Chapter 14
Elijah
River has been in a godawful mood since we got home, and fighting with Ezra hasn't exactly improved it. I told him if he carried on winding him up, I’d print pictures of him wearing mam's underwear and stick them on every lamp post in town.
The thought of every potential woman he could sleep with seeing him like that shut him up immediately.
Honestly, sometimes he wasn't even a kid when he did that, but even as a teenager, he'd get drunk and dig out the heels.
Mam wasn't impressed when he broke one or two.
I’m stirring the Bolognese, mind focused on the sauce, when I hear the click of heels. Shit. I forgot she was still here.
Rose appears in the doorway, red dress clinging just enough, pearl necklace glinting, hair loose around her shoulders, makeup applied like always. “You look good enough to eat…” she purrs, sauntering closer, the fake sweetness suffocating.
I stiffen, tightening my grip on the spoon. “You signed the papers yet?” I ask, even though I know the answer.
Her finger drifts down my arm slowly, ignoring me entirely. I shrug her off, irritation sparking.
“Still banging on about that? I thought we had moved past that. It was a mistake.”
I don’t know how anyone can be this fucking infuriating.
Her hand slides up my chest, nails grazing over the fabric. “You're the only one I want, Elijah.”
I catch her hand before it can cross any further. “A mistake is a one-time thing, something you don't mean to do. You don't accidentally fall onto someone's cock more than once and then come back home to me.”
Her fake smile tightens, the mask slipping for half a second before she pastes it back on. Rose has always been good at that—full of pretty lies, she actually begins to believe them herself.
“You're being dramatic,” she says lightly, like I’m the problem here. Like I imagined, all those nights she didn't come home. “You know I love you.”
I let out a slow breath through my nose and turned back to the stove, refusing to give her what she wanted. “You love what I give you. Security. A house. Overpriced clothes and multiple spa weekends. You don't love me.”
She scoffs, offended, and steps closer again. Too fucking close. “You think you're some saint? You've shut me out for years. I got lonely.”
That does it.
“Lonely?” I repeat quietly. “You had a husband who broke his back for this family. You had a son who loved you and a daughter who wanted a mum. Yet, you still chose to crawl into someone else's bed.”
Her chin lifts, defensive. “It didn't mean anything.”
Ah, the famous “it didn't mean anything” line.
“That's the problem, Rose. It meant nothing to you. Yet you were willing to burn everything for it.”
She opens her mouth, probably to spin it again, but I cut her off, fed up with her bullshit. “Don't touch me. Don't flirt with me, and don't insult me by pretending this was an accident.”
I push her hand away, hating that I have to touch her to remove her. “You want forgiveness? Sign the papers. You want to play Happy Families? Try it with someone who hasn't already seen what you really are.”
Her eyes harden, cruelty flashing through the cracks. “You’ll regret this.”
“So you keep saying. Now, fuck off.” I snap.
She pivots on her heels, a dramatic huff leaving her lips, storms off, and pushes Willow into the doorframe in the process.
Shit. I didn't even hear her come in.
I’m on her in an instant, my hand settling on her bare shoulder, rubbing the spot I know took the hit. “You okay?”
She looks up at me, eyes soft but knowing. “I should be asking you that.”
I swear under my breath. “You heard that?”
Her lips pull into a faint, crooked smile, and she holds my gaze. “Every word,” she says quietly.
I scratch thoughtfully at my chin and step back, letting my hand fall away from her shoulder so I can finish plating up the food. “Rose has a real talent for getting under my skin.”
Willow slips beside me, reaching up to snag something from the cupboard. “Seems like she's got that gift with everyone,” she says lightly. “Do you think she'll be back tonight?”
I really hope not.
“Probably not.” I flick the cooker off and shrug. “Wouldn't surprise me if she’s gone to find some poor bastard to fuck in exchange for a bed.”
Willow makes a small sound as she pours herself a drink. I catch the way she glances at me over the rim of the glass.
“That doesn't bother you?” she asks curiously, but there's something else there too. Hope, maybe.
I shake my head once. “No. Hasn't bothered me in a long time now.”
Especially not since you walked in and quietly turned my world on its axis.
I offer her a small smile. “Enough about her,” I say, deliberately changing course. “I heard you made a friend today.”
“I did,” she says happily as she turns, resting her hip against the counter. “River isn't exactly thrilled about it.”
