19. Shattered Faith #2
“I’m talking about the fact that your brother is fighting for his life.
” My voice quivers, hindered by alcohol and fear.
“I’m talking about Leo having nightmares because he saw you covered in blood.
I’m talking about lying to my partner every day, compromising everything I’ve worked for, everything I believe in—”
“To protect our family,” he interrupts, his dark eyes intense.
“Our family?” I laugh, the sound bordering on hysterical. “Is that what we are? Because this…” I pound my fist on my chest. “My heart hurts, Zeke. You could have died last night, and then what?”
“Eve—”
“No, let me finish.” I push away from the desk, swaying again.
“You want me to be honest? Fine. I’m terrified, Zeke.
Not just of losing you, but of what this life is doing to all of us.
To Leo. To me. Every day, I watch you walk this razor’s edge between justice and vengeance, and I don’t know how to reconcile that with who I am. With what I do.”
He reaches for me again, and this time I let him catch my wrist, his touch burning through my skin. “Tell me what you need,” he says.
The whiskey burns in my throat as I stare at him, my vision blurring. “What if it had been you?” My voice cracks. “What if that bullet had hit you instead of Seb? What if—” I swallow hard, the words jagged like pieces of glass. “What if next time, you don’t come home at all?”
“That won’t happen.” Zeke’s grip on my wrist tightens, his thumb pressing against my racing pulse. “I’m too careful, too well-protected—”
“Bullshit!” I yank my hand away, stumbling back. “Seb was protected too, wasn’t he? And look what happened. He’s fighting for his life because someone got lucky with a bullet.”
The memory of Seb’s blood soaking into the carpet flashes through my mind, followed by Leo’s terrified face.
My stomach lurches. “You can’t promise me anything.
You can’t guarantee you’ll come home. Every time you walk out that door, I—” My voice breaks.
“I wonder if it’s the last time I’ll see you alive. ”
“Eve—”
The whiskey churns in my stomach as another possibility hits me. “Or what if they come here? What if they decide to hurt you by hurting us? You can’t be everywhere at once, Zeke. You can’t protect everyone all the time.”
His face darkens, jaw clenching. “No one would dare—”
“They already have!” The words explode from me. “I was attacked in my own home. They shot your brother. They got close enough to cut you! How can you stand there and tell me we’re safe when your blood is barely dry on our bathroom floor?”
My breath catches as I stare at him, the whiskey making everything soft around the edges except for the sharp ache in my chest. The afternoon sun streaming through his study window catches the silver in his hair, highlighting the worry lines around his eyes.
God, he’s beautiful. Even exhausted and injured, he radiates a strength that draws me to him.
And that’s the problem, isn’t it? I’m falling too hard, too fast. Again.
“I can’t do this right now,” I whisper, setting down the crystal tumbler with trembling fingers. “I need … I need to get out of here.”
“Eve—” He reaches for me, but I step back.
“I need to talk to Olivia. Tell her what happened.” The lie tastes bitter on my tongue as it mixes with the whiskey. “Then I have my support group meeting.”
“We need to talk about this,” he says, his voice thick with emotion.
“I know.” I grab my phone from his desk, needing something to do with my hands. “Just, not now. Please.”
The word hangs between us, heavy with everything I’m not saying. That I’m terrified of how much I feel for him. That every time he touches me, every time he looks at me like I’m his whole world, I fall a little deeper.
Without waiting for his response, I hurry past him, my shoulder brushing his chest. The contact sends electricity through my body, and I have to force myself not to lean into him, not to let him pull me close and make me forget why this is so dangerous.
I pause at the door, my hand on the knob. “I’ll ask Eli to drive me. Keep Leo safe while I’m gone. I’ll be back later,” I say softly, not turning around. I can’t look at him again or I’ll never leave.
His silence follows me down the hallway, speaking volumes more than words ever could.
I find Olivia in a secluded back booth at the diner she often visits before support group meetings.
Her long black hair is pulled back in a sleek ponytail, and she’s wearing one of her signature scarves that makes her pale skin glow.
This one is midnight blue silk. She looks perfectly put together, as always, but something’s off in the way she’s methodically shredding her paper napkin into tiny pieces.
“Hey,” I slide into the booth across from her, noting the untouched coffee in front of her. That’s not like Olivia at all—she usually downs caffeine like it’s going out of style. “Thanks for meeting me early.”
She gives me a bright smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Of course. Though I have to admit, your text has me worried. What’s so urgent?”
