Chapter 12 Hands That Heal
Ethan
The house is quiet, save for the occasional crackle from the fireplace and the steady rhythm of Lila’s breathing. She's curled up, fast asleep on the couch next to me, wrapped in a thick blanket, her chest rising and falling evenly. For the first time since she stumbled into our lives, she looks… peaceful.
We were watching some mindless action movie Ryker picked out—loud, chaotic, completely unlike the soft silence that now hangs over the room. Earlier, during a lull in the explosions, I reached for the remote, my arm brushing hers. She flinched, almost imperceptibly, angling her body slightly away from me. Just a few inches, but enough to feel like a mile. When I’d made a dumb joke about the movie’s plot holes, her usual quiet chuckle was absent, replaced by a clipped, "Yeah," her gaze fixed determinedly on the screen. She was pulling away, retreating into herself even before exhaustion finally claimed her halfway through the movie. Her body, still so fragile, just couldn’t fight it any longer. I haven't moved since she dozed off, just been watching her instead of the on-screen explosions. Eventually, Bastian mutes the TV and shuts it off, leaving only the warm glow of the fire.
I exhale slowly, running a hand through my hair. My gaze shifts to the security monitor on the table, its steady green lines a reminder of the work piling up. I should be reviewing feeds, tweaking the damn motion sensors Ryker insists need constant recalibration. A quick scan of the external access logs shows something odd—one ping from an unfamiliar IP, quickly masked, gone almost before it registered. Probably nothing. A script kiddie poking around. Still, I make a mental note to dig deeper later.
Instead of working, I sit here, every nerve fixed on the soft sound of her breathing, my chest tight with an unfamiliar ache. Watching over her when I should be working. Focusing on the faint line between her brows instead of potential threats.
Fool, part of my brain scoffs. But this feeling—this heavy, protective weight in my gut—refuses to budge.
It isn’t just about protecting her anymore. It’s deeper, stronger, threatening the careful control I try to maintain. The thought gnaws at me, an uncomfortable truth I’m not ready to face. Lila isn’t just the scared woman we took in; she’s burrowing under my skin in ways I wasn’t prepared for.
Her lips part slightly, a faint crease forming between her brows as if she’s fighting something even in sleep. Instinct moves me before I can think; I adjust the blanket higher on her shoulder. The moment my fingers brush the skin of her collarbone, warmth shoots up my arm, settling in my chest, making my breath hitch. It’s nothing—barely a touch. So why does it feel like too much?
Damn.
I pull back like I’ve been burned, shaking my head at my own reaction.
Across the room, Bastian sits at the dining table, pretending to read something on his tablet, but I know he’s watching too. We all are, in our own ways.
“She’s getting better,” he murmurs, voice low enough not to wake her.
“Yeah.” I run my hand over my jaw, the stubble rough under my palm. “Still needs rest, though.”
“She will.” Bastian doesn’t look up, but his voice is heavy. “You’re in too deep, you know that, right?”
I don’t answer, just cross my arms and lean back against the couch. What can I say? That every time I look at her, the urge to keep her safe is overwhelming? That the thought of her leaving makes my stomach clench? That when she eventually walks away—because she has a life to reclaim, one that doesn’t include me—I’m not sure I’ll survive the wreckage she leaves behind?
No. I keep that locked down where it belongs.
But it isn’t easy. Every moment with her chips away at my walls. The way she looks at me with those dark, searching eyes, trying to figure me out. The way she trusts me, so completely, even after everything she’s endured. Like she knows I’d never hurt her.
That shouldn’t mean so much. But fuck, it does.
A small whimper pulls my attention back to her. Lila shifts, brows drawing tighter, breath hitching—a tiny, broken sound that slices through me. It's the sound of pure, defenseless terror, the kind that echoes across the years, sharpening suddenly into the memory of my brother's small voice, raw and cracking…
“Don’t leave me here. Please, Ethan.”
The memory slams into me, visceral and immediate, triggered by the sheer vulnerability in Lila's distress. My little brother's ten-year-old hands gripping my sleeve, his eyes wide with a terror I couldn’t fully shield him from then, a terror I ultimately walked away from. Lila, small and broken on this couch, fighting unseen demons, is a horrifying mirror to that past failure. The helplessness that clawed at me then, watching him suffer, resurfaces now, sharp and suffocating, as I watch her battle shadows in her sleep.
I know that fight happening within her—the one against horrors you can't see but feel in your bones, the kind that tries to steal your breath, your fight, your very soul. I’d lived my own version, and I’d watched, helpless, as it consumed him later. And seeing Lila like this, so fragile, so lost in that same darkness, it’s like reliving my brother's worst moments all over again, and the old, familiar guilt threatens to drown me. This is why her pain cuts so deep, why her vulnerability is a punch to my gut.
I can still hear my father’s heavy boots stomping down the hallway, the way my brother’s small body would curl into mine as we braced for whatever was coming.
