8. Killian #2
More than that, I want to tell her the truth. That I’ve been watching her. That every threat she’s ever faced ended because of me. I want her to know the names of the men I’ve buried for her. I want her to see the blood I can’t ever really scrub off, and still not want to leave.
“I don’t know what’s happening to me,” she whispers. “It’s like you’ve taken over something in me I didn’t even know existed.”
The words are right there. I could kill the lie and be done with it. But confessing would be for me. It’s a selfish way to clear my own head by poisoning hers. I’m not letting her pay for my mistakes.
“Ellie,” I say, low, turning my hand to trap her fingers. “It isn't just you. But there’s a lot you don’t know. About me. About the world I come from.”
“Then tell me. Help me understand.”
If only it were that easy. If I could just give her the truth and know she’d survive it. But some things only destroy.
“Some things stay buried for a reason,” I tell her. “Some pasts are too fucked to go digging in.”
“I’ve worked with people who have done things that would keep you awake at night,” she says. “The only ones who actually survive them are the ones who stop lying about what they are. You can’t walk away from a past you’re still carrying in secret. All it takes is honesty.”
Honesty. The one thing that would kill the way she’s looking at me right now.
“Not all of us deserve redemption.”
“Everyone deserves the chance to try.”
Her faith in me is a problem. She believes in a man who doesn’t exist. Someone who just made a few wrong turns instead of walking into the dark on purpose. She doesn’t know there isn't much left to save.
“Your father,” I say, cutting the thought off. “Would he approve of this? Taking risks with someone like me?”
Her face darkens. “No. He was protective. But he also believed in following your gut, even when it led you somewhere dangerous.”
“And Nathan? He wouldn't like this, would he?”
She sighs, her thumb skimming my knuckle. She probably doesn't even know she's doing it, but it's enough to throw me.
“Nathan wants me safe. He thinks my work is a hobby. Something I should have outgrown. He doesn’t get that this is who I am, not just what I do.”
“And what do you want?”
She goes quiet, her eyes locking on mine. “I want to feel alive. I want to make a difference. I want… I want to stop feeling like I’m sleepwalking through my life.”
She tries to pull her hand back, her face flushing. I catch her fingers. Hold them there. Her hand feels too soft against my scarred one.
“Then stop. Lying to yourself is a hell of a lot more dangerous than anything I’m doing.” I slide my thumb over the inside of her wrist.
“It would be professional suicide,” she whispers, but she doesn't pull away. “Everything I’ve spent my life building... I lose my license. I lose my father’s legacy. I lose everything.”
“Then let go of my hand.” I don't move. “If those things were enough to stop you, you’d already be back upstairs. Maybe ‘everything’ is just a fancy way of saying you’re bored, Ellie.”
She stares at me. I can see the fight in her eyes.
“This is crazy,” she whispers.
“Maybe. But you’re still standing here.”
For a second, I think she’s going to move. To let the rest of the world go and just be here. Then she steps back. Closing the door on whatever almost happened between us.
“I should go to bed,” she says, though she doesn't move. She stays there for a beat, her hand still caught in mine.
“You should.”
“Killian?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For seeing me.”
“Anytime. Even therapists need that once in a while.”
She squeezes my hand once, then slips away. I stay in the kitchen long after she’s gone, staring at the moonlight on the floor and replaying every second.
She touched me first. Told me things I doubt she’s told Nathan. Admitted I scare her, and stood there anyway.
I have everything I'd need to use her.
Except I don't want to use her anymore.
I didn’t mean for it to be love. Obsession, I could handle. I’ve owned that from the start. But somewhere between watching her survive what I did to her world and watching her put her hand over mine just now, it stopped being strategy.
Now I’m fucked.
I killed her father. I love her. There’s no version of this story where I get to keep both truths.
The day drags. I watch her try to hide in the normal, the blur of her usual routines. Sessions, tea, avoiding my eyes whenever we cross in the hall. She's sticking to the predictable because the predictable is safe.
Safe ends at six. Nathan Parker shows up, key in the lock like he fucking owns the place.
Prick.
I watch from the doorway as he walks in, his eyes sweeping the space. He finds the proof I’m here: my book on the table, my hoodie draped over his usual chair, his rival's place already marked.
“Blackthorn.”
“Nathan.” He grimaces at me using his first name. What will he think to me using hers? “Ellie mentioned you might stop by.”
It's a lie. But effective. I catch the flicker in his eyes.
Nathan is exactly who I remember. Expensive suit covering a body soft from years behind a desk. Manicured hands never having thrown a punch. Exactly the kind of man Ellie’s supposed to marry.
I bet when he’s fucking her, she fakes it.
“How are you adjusting to civilian life?” Nathan drops into the chair across from me.
“Better than expected,” I say, making sure my eyes cut toward Ellie. “Dr. Hart has been incredibly… accommodating.”
He catches the emphasis. His jaw ticks.
“Ellie’s always been dedicated to her patients. Sometimes too dedicated.”
“Dedication’s admirable. Especially when it means helping people transform their lives.”
“Do you really believe men like you can change?” Nathan asks, dropping into a chair.
It’s a cruel jibe.
“People become what they need to survive. Change the circumstances, and change becomes possible.”
“A wolf doesn’t turn into a sheep just because you move it to another pasture.”
The metaphor fits, though not in his way. He’s right about the wolf. He’s just wrong about what I’m hunting.
“Perhaps. But wolves can be loyal. Protective. When they find the right pack.”
Nathan’s eyes narrow. He hears it. Good.
Ellie pauses at the counter, the knife stilled over the vegetables. She doesn’t say anything, but I know she’s listening.
Good.
Let her hear how Nathan sees her as property. Let her hear how I see her as a person. Let her make the comparison and find him wanting.
Manipulation?
Absolutely.
Do I give a fuck?
Not even a little.
“Ellie deserves stability.” Nathan says, dismissing me with a wave of his fork. “She’s been through enough trauma without more chaos.”
“Stability. That’s a polite way of saying you like her better when she’s predictable.”
His smile cracks. His fists clench.
“You know nothing about her.”
“You call her work a hobby, but her work is the only place she actually breathes. I know she let me in because she’s the only person in this room who actually believes the shit she says. She deserves to be right, Nathan. And you’re just the man trying to keep her wrong.”
The threat’s there, plain as day. Nathan stares, jaw clenching, wondering how I’ve seen her more clearly in a few weeks than he has in eighteen months.
“Dinner’s ready,” Ellie says suddenly, voice pitched bright but too sharp at the edges. She wants to break the tension. But the tightness of her shoulders tells me she feels every bit of it.
Dinner is a lesson in restraint. Nathan talks over me, making digs about "predictability" while he cuts his steak into perfect little squares, oblivious to the fact that his woman hasn't taken a single bite. Ellie just moves the food around her plate, her fingers white where she’s gripping the fork. If she grips any harder, she’s going to snap it.
“Experimental programs are risky,” Nathan pushes. “Especially when they require such… intimate arrangements.”
He spits the word intimate like an accusation. Nathan wants her to admit there’s something wrong with me being here.
“The therapeutic relationship requires trust and proximity,” Ellie answers, voice steady. “Institutions build walls. That prevents real breakthroughs.”
“And you’re comfortable being alone with him? Every day. Every night?”
Ellie freezes for half a beat, then I see it land, what he’s really asking. Color rises in her cheeks. Not shame. Anger.
“I’m safe. Mr. Blackthorn is monitored constantly, and I’m more than capable of managing my professional relationships.”
“I just worry about the psychological impact of prolonged exposure to someone like him.”
He’s fishing for signs I’ve already sunk into her skin. He's right to worry.