Chapter Seven
Estelle
T he final bell rang at Seaside Academy, signaling my temporary escape from the land of trust fund babies and organic juice boxes. I gathered my things from the desk while watching twenty perfectly groomed children rush to collect designer backpacks.
Leo was already waiting by the door like a tiny, patient dinosaur expert, his latest prehistoric tome clutched to his chest like it contained the secrets of the universe.
Those green eyes followed my movements as I made my final rounds through the classroom, checking that every crayon was accounted for and every chair was stacked.
"Ready to go, buddy?" I asked, forcing warmth into my voice. My bones felt like they belonged to someone twice my age, and my feet ached in shoes held together by determination and superglue.
He nodded, slipping his small hand into mine. "Can we stop at the library on the way home? I finished this one already."
My heart clenched like a fist around broken glass. Such a simple request from a kid who asked for so little. Such an impossible one for a guardian running on fumes and prayer.
The bus would leave in twenty minutes, and if we missed it, we'd be walking home in the dark through a neighborhood where streetlights went to die and hope got mugged on street corners.
"Not today," I answered gently, hating myself for the disappointment I knew would flicker across his face. "But maybe this weekend, okay? We need to catch the bus."
There it was, that careful neutrality sliding over his features, a mask he'd learned to wear too young.
Another twist of the guilt knife lodged permanently between my ribs.
He deserved better than broken promises and constant calculations of time versus safety versus money that never added up to enough.
We walked through Seaside Academy's marble hallways, past children being collected by nannies dressed better than I was, and parents who spent more on car payments than I made in six months.
The contrast always struck me most at dismissal time: the gleaming wealth of Seaside against the reality waiting for us an hour's bus ride away.
Two different worlds, and we were just visitors in this one, hiding our poverty beneath ill-fitting costumes.
Leo and I moved quickly, slipping past crowds of chattering parents whose conversations revolved around ski trips and vacations. We were like ghosts haunting the edges of someone else's paradise, invisible unless someone needed to feel charitable.
The afternoon sun was warm on my face as we walked, a free gift from the universe that didn't require a credit check, and Leo chattered about the new dinosaur facts he'd absorbed that day. His enthusiasm was infectious, a bright spot in the endless gray of survival mode.
"The book says the T-Rex could bite with the force of three alligators combined!" Leo exclaimed, tugging at my hand for emphasis, his eyes wide with the kind of wonder that made everything worth fighting for .
I smiled despite the tiredness weighing down my eyelids like tiny anchors. "No wonder they ruled the earth."
“Queens did, too," he corrected with the serious authority of a five-year-old paleontologist.
I loved him.
“Queens, too," I agreed, warmth blooming in my chest despite the constant stress gnawing at my ribs.
We reached the bus stop just as the bus pulled up to the curb. The brakes hissed, and I helped Leo up the steep steps that seemed designed to discourage anyone under four feet tall from riding public transportation.
I paid our fare with carefully pre-counted coins that I'd sorted this morning like a sad little treasure hunt, guiding Leo to a seat near the front where I could keep an eye on everything.
The bus wasn't crowded yet; it would fill up at the next few stops with housekeepers and nannies heading home after their shifts in houses we’d never be able to afford.
We were the invisible army of people who kept the wealthy world running while remaining carefully unseen.
Leo pressed his face to the window, studying the urban habitat, his breath fogging the glass in perfect circles. I settled beside him, allowing myself one precious moment to close my eyes. Just a moment.
The gentle sway of the bus was almost hypnotic, and the rumble of the engine created a white noise that made my eyelids feel like they weighed fifty pounds each.
When was the last time I slept an entire night? When was the last time I felt human instead of like a zombie?
"Elle?" Leo's voice pulled me back from the edge of unconsciousness. "Are you sleeping?"
I straightened, blinking away the fatigue that clung to my vision like cobwebs. "No, buddy. Just resting my eyes for a second."
He studied my face with that too-perceptive gaze that missed nothing. I often wondered if he could see through my carefully constructed facade to the exhausted, terrified woman underneath.
