19. Shattered Faith
Shattered Faith
Evelyn
T he morning sunlight streams through the bedroom window, casting a soft glow across Zeke’s sleeping form.
His face is peaceful in sleep, a stark contrast to the haunted look he wore last night.
My fingers trace the edge of his bandage, careful not to disturb him.
The events of last night replay in my mind—the blood, Seb’s pale face, Leo’s frightened tears.
A soft knock at the door breaks my reverie. “Aunt Evie?” Leo’s voice trembles.
“Come in, sweetheart,” I whisper, easing away from Zeke.
Leo peers around the door, his blue eyes wide with worry. “Is Uncle Seb okay? I heard noises downstairs.”
I slide out of bed, padding over to him in my oversized t-shirt. “Yes, he’s going to be okay.”
Tears well up in his eyes, and I hate the fear I see written all over his features. “That was scary.”
I pull him close and wrap my arms around him. “I know buddy. I’m so sorry you saw that, but he’s better now.”
“Are you sure?” He pulls away from me.
“I’m sure.” I give him another tight hug. “Let’s go check on him together, okay? So you can see for yourself. Would that help?”
He nods. After pulling on a pair of pajama pants, Leo grabs my hand, squeezing tight as we make our way downstairs. The house feels different this morning, heavy with unspoken tension. The nurse Eli arranged sits in a chair by Seb’s bed, looking tired but alert.
“He’s stable,” she assures us. “Slept through the night.”
Seb lies motionless except for the smooth rise and fall of his chest. The sight of him, usually so full of life and mischief, leaves an unwelcome pain in my chest. Leo’s grip on my hand tightens.
“See?” I kneel beside Leo, turning him to face me. “Uncle Seb is tough. He just needs rest to get better.”
“Like when I had the flu?” Leo’s bottom lip quivers.
“Exactly like that.” I brush his sandy hair from his forehead. “Why don’t we make some breakfast? The smell of bacon might even wake him up.”
A familiar warmth presses against my back—Zeke. His hand finds my shoulder, squeezing gently. His touch anchors me, even as worry gnaws at my insides.
“Good morning, buddy.” Zeke’s voice is tired with sleep. “How about chocolate chip pancakes?”
Leo’s face lights up at the mention of chocolate chip pancakes. “Can I help?”
“Of course,” Zeke says. “Go wash your hands first.”
As Leo scampers off, I lean back against Zeke’s chest, savoring his warmth. His arms wrap around my waist, and he buries his face in my hair. The gesture is intimate, domestic even.
“You should be resting,” I murmur.
“I’ll be fine.” His lips brush my ear. “Thank you for last night. For taking care of me.”
The vulnerability in his voice catches me off guard. I turn in his arms, studying his face. There are shadows under his eyes, and his usual sharp focus is softened by exhaustion. My fingers trail along the rough stubble on his jaw.
“That’s what wives are for, right?” I try to keep my tone light, but something shifts in his expression.
Before he can respond, Leo returns, bouncing with excitement. “I’m ready! Can we make extra for Uncle Seb when he wakes up?”
“Smart thinking, buddy.” Zeke releases me, but his hand lingers on my lower back. “Why don’t you get the chocolate chips while I grab the mixing bowl?”
I take one last look at Seb’s sleeping, grateful he’s going to be okay, before I follow Zeke and Leo to the kitchen. Watching those two interact and cook together is exactly what I need to lighten the dread pressing down on me.
In the kitchen, they’ve already gathered their ingredients and started mixing up the batter.
I watch them move around the kitchen together, an easy familiarity between them.
This feels dangerously close to real—to the kind of family I never thought I’d have.
The kind of happiness that’s too good to be true.
Because it is , I remind myself. This marriage is about protection, nothing more. The tenderness in Zeke’s touch, the way he looks at me when he thinks I’m not watching—none of it changes the fact that he walked away once before. That he’s capable of doing it again.
The sound of Leo’s laughter pulls me from my thoughts as Zeke helps him measure flour, leaving white handprints on both their shirts. Despite my resolve, I can’t help but smile at the sight.
While they’re happily making breakfast I retrieve my phone. I stare at it, my finger hovering over the call button. The kitchen is a bustle of noise—Leo’s excited to flip the pancakes, and Zeke ever the faithful teacher.
My hands shake as I press the button. Rissa answers on the second ring.
“Eve? You’re usually here by now.”
“I…” The words get stuck in my throat. Images from last night flash through my mind—Seb’s blood soaking into the carpet, Zeke’s haunted eyes, Leo’s terrified face. “I can’t come in today.”
