26. CJ
CJ
Eli and I were upstairs at PalMerc in the bunk-room, and I knew something was wrong before Eli even spoke.
It was the way he went completely still. The way the color drained from his face as he stared at his phone like whatever waited on that screen had dragged him straight back to the place he’d fought so hard to escape.
His hands started shaking, and like always, he tried to hide it. Tried to convince me he was okay.
But I knew him.
I knew every fake smile, every forced laugh. Every “I’m fine” that meant he was falling apart.
“Baby Boy?” I whispered, stepping closer.
I watched the fear Adrian had planted inside him take over, crushing him again, making him feel trapped, making him believe there was nowhere safe.
I wanted to destroy Adrian.
I wanted to promise Eli I could fix it, that I could make it stop, but uncertainty clawed at me. I was supposed to be the one who protected him, and right now I felt useless.
All I could do was hold him and remind him he was here. That he was safe. That Adrian didn’t own him anymore.
* * *
I saw it: Eli looked down at the photo Adrian had just sent him and let out a quiet sigh.
It was from an awards dinner. They were both dressed in tuxedos, smiling for the camera like they were the perfect couple, but I could tell Eli’s smile was forced.
I could see the terror in his eyes, the way his shoulders were stiff and sitting high.
Then he told me what happened after the photo was taken. Every single detail. He left nothing out. Once he finished, I broke alongside him, because the weight of his words felt like lead in my chest. No one should ever have to survive what he did.
He’d spent part of the evening talking to the man beside him: just conversation while they waited for dinner. The man was friendly, married, and worked in healthcare too. It meant nothing; it was just polite conversation. But to Adrian, it was far more than that.
After dinner, Adrian told Eli to meet him in the men’s bathroom. Eli didn’t argue. He didn’t question it. He just followed his instructions, because that was what survival had become: moving before fear had time to fully form.
The bathroom was empty when he got there: cold tile and harsh lights. The kind of silence that doesn’t feel quiet, just waits.
He had stood near the sink, using it to hold himself up. He was just standing there as if, if he stayed still enough, nothing would happen to him.
But his body already knew.
His stomach was tight, pulled in hard as something had already started closing in on him. His throat kept drying out no matter how many times he swallowed. His heartbeat wasn’t steady anymore; it was too loud, too fast, like it didn’t belong inside him.
Minutes passed.
One. Two. Five.
Each one stretching wider than the last.
At ten minutes, his fingers had started to shake. He had curled them into his palms, forcing them still, pressing nails into skin until they bled.
At twelve, he had started watching the door more than the mirror.
At fifteen, he had stopped pretending he was okay. His panic just about crippled him.
Because there was no “okay” left in him anymore. Only waiting.
Waiting for the footsteps.
Waiting for the door to open.
Waiting for Adrian to come in and decide what he was guilty of this time.
He said he could feel it in his body: the way fear turned physical, forcing him to rush to the toilet and vomit.
The way his muscles tightened, already bracing for an impact that had yet to arrive.
His mind had tried to explain it away, tried to build excuses to find something he had done wrong that could justify what he knew was coming. That was easier than the truth.
And the truth was terror.
When the door finally pushed open, Eli flinched so hard he collapsed to the floor. And Adrian had walked in like nothing was wrong. He had looked at Eli on the floor and lifted him as if Eli wasn’t already dying in slow motion.
That was the worst part of it: the waiting.
Being forced to stand there alone for so long, his own mind turned on him. Long enough for his body to start punishing him before a single blow ever landed. He had already gone so far inside himself just trying to survive before the physical pain even started.
The first punch came without warning. His “crime” was talking to another man.
There were no raised voices, no warning, just impact, as if the decision had already been made long before Eli even understood he was being punished.
When they got home, Adrian beat him so badly he couldn’t get out of bed for a week.
A week of pain that didn’t stop when the bruises stopped changing color. A week of stillness that wasn’t rest, just recovery from being broken down too far to function.
* * *
But the part that still haunts me isn’t the beating.
It’s what Eli said afterward.
He laughed, but there was no humor in it. Nothing light about it at all. Just a hollow, automatic sound, as if his body didn’t know what else to do with the memory.
Then he looked at me and said quietly, almost matter-of-factly, as if repeating something he’d been taught to believe: “It was my fault, CJ. I was flirting. I deserved the lesson.”
Even now, that sentence doesn’t leave me. It just sits there: heavy, wrong, permanent.
Even now, those words make me sick.
That my Baby Boy still believes them.
That was the moment Eli started slipping away. The moment fear stopped being an emotion and became a rule.
And when he finally shut himself away from the world, locking that door between us, I knew Adrian had broken him without ever needing to be there.
* * *
I stayed with Eli until his breathing smoothed out, his body going heavy and lax against mine. Once I was certain he was completely asleep, I eased out from under him, tucked the blankets around his shoulders, and went down to the office.
Finn was already upstairs taking my place, keeping guard over my boy while he rested.
Downstairs, and as my boy slept, I read everything Deck had gathered: every piece of evidence, every photo, every report. I gave Deck a moment to finish the burger Finn had forced on him.
While I waited, my eyes kept drifting back to Adrian’s photo in the center of the wall.
Pain twisted through my stomach and I bent forward, hands braced on my knees, dragging air into my lungs as if it weighed too much. A broken sound slipped out of me.
Deck’s hand landed on my shoulder immediately. “Speak to me, brother.”
