Chapter Twenty-Six — Mine Anyway
ELLIOT
Elliot woke with his teeth against Ronan’s shoulder.
Not biting. Just there. His mouth rested against warm skin a few inches below the fresh mark he had left hours earlier, and for several seconds he remained completely still.
Morning light pressed weakly around the blinds.
Ronan’s breathing remained slow. One arm lay heavily across Elliot’s waist. The other was bent above his head.
Bandage around the forearm. Three stitches beneath it.
Elliot stared. Nathan had done that. Anger arrived immediately.
Sharp. Clean. Familiar. He closed his eyes.
No. That was the problem now. Every emotion still wanted to become action.
Jealousy wanted punishment. Fear wanted control.
Anger wanted blood. Love wanted possession.
Elliot had spent years believing that knowing what he felt was the same as controlling it.
Apparently not. He moved his mouth away from Ronan’s shoulder. Ronan’s arm tightened.
“Don’t.”
Elliot froze.
“You’re awake.”
“No.”
“You just spoke.”
“Sleep talking.”
“You’re terrible at it.”
Ronan opened one eye. His hair was a disaster. Elliot liked him like this. Too much.
“Where are you going?”
“Nowhere.”
“You moved.”
“My face was against you.”
“Tragic.”
Elliot smiled. Ronan closed his eye again. For several seconds, neither moved. Then Ronan said:
“You’re staring.”
“Yes.” “Creepy.” “Yes.” “Planning my murder?” Elliot’s entire body went still.
Ronan opened both eyes. “Bad joke.” “Yes.” “Sorry.” Elliot looked away.
Ronan’s arm tightened around him again. “Hey.” “What?” “Look at me.” Elliot did.
“I’m sorry.” “You don’t need to apologize.
” “I definitely do.” Elliot stared. Ronan sighed.
“I’m going to say stupid shit while my brain catches up.
” “Okay.” “Some of it will probably hurt.” “Okay.” “Tell me when it does.” Elliot almost laughed.
“You think I’m going to do that?” “No.” “Then why ask?” “Because apparently optimism is my newest personality defect.” Elliot smiled.
Ronan watched him. The smile slowly disappeared.
“What?” Ronan’s eyes moved over his face.
“You look different.” Elliot’s stomach tightened.
“How?” “I don’t know.” “That’s reassuring.
” “No. Not bad.” “Then what?” Ronan thought.
“Less polished.” Elliot looked away. There it was.
The thing everyone loved. Golden boy. Sweet Elliot.
Perfect Elliot. Good Elliot. The mask that existed long before porcelain. Ronan touched his chin.
“Don’t.”
Elliot looked back.
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I know.”
“I like this one better.”
Silence. Elliot stared. Ronan’s thumb moved once across his jaw.
“The one who looks tired?”
“The one who isn’t trying to convince me of anything.”
Something inside Elliot hurt. He covered it with humor.
“I could start lying if that helps.”
“Please don’t.”
“Worth offering.”
Ronan’s mouth twitched. Then his eyes moved toward Elliot’s throat. Nathan’s bruises. His expression hardened. Elliot noticed.
“You’re doing it again.”
“What?”
“Looking at my neck.”
Ronan didn’t deny it.
“I hate that he touched you.”
Heat moved unexpectedly through Elliot. Not sexual exactly. Possession recognized possession. Dangerous. He liked it. Of course he did.
“You sound like me.”
“Fuck you.”
Elliot smiled. Ronan rolled onto his back. Elliot immediately missed the arm around him. Ridiculous. He stayed where he was. Ronan stared at the ceiling.
“I’ve been thinking.”
“Also dangerous.”
“Shut up.”
Elliot waited.
“Saint.”
There it was. Morning ruined.
“What about him?”
“Or her.”
Elliot frowned.
“What?”
“We keep saying him.”
“Nathan is a man.”
“Nathan isn’t Saint.”
“Probably.”
“Vance said he isn’t the account holder.”
“That doesn’t necessarily mean—”
“I know. But we don’t know who Saint is.”
Elliot considered it. True. He had always imagined a man. Why? Writing style maybe. Nothing concrete.
“Fine. Saint could be anyone.”
“Exactly.”
Ronan turned his head.
“And whoever they are knew you before Tyler.”
“Yes.”
“They talked to Nathan too.”
“Yes.”
“They knew about us.”
“Yes.”
“They knew about Dylan.”
“Yes.”
“They knew your victims.”
“Yes.”
Ronan’s expression tightened.
“And they knew enough about you to predict what you would do.”
Elliot said nothing. That part bothered him most. Not being watched. Being understood. Ronan recognized the silence.
“You hate that.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Elliot almost said nothing. Caught himself.
“Because I don’t like people knowing me.”
Ronan stared.
“You literally told me last night that part of you liked Saint because they knew you.”
“Different.”
“How?”
“I controlled what Saint knew.”
Ronan’s eyebrows lifted.
“You thought you did.”
Elliot’s jaw tightened. Exactly. That was the problem. Saint had known things Elliot never gave them. Ronan. The murders. The mask. Maybe all of it.
“You’re right.”
Ronan blinked.
“What?”
“You’re right.”