“Are you okay? This isn’t like you.”
She’s right. In my years with SVU, I’ve never called in sick unless I was practically dying. But after watching violence tear through my home last night, the thought of facing another victim is too much.
“Family emergency.” The words taste bitter. “I need to handle some things here.”
“Okay.” She pauses and I sense her desire to question me further. “Take care of yourself,” Rissa says softly. “I’ll cover your cases today.”
I end the call and sink into a kitchen chair, guilt settling heavy in my stomach. I should be working. The weight of my badge presses against my chest though it’s upstairs in my drawer.
But I’m compromised. How can I investigate crimes objectively when I’m married to a man who operates outside the law? When his blood-stained clothes are still in our bathroom floor? When I helped clean up evidence of a shooting last night?
I wrap my arms around myself, trying to hold together the pieces of who I thought I was—Detective Landry, protector of victims, seeker of justice—with who I’ve become—a woman caught between duty and survival, law and necessity.
The whiskey burns as it slides down my throat. I’d prefer my gin, but it’s in the kitchen, and I’m avoiding people. Zeke’s private stash only consists of whiskey. And expensive whiskey at that.
I pour another generous measure, the amber liquid swirling in the crystal tumbler. It’s barely past noon, but with everything that’s happened, I need a drink.
I sink into the leather armchair in Zeke’s study, away from prying eyes.
The room smells of him—leather, expensive cologne, and that indefinable masculine scent that makes my body respond even when my mind protests.
My badge sits heavy in my pocket now, a constant reminder of who I am. Who I’m supposed to be.
Detective Landry wouldn’t be day drinking in a mansion paid for with blood money. Detective Landry wouldn’t have helped clean up evidence of a shooting. Detective Landry wouldn’t be falling in love with a man who operates outside the law.
The whiskey doesn’t burn as much on the second swallow. Or the third.
I close my eyes, remembering the terror on Leo’s face last night.
Christ, what am I doing to him? Rose trusted me to give him a stable home, a normal life.
Instead, I’ve dragged him into this shadowy world where violence erupts without warning and the line between right and wrong blurs more each day.
My fingers trace the rim of the glass as I think about how many victims need justice while I sit here protecting a man who takes the law into his own hands.
The alcohol dulls the edges of my guilt, but can’t erase it.
I’m compromised in every way possible—professionally, ethically, emotionally.
And the worst part? I’m not sure I want to change it.
Because despite everything, when Zeke holds me at night, when he plays with Leo, when they cook together, when he looks at me like I’m his entire world—it feels right.
I pour another drink, hoping it will quiet the war between my heart and my conscience. But it doesn’t.
The study door creaks open. I don’t need to look up to know it’s Zeke—his presence fills the room like a thundercloud. My fingers tighten around the crystal tumbler, knuckles white against the cut glass.
“Eve.” His voice is soft, dangerous. “What are you doing?”
I laugh, the sound brittle and sharp as broken glass. “What does it look like?” I lift the glass in a mock toast. “I’m having a drink. Several, actually.”
He moves closer, and I catch the slight hitch in his stride—his injury from last night. The sight sends fresh guilt coursing through me, mixing with the whiskey in my stomach, a toxic cocktail.
“This isn’t like you,” he says.
“No?” I meet his gaze, defiant despite the room’s slight spin. “How would you know what I’m like? You left before you really knew me, remember?”
Pain flashes across his face, there and gone like lightning. “Eve—”
“Don’t.” I stand, swaying. “Please let me have this moment of … self-loathing. There’s blood on your couch. Your brother was shot. Leo—” my voice breaks. “Leo was terrified. And I just … I can’t be both anymore.”
“Both what?”
“Both your wife and a detective. Both the woman who loves you and the person who’s supposed to stop men like you.
” The confession tumbles out, weighted with whiskey and truth.
“I’m losing myself, Zeke. Every time I look the other way, every time I choose you over justice—I lose another piece of who I am. ”
He reaches for me, but I step back, bumping against his desk. “I don’t know how to do this,” I whisper. “I don’t know how to love you without hating myself.”
“Do you want to leave?” Zeke’s question cuts through the whiskey haze, sharp as a blade.
I grip the edge of his desk, steadying myself. “That’s not—” The words tangle in my throat. “I’m not talking about running away.”
“Then what are you talking about, Eve?” He steps closer, his presence overwhelming in the confined space of his study. “Because it sounds like you’re giving up.”