Chapter 64
Eleanor’s House
Only one light burned inside the house—low and warm from somewhere farther back, maybe the bedroom, maybe the hall. Late enough that he told himself what any sane man would—she was tired…, she was likely already in bed, and whatever he had come here to say could wait until morning.
He dragged a hand over his jaw, turned slightly back toward the direction he had come
—and heard Deck O’Rourke in his head as clearly as if the man stood on the porch beside him.
Get your arse over there.
Reid shut his eyes once.
“Yeah,” he muttered to nobody.
He went to the door. He didn’t ring the bell. Movement caught his eye through the sidelight glass as Eleanor came down the hall barefoot, lifting her hands to gather her hair.
Reid’s pulse hammered. She was wearing his shirt—the hem hitting high on her thighs. The sight of her in his clothes hit low and hard in his gut.
She saw him. Stilled. Then she opened the door.
His gaze dropped slowly over the shirt, down the long line of her legs, and back to her face.
“I came for my shirt,” he said, his voice dropping a notch.
Eleanor’s fingers curled into the blue cotton. “Did you?”
Reid stepped into the hall, the door clicking shut behind him with a finality that made the quiet house feel smaller. He stopped close enough to feel her warmth.
“They’re gone, Eleanor.” His voice was low and steady in the narrow hall. “They packed up their mics and moved on to the next tragedy. We’re yesterday’s news.”
He stepped closer.
“I had to go,” she said. “I’ve seen what they do, Reid. I couldn’t watch them drag your career through the mud just because you’re with me.”
“And I was afraid,” she whispered.
He went still.
“I know what happens when people like us become the story,” she said, tears bright in her eyes now. “Charleston taught me that. They tear everything apart until there’s nothing left but the version they want.”
Her fingers twisted harder in his coat.
“So I left before you could decide I wasn’t worth it.”
Reid’s face changed.
“Ellie—”
“I decided for you,” she said, voice breaking. “I told myself I was protecting your career, your reputation, your future. But the truth is… I was scared you’d look at everything this would cost and choose the easier life.”
Her laugh was shaky and miserable.
“The safe life. The one with Sloane Gentry and Sunday dinners and nobody whispering when you walk into a room.”
Reid caught her face in both hands immediately.
“Ellie, look at me.”
“There is no life with Sloane Gentry,” he said. “There was never going to be.”
She stared at him.
“You are the choice, Eleanor. You. The complication. The risk. The story. All of it.”
She tried to turn her head, but he stayed where he was, steady and close.
“I get it,” he said, his face inches from hers. “You want to protect me. You’ve spent so long carrying this alone that you think you have to protect everyone else from it. But how about letting me get in between you and whatever it is for a change?”
He leaned in, his voice dropping to a rougher, intimate register.
“Let me be the one to protect you, Eleanor. I’ve spent my life in a courtroom. I don't break. And I don’t walk away from what matters to me.”
He exhaled once, then went for the only thing that mattered tonight.
“Tell me this,” he said quietly. “Do you love me?”
Tears gathered in her eyes.
“I’m not asking for a closing argument, Eleanor,” he said, his thumb brushing the tear from her cheek. “I’m asking for the truth. Just give me the truth.”
Silence stretched between them.
“Yes,” she whispered, breaking open on the word. “Yes.”
He closed his eyes for one second, as though the answer had hit him somewhere deep and unguarded.
“Okay,” he said quietly. “Then come here, Ellie. No more running.”
“You don’t have to chase me anymore,” she whispered. “I’m here.”
"I love you too, Ellie."
For one impossible second, she stared at him, like even now some part of her still expected the world to take it back.
He held her there, close, like he could keep her from disappearing again.
His gaze dropped to her mouth, heavy and unblinking.
He kissed her.
All the restraint he’d been holding since the moment she disappeared snapped. Eleanor made a low, wrecked sound in her throat and melted into him, her fingers tangling in his hair as her last defenses finally gave way.
Reid pulled back just enough to look at her, a slow, devastatingly handsome smirk spreading across his face—The same one that had undone more than a few people on the stand.
“You know,” he murmured, his voice regaining that rich, arrogant hum, “we really need to discuss your wardrobe choices.”
“Is that right?”
“Stealing from the District Attorney is a serious offense, Counselor. I could have you brought in on theft charges.”
Eleanor let out a genuine laugh. “And what’s the sentence for a first-time offender?”
Reid leaned down, his lips brushing her ear. “Life,” he said. “Without the possibility of parole. And I’ll be personally taking possession of the evidence.”
He hooked his arms under her knees and lifted her easily.
“Fine,” she whispered against his lips. “You win the case, Reid.”
“Sweetheart,” he murmured, heading toward the bedroom, “I think we both did.”
The cameras were dark. The transcripts were filed.
For the first time in years, Eleanor Harper wasn’t a headline or a plot point.
She was home.