“Can you say that again? I want to record it.”
Elliot shoved him. Ronan laughed. Then winced when his injured arm shifted. Elliot immediately stopped.
“Sorry.”
“I’m fine.”
“You need to get that checked again.”
“It has been five hours.”
“You could get an infection.”
“In five hours?”
“Yes.”
“That is not how infections work.”
“It could be.”
“Psychology major.”
“I took biology.”
“One semester.”
“Two.”
“Impressive.”
Elliot glared. Ronan smiled. And there it was. Normal. For five seconds. Maybe six. Then Ronan’s phone should have vibrated. Except
Ronan’s
phone
was
shattered
downstairs.
Elliot remembered. Because Ronan had destroyed it while lying for him. The memory did something complicated inside his chest.
“You broke your phone for me.”
Ronan groaned.
“Are we doing this again?”
“You didn’t have to.”
“I panicked.”
“You lied.”
“Yes.”
“Then broke your phone.”
“Yes.”
“Then lied again.”
“Are you keeping score?”
“Yes.”
“That is deeply unhealthy.”
“I know.”
Ronan looked at him.
“Why?”
Elliot frowned.
“Why what?”
“Why does it matter so much?”
Elliot stared. Because nobody had ever chosen him after seeing everything.
Because everyone loved the edited version.
His mother loved the son she believed she had.
Claire had loved the boyfriend he performed.
Friends loved whatever part of him fit comfortably into their lives.
Professors loved the polite student. Bellweather loved the golden boy.
Ronan knew. Five murders. The mask. Dylan.
The jealousy. The ugliness. Everything. And he was still here.
“It means you chose me.”
Ronan’s expression changed.
“I lied to Vance.”
“Yes.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
“It is to me.”
“That’s concerning.”
“Probably.”
Ronan sat up. Elliot watched the sheet fall toward his waist before forcing his attention upward. Ronan noticed. A tiny smile appeared. Elliot glared.
“Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Your face did.”
“Learned from the best.”
Elliot sat too. Ronan’s expression sobered.
“I need you to hear this.”
“Okay.”
“I chose you last night.”
Elliot’s pulse changed.
“Okay.”
“That doesn’t mean I choose everything you’ve done.”
“I know.”
“It doesn’t mean I’m becoming an accomplice forever.”
“You technically already—”
“Elliot.”
“Sorry.”
Ronan stared.
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
“No more murders.”
Silence. There. Elliot looked down. Ronan’s voice hardened.
“That should not require thought.”
“It doesn’t.”
“Then say it.”
Elliot looked at him.
“No more murders.”
Ronan searched his face.
“Promise.”
That was different. Elliot hated promises. Promises turned future behavior into debt. He could say the words. Easy. He had lied about worse. But Ronan would know. Maybe not immediately. Eventually. He always did now.
“What if someone tries to hurt you?”
Ronan’s jaw tightened.
“Police.”
“What if police aren’t there?”
“Defend me.”
“Until?”
“Until they aren’t a threat.”
Elliot stared.
“And then stop.”
“That’s vague.”
“It really fucking isn’t.”
“What if—”
“No.”
Ronan moved closer.
“No loopholes.”
Elliot almost smiled.
“You know me too well.”
“Apparently somebody has to.”
That warmth again. Dangerous. Elliot swallowed. Ronan continued.
“You don’t get to decide someone deserves to die because they hurt me.”
“I don’t like that rule.”
“I’m devastated.”
“Ronan.”
“No.”
“What if they—”
“No.”
Elliot stared. Ronan stared back. There would be no winning. Not because Elliot lacked arguments. Because Ronan had stopped treating this like an argument. It was a boundary. Interesting. Elliot nodded.
“No more murders.”
“Promise.”
He hesitated. Then:
“I promise.”
Ronan exhaled. Relief. Elliot immediately hated the promise because of how much that relief mattered. Now he had to keep it. Fuck. Ronan touched the side of his face.
“Thank you.”
Elliot leaned into the hand before he could stop himself. Ronan smiled.
“Cute.”
“Fuck you.”
“There he is.”
Elliot caught his wrist. Ronan’s expression shifted. The air changed. Not enough for another sex scene. Enough to remind both of them that last night had not been a one-time collapse. Ronan looked at his mouth. Elliot noticed.
“You still want me.”
Ronan groaned.
“Are you going to say that every twelve minutes?”
“Probably.”
“It’s going to make me stop.”
“No, it isn’t.”
Ronan stared. Elliot smiled.
“Cocky.”
“You like that too.”
“Unfortunately.”
Elliot kissed him. Short. No desperation. No blood. No confession. Just because he could. Ronan kissed him back. That mattered more. When they separated, Ronan rested his forehead against Elliot’s.
“Still angry.”
“I know.”
“Still processing.”
“I know.”
“Still might turn you in.”
Elliot’s smile disappeared. Ronan sighed.
“You were doing so well.”
“I hate that one.”
“I know.”
“Could you stop saying it?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because it needs to remain real.”
Elliot looked away. Prison. Years. Decades. Ronan gone. No. He pushed the thought away. Ronan saw.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Elliot.”
“I don’t want to think about it.”
That honesty seemed to satisfy him.
“Okay.”