Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Ella
There’s movement next to me. My eyes flash open, and I clutch the sheet.
Weapon. I need a weapon. Trying not to make a sound, I blindly search the nightstand without moving the rest of my body, managing to snag the automatic curtains’ remote.
Despite my current lack of strength, there’s something ancient in me, urging me to fight.
A part of me, so angry that if I had a real voice, I would scream at the top of my lungs and attack.
Like an animal backed into a corner, but with no intention of letting the predator win.
Not over and over. Not anymore. This Ella is not fully here yet, but sometimes at night, I hear her heart beating as if it was mine.
The sound comes again, along with something metallic. I count. One. Two. Three. Deep breath. I’m alone, with the moon for sole company, spying on my attempt to strike an uninvited guest. I lunge with all the strength I have, aiming blindly where the sound seems to be coming from.
“Aww! Ella, what are you…”
Tristan’s voice. Shock paints the walls, and I back away on the bed. What have I done? The bedside lamp turns on, revealing Tristan lying on the floor with a makeshift blanket, a pillow, and a thin mattress. His palm runs circles over his temple, which I guess is where I struck him.
Blinking, he croaks out, “It’s me. I was just having a hard time sleeping, sweetheart.
Who–who did you think it was?” He winces, eyes shut, and that is when I notice his bare chest. Muscular.
Carved from marble by what I imagine are years of discipline and dedication.
His gaze finds mine, and a light smile tugs at his lips, like he has won something.
I look away, as if I have been caught with my hand in the candy jar.
“I’m sorry,” I sign, still not looking. “I thought you were someone attacking me.” His mischief disappears, replaced by concern.
“Shit, I’m sorry. I never told you that,” he rubs his nape, “that I kind of…sleep here every night.”
“Why not here?”
“You didn’t tell me I could.”
“But it’s…your bed.” I frown.
“I don’t care, it’s not a big deal, as long as I’m with you.
” He says it while cracking neck. No. It is not okay.
He is going to ruin his back, and I am not sure I would react this badly to sleeping next to him.
I mean, from the sight of his body and my reaction, I think I should have a little more faith.
“But your back,” I sign. “It must hurt?”
“Don’t worry. I’ve had worse. I didn’t even have a mattress most days in juvie, so this is basically luxury.” He says it lightly, but it does not sound funny. I shove the covers off the other side and pat the sheet.
“You’re sure?” He frowns, with a mix of desire and restraint.
I nod with a serious gaze as he stands, revealing more of his skin and the deep V etched below his belly button.
Wow. I have never seen this. Such a manly yet comforting body.
It does not look too stiff to hold me. More like it is calling my name, asking me to snuggle into it.
He sits next to me, back straight, awkwardly expecting… something.
“Is it still okay?” My index finger finds his temple, checking the injury. Now I have hurt him and stolen his bed.
“Hey,” he coos, letting me pat his wound.
“It’s nothing. I fight guys bigger than me every month, remember?
” Slowly, like he is approaching a wild animal, he seizes my index and brings it in front of his mouth, checking me for any objection.
When he finds none, he drops a featherlight kiss on the pad of my finger.
Tingles of electricity run through my hair and down to my toes.
If being struck by lightning means this, then I have no objection to it happening again.
“You’re blushing,” he remarks in a breath. “Ella, when you do that…” He winces. “There are things I’d like to tell you that I can’t. But damn, I wish I could.” I frown.
“Tell me.”
“Not touching-not touching you is killing me.”
“Not touching you is killing me,” I sign back.
“How can I… What can I do to make you feel safe enough? Just tell me.”
“I…” My knees draw closer to my ribs, and I let a moment pass.
“I’m trying, but a part of me is still there.
” He gives me an understanding look without interrupting me.
“I don’t know if he could catch me again.
I don’t know if you want me to stay here, or how long your interest in me will last. I don’t know how long my dad will live, or if Mara will ever stop hating me.
I don’t know if my life was a mistake, or if I… If I’m the mistake.”
“Ella,” he murmurs, his voice strained. “Never. Never say that you’re a mistake. Ever. You’re the reason I get up in the morning. The reason your dad still has the will to live. You’re…everything.”
