Chapter 42 Elijah
Chapter forty-two
Elijah
By the time we pull through the gates of the Kingston estate, Ava's asleep against my chest. Her body is curled into mine, wrapped in a blanket, and I can feel the occasional tremor still running through her.
It’s hard to tell if she’s cold or still in shock. Probably both.
The SUVs fan out across the front drive like a tactical unit returning from the field. No one speaks. Not Keller. Not Kai. Not even Gabriel, who’s usually quick to break tension with some snide remark.
Everyone knows the weight of what just happened. And everyone knows the storm hasn’t passed yet.
The only thing I’m thankful for right now is that I have her in my arms — safe, breathing, alive.
But I’m not na?ve. I know that whatever George did to her, whatever she went through in that room, it didn’t end when we pulled her out. Trauma like that doesn’t stay locked in a warehouse. It follows you home. It sits in your chest and waits for the quiet to come before it breaks you open.
I keep thinking about Gabriel’s voice over comms. About how he said there were three heat signatures, but only two thermal readings. One of them — cold. Lifeless.
Not knowing if that was her... that moment aged me ten years in a heartbeat.
Now she’s curled up against me in the back seat of the SUV, wrapped in a blanket and my arms like I can somehow keep her from falling apart just by holding her tight enough.
I don’t want to wake her. God, I don’t. But the medical team is waiting.
I press a kiss to her temple. “Hey, baby girl. We’re here,” I whisper, just loud enough to stir her.
She lets out a soft, disoriented “Hmm.”
“Sorry, princess,” I say gently, “but the doctors need to see you. Then you can rest, I promise.”
She blinks up at me, dazed. Her eyes are puffy, the dried salt of her tears still streaked on her cheeks. And then, barely above a whisper:
“Will you stay with me, please?”
I cup her face with both hands and kiss her softly. “If that’s what you want, of course, my love.”
When I reach her lips again, she deepens the kiss. It takes me by surprise. My instinct is to pull her closer, to give her everything — but I freeze. The last thing I want is to take from her when she’s this vulnerable.
She pulls back slightly, and in her voice, I hear it — the fear.
“If you don’t want to, it’s okay.”
That sentence wrecks me. Her eyes — still filled with pain, but now laced with doubt. As if she thinks I’d pull away from her now. As if she doesn’t know that I’d burn the entire world down if it meant she could sleep without nightmares tonight.
“Ava.” I brush her hair behind her ear. “I’ll be by your side — if that’s what you want.
I know these last hours have been hell. I’m not here to push or expect anything from you.
But yes — I want to be next to you while the doctors check you out.
Yes, I want to take care of you. And yes…
” I pause, trying to hold my voice steady, “I love you like crazy.”
Her eyes well up, but this time not from fear. She manages a small, brave smile. That alone helps piece my heart back together.
“Is that clear, princess?”
She lets out a shaky breath. “Yes, Daddy,” she says, voice playfully soft — a flicker of our normal in the middle of chaos.
And just like that, I know she’s fighting to come back to herself. She’s reaching for the light instead of letting the darkness pull her under.
I press a final kiss to her forehead and smile against her skin. “That’s my good girl. Now let’s go inside.”
She nods, still leaning into me.
Whatever happens next, we’ll face it together.
I tighten my grip around Ava as I climb out of the vehicle, careful not to jostle her. She doesn’t resist—doesn’t flinch—which both calms and guts me.
She trusts me. Enough to let herself go quiet in my arms.
But that look in her eyes earlier, the one she gave me when George had her… That’s going to stay with me for the rest of my life.
As we cross the threshold into the estate, I feel her body stiffen ever so slightly. She knows this place. But tonight it must feel unfamiliar again. I want to whisper that she’s safe now, but I don’t. Not yet.
A medical team is already waiting. Kade doesn’t mess around.
The lead medic—a woman in her forties with sharp eyes and a gentle voice—nods to me and gestures down the hall.
“We’ve got a quiet space ready.”
I carry Ava past the curious glances and quiet murmurs, straight to the private medical wing that they keep for situations just like this. The irony is bitter.
The nurse talks to Ava in soft, practiced tones. The exam begins. I stay back, giving them space while keeping my eyes on her the entire time.
The bruises on her neck are worse up close. Finger-shaped. Violent.
I want to kill him all over again.
She winces when they clean the cuts on her palms. Her skin is pale, fragile, and her voice hasn’t returned to full strength. She barely speaks, but she doesn’t look away from me either. That gaze—steady but tired—says more than any words ever could.
