8. Eli
Eli
I barely slept last night.
It wasn’t the room. The room was comfortable. The mattress was a hell of a lot softer than the back seat of my car, and the room was warm, clean, lived-in. A strange tightness settles beneath my ribs. Comfort feels unfamiliar, almost suspicious, like something I’m not meant to touch for long.
Beyond the steady patter of rain against the windows, the apartment sat in complete silence.
Last night, when CJ had shown me the room, I noticed it overlooked the bay. I still don’t know why I said yes. A stranger offered me a bed for a few nights and expected nothing in return.
In my experience, that was wrong.
Adrian always expected something in exchange for every act of kindness, and it usually ended with me getting hurt. For most people, the best night’s sleep they’d had in a while would be comforting.
For me…
It was terrifying.
Terrifying because it felt…safe.
My pulse spikes. My fingers curl into the blanket, gripping it as if it might anchor me. Safety shouldn’t feel dangerous, but it does.
I woke half a dozen times during the night.
Nightmares ripped me awake, screams trapped in my throat, sweat clinging to my skin. My heart hammered so violently I thought it might bruise my ribs from the inside. Every shadow in the room looked like a threat.
Once, I woke convinced Adrian had found me. Another time, I couldn’t remember where I was at all.
By five-thirty, I’d given up.
I drag a hand down my face and stare at the ceiling, trying to figure out the quickest and politest way to leave. A hollow ache spreads through my chest. Leaving feels safer, but the thought of stepping back into the world alone makes my stomach twist.
I need to keep moving. Need to get to my car. CJ insisted I come home with him last night, which, in the light of day, I probably should have followed him.
I don’t know him, or what he wants. My breath shortens, as the uncertainty presses against my ribs, sharp and unwelcome. And I definitely don’t understand why he offered me this room.
My gaze drifts around it instead. Soft grey walls. Framed photographs, some of places around Campbell River I actually recognize. I’ve been here nearly three weeks now, never staying in one place long enough to draw attention.
There are personal items around the room A bookshelf; A couple of plants beside the window.
They look fake. I reach out and brush a leaf with my fingertips. Nope. Real.
The softness surprises me. A quiet warmth spreads through my chest, small but real, like a reminder that gentle things still exist, and a smile tugs unexpectedly at my mouth.
If they were mine, they’d already be dead. I can’t keep plants alive to save myself. That’s why I never had pets. Adrian always said that if I couldn’t manage a houseplant, there was no way I could handle the responsibility of an animal.
I’d love a dog, though; Maybe one day I can get one.
The thought hits harder than it should. A quiet ache settles beneath my sternum, the kind that comes from wanting something you’ve never been allowed to have.
I climb out of bed and pull the curtains open.
We’re not right on the waterfront, but I see the bay stretches farther than I can see. Forest-covered mountains rise in the distance, their peaks swallowed by low clouds where flashes of snow peek through.
The water lies calm beneath the overcast sky, blue-grey and endless, and my lungs expand fully for the first time since yesterday. The view feels like breathing without fear. Fishing boats bob quietly beside the harbor while men move back and forth along the piers, loading gear for the day ahead.
It’s breathtaking.
The apartment remains quiet as I pull on my jeans and sweatshirt. I shove everything back into my duffel, ready for a quick exit. Pausing, I listen.
Nothing.
I crack the bedroom door open.
The smell of coffee hits me. CJ is already awake. Of course he is. My stomach tightens. The idea of facing him feels too big, too close, too soon.
“Shit. So much for a quick escape,” I mutter.
Leaving my duffel behind, I follow the smell down the hallway. The thought of leaving dies the second I step into the kitchen.
I reek.
I’m still wearing the same clothes CJ found me in last night. I lift my shirt and sniff.
Yep.
Definitely need a shower.
I clear my throat and hover awkwardly in the doorway as CJ turns.
He smiles.
“Sleep alright?”
I consider lying, but then I remember he’s the one who gave me a bed.
“No.” I watch him carefully, waiting for the questions. My throat feels tight. Saying it out loud makes the exhaustion settle deeper into my bones.
“It wasn’t the bed.” I clarify. “I just don’t sleep well.”
The concern. The pity. None of it comes; He simply nods.
