28. CJ
CJ
The jug goes quiet again. The kitchen fills with the low hum of the voices coming from the couch. Finn and Deck arrived not long ago, and they are sitting with Eli while I make tea and coffee for Deck and me.
I stand there with my mug in hand, letting the heat seep into my fingers, but it doesn’t settle anything inside me.
I am still heavy with him. With Eli. With the way his voice cracked when he said he should leave.
With the way he looked at me like love and fear were fighting for space in the same breath.
And then the nightmare.
I can still see him in it. Still feel the way he fought me for a second before he realized it was me. That moment where he came back into his body and collapsed against my chest, like he didn’t know how to exist outside of fear anymore.
The memory sits under my skin like a bruise that hasn’t healed. Everything does, and I feel the weight of it like a blanket.
I know what he was really saying last night. He thinks running will fix it. That distance will make Adrian disappear. That if he removes himself from the equation, the rest of us stay untouched.
He is wrong.
Dead wrong.
I take a slow breath, forcing it down past the tightness in my chest. Because I can’t let him do it. I won’t let him do it. Not after everything. Not after I finally have him here, breathing next to me, letting me hold him when the world gets too loud.
He is not something I can let go of.
He is not something I can survive losing.
Eli is already in me now. In the way I move. In the way I think. In the way I plan every outcome like I am building a wall around him brick by brick. He doesn’t just live in my life anymore. He is the center of it, and my Baby Boy is the axis everything turns on.
If he runs, I will bring him back. No matter what it takes. No matter how far I have to go into the dark to pull him out of it. And Adrian Blackwell will not exist in the world after that. Not in any form that breathes.
I don’t even realize my jaw is clenched until I feel it ache.
I want a world for him. That is what it comes down to. Not just safety or just surviving. I want a life for him.
I want him to wake up without scanning rooms. To walk outside without calculating exits.
To laugh without it catching halfway in his throat like it might get him punished.
I want him on a bike again, wind in his face, not looking over his shoulder every ten seconds like something is waiting to take him.
The promise settles heavy and solid. It isn’t hope. It’s a decision. And I will fucking give it to him. Whatever it costs.
I pour the hot water into our drinks while somewhere behind me, voices drift through the lounge.
Finn’s laugh first: light, careless on the surface, but I know him better than that now. He’s watching everything. Always is.
Deck’s voice follows: lower, steadier. Something about logistics. Something about supplies. Always moving forward. Always building the net tighter without saying it out loud.
And then Eli.
Soft. Fragile in a way that still makes something in me shift every time I hear it. Like I have to orient myself to him even when I am not looking.
He is there on the couch with them. Alive. Present. Breathing.
And safe.
For now.
I turn slightly, mug in hand, watching the three of them for a moment without interrupting.
Eli curled into the cushions like he’s trying to take up less space than he actually needs.
Finn leaning back like he’s relaxed, even though his eyes keep flicking to Eli every few seconds.
Deck sitting forward, elbows on knees, already thinking three steps ahead of whatever world is coming next.
It looks normal. Almost.
But nothing about us is normal anymore.
Not since Adrian.
Not since Eli.
My gaze stays on him longer than it should.
Because last night is still there.
The word leave.
Still sitting between us like a loaded gun neither of us has touched again.
I take a sip of coffee, but I don’t taste it.
I just watch him.
And silently make a promise I already know I intend to keep.
He is not leaving.
Not while I’m still breathing.
* * *
I walk the drinks over and hand them across, while Finn talks far too loudly again, like volume alone can keep the world from getting serious. Something about tea strength being a competitive sport.
Deck, as always, is correcting him like it’s his life’s work. Calm. Patient. Firm.
“Strong doesn’t mean weaponized,” he says flatly.
Finn looks personally offended. “It absolutely does.”
I have no idea how these conversations keep happening, but they do. Like gravity just accepts Finn as a problem it has to work around. And somehow Deck just absorbs it. Keeps him steady.
I should probably have a conversation with Deck about Finn. A serious one.