That's putting it lightly. I love my son, but he can be a child at times and has a habit of throwing tantrums.
I hum low in my throat. “So I've Heard. I don't think you realise how long he's been crushing on that girl. First time you meet her, and she's claimed you as her best friend." I plate the spaghetti, the clink of cutlery loud in the quiet kitchen.
Willow takes a slow sip of her drink, eyes following the food—and then drifting back to me.
Honestly, I don't blame the girl. Having Willow in your life is a privilege. She's fierce, kind, and beautiful not only on the outside, but inside, too. Anyone who gets to call her a friend is the luckiest person on the planet.
I know I’m glad she's in my life, but I also want her to be mine in every way.
I’m a patient man.
“Might be because she's not into guys.”
I pause, just briefly. “Huh.” That explains River’s mood earlier. It wasn't just because Willow made a friend. I can't help but wonder what kind of girly conversations they had to have without him hovering nearby.
“Makes sense. He's upstairs nursing his broken heart.”
She pulls the glass from her lips, her tongue gliding over the rim, catching the last droplets. My pulse tightens. Every instinct in me wants to lean in, taste, kiss—claim those lips myself.
“I invited her… well, she invited herself to that meal Rose is hosting in a couple of weeks. If that's okay.”
Ah, that fucking meal. The one I never agreed to, the one Rose is trying to set Willow up with that fucker. A flash of irritation curls through me.
“I have no problem with that. The more, the merrier, right?”
She bites her lip. And God—those lips. I want to kiss them.
“Something like that,” she murmurs, letting her hand drift to the counter and brushing near mine. Close enough that her warmth seeps into me, intoxicating in its effect. Her scent, subtle from her perfume, wraps around me.
I’m completely fucked.
“Oh, I wanted to thank you,” she adds, soft, almost shy, through her green eyes, like emeralds shining under the bright sun.
“Thank me?”
She rubs her wrist against her top, the same wrist she'd cut, the one I can't bear to think about.
“For letting me live here. Just… for everything. You never let me be alone, even when I wanted to. Today was the first time I danced, and I know it was your idea.” She wipes at her eyes, and my heart clenches. “Thank you for not giving up on me, even when I hated you.”
I grin down at her. “You don't hate me anymore?”
Not gonna lie, I really fucking like that she doesn't hate me.
She giggles, eyes crinkling. “No, even though I really did try.”
I don't doubt it for a second.
A loose strand of hair escapes her bun. Before she can tuck it back, I do it for her. My fingers graze her cheek, curling the copper piece behind her studded ear, and I catch the way her lashes flutter, the tiny hitch in her breath.
“You don't have to thank me for helping you,” I rasp. “I’d do it all again.”
The urge to touch her, to pull her closer, claws at me. I grip the counter to stop myself, but then her hand slides forward, brushing mine.
Every brush of her skin against mine lights me up in ways I haven't felt in far too long. I gulp slowly as she leans in, and I find myself moving closer too, drawn to her like gravity.
Just as my lips hover over hers, my heart thuds so loud I’m sure she can hear it. I want her—need her—so damn much. But I stop.
A harsh exhale escapes my nose. I grit my teeth, close my eyes for a fraction of a second, forcing control back over the desire trying to take over. When I open my eyes again, she's stumbling back, cheeks flushed, eyes glistening, and my chest twists at the sight.
Ah, fuck.
“We can't," I manage, voice tight, ready to explain why—but she's already retreating, and all I want to do is pull her back against me, claim her in some impossible way.
“I’m sorry,” she stammers, fumbling for words, eyes avoiding mine. “Oh god… just forget that happened. Well, nothing happened, but erm, just forget it.” She grabs two plates of food and spins, practically running up the stairs, leaving me numb and aching all at once.
The hurt on her face cuts me deeper than I expected. She probably thinks I feel nothing for her, when the truth is the exact opposite.
I feel everything for her. Every thought, every heartbeat, every unspoken want. My restraint—the one thing keeping us from spiralling into chaos—shines a cruel light on how badly I want her.
I want to kiss her, to lie tangled with her in bed until we’re laughing for no reason at all, to map every curve of her with my hands and learn the way she reacts under my touch. The thought of her playful, bratty side makes me want to redden her ass or stuff her mouth full with my cock.
Which is inappropriately hard right now.
Now isn't the right time.
I just hope she understands because some part of me doesn't anymore.