17. Eli
Eli
We leave the apartment an hour later. The fact that it’s within walking distance of both the office and the café that has become our regular stop is a huge bonus.
CJ and I walk along the waterfront in comfortable silence. My mind drifts back to this morning: To opening my bedroom door and finding him standing on the other side, and to everything that happened after.
Judging by his reaction earlier, he’d definitely heard me calling his name when I came harder than I had in years. Heat crawls up my neck. The memory hits fast and sharp, making my stomach twist with embarrassment and something else I don’t want to name just yet.
CJ walks half a pace ahead of me, hands shoved in his pockets, head down. He hasn’t said a word since we left the apartment. Something feels off. Like I should apologize.
“Fuck it,” I mutter. “CJ.”
He stops walking but doesn’t turn straight away.
“I want to apologize for this morning.” My stomach knots. “It obviously made you uncomfortable, and I’m sorry for that.”
He turns and looks at me, silent for a long moment, before shaking his head. “Eli, I…”
“No,” I cut him off. “You haven’t said anything since we left, so I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable.”
My heart starts racing as anxiety creeps under my skin, familiar and unwelcome. My fingers twitch at my sides. The old instinct to shrink, to brace for impact, rises before I can stop it.
Adrian used to make me feel guilty for things that shouldn’t have mattered. One morning, he caught me jerking off in the shower. I took a beating for it.
“Your orgasms are mine, Eli. Only fucking mine.”
His fist had smashed into my stomach, driving my head into the shower wall and knocking me out. I woke up sometime later, sprawled on the shower floor. The water was ice cold; Adrian had turned it down before he left.
I remember shivering so hard my teeth ached, my lips turning blue. A cold ripple moves through me even now, the memory sitting under my skin like frostbite that has never truly healed.
I dragged myself to work that day, and Ree took one look at me before pointing me straight to Marge. But I learned the lesson he wanted me to learn. After that, I never touched myself again. Not once.
“Where did you just go, Eli?” CJ asks softly.
I stand there looking at him. Safe. The word echoes in my head.
Not watched: safe. Not controlled: safe. Not punished: safe.
For the first time in years, I woke up wanting something and didn’t immediately wonder what it would cost me. I had touched myself without fear, guilt, or consequence.
Somewhere along the way, without even noticing, I’d stopped expecting punishment. The realization feels fragile, like a new piece of myself I’m terrified to break.
I look up at CJ standing a few feet away, watching me, and warmth spreads through my chest.
“Eli?” his voice is soft.
And then it clicks. I’m not just safe here in Campbell River. I’m safe with him.
My chest tightens with a surge of hope.
“Yeah,” I whisper.
“You okay?” CJ frowns slightly, stepping back toward me.
A laugh slips out of me, the tension finally loosening around my ribs. “Yeah.” I smile, a real smile. “Safe.”
Saying it out loud feels like handing him something fragile, hoping he won’t drop it.
I know CJ sits outside my room at night sometimes. I once opened my door and found him asleep on the floor. I’m safe because he listens, he doesn’t judge, and he stays. Somewhere along the way, this man became the one place my mind stopped searching for danger.
“Eli.” CJ has a small smile now. “Yeah, Baby Boy. You’re safe. And Eli…”
I look up at him.
“This morning… holy fuck, baby. It was incredible.”
“Yeah?” I chuckle.
“Yeah.” He kisses my forehead, takes my hand, and we head off down the street.
The touch lingers, my chest warming in a way that scares me with how much I want more.
We arrive at the café and place our order. CJ gets straight black coffee, no sugar: predictable, almost stereotypical. I order a caramel Macchiato with extra cream and extra caramel sauce. What? I like sweet things.
We wait at the side while the baristas move through the morning rush. CJ ordered muffins too, so we pick at them while we wait. He watches me when he thinks I’m not looking. I catch him doing it constantly. Being seen like this feels new, unsettling, and strangely comforting.
He isn’t like Adrian. Adrian watched to control everything around him. CJ watches because he cares, because he checks, because he wants to know I’m okay. There’s a world of difference.
The barista calls our names. We grab our drinks and head toward the office.
The waterfront is busy with people rushing to work, fog hanging low over everything and flattening the world into grey. This has become our routine: coffee, work, gym, home, recovery. One day at a time.
