Chapter 8
Reed stood in his kitchen, making dinner.
His brothers wouldn’t be there tonight—Walker had gone back to his own place, and James and Terrel had driven into Seattle to pick up specialized equipment they’d need for Vancouver.
The house felt unusually quiet without their constant chatter and good-natured ribbing.
He had asked Elena if she would like to eat dinner with him, and she’d said yes. He’d told her to give him an hour while he cooked. It had been an impulse, really—the desire to do something normal, something that felt like the old days when they’d shared countless meals together.
Now, as he sautéed mushrooms, onions, and red peppers, stirred the linguine sauce, and kept track of the noodles boiling on the back burner, he felt... satisfied. Maybe for the first time since he’d seen her in his office. Which was strange, because his mind was all confused about everything else.
Part of him wanted to jump back in with her completely, to pretend the last five years hadn’t happened and pick up where they’d left off.
The other part warned that she had abandoned him five years ago.
There could have been another way. Just like she’d reached out to her mother through the newspaper, couldn’t she have figured something out to contact him?
The mist from the boiling water hit his face, and he pulled the vegetables off the heat, then stopped boiling the noodles. He took the pot to the sink and rinsed the pasta in cold water, his movements automatic while his thoughts churned.
“What can I do to help?” Elena suddenly asked.
Reed jerked to a full stop. He’d been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t even heard her coming down the stairs. She stood in the kitchen doorway wearing jeans and a soft gray sweater, her dark hair loose around her shoulders.
“Uh,” Reed said, collecting himself. “Could you set the table? The dishes are out on the counter there.”
Elena moved to gather the plates and silverware he’d laid out earlier. As she worked, the classical Bach piece he had playing seemed to catch her attention.
“You haven’t changed,” she said with a small smile.
Reed felt all kinds of things at that comment, but he hated the fact that resentment was mixed in with the warmth. “My musical taste hasn’t changed, but a lot of other things have.”
Elena fell quiet, the easy moment evaporating. She finished setting the table while Reed plated their food, the silence stretching between them. Classical music that had seemed peaceful moments before now felt like it was highlighting the tension.
They sat at his kitchen table, and Reed waited for Elena to pray. She closed her eyes and bowed her head briefly, her lips moving silently. When she finished, they began to dish up their portions.
“Reed, what’s wrong?” she asked after a few moments of watching him load his plate.
He hesitated. Was he ready for this conversation? For the honesty it would require?
He finished serving himself and picked up his fork, taking a bite of the pasta. It was good—the flavors balanced, the vegetables still crisp—but he could barely taste it.
Elena waited. Her plate sat in front of her, untouched.
“Eat,” Reed said.
“What’s wrong?” she pressed, ignoring his direction.
Finally, Reed put his fork down and met her gaze. “You could have communicated with me.”
“What?” Elena’s eyebrows rose. “No.”
“Yes,” Reed said, his voice gaining strength. “Just like you said you did with your mom, you could have found a way. You’re trained in covert communications. You—”
“I didn’t want to get you killed, Reed,” Elena interrupted, her tone strong with an edge to it that he remembered from their old arguments.
Reed met her gaze steadily. “And I didn’t want to spend five years thinking the woman I loved was dead when she was actually just choosing not to contact me.”
Elena blinked rapidly, emotion flashing across her face. Then she stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. “I shouldn’t even be here. I could still get you killed.”
She turned toward the doorway, but Reed was faster. He pushed back from the table and caught her arm gently.
“Elena, wait—”
“No,” she said, trying to pull away. “This was a mistake. I should go. I should find another way to stop Webb that doesn’t involve you or your family.”
“You’re not going anywhere.”
“Reed, let me go.” Elena’s voice was strained, and it was clear she was fighting tears.
“Not again,” Reed said, moving to stand directly in front of her. “I’m not letting you disappear on me again.”
“You don’t understand—”
“Then make me understand. Talk to me, Elena. Actually talk to me instead of making decisions for both of us.”
Elena looked up at him, and Reed could see the war playing out in her dark eyes—fear against hope, protection against connection.
“I was trying to keep you safe,” she whispered.
“By destroying me instead?”
“I didn’t have a choice!”
“You did,” Reed said, stepping closer. “You had choices, and you chose to cut me out. You chose to let me believe you were dead rather than trust me to handle the truth.”
“I couldn’t lose you!” she said, her voice breaking. “If something happened to you because of me, because of my work, I couldn’t have lived with myself. At least this way, you got to live. You got to build something amazing, create this company, find happiness—”
“Find happiness?” Reed stared at her incredulously. “Elena, I haven’t been happy in five years. I’ve been existing. Going through the motions. Building walls so high that even my own brothers couldn’t reach me sometimes.”
“But you survived—”
“Barely,” Reed said quietly. “And only because I had to. Because the alternative was giving up completely.”
Elena’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Reed, I’m so sorry. I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought—”
Reed didn’t let her finish. He placed his hands gently on her shoulders, feeling the tension in her muscles, the trembling that betrayed how much this conversation was costing her.
“Elena,” he said softly.
She looked up at him, tears spilling down her cheeks, and Reed felt something shift in his chest. All the anger, all the resentment, all the hurt—it was still there, but underneath it was something stronger. Something that had survived five years of believing she was dead.
Reed pulled her closer and pressed his lips to hers.
The kiss was gentle at first, tentative, like he was asking a question he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer to. But Elena responded immediately, her hands fisting in his shirt as she kissed him back with five years of suppressed longing and regret.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Reed rested his forehead against hers.
“We’re going to figure this out,” he said quietly. “All of it. Webb, the mission, us. But you don’t get to disappear on me again. Not ever.”
Elena nodded, tears still tracking down her cheeks. “Okay.”
“Okay,” Reed repeated, his hands still on her shoulders, holding her close. “Now let’s eat dinner before it gets cold.”
Elena laughed shakily. “You made it from scratch.”
“I remember what you like.”
And as they returned to the table, Reed realized that maybe—just maybe—some things were worth fighting for. Even if it took five years to find them again.