Chapter 12
Eleanor’s House — Early Evening
The white brick ranch sat quietly beneath a fading sky.
Inside, the house felt too still.
Her heels lay abandoned in the foyer. Blazer draped over the sofa. She’d washed her face twice, but the redness lingered.
The knock came after seven.
“Deck,” she called, voice thin but steady, “I’m fine. You don’t have to babysit me.”
Another knock.
Softer.
She opened the door.
Reid stood there.
Dark jeans. Navy shirt. No briefcase.
“Oh.”
His eyes searched her face.
“I saw it,” he said.
She let out a brittle laugh.
“Apparently, everyone did.”
He didn’t ask to come in.
“Are we doing this on the porch?” he asked gently.
She stepped aside.
“Come in.”
The door closed.
She folded her arms, more armor than comfort.
“They made it sound like I knew,” she said. “Like I defended a murderer.”
She looked away.
“And like the verdict had nothing to do with me being good at my job.”
Her voice thinned.
“Like the only reason I won was that Charlie and I were together.”
Silence stretched between them.
“As if I couldn’t possibly have beaten them on my own.”
She turned away from him, wrapping her arms tighter around herself.
Reid’s expression hardened.
“No,” he said quietly. “They said that because the alternative is admitting you were smarter than everyone else in that courtroom.”
“They didn’t have the evidence, Reid. The state didn’t prove its case. That’s how this works. I didn’t believe he was guilty. I would never represent someone I believed killed his wife.”
Her voice shook.
“I believed him. And I proved my case.”
“I know.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know you.”
That stopped her.
She swallowed hard.
“Why is this happening now? What does Charleston have to do with whatever those podcasters are chasing? This is crazy. Why drag me into it?”
“Ratings,” he said. “Clicks. You’re visible.”
“So I’m content.”
“You’re good television.”
She shook her head, exhausted.
“And now you see why I don’t do this,” she whispered. “Why I don’t let people in. I thought I’d gotten away from all that. The noise. The scrutiny. I’m not doing another relationship under a spotlight.”
He absorbed that.
“I’m not leaving because it gets loud.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
For a moment, neither of them moved.
He stepped closer.
“Come here, Ellie.”
This time, she didn’t hesitate.
He wrapped his arms around her.
She folded into him.
The fight drained out of her shoulders.
For the first time all day, she stopped holding herself together.
“You don’t have to do this,” she murmured.
“Maybe not,” he said. “But I’m here.”
After a moment, she pulled back.
“You should go,” she said softly.
“You asking me to?”
A beat.
“…No.”
A faint smile touched his mouth.
He walked her to the front door. She opened it, cool evening air spilling into the foyer.
Reid paused on the threshold, one hand braced lightly against the doorframe. For a second, he took her in—hair loose around her face, barefoot now, all that brittle control finally worn thin.
He leaned in and pressed a slow kiss to her forehead.
“I’ll see you in court,” he said.
A moment later, he stepped out onto the porch.
Down the Street
Deck sat in his pickup two houses over, engine off, lights dark.
He’d come to check on her, but when he saw Reid’s Jaguar parked at the curb, he stayed where he was.
If the lad wasn’t there for the right reasons, Deck would step in.
He waited long enough to see the front door open.
Long enough to see Eleanor standing there—unguarded for once.
Long enough to see Reid lean in and press that kiss to her forehead before he walked away.
Deck grunted softly.
“Well now.”
He watched the Jaguar roll down the street.
Only when Eleanor shut and locked the door did he finally relax.
“About time,” he muttered. “Softening up, are we, lass.”
He leaned back against the seat.
Reid Calloway.
Golden-boy district attorney.
Sharp mind. Clean reputation.
Deck huffed.
“Maybe you’re not all polish after all.”
He reached for the ignition.
“And if you hurt my girl, lad…” he muttered toward the empty street, faint grin tugging at his mouth, “I’ll personally escort you clear to the county line.”
He started the truck.
“No headlines needed for that.”
He pulled away.
Content.