I take a deep breath, studying her face. “It’s about Seb. There was an incident last night.”
The napkin in her hands tears with a sharp sound. “What kind of incident?”
“He was shot.” I keep my voice low, even though there’s no one in earshot. “He’s stable now, but it was touch and go for a while.”
Olivia’s face goes stark white, her carefully maintained composure cracking. Her hands shake as she sets down the shredded napkin. “Shot? Where? How bad—” She cuts herself off, pressing her lips together. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. We’re not … I mean, it’s not like…”
“Liv.” I reach across the table and grab her hand. “It’s okay to be worried about him.”
“I’m not,” she says quickly—too quickly. “We’re just having fun. That’s all it is. That’s all it can be.”
But I see the fear in her eyes, the way her other hand keeps touching that silk scarf like it’s a lifeline. I recognize that look—it’s the same one I saw in my mirror this morning. The look of someone trying desperately not to admit they’re in too deep.
“Come on.” I grab my purse and slide out of the booth. “Lydia’s probably waiting for us and Naomi’s coming. She needs our support.”
Olivia slides out of the booth, and we make the short walk to the community center.
The small meeting room feels too warm tonight, despite the chill autumn air outside.
Lydia waves us over and we take our seats.
Naomi gives us a nervous smile as she makes her way to us.
Sharing isn’t easy. Not at any stage of recovery.
She’s brave for coming tonight and agreeing to take this step toward recovery.
I shift in my metal folding chair as Naomi nervously takes her seat in our circle. Her long red curls partially obscure her face as she looks down at her hands.
The facilitator does a quick introduction and then gives Naomi the floor. She slowly pushes to her feet.
“I’m Naomi,” she says softly, her voice barely carrying across our small circle of chairs. “I … I left my husband three weeks ago.” Her fingers twist in front of her. “Micah—my father-in-law—he’s been helping me stay hidden, protecting me from his son.”
Beside me, Olivia keeps checking her phone, her usual animated energy subdued. I know she’s thinking about Seb, lying in that bed with bandages wrapped around his shoulder. I want to reach out, to tell her it’s okay to be scared, but I know she’ll just deflect.
“You’re safe here,” Lydia says to Naomi in that gentle way she has. She leans forward. “We all understand what it’s like, having to leave, having to hide.” She gestures to the three of us. “That’s actually how we all met—right here in this room.”
“Lucas, my husband, he—” Naomi’s voice cracks. “He said no one would believe me. That his family’s money would protect him.” She looks up, meeting our eyes one by one. “But Micah … he believed me. When he saw the bruises.”
“Men like that count on our silence,” I say, my voice harder than I intended. “They use shame to keep us quiet.”
Olivia’s phone buzzes. She jumps, then quickly silences it, but I catch the flash of Seb’s name on the screen. Her face goes pale, and she shoves the phone deep into her purse.
“Sorry,” she mutters. “Go on, Naomi.”
But Olivia’s hands shake. The fear in her eyes that has nothing to do with past trauma and everything to do with the present: the man lying wounded in my guest room, and the danger that comes with loving someone who lives in shadows.
Naomi takes a shaky breath. “The first time he hit me, it was over dinner. I’d made chicken parmesan—his favorite. But I’d forgotten to buy fresh basil.” Her voice trembles. “He threw the plate against the wall, then backhanded me so hard I fell. My head hit the floor so hard I had a concussion.”
My stomach clenches. Next to me, Olivia reaches for her hand.
“After that, it was like living with a bomb that could go off any second.” Naomi’s green eyes fill with tears. “The worst part wasn’t even the hitting. It was never knowing what would set him off. Walking on eggshells, trying to be perfect, knowing it wouldn’t matter anyway.”
“How did you finally leave?” Lydia asks softly.
“Micah showed up unexpectedly one afternoon. Lucas was—” She swallows hard. “He had me pinned against the wall, choking me. Micah pulled him off, got me out of there. I’ve been staying with him ever since.”
The fluorescent lights buzz overhead as we all absorb her words. I recognize that haunted look in her eyes. It’s the same one I used to see in my mirror, back when Ryan verbally attacked me every waking minute.
“Lucas keeps trying to find me,” Naomi continues, her voice barely above a whisper.
“He comes by Micah’s house everyday asking where I am.
So far he believes his dad when he tells him I’m not there.
He’s called my parents, my friends. Told them I’m mentally unstable, that I need help. Some of them believed him.”