him?” Her hand strokes my shoulder.
I want to. But I don’t want to leave her alone. Not yet.
Want to come over?
I’m in bed
And you can’t sleep. Come on. I’ll put a movie on.
No screens 24hrs
The phone IS a screen
So bored
Audiobook
Headaaaacheeeee
Sleep it is
Finley snorts softly, brows climbing with a crooked grin. “He’s right next door. You can knock and talk to each other.”
“I know.” Sometimes we text until one of us shows up anyway, or we end up on the same server running missions until we can breathe. “He needs to sleep off the concussion so the symptoms don’t get worse.”
I tug her into my side as we step back into the hall. That tight wrench returns. You upset her. Fix it.
“Back there,” I say, stopping at my bedroom door, “you… I…”
“What?”
“What did I do? Did I say something wrong?”
“Something wrong?” Her face pinches.
“Your smile… it slipped and—”
“I’m tired, Elijah.” Hadn’t she just told me she wasn’t? “I’m discombobulated.”
“Discombobulated.”
“Like a fish out of water.”
Panic flushes cold through me. I pull her in. “You can’t go back. I won’t let you. You’ll get used to here and—” I stop at her soft, amused look. “What?”
“No matter what happens, I’m never going back there. I don’t think I could live through any more penance.” Tears surge; my arms wrap around her without thought.
“What did they do to you?” I whisper into the flyaway hairs near her temple. “You can tell me and… and maybe I can fix it.”
“Penance, Elijah. Atonement.”
“Where?” I ease back, lifting her elbows to bring her wrists into the light.
The rope-burn circles blister my vision. Ugly welts. A map of what those men did. Just the surface.
“Why?”
“They were going to betroth me. So, they had to check. The doctor had to check…”
“Fuck.” The taste of metal in my mouth.
“It’s okay.” She retreats a half-step. “It’s not that bad. It’s not—”
“Show me.”
“Elijah…”
“I’ll decide how bad it is.” I open the door and guide her to sit on the edge of the bed. “I need to know, Finley.”
“Why?” Her lip trembles as I brace my hands on the mattress, either side of her thighs.
“Because… I left you there. I left you in that goddamn hell hole.”
“I chose to stay for my grandma, remember? She needed me and I needed to be there for her.” A tender, sad smile. “This isn’t your fault. You can’t blame yourself for the actions of others.”
Maybe. But when my actions lead to them? “So please, please let me try to make it better.”
“Okay.” She rests her hands on my shoulders and stands. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”
The swallow that follows says it’s worse. The clench in her jaw when she peels the waistband of her black pants over her hips says much worse. Every line in her body draws taut with pain.
A quiet whimper breaks free.
“Can I?” I hover my hands over hers. “Can I help?”
Tears streak silent down her cheeks. She nods. “They’re stuck to my skin.”
“Okay. Sit back down.” I anchor my hands gently at her waist and help her lower. “I’ll be right back.”
In the bathroom I soak clean washcloths in lukewarm water, grab the first-aid kit, scissors, wipes, ointment, gauze, wraps.
She’s rigid when I return, fingers denting the duvet. Her eyes jump to the scissors.
“Where is the fabric stuck?” I crouch again. She points, and I lay the warm cloths where she indicates, cutting along the outer seam. “We’ll get you new clothes and everything you need. Your bathroom has basics—brush, paste, the rest. I stocked it, but I’m sure I missed things.”