“Well, coffee’s made. Cups are in that cupboard.” He points toward the corner.
“Milk’s in the fridge.”
I pour myself a mug and take my first sip of real coffee since leaving Port Angeles.
CJ grins.
“You’ve definitely been living in your car.”
I smile.
“How can you tell?”
He points at my face, Because that was a religious experience.”
My smile lingers longer than I expect.
“Here I was thinking you were suggesting I needed a shower.”
Without missing a beat, he points down the hallway.
“It’s down there.”
Turning back to the sink, he rinses his cup before setting it in the sink. I watch him move around the kitchen. His smile catches me first. I hadn’t noticed last night, but he has a dimple. They are my kryptonite. That dimple should be illegal.
Heat creeps up my neck as I take him in, and hoping he didn’t notice the way my breath caught.
Then his eyes. They are a Forget-me-not blue, like the ones I’d only ever seen in wildflowers that lived behind my foster parents’ house. The rain would hit them, and they would catch the light and hold it, impossibly beautiful.
I study him over the rim of my mug as discreetly as I can.
I notice things I didn’t see last night: His dimple when he grins, the silver stud in his ear catching the light when he turns his head, the thin scar running down his cheek.
I wonder how he got it; it only adds to the quiet mystery he carries.
He moves around the kitchen with an easy confidence, sure of every motion, every reach, every step.
CJ is gorgeous, and I can’t help but watch him.
But I can see the way the morning is affecting him too, the slight flush rising along his neck, the way he rolls his shoulders as though trying to settle something restless inside himself.
There’s a warmth in him, a kind of charged energy under the surface, like he’s gearing himself up for the day ahead; Shoulders loosening, breath steadying, a quiet determination settling into the way he moves.
Heat sparks low in my stomach. Nope. Absolutely not. Definitely not looking anymore. A cold rush sweeps through me. Attraction is dangerous, and a mistake I can’t afford to make.
CJ turns back, holding a plate.
“Let’s eat.”
He walks around the island and pulls out a chair for me before setting my breakfast down. Then he grabs his own plate and sits beside me.
I sit automatically, and I wait. My shoulders tense. My fingers curl around the edge of the table, bracing for a command that never comes.
CJ notices immediately.
“You gonna eat that?” He gestures toward my untouched plate.
I nod and finally cut into the bacon, and we eat in comfortable silence.
I scoff. Comfortable. There’s a word I haven’t used in a long time.
When we’re finished, we rinse our plates and load everything into the dishwasher. CJ glances at his watch.
“Can you be ready in fifteen minutes?”
I frown.
“Ready for what?”
“The office.” He looks genuinely confused. “You thought I was leaving you here all day by yourself?”
When he says it like that, it sounds ridiculous.
“I was actually planning on leaving.”
He tilts his head, studying me.
“Leave, huh?” he looks at me with a raised eyebrow, “And go where? Back to your car? Then what?”
I don’t have an answer.
“Eli, I offered you a few days. Enough time to get back on your feet, or at least start trying. That offer still stands.”
His expression softens.
“I want you to stay.”
“And I’m grateful. Really.” I glance down at my hands. “Even with the nightmares… it was the best sleep I’ve had in a very long time.” My chest tightens painfully, as the words slip out before I can stop them. The truth feels too raw, too exposed, like I’ve handed him something fragile.
Damn it. Now he’ll insist out of pity. Only… I don’t actually want to leave. Not really.
“Eli.” His voice is quieter now. “Please stay.”
I meet his eyes, and I feel safe. Fear follows immediately, sharp and instinctive. Safety has never lasted long for me.
That’s the problem because Adrian felt safe once too. But I have to remind myself that CJ isn’t Adrian. He didn’t have to give me a bed or have to let me stay. CJ is choosing to.
So because of that, I say, “Okay.” A sliver of happiness flickers in my chest. That scares me more than anything else. Happiness is dangerous.
He smiles and nods.
“Right. Fifteen minutes?”
“I just need a shower and a change of clothes.”
“Perfect.”
* * *
By the time we reach the rear car park, the rain has eased to nothing more than a damp sheen across the asphalt.
CJ locks the truck, and we fall into step together, heading toward the building.
The clouds are breaking apart overhead, letting the sun push through in wide, warm streaks.
