Chapter 17 Elijah
Chapter seventeen
Elijah
I can see the exact moment her mind starts spiraling, conjuring worst-case scenarios.
We’d come so far in just a few weeks. Ava had finally started believing in herself—believing in us. In me.
I never thought it would be easy. Trust doesn’t come naturally to her. And the person she trusts least of all… is herself.
She can’t see how deeply we love her—just as she is. She doesn’t think she’s enough.
God, she couldn’t be more wrong.
If anything, I’m the one who doesn’t deserve her. I’m the one dragging a past behind me like a shadow. No matter how long I’ve been out of that life, there are stains that time can’t wash away.
And now, I know—I’ll have to tell her. Maybe not everything, but enough. Enough to risk losing her.
Fuck, what if she hates me?
What if this conversation is the end of us? And all I’ll be left with is the memory of these few perfect weeks—the best of my life.
She gave me everything, and I failed her.
Once she knows who I really am, what I did for the family... I doubt she’ll even want to stay friends.
And I wouldn’t blame her.
I’ve put her in danger.
Whoever’s leaving the notes and flowers—there’s a good chance they’re from my past. A past I never should’ve let touch her.
I don’t know when Ava moved from behind the counter, but the second I see her heading toward her office, something feels off. She’s unsteady—stumbling.
“Ava?”
Then she crumples to the floor.
“AVA!”
No—no, no, no.
I’m running before I realize it, sliding to my knees beside her.
“Ava, hey—Ava, look at me baby. Please open your eyes.”
I touch her face—too pale. Her skin is clammy. My heart is pounding so loud I can barely hear my own voice.
This isn’t happening. She was just standing there. She was fine. What the hell is going on?
“Mia, get these people out of here!” I shout, trying to hold it together. She doesn’t move. She’s frozen, her eyes wide with fear.
I snap. “EVERYONE OUT! NOW!”
My voice booms through the café, echoing against the walls. Chairs scrape. People shuffle. And then it’s quiet. Just Mia, Ava, and me.
I lift Ava into my arms, holding her close. She feels so small like this. Too still.
God, please don’t let this be serious. Please.
I carry her to the couch and lay her down carefully, brushing her hair from her face.
“Ava, baby, come on. You’re okay. Just wake up for me, please.” My voice cracks. “I’m right here. You’re safe. Just open your eyes.”
Nothing.
“Mia!” I call, my tone sharp again. I’m trying not to lose it, but I’m barely holding on. “I need cold water. A clean cloth. Now.”
“Y-Yeah,” she stammers, scrambling toward the kitchenette.
I turn back to Ava, take her hand in mine, and press it to my lips.
“You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay,” I whisper, more to convince myself than her. “Just come back to me.”
Mia returns a minute later, hands shaking as she holds out the bowl of water and the cloth. I nod, taking them from her without a word. I don’t trust my voice right now.
I dip the cloth into the cold water and wring it out, then gently press it to Ava’s forehead. She doesn’t stir.
Come on, baby. Please.
“Mia, check her pulse. Her wrist.” My voice is hoarse. She kneels beside me, fumbling as she presses two fingers to Ava’s skin.
“It’s… it’s there,” she says after a second. “It’s weak, but it’s there.”
I exhale—barely. Relief flickers through me, but it’s fleeting.
“Ava.” I brush the cloth across her temple again, then down to her cheeks. “You’re scaring the hell out of me. You don’t get to check out on me like this, not now.”
Her lips are parted slightly, but she’s still out cold. I lean in, my forehead touching hers.
“I was going to tell you,” I whisper. “Everything. I swear. I was just waiting for the right moment.”
A dry, bitter laugh escapes me. “Guess the universe decided for me.”
I lift her hand again and squeeze it gently.
“You think I’m strong,” I say softly, “but you’re the one who walked into my chaos and still looked at me like I was worth something. You changed everything, Ava.”
Her fingers twitch. Just barely—but I feel it.
My heart lurches.
“Hey. Hey, that’s it,” I say quickly. “Come back to me. I’m here. You’re safe.”
Another small movement—her eyelashes flutter, just once.
“Ava?” I cup her face, ignoring the tightness in my chest. “Look at me, baby. Please.”
Her brows crease slightly, like she’s in a dream she can’t get out of. And then—finally—her eyes flicker open, unfocused at first.
She blinks, her gaze darting around before settling on me.
“Eli…?” Her voice is barely a breath.
“Yeah, I’m here.” Relief floods me so fast I almost collapse beside her. “I’ve got you. You’re okay.”
She tries to sit up, but I gently hold her in place. “Easy. Just breathe.”
Her eyes search mine, panic surfacing. “What happened?”
