31. Dmitri
31
DMITRI
E lanee lays in my bed, exhausted, with her hair fanned around her. I can’t give her back. These little pockets of time taunt and tease me.
I look from her and back to the book I’m trying to focus on, but the lines begin to blur as the piercing headache takes hold again. I gently kiss her forehead and throw the blanket over her, admiring her soundlessly asleep before I walk into my apartment office. The shutters are closed when they used to always be open. Recently, I found even the nightlife spilling in from the city too bright.
I uncork the lid of my whisky and pour a glass. I pop two of the painkillers the Doc gave me and throw them back. I hate being weak. Out of control not only for my woman but myself as well. My phone lights up with Layla’s name. It’s three in the morning and I’m assuming it’s not good.
I answer the call immediately.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Somebody’s watching her apartment,” Layla quietly says. I can just imagine her standing in Elanee’s living room with the curtain slightly pulled back and watching.
My jaw tics. “For how long?”
“Mmmm. About an hour or so now.”
“Male or female?”
“It’s hard to tell; they’re wearing a hoodie.”
I lick my lips. “Just give the signal and Archer will intervene.”
She scoffs. “Please, you know I hope that dickhead has the balls to come and knock on this door. But if they don’t, Archer should track them when they leave.”
I grumble my complaint. “No, he stays. I’m not leaving you unattended.”
“Pfft. How many times have you had to correct your nose because I’ve broken it?” she teases.
“Once,” I dryly state. I down the rest of the whisky, hoping it takes the edge off. This is the first time Elanee’s apartment has been watched. And it most likely has something to do with me recently removing that green-haired prick, Slater.
“Oh, would you look at that? It looks like the stalker’s on an hourly rate because they’re leaving,” she says, sounding almost disappointed. “How’s she doing? How’d the meeting go?”
Although Layla and I are close, I didn’t make it a habit to involve others in my business. Even if she was the closest thing I consider as a friend. But this was personal for us both, which is why I gave her the courtesy of updating her about most things.
I let out a harsh breath. “As best as can be. We’re going to roll to the next phase to coax The Lion out.”
She quietly says, “I don’t want her to come back here. To this apartment.”
“I know. Neither do I.” But ultimately, it is Elanee’s choice, and I fucking hate every part of it.
Silence.
“Have you had any sleep tonight?” she asks carefully.
“Goodnight, Layla. Call me if anything happens.”
She sighs on the other end but says, “Roger that.”
My phone lights up with a reminder and departure time for tomorrow. My knuckles turn white as I hold the phone, irritated that I have to leave New York. I don’t like the timing of things. But I also know that Elanee isn’t the only woman I have to protect.
I walk back into the room to find her awake. My body freezes as she flicks through the book I’d carelessly left on the bed.
“Is this the same one you were reading when we were in Texas? Do you make a habit of reading medical books?” she asks.
I casually pluck the book out of her hand. “You’re supposed to be sleeping.”
“And so are you,” she grumbles as she pulls on my hand to lay behind her. She tucks herself into my arms and nestles in.
Her slippers brush against me, and I slightly lean over to growl into her ear and watch her side profile fall back to sleep. “I don’t know if I want to sleep beside someone who sleeps in slippers. Blasphemy.”
She kicks up a smile. “And I don’t want to sleep beside a prick but here we are.”
My smile mirrors hers as I brush my fingers through her long, blonde hair. “I have to fly to Ithaca tomorrow, but I’ll be back in the early hours of the morning.”
Her eyes reopen. “Are you going to see your mother?”
I’d never gone into great detail about my mother’s condition, but the Lane sisters had met her a handful of times when she visited New York. Though she rarely did these days.
When I was younger, my grandfather tried to return her to high society in New York. She didn’t cope well under the pressure, and so it became public knowledge about her frail condition, and she was sent back to the countryside, which much better catered to her health.
“Yes. Layla will help you swap back tomorrow. I have people watching you. You’ll be safe.”
She tucks herself further into me. “How is she? Your mom?” I notice that she doesn’t comment on her safety. Probably because she hasn’t felt safe for years.
As for my mother, she was in pieces, and I’d learned over the years not all of them were going to fit back into place ever again. No matter how wealthy my grandfather and I became. No matter how much we invested in medical and psychiatric care, we were hopeless against ‘fixing’ her PTSD.
I’d grown up to learn that some things would remain broken.
At best, we could find ways to navigate the wounds and triggers.
I press a kiss on Elanee’s forehead.
I just hoped my woman was strong enough to fight through her demons and return to me whole.
“She’s still very kind,” I say honestly.
The opposite of me.
The only good I had in my life before Elanee.
The only other woman I ever tried to be a better version of. If only to put her mind at ease.
But in return, I knew I reminded her of the demon that chased her away and who she was always fearful would return somehow, someway.
And he was. He’d just hooked his claws into something else in the meantime.