“You stay quiet, okay?” I had whispered, shielding him under my arm.
He had nodded, clutching my shirt, eyes wide with terror. He was only ten then. Too young to understand why our father hated us so much. Too young to fight back. So I took the hits. The belt, the fists, the words that cut just as deep. I took it all so he wouldn’t have to.
When I finally turned eighteen, I knew I had to leave. Not just to save myself—because staying meant risking becoming just like him, or worse—but to build something better. A way out. For both of us.
“I have to go,” I’d told him, my own voice tight with the lie of confidence I didn’t feel. “I’m joining the military. I’ll get strong, make money, find us a safe place. Then I’m coming back for you. I promise. We’ll get away from him for good.”
But he had just cried harder, clinging to me.
“Don’t leave me here.” His voice had cracked, hands gripping my sleeve like a lifeline. “Please, Ethan. Don’t go.”
My promise hung heavy in the air between us, thick with desperation and hope. But I saw no other way. I still walked away. Because I thought it was the only path forward. Because I thought escaping, getting stronger, was the only way to keep that promise, to fix everything.
But by the time I saw him again, it was too late.
A mugshot. A rap sheet. The kid I swore to protect, the one I promised I’d come back for, was caught up in the kind of life I never wanted him near. My promise, broken.
That was on me.
I shake my head, trying to dislodge the image of my brother, forcing myself to focus back on Lila. Watching her sleep, her face finally relaxed after weeks etched with tension, I feel that fierce, almost painful protectiveness I’d always felt for him surge again. This time, it isn’t weakened by youthful helplessness or the misguided belief that leaving was the answer.
It wraps around her like steel, tight and absolute. The stark black-and-white of my brother’s mugshot flashes behind my eyes—the result of my failure. Lila’s unconscious whimper echoes my brother's terrified pleas, and the vow forms in my soul, fierce and unshakeable: Never again. The silent promise echoes in the space where my heart pounds against my ribs.
I’m not failing this time. I won’t let her slip through the cracks.
Even if it means losing myself in the process. Keeping my own feelings buried. Pretending I don’t already know—I’m too far gone to ever let her go.
I crouch beside the couch before I can over think it, hesitating only a fraction of a second before brushing my fingers against her cheek.
“Angel.” My voice comes out softer than intended, but her lashes flutter, her body relaxing almost instantly. Like she knows my voice even in sleep.
Fuck. That does something fierce to me.
Her eyes barely crack open, her gaze hazy with exhaustion. “Ethan?”
“Yeah, Angel. I’m here.”
She exhales, like that’s all she needed, and lets her eyes drift shut again. I watch her for another long moment before pulling away, raking a hand down my face as I stand.
I turn to leave the room, needing air, needing distance, but I don't make it far before I feel a soft tug at my wrist. My pulse kicks up. I glance down to find Lila’s fingers curled weakly around me, her eyes half-open, searching.
“Don’t go,” she murmurs.
It’s barely a whisper, but the sound hits deep, shattering something inside me. I swallow against the sudden tightness in my throat and scoop her up into my arms before I can think straight. She’s light, terrifyingly so—reminds me how small my little brother felt hiding behind me all those years ago, how fragile he was beneath the bravado I tried to show. Her fragile weight settles against my chest with an impact far beyond the physical.
Her head immediately tucks into the curve of my shoulder, her breath warming my neck, her body melting into mine as if she belongs there. Her scent—something soft beneath the clean trace of soap—fills my head.
Every instinct screams possession, protection, permanence. It isn’t a conscious decision; it feels like gravity, an undeniable pull I can’t fight. Belonging. The word echoes, dangerous and true.
I carry her to her bedroom, laying her down gently. When I try to pull away, her fingers tighten on my wrist again.
“Ethan.” Her voice is raw with exhaustion and something else—something that leaves me breathless. “Please… just for tonight. Stay with me.”
I hesitate. A war rages inside: logic screaming bad idea, crossing lines versus the overwhelming flood of warmth spreading through my chest from her touch. I shouldn't. I know better than to invite this level of complication, this vulnerability.
But the second her fingers curl tighter, a silent, trusting plea—so much like my brother's desperate grip all those years ago, a plea I denied—bypasses all defenses, and my resolve crumbles. There’s no real choice. It isn't about being lost; it’s about being found by something I hadn't known I was looking for.
I toe off my boots, the soft thud loud in the quiet room, and slide under the covers beside her. She immediately curls into me, her warmth seeping into my skin, her breath slow and steady against my chest—a rhythm that somehow settles the chaos inside me even as it intensifies the ache.
Holding her like this, feeling the fragile trust in the way she yields against me, the protective instinct sharpens, becoming something deeper. It's not just about keeping her safe from the outside world, but wanting to shelter the flickering light within her. To offer the protection I failed to give him .
This isn't just protection anymore. This is... everything. Primal and terrifying, something I’m not ready to name, but it anchors me here. Unable and unwilling to walk away.