“Everything, Deck,” my voice came out rough. “Everything Eli has told me suddenly makes sense. Every fear. Every panic attack I’ve held him through. Every time he looked over his shoulder. Every time he flinched.”
I swallowed hard. “He wasn’t paranoid.” The words burned in my throat. “He was right. About everything.”
The truth hit me like a punch to the stomach. Every fear he ever had was justified.
“I failed him, Deck. Every step of the way.”
“No, brother.” Deck’s voice stayed steady beside me. “But there’s one thing you and Eli need to hold onto.”
I looked at him.
“He made one catastrophic mistake, CJ.”
“What?”
Deck’s gaze drifted back to Adrian’s photo. “He came after Eli.” His jaw tightened. “And he still thinks Eli belongs to him.”
Then he looked at me. “But we both know the truth. Eli isn’t his. He chose you, CJ. And that’s stronger than anything Adrian ever had.”
I let that settle, because Deck was right.
Adrian’s world was going to burn for coming after my Eli. My Baby Boy.
I straightened, taking a breath that felt like it actually reached my lungs, forcing myself back into the fight. My eyes went to the board.
I saw Adrian’s smiling face, and it made me sick, but it also gave me something I hadn’t felt in days: Purpose.
Deck answers his phone across the room, and I hear him. I knew that tone. He was angry. Furious.
His expression darkens as he listens, then he turned toward one of the computers.
He hangs up and turns back to me. “We have a vehicle registration.” he says, “The vehicle was spotted entering Campbell River four months ago. Confirmed sighting.”
My heart dropped. Four fucking months.
Cold fury built in my chest. “He wasn’t just passing through?” I asked, quietly hoping for anything else.
“No.” Deck stared at the screen. “He’s been here.”
“Hundred percent?”
“Without question. Street camera caught him arriving.”
The room suddenly felt smaller.
Adrian was here the night of the nightclub. Even before the attempted kidnapping. Before Eli spiraled. He had arrived when the messages started, when the photos began.
He was watching. Watching Eli.
This wasn’t a coincidence. Not chance. Not some random encounter.
Adrian Blackwell had come to Campbell River to hunt.
And suddenly everything snapped into place: the way Eli froze when unfamiliar cars slowed near the apartment, the terror in his eyes when Adrian’s name was spoken, the way he checked every lock, every window before sleep.
“He’s been stalking him,” Deck said quietly.
I stared at the report, read it once, twice, a third time, hoping it might change.
“He’s been stalking him,” I echoed, barely recognizing my own voice.
The man in that nightclub wasn’t random. None of it was. Everything had been planned by Adrian.
And Adrian had come here to take Eli from me.
I tipped my head back, staring at the ceiling, knowing the man I love was asleep above it. Then the guilt came, hitting me hard.
I saw Eli laughing in that nightclub: happy, dancing. Then I saw the panic, heard the screams, watched him break.
I should have known. I should have protected him better. The memory burned: his laughter, his fear, the way he collapsed in my arms. I had failed him when he needed me the most.
“He trusted us,” I whispered.
Deck looked at me sharply. “Don’t do that.”
I swallowed. “Deck…”
“No.” His voice hardened. “He still trusts you. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t be sleeping upstairs. He wouldn’t let you hold him. He wouldn’t love you.” His voice rose slightly. “You hear me, CJ? That boy loves you.”
My chest tightened. “I can’t lose him, Deck.” My voice cracked. “I can’t lose another person I love. He’s my soul. He’s the reason I get up every morning.”
Deck grabbed my shoulders and pulled me in, and I didn’t fight it.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“For what?”
“For everything… for all this,” I said, waving my hand toward the boards and TVs.
He pulled back, holding my gaze. “Stop apologizing for loving him.” He closed his eyes briefly. “He has scars because of Adrian: wounds that bastard reopened. But CJ, we’re going to close them. Permanently.”
I looked at him. “Deck, we need to find him.”
Deck nodded once. “We will.” His voice was absolute. “On my life, we will.”
Something in my chest loosened, just slightly.
“That kid was always meant to find you, CJ. He was meant to walk into your life and become your everything.”
“Okay,” I nodded. “Let’s get to work.”
* * *
And we did. More information filled the board as more sightings were reported and more bank withdrawals were tracked. Adrian wasn’t hiding anymore; he was preparing.
But so were we.
Piece by piece, the puzzle started locking together. We tightened the net.
I watched Deck move through the room, directing everyone with the same military precision he’d always carried. No wasted motion. No wasted time.
This is what he does: he hunts.
Hours passed. Coffee and food appeared, barely noticed. By the time I was on what felt like my twelfth cup of terrible coffee, I decided we needed a better machine. I’d let Finn handle that.
My eyes drifted back to Adrian’s photo.
“No.”
The word left me quietly, and the room shifted. Everyone looked over.
I stared at him. “He’s not taking one more thing from him.”
For the first time in days, I wasn’t drowning in helplessness. There was only purpose.
And I knew Adrian Blackwell would make a mistake. When he did, I’d be waiting.
I walked to the board, ripped his photo down, crushed it in my fist, and dropped it into the bin.
“Enjoy the head start, fucker.” I stared at it one last time. “Because it’s already over.”
Then I turned and walked upstairs.
I needed my boy. Needed to hold him, breathe him in, remind myself he was here, safe, and loved.