“You fainted,” I say quietly. “Scared the shit out of me.”
I glance up at Mia, who’s watching us like she doesn’t want to blink. I nod once. “Can you give us a minute?”
She hesitates, then disappears into the back without a word.
I turn back to Ava, stroking her hair. “We need to talk, and I won’t lie—it’s not easy. But right now, I just need to know you’re okay.”
She doesn’t answer. She just looks at me. And I know—whatever I say next could change everything.
Ava doesn’t say anything right away. She just lies there, staring up at me like she’s trying to make sense of what’s real and what isn’t. Her breathing is still uneven, and I can feel the rapid thump of her pulse beneath my fingers.
I sit down on the edge of the couch, still holding her hand. My thumb moves in slow, steady circles over her skin, like maybe I can calm her that way—like maybe I can calm myself.
She swallows hard. “Did I... pass out?”
I nod. “Yeah. You scared me to death.”
A humorless smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. “You’ve got a habit of doing that lately.”
Her lips twitch, just slightly, but she doesn’t laugh.
Her eyes are glassy. “It felt like I couldn’t breathe. Like everything just... caved in.”
I nod again. I know that feeling too well.
“I saw it happen,” I say quietly. “The second your thoughts started turning on you. I could see it in your eyes. You always go quiet when you’re scared.”
She looks away at that, ashamed.
“Hey.” I reach out, gently cupping her cheek so she’ll look at me. “Don’t do that. Don’t shut down on me.”
“I thought I was getting better,” she whispers. “I thought I was stronger.”
“You are,” I say, without hesitation. “You’re the strongest person I know. But even the strongest people crack under pressure. Especially when they’re carrying more than anyone else can see.”
Tears well in her eyes again, and she blinks quickly, trying to hold them back.
I don’t push. I just stay there, quiet and steady, until her breathing evens out a little. She’s still fragile, but she’s coming back to herself.
“I didn’t want you to see me like that,” she says after a long pause.
“I know,” I reply. “But I needed to. Because I can’t just love the version of you that’s smiling and confident and has everything figured out.”
I lean in a little closer. “I need you to know I love all of it—even the messy, scared, broken pieces. Especially those.”
Her gaze softens, but there’s still something unsettled behind her eyes.
I know what it is.
She can feel it. The shift. The thing I haven’t said yet—hanging between us like static in the air.
And I know I can’t avoid it any longer.
But for just a moment longer, we sit in the quiet. Her hand in mine. Her eyes locked on me. And I memorize it—this pause, this fragile stillness—before everything changes.
She’s waiting. Still. Calm. Patient in that way that terrifies me more than if she’d screamed or walked away.
I know this moment.
I’ve lived it.
That razor’s edge between telling the truth… or running from it forever.
My hand drags through my hair, trying to ground myself. My jaw aches from how hard I’m clenching it.
“There’s something I never told you,” I say, my voice low. “Something big.”
Her eyes don’t flinch. Just a soft, steady, “Okay. Tell me now.”
God.
I stare at the floor as the words come out, each one heavier than the last.
“I used to work for people I shouldn’t have. Real bad people.”
I can’t even bring myself to look at her. I strip all the feeling from my voice, like if I keep it flat enough, maybe it won’t land so hard.
“My job was to make problems go away. That meant collecting, threatening… sometimes more. I was an enforcer.”
I don’t say the word.
Mafia.
But it’s there. Between us. A ghost with its hand on my shoulder.
“I got out years ago,” I say quickly. “I don’t owe them anything. I thought I was done.”
I pause, jaw tight. My hands are clenched so hard I have to force them to loosen.
“But now…” I shake my head. “Ava, the notes. The flowers. The way someone’s watching you.”
I finally meet her eyes. “I’ve seen this before. It feels like them. The way they operated. The way they made you feel hunted before they even showed their face.”
My voice lowers, the weight of it sinking between us.
“I think this stalker… he might be someone from my past. Someone I crossed, or someone who thinks getting to you is a way to get to me.”
I watch her face, waiting for fear, for revulsion—for something that tells me I’ve finally gone too far.
But all I see is her heart breaking for me. For us. Because she thinks I’m bracing for her to run. She’s right.
“Elijah…”
God, the way she says my name—soft, careful, like she’s holding something fragile.
“I didn’t want to tell you,” I admit. “Not because I don’t trust you, but because I knew the second I did, you’d see me differently.”
My voice cracks at the edges. I can’t stop it. I hate this. I hate letting her see me like this—unworthy, tainted.
But then she leans closer.
“I don’t,” she says, just like that.
My eyes search hers, desperate, skeptical. “Ava—”