"You should sleep more," he announced with the wisdom of someone who'd learned to worry about the adults in his life. "The teachers say sleep is important for growing brains."
Teachers also say lots of things about balanced meals and stable housing, but we're improvising on those fronts too.
"They're right," I smiled, stroking his soft hair and marveling at how something so perfect had emerged from the chaos of our family tree. "But my brain is done growing, so I'm okay."
He didn't look convinced, too smart for his own good, but the bus lurched to a stop, distracting him as a group of teenagers boarded, whose indoor voices had clearly died tragic deaths. I pulled Leo a little closer, a reflexive protection against the unpredictability of our world.
The hour-long ride stretched before us like a slow-motion transition between worlds. We watched as manicured lawns gave way to concrete and chain-link fences.
By the time we reached our stop, the sun was painting the sky and casting long shadows across cracked sidewalks.
I held Leo's hand tightly as we navigated the familiar obstacle course home, past the corner with its flickering neon sign that spelled "Convnint Stor,” and past the laundromat with the perpetually broken window.
We passed the group of men who always gathered on the stoop of a building near ours, like a neighborhood watch committee that watched everything except actual crimes. Their eyes tracked our movement with lazy interest.
Just keep walking. Just keep breathing. Just keep existing until tomorrow.
We were a block from our building when the screech of tires split the air and made us stop in our tracks. Metal met asphalt with a horrible sound, followed by a thud that raised every hair on my body.
I whirled around, instinctively pushing Leo behind me. A black car with dark-tinted windows peeled away from the scene, tires smoking against the pavement in a dramatic exit.
In its wake, a figure in dark clothing lay crumpled on the ground.
Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
"Leo, stay right here," I ordered, pressing him against the wall of the check-cashing place that doubled as a neighborhood landmark and money laundering operation. "Don't move. Understand?"
He nodded, green eyes wide.
I hurried toward the limp figure, my sneakers slapping against concrete that had seen better decades. My hand found the pepper spray in my pocket, my pathetic excuse for personal protection, thumb resting on the safety cap as my brain cycled through worst-case scenarios.
Was this one of Damon's men? Had they finally escalated from surveillance to vehicular assault? Was this my fault somehow?
"Hey," I called, keeping my distance because I'd learned not to trust anything that looked unconscious in this neighborhood. "Are you okay?"
Was it stupid to check on them? Probably. But I couldn’t find it in myself to just… leave.
The figure stirred, pushing up on one elbow with a low grunt that was somehow both pained and... sexy? What the hell was wrong with me?
Something about the movement struck me as familiar, too fluid for someone seriously injured, too graceful for your average street casualty.
The dark hood fell back slightly, revealing fancy black sunglasses and a flash of hair so golden it looked like it had been spun from actual sunbeams.
No fucking way.
My heart stuttered like a broken engine as he pushed the sunglasses up, revealing eyes so blue they seemed to glow in the gathering dusk like sapphires lit from within. Eyes I'd recognize anywhere, eyes that had been haunting my dreams and making me question my sanity for the past week.
Jax Easton. Here. In my world. Sprawled on dirty concrete like some fallen god who'd taken a wrong turn on his way to Olympus.
"Mr. Easton?" I gasped, disbelief stealing what was left of my composure and leaving me gaping like a fish. "What are you—how did you?—"
My brain short-circuited. Jax Easton, champion boxer and millionaire playboy whose face graced billboards, had no business being in this neighborhood. Absolutely none. It was like finding a unicorn in a parking lot, or a Michelin-starred restaurant in a gas station.
"Jax," he corrected with that signature smirk I'd seen in countless interviews, even though he was currently intimate with asphalt that hadn't been cleaned since… ever.
"And apparently, I'm getting acquainted with your lovely street."
Even flat on his back, the man had more charm than should be humanly possible.
I glanced back at Leo, who remained pressed against the wall like I'd told him, watching us with eyes so wide they were practically falling out of his head.
My brain scrambled to make sense of this cosmic joke—Jax Easton, living embodiment of everything I couldn't have, lying on the same concrete where I walked every day.
"You're hurt," I stated the obvious because my capacity for intelligent conversation had apparently evacuated along with my common sense.