Chapter 55 - Stella
Stella
The kitchen smells like roasted chicken and fresh bread, the kind of comfort food that feels right for a welcome home.
Elaine is on her tippy toes, taping the edge of a paper banner that reads Welcome Home, Sage in Ansel’s over-the-top bubble letters.
I’m holding the other side, our hands brushing just enough to make my stomach flip.
“Hold it tighter,” she says, not looking down, though her lips twitch like she knows exactly what she’s doing.
“You’re bossy,” I murmur.
“And you like it.” Her voice is low, private, for me alone.
The heat between us is interrupted when the front door bangs open. Ansel breezes in with a bag of balloons, nearly tripping over her own boots. “I swear if this kid doesn’t grow up calling me Auntie Ansel, I’m suing.”
“On what grounds?” Elaine asks, straightening, amused.
“Emotional distress,” Ansel fires back instantly, dumping balloons onto the couch.
Behind her, Mac follows with a case of soda balanced on one arm. “The only one in distress is me. You’ve been talking my ear off since the grocery store.”
“You’re welcome,” Ansel singsongs, sticking her tongue out at him.
Theo trails in last, tie still knotted tight even on a Saturday, a faint edge to his smile. “You two arguing again? Imagine my shock.” He sets down a bottle of wine with a little too much precision. Then, with a pointed glance at Ansel, “Some people never grow out of high school antics.”
Ansel bristles, muttering something under her breath, but Elaine leans casually against the counter, watching the whole exchange like she’s already been folded into the rhythm of us.
By the time Blythe arrives with Sage in her arms, the house is alive with voices and warmth. Bennette comes too, awkward but careful, carrying a stack of casseroles he swears he didn’t make. He hovers close to Blythe without being obvious, his big frame gently around her and the baby.
The banner is crooked, the food mismatched, and Ansel is arguing with Mac about whether soda or wine pairs better with chicken. But Elaine slips her fingers into mine under the table when no one’s looking, her thumb brushing lightly against my knuckle.
It’s quiet. It’s sure. And it feels less like a beginning and more like finally finding home.
We eat. We laugh. And every time I catch Elaine’s eyes across the room, she gives me that slight, crooked smile that feels like ours alone.
But later, when the night winds down, the peace shatters.
A pounding crash against the porch door makes all of us jump. Then comes the shouting—slurred, raw, and furious. Donovan.
“Stella!” His voice rips through the quiet. “You think you can ruin me? You think you can take everything? I’ll take it all back! I’ll take everything from you, the way you took it from me!”
My stomach plummets.
Before I can move, Mac and Bennett are already on their feet. Theo follows, his jaw tight, his voice low and sharp as they step outside. The door shuts behind them, muting the sound, but Donovan’s rage still leaks through the walls.
Elaine finds me frozen halfway to the stairs. She takes my hand without a word and pulls me up, guiding me to the bedroom before the fight outside can bleed further into the house.
I sink onto the edge of the bed, trembling in a way I hate. “He’s going to try to take everything from me in the divorce. The business. The house. Everything my family built.”
Elaine kneels in front of me, steady, unflinching.
She takes my hands in hers, her voice calm but cutting through the panic like a blade.
“Stella, listen to me. You will not be the woman he defines. You’re not going to be a divorcée; he leaves in ashes.
You’re going to be a widow. That’s what you told me. That’s what we’re building.”
Her words are brutal. Terrifying. And yet, they’re the only thing that makes my breath slow because they’re true.
Elaine’s words still burn in my chest. Widow, not divorcée.
They shouldn’t steady me, but they do—more than anything has in months.
Before I can think too much about it, her hands wrap around my waist, pulling me down onto her lap like I belong there.
My knees hook around her hips, the press of her body anchoring me while the rest of me feels like it’s unraveling.
Her mouth finds mine, deep and claiming, with nothing careful left in it.
I fist the back of her shirt, dragging her closer, greedy for every inch of her.
Her hands roam like she’s memorizing me—over my back, down my thighs, squeezing at the curve of my hip until I gasp into her mouth.
It’s messy, breathless, the kind of kiss that blurs where I end and she begins.
My braid slides over my shoulder, and she tangles her fingers in it, tugging my head back just enough to trail her mouth along my jaw, my throat.
Heat coils low in my stomach, sharp and aching. I shift against her, and the sound that rips from her chest is low, dangerous. It makes me clutch tighter, nails digging through the cotton of her shirt.