“What if you realize I’m not? That it was an illusion?
That perhaps you just needed someone to save?
” He frowns, but it is not soft or worried.
There is an edge of anger in it. Then he stands abruptly, rushing out of the room.
I hear him running down the stairs barefoot, then back up again, the sound of metal clinking in his hand.
“Open your hand,” he orders, towering over me with that intoxicating sight, skin on display, daring me to look at it.
And I do. I fight every bit of restraint and innocence with a stick, but still, I can’t help it.
The scar near his ribs. The slight trail of hair beneath his belly button.
Something hard and gray lands in my palm, and I look down. Keys.
“They’re yours,” he says, bluntly. “For as long as you wish to stay.”
“Tristan,” I say silently, looking up at him. Way up, since he is so tall and I am sitting.
“I want you…” He swallows. “I want you to have…agency.”
“Agency?” My hands move before I can think too hard about it. I sign the closest word I know.
“You’re free, Ella. Cole will be in jail soon.
I’m working on it, and…” He pauses, as if debating whether to tell me something.
“You can leave this place, and I’ll put enough money in a bank account for you to go anywhere you please.
To study, to work, to do whatever you want.
Or…” A slight flush appears on his face as his Adam’s apple bobs.
“Or you could stay. I…I really wish you’d stay.”
“You’re being too generous, and I don’t want you to think I’m some sort of gold digger.”
The shadow of a smirk tugs at his lips. “Trust me, Ella. I know you’re not.” He kneels, and my walls fall down. “Stay,” he says quietly. “Please.”
“Can I… Can I think about it?” An unmistakable light of hope appears on his face, like he is playing a game and would very much like to win it.
“Of course,” he says. “I…I don’t know. Perhaps it’s too soon, but it’s my niece’s birthday tomorrow.
I was thinking, maybe we could go together, so you could meet everyone properly.
It’s a small gathering with my mother, my brother Nate, and my niece Maddie.
She’s mute from birth. I don’t know if you remember, but she uses ASL too.
” He pauses, hands rising like he is about to sign, before stopping and speaking instead.
“I understand if you’re not up for it, or…” My hand finds his over the sheet. We are both sitting now, our fingers laced as I squeeze once.
“I’d love to,” I say silently, hoping he will be able to read my lips. He does not say anything, but I notice the back of his jaw pulsing, pupils widening.
“Oh, and there’s a theme too,” he says with a hint of amusement.
“A theme?” He chuckles, and it feels like a door opening onto the most beautiful landscape.
“You’ll see. I asked my assistant to find us costumes, but, well, you don’t have to wear one.
I’m sure you’ll actually like it, though.
” I arch a brow, drawing out an “okay” while signing, “I trust you.” He blinks, and I notice him fighting a yawn.
The clock behind him says four a.m. We really need to sleep now.
“Sleep?” I sign.
“You’re sure? The floor’s fine, really.” I shake my head.
Gathering all my courage I lie on my side, turning my back to him before glancing over my shoulder.
I am wearing one of his white T-shirts, oversized and smelling like him, along with a buttery-soft pair of cotton shorts someone bought for me and stocked here.
There are a lot of clothes my size in this house.
He hired someone to do that, and I am still not used to having enough clothes that I do not have to wash them in the sink just to wear them again the next day. It is different, but in a good way.
Hesitantly, he lies down, shuffling until the heat of his chest spoons my back.
His body is much bigger than mine, half circling me, and his right arm comes over my stomach.
His palm falls flat there, and perhaps he does not mean to do it, but because of the looseness of the T-shirt, his hand slides right under the fabric, resting on my skin possessively, lighting fires everywhere.
His nose brushes the side of my throat in an animalistic way, right below my ear, leaving a trail of goose bumps on my skin.
His lips land in a hard kiss on my hair, after what feels like a deep inhale, and I hear him relax behind me.
I am right here, in the arms of the man I love.
Step by step, he is showing me what his patience can do, allowing me to feel safe enough to bond again. We are close, so close I feel him against my back. Every move, every battle he is fighting to restrain himself. I feel it in my bones and all the way down to my toes.