Eli sits curled into the couch, slowly relearning what safe is supposed to feel like. One hand is wrapped around the mug I made him, still untouched, like he’s holding onto it more for grounding than drinking.
He watches them quietly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Barely there, but real enough to hit me right in the chest.
Finn is on the floor, legs stretched out, leaning back against the couch beside Deck like he’s always belonged there. Like he just settled into our lives and the world decided not to argue about it.
Maybe it didn’t.
Deck gets up and heads to the kitchen. Knowing Deck, he’s probably washing dishes that don’t need washing or reorganizing my cupboards just to keep his hands busy.
That’s him; I don’t know what the fuck he does, but he can carry on if it makes him happy.
All I know is he takes care of things until there’s nothing left to fall apart.
I sit beside Eli and realize something I don’t say out loud.
This is normal.
Deck and Finn arguing over nothing. Eli and I sitting in the middle of it like we’re borrowing someone else’s life for a while.
And somehow, it feels good.
Eli shifts slightly. I see it immediately: that flicker, the scan.
Eyes drifting to doors. Windows. Corners. Counting exits without thinking about it. The instinct guts me. Eli shouldn’t have to live like this, counting threats in every shadow.
My chest tightens. “You alright?”
He nods too quickly. “Yeah.”
Finn snorts without even looking up. “That was the least convincing yeah I’ve ever heard in my life.”
A tiny smile tugs at Eli’s mouth. And fuck, I miss that. I want more of it.
Deck walks back in and drops onto the couch beside Finn.
“Seriously,” he says. “I leave you alone for ten minutes, and nothing improves.”
“That’s not true,” Finn says immediately. “I emotionally improved the couch.”
Deck stares at him. “You sat on it.”
Finn leans into him without hesitation. “Exactly, Lumberjack.”
Yeah. I definitely need to talk to Deck about Finn.
I pull Eli a little closer and watch him watching them, like he’s trying to figure out how people exist like this. Like it’s not a trick.
“You hungry?” I ask softly.
He shrugs. Not a yes. Not a no. Just somewhere in between where he always seems to sit.
I don’t push it today.
“Finn’s been feeding him snacks like he’s at a wildlife rescue safari park,” Deck says casually.
Finn lifts a hand. “He likes biscuits.”
“I tolerate them,” Eli mutters.
“You love them,” Finn shoots back. “Don’t lie.”
And there it is.
A real smile. Small, but real.
My chest tightens at the sight of it. Like something in me releases and breaks at the same time. I didn’t realize how hard he’d been holding on.
Deck glances over. He gets Eli in a way that I don’t.
“Eli,” Deck says quietly. “We’re not going anywhere.”
Finn nods immediately. “Yeah. Just in case anyone was confused or anything.”
His eyes flick to Eli, softer now. No pressure, only reassurance. But I see what Deck sees too: that instinct, the waiting, the expectation that good things don’t stay good and that at some point, the floor always drops out from under you.
“Hey,” I say quietly.
Eli looks at me.
“You don’t have to figure everything out today. Or tomorrow. Just take your time.”
He swallows hard. Finn goes quiet. Even Deck does.
“People usually leave,” Eli says softly.
“Yeah,” I answer honestly. “They do.” I squeeze his hand gently. “But not all of us.”
Finn’s voice is quieter now. “And not us.”
Deck doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to. The way he looks at Eli says everything he’s choosing not to say out loud.
Eli tries to fight it. I see it in his face: that reflex and expectation of disappointment. But he doesn’t pull away.
Finn suddenly stands.
“I’m making tea. Proper tea. Not this emotional support water CJ keeps serving.” He points at me on his way to the kitchen.
“Don’t burn anything,” Deck calls after him.
Finn flips him off without turning around.
A few minutes later, Deck leans forward slightly.
“How ya doing, kid?”
Eli looks down at his mug. “I don’t know.”
Deck nods once. “Good.”
Eli looks up at him.
“That means you aren’t pretending.”
Deck stands and disappears into the kitchen. A minute later he comes back with Finn, both of them carrying mugs like this is some kind of operation.