“Elaine,” I whisper, not sure if it’s a plea or a warning.
Her teeth graze the edge of my collarbone, and her voice is rough against my skin. “Say it, Stella. Tell me you want this.”
“I do.” The words spill out, raw, unpolished, and shaking. “God, I want this.”
She groans into my skin, her hands sliding under the hem of my dress, palms searing against bare thigh. My breath stutters, my pulse hammering as her fingers skim higher, higher, until I can’t think of anything but her touch.
I clutch her face, drag her mouth back to mine, and kiss her hard enough to hurt. I’m finally giving in, setting fire to everything I thought I knew, and I don’t care if it burns.
Her kiss turns demanding, swallowing every sound I make. Her hands slide higher, bunching my dress at my waist until it’s nothing but fabric tangled between us. When her fingers brush along my aching center, I jolt, a shiver tearing through me.
“Please,” I gasp, forehead pressed to hers. I’ve never begged before, not like this.
Her smile is sharp, reverent. “God, Stella… you have no idea.”
Her fingers are dragging against my opening, slow at first, teasing, until I’m clinging to her shoulders, nails raking skin. My hips move before I can stop them, chasing every stroke, every dizzying touch. It’s reckless, shameless, and the most honest I’ve ever been.
“Elaine—” My voice breaks, a plea, a warning, a prayer.
“I’ve got you, Stella,” she murmurs, her mouth against my ear, her other arm locked around me like she’ll never let go. “I’ve got you.”
The world tilts, blurs. Her touch erases the space between us. She breaks me open with nothing but touch and want. My head falls back, lips parting on a cry I can’t bite back, and she swallows it with another fierce, unrelenting kiss.
When it hits me, it shatters me. White-hot, gut-deep, pulling me apart until all I can do is cling to her and ride it through.
She doesn’t let me go, not once. Her mouth stays on mine, her hand steady, coaxing me through every shudder, every gasp. When I finally sag against her, trembling, she presses her forehead to mine, her breath ragged.
“Truth,” she whispers, voice rough, raw. “No lies, remember?”
I can’t find words. Not yet. Just the feel of her still holding me, steady and unyielding, like she’s the only thing keeping me tethered. And for the first time in my life, there is no voice in my head warning me that something's wrong.
Only she is here with me.
Silence stretches, thick with the sound of our breathing. My body is still humming, nerves shot raw, every inch of me aware of her.
Elaine doesn’t move, doesn’t rush me. Her hand smooths down my back, slow, grounding, like she knows I’ll come apart if she lets go too soon.
I bury my face against her shoulder, the sharp edges of her shirt buttons digging into my cheek, and I don’t care. I just need her close.
Her voice finally breaks the quiet, low, and rough. “You okay?”
The question unravels me more than anything else. I nod, though my throat burns too much to speak. When I finally lift my head, her eyes are on me—soft, unguarded, a storm I never thought I’d get to stand in.
“Elaine,” I whisper, my voice wrecked. “That… that was everything I ever needed.”
Her lips twitch, almost a smile, but not quite. “Good. Because I don’t think I could survive pretending you’re not everything I ever needed.”
The air shifts. It’s heavier, but not laced with guilt—with truth. It locks between us like a secret we both carried too long and finally dropped into the open.
My throat tightens, but I don’t look away. I can’t. Not when her eyes are on me like that, like she’s been waiting for years just to say it out loud.
I kiss her again, softer this time, a whisper of a promise against her mouth. “Then no more pretending.”
Her fingers flex in my braid, tugging me closer until her forehead presses against mine. Her breath mingles with mine, steadying me, branding me.
“No more pretending,” she echoes.
The bubble bursts as shouting erupts louder from outside.
Mac and Theo’s voices collide, sharp with obscenities.
Beneath it all, Donovan’s voice cuts through—raw, unraveling.
There’s something hollow in it now, the sound of a man stripped bare.
He isn’t the same person I once knew. Every word drips with loss, and his only goal is wrath.
Elaine and I lace our fingers together, straighten our clothes, and head downstairs side by side. Whatever waits below, we’ll face it together. I just need him to leave.
The front door shudders on its hinges; the shouting is sharp and jagged as Mac and Theo try to hold the line. But then Donovan’s voice tears through the noise, louder, closer—until the door swings wide, slamming against the wall.
His eyes find me instantly. Wild. Bloodshot. Empty in a way that makes my stomach twist. For a heartbeat, the room goes still. Then his rage detonates.