It makes the whole place feel bigger, brighter.
As we cross the lot, I glance toward where I left my car last night. It’s still there, thankfully not towed, and staff are beginning to arrive, calling out to each other as they head inside.
The warmth of the office hits me the moment I step through the door.
I take in the space: an old building, renovated into an open-plan office with a row of private rooms down one side.
Glass walls give the illusion of openness while still offering privacy.
A large room marked Operations stretches along one wall, a long conference table dominating the center and TVs lining the sides.
Beyond all of that, every office window frames either the mountains or the waterfront perfectly, turning the view into something close to art.
I watch as people weave through the open-plan office carrying laptops, coffee cups and folders. Good mornings echo across the room while phones already ring. Someone laughs somewhere down the hall.
The whole place feels like it’s moving, It’s alive, and I love it. The receptionist looks up as we walk through the doors.
She freezes.
“Oh.”
CJ sighs immediately, “What?”
“You found another one.”
I blink between them. Another one? Heat rises in my cheeks. I don’t know whether to feel embarrassed or grateful.
CJ pinches the bridge of his nose.
“She thinks I collect people.” He says, looking at me.
“I mean…” she shrugs. “You kind of do.”
“I do not.”
She grins, “The last time you said that, Deck lived in your guest room for an entire year.”
“He did not.”
“Yes, he did.”
“Actually,” CJ says, “I rescued Deck.”
I glance at him. “From what?”
He doesn’t even hesitate, “Bad choices.”
The answer comes so quickly I bark out a laugh while CJ stands there looking entirely too pleased with himself. The receptionist just rolls her eyes,
“I rest my case.”
I’m still smiling when I look back at CJ, and my smile fades immediately. He’s watching me again. Like he is assessing me, trying to solve a puzzle.
“You good?” he asks.
“Yeah.” I nod. “Just taking it all in.”
“Taking in what?”
“This place.”
“Yeah.” His gaze lingers for another second. “You’ll get used to it.”
Not a promise but a statement of fact. And that settles me somehow. Something inside me calms.
A few minutes later, a blur rounds the corner.
He’s carrying folders, a smoothie, and apparently no understanding of personal space.
He nearly crashes into me before stopping at the last possible second.
“Oh.”
He blinks.
“Hi.”
I blink back.
“Hi.”
His eyes narrow.
“Who are you?”
I open my mouth.
“I…”
“Wait.”
He points at me. I stop.
“What?”
“No introductions.”
“Huh?”
“No introductions.” He says slowly, like that explains everything.
I stare.
He stares right back.
“Vibes.”
I have absolutely no idea what that means. Several painfully silent seconds pass while he studies me like he’s conducting a scientific experiment.
Finally… he nods.
“You’re nice.”
“…What?”
He squints thoughtfully.
“Definitely traumatized.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Excuse me?”
“But nice.”
I stare at him.
He stares back.
The entire conversation is so completely ridiculous that it finally catches up with me.
I laugh. A real laugh. The kind that throws your head back before you can stop it.
It isn’t polite or forced. It just happens.
It rolls out of me, and it feels good. My chest loosens.
The sound feels like something I haven’t heard from myself in years.
The realization catches me off guard as the laughter fades into a grin and I hold out my hand.
“Eli.”
He shakes it enthusiastically.
“Finn.”
Then he beams, “Oh, we’re definitely going to be friends.”
“We are? Don’t I get a vote?”
“Nope.” He releases my hand. “I’ve already decided.”
I laugh again.
Friends.
Outside of Ree and Marge, I can’t remember the last time I had one. Adrian had made sure of that. It was always his friends. His restaurants. His plans. Somewhere along the way, my world became so small that I stopped noticing the walls closing in around it.
Until now.
Standing in the middle of this noisy office, with Finn already claiming me as a friend and CJ quietly watching us, I finally see it for what it is.
Adrian never let me have friends without inspecting them first. In five minutes, Finn gave me a choice Adrian took three years to strip away. My breath comes easier, clearer.
He didn’t just steal my time or decide where I went. He took my choices.
My voice.
Piece by piece, he took parts of me until I no longer recognized the man staring back in the mirror.
And for the first time since I walked away, I wanted every damn piece of myself back.