“Right,” Finn says, sitting back down. “Team meeting. No one dies. No one leaves. And if anyone tries, I’m tackling them.”
He takes a sip and exhales like he’s been personally healed by his emotional support tea.
“Ah. Now that is a proper cup of tea.”
Eli lets out a quiet laugh. Then actually drinks from his mug.
“Yeah, Finn,” he says softly. “It’s good.”
And just like that, something in the room settles.
Conversation drifts again, lighter, broken up by small bursts of laughter.
Eli stays tucked into it all, like he’s testing whether he’s allowed to exist in it without it disappearing.
And I stay beside him, holding him without holding him too tight. Letting him breathe inside it.
My boy.
* * *
An hour later, my phone rings.
Ree.
Deck had contacted her after we found Eli: told her he was safe, gave her my number for emergencies.
Something in my chest tightens before I even answer.
I stand. “I’ve gotta take this.”
I walk into the bedroom and close the door behind me.
“Ree, hey.”
A pause. Too long.
When she speaks, her voice is rough, frayed at the edges like she’s been crying for a long time before this call.
“CJ…” Her voice drops off, and my stomach drops.
“Tell me.”
Another breath. “Marge passed this morning.”
Silence hits first. Not shock or surprise, just weight.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly.
She exhales shakily. “There’s something else.”
My focus sharpens instantly. “Go on.”
“CJ… I need you to understand something. Marge was heavily medicated. She wasn’t always aware of what was happening.”
My grip tightens around the phone. I already feel it coming before she says it.
“Adrian visited her not long after Eli left. I didn’t know until today when I went through the visitor records.”
Everything inside me goes cold.
“I was talking to one of her nurses,” she continues. “She mentioned a man had been visiting, so I asked who it was.”
I don’t move. Don’t breathe right.
“It was Adrian.”
The room tilts slightly.
“He asked about Eli.”
Ree’s voice cracks. “She wouldn’t have told him if she was herself, CJ. She loved that boy. But she was confused. The medication…”
She takes in a shaky breath. “CJ… she told him.”
A wave of cold slams through my body. The betrayal isn’t hers, but the damage is already done.
My eyes close, already knowing the answer. “Told him what?”
“That Eli went to Campbell River.”
Behind me, through the wall, I hear it. Finn and Deck laughing, life continuing as if nothing has shifted. But mine… just stopped.
“CJ?”
I swallow hard. “Okay.”
“CJ, I’m sorry.”
“I know.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. This is just another thing my Baby Boy has to deal with.
“She would never have betrayed him.”
“I know, Ree. He won’t see it like that.”
“I know. But I’m so angry with him. He fucking took advantage of her as she was dying.”
My jaw tightens. “Yeah, he did.”
I thank her for calling and hang up. For a long moment, I just stand there in the quiet, staring at nothing.
Well, that answers that.
We had wondered how Adrian had found Eli, going over every possibility, but of course it wasn’t random.
When Eli told us how he escaped, Deck and I both sat there in disbelief and admiration, listening as he explained it all with this quiet, calculated survival instinct we hadn’t expected.
Even the money: his small withdrawals taken a bit at a time during grocery runs, hidden in plain sight, using inflation as camouflage. It was simple, but it was smart.
My boy is so clever. A surge of pride passes through me even in the dark.
Campbell River: small and protected. It was meant to be safe for Eli. Marge had sent him here because she knew he needed to heal, believing it would give him distance and peace. In the end, she had unknowingly given Adrian a map straight to him.
My chest feels too tight. Because now it isn’t just about finding Adrian; it’s about what he has already done.
I stay for a moment longer, preparing myself for what comes next.
Because I have to tell Eli.
I have to tell him that the woman who helped save him, the one who gave him a chance to escape, also led Adrian straight to him without ever meaning to. And I have to tell him she’s gone now, and he’ll never get to say goodbye.
My throat tightens because I’m tired, and I’m scared, too.
But Eli needs me.
So I take a breath.
Open the door.
And walk back to my boy.