She 's still here.
When the doctor finishes, she nods at me. “She needs rest.
She 's lucky.”
The doctor finishes wrapping Ava’s arm in clean gauze, her touch gentle, practiced. Ava hasn’t said much — barely a whisper when answering questions — but she hasn’t let go of my hand once.
I sit beside her on the bed, our fingers laced, her grip firm despite the tremble in it. She’s holding it together with the last scraps of her strength, and I’m doing everything I can not to fall apart beside her.
The doctor glances at me with a subtle nod. “Mr. Blacksmith, may I speak with you for a moment? Just outside?”
Ava tenses immediately. I lean in, brush a kiss to her temple.
“I’ll be right back, baby. Two minutes.” My voice is low, careful — a promise and an anchor. She nods without looking at me, and I follow the doctor out into the hallway, letting the door close behind us.
The second it does, I turn to her. “Tell me.”
She exhales, professional mask still in place. “Physically, she’s stable. Bruises, cuts, minor contusions — we’ve treated them all. There’s no evidence of sexual assault. She told me directly she wasn’t touched that way.”
The breath I didn’t realize I was holding escapes in a hard exhale, but it doesn’t bring relief. Not completely.
“There’s a but,” I say, reading it in the set of her jaw.
“There is.” She nods. “In my professional opinion, there’s more to the story. She may not have processed it yet, or she’s protecting herself emotionally — or you. That’s common in trauma victims.”
I run a hand down my face. My fingers are shaking.
“She’s holding it together for now, but it might come out later. Sudden anger, anxiety, nightmares, panic. She’ll need a safe space — time, patience. Someone who won’t push her.”
“She has me.” The words come out rough. Uncompromising.
The doctor softens slightly. “I can tell she trusts you.” She hands me a small paper bag. “Some sleeping pills if she changes her mind. And my card — along with the name of a psychologist I trust completely. Trauma like this doesn’t heal overnight.”
I nod, jaw tight. “Thank you.”
“I meant what I said in there,” she adds gently. “She’s lucky. Not just to have survived this… but to have you. People underestimate what that kind of support can do.”
I swallow hard, glance back toward the door. “I won’t let her fall.”
The doctor offers a final nod before walking away down the hall.
I wait until her footsteps fade, then step back inside.
Ava’s sitting exactly where I left her, arms around her knees now, blanket pulled close. Her eyes flick up as I enter, and the fear in them cracks something in me wide open.
I go straight to her. Sit down, wrap my arms around her like I’m the only damn shield she has. And maybe I am.
“I’m here,” I whisper. “And I’m not going anywhere.”
She doesn’t say anything — just lays her head on my chest.
And I hold her, breathing for both of us.
I gently move her head toward me, my fingers brushing through her hair as I guide her face up. Her eyes meet mine, soft and tired, but trusting. I lean in and kiss her—slow, careful, like I’m reminding her she’s safe now, loved. She sighs against my mouth, and I feel it in my chest.
When I pull back, I rest my forehead against hers.
“What would you prefer first, a warm bath or something to eat?”
Her voice is barely above a whisper. “Bath, please.”
That soft, broken sound cracks something in me. I nod immediately. “Okay, princess, I'll go see what these people have in the bathroom.”
“Da… Elijah.” She hesitates mid-word and switches it. The way her voice trembles as she says my name makes my chest ache.
I smile gently, trying to coax one from her too. “Yes, princess, you were fine the first time.”
She lifts her eyes to mine, scared but brave in that way she always is, even when she doesn’t realize it. “Can you stay with me for the bath? I really don't want to be alone right now.”
God. I hate this — hate seeing her so shaken, so uncertain.
“Of course, baby girl,” I say without hesitation, brushing my fingers over her cheek. “But… on one condition.”
I arch a brow, and she nods like she’s waiting for me to ask her for the moon.
“After the bath, you'll eat something — either here in your room or downstairs with the others. Mia and Sophia are here, and I’m sure you’d like to see them. But only if you feel up to it.”
She pauses, considering it. Then nods again. “I think downstairs will be fine, Daddy.”
That word on her lips — soft, affectionate, secure — is everything. A fragile girl clinging to something solid in a storm. And I’ll be that for her. Always.
“Okay, princess,” I whisper, kissing the back of her hand. “Let me run your bath. You’ll feel better, I promise.”
She nods, and I head toward the adjoining bathroom, already planning exactly how to make this feel like peace for her — if only for a little while.