A few months ago, routine would’ve terrified me. Routine meant predictability, and predictability meant control. But now, the ordinary feels like another brick laid into something solid I’m rebuilding under myself. Predictability doesn’t feel like a trap anymore; it feels like a foundation.
Working with CJ, Deck, and Finn helps. They make me feel useful again. I’m no longer a guest; I’m part of something. Finn saves me a seat every day at lunch. Deck grunts a greeting across the office.
It’s family. My family.
* * *
By late afternoon, I’m exhausted. The day has run long, and we should’ve left an hour ago, but CJ is stuck on a conference call with a client in Florida.
PalMerc Security has offices across Canada, America, and contracts overseas, too.
Former Special Forces operators move through the building almost daily, drifting in and out of meetings like it’s nothing.
I haven’t met everyone yet, but I’ve learned enough to know CJ and Deck weren’t ordinary soldiers. Whatever they did before PalMerc Security, it wasn’t small.
And despite all that, CJ still remembers my extra caramel sauce.
I poke my head into CJ’s office. “I’m heading home,” I whisper.
“Cal, give me a minute,” he says into his headset, then mutes the call.
He crosses the room and stops in front of me, his fingers hooking gently under my chin to lift my face. The gentleness makes my breath catch.
“You’re not going anywhere alone, Eli. Not right now, especially after what’s happened.”
His blue eyes hold that familiar, quiet concern he tries to hide. Up close, he smells clean and grounding.
I nod. “Yeah, okay. I’ll wait at my desk.”
“Twenty minutes. Tops.” He squeezes my shoulder, then returns to the call. I watch his business smile slip back into place as he unmutes and continues.
I sit at my desk, open a game on my phone, and wait.
Ten minutes later, I’m bored. I glance toward his office, but he’s still talking. My chest feels tight as my eyes drift to the street outside. People rush past, cars crawl through traffic, and the waterfront glows under the fading light. The longer CJ talks, the more the quiet presses in around me.
Then I feel it: a hand on my shoulder.
I flinch hard, looking up automatically. The reaction is carved into me by years of bracing for impact.
“Sorry,” I say quietly, clearing my throat and shuffling in my seat. My heart starts pounding in that dark, sickening way I hate.
“It’s okay. I should’ve said something.”
Ringing fills my ears. My vision blurs at the edges as panic crawls up my throat. My muscles lock, and I try to pull air in, but it won’t come.
CJ drops into a crouch beside me. “Baby, hey, hey,” his voice softens. “Look at me, Eli.”
He cups my chin and turns my face toward him. “Breathe with me, Eli.” I watch his chest move and try to replicate it. “Count. One… two… three… four…”
I follow his instructions, feeling his hand over mine as he presses it to his chest. My mind is screaming: no coherent thoughts, just noise and panic. Everything is too much. My fingers curl into his shirt, his voice cutting through the static like a lifeline.
“Baby, I need you to breathe with me, okay?”
I lean into him as we count. As we breathe together, he grounds me. My heartbeat slows beneath his touch, my thoughts quieting as he pulls me back from the runaway freight train of panic.
“CJ,” I whisper.
His thumb brushes my cheek, and the office falls away. This morning flashes through my mind: the door, the look in his eyes, the absolute safety of his hands. I need CJ right now, more than I need words or reassurance.
I close the small space between us and lean into him, meeting his lips in a kiss that’s soft and careful.
It feels like oxygen after drowning. His hand slides to the back of my neck, keeping me close, and I cling to him like he’s the only thing keeping me upright.
My breathing evens out, my pulse finally remembering it doesn’t have to run.
CJ pulls back first, our foreheads hovering close. “We shouldn’t,” he says, his voice rough.
My stomach drops slightly at that, but I know he’s right. I know neither of us wants to stop, but I nod in agreement. We head for the door together, switching off lights as we go.
* * *
My phone buzzes.
Unknown number.
I frown and open the screen. Cold sweeps through me. My fingers go completely numb around the glass. CJ says something beside me, but I don’t hear it as the blood drains from my face. My hand starts shaking so violently I nearly drop the phone.
“Eli?” CJ steps closer.
I can’t answer, so he takes it from my hands.
The shift in him is terrifying.
One second he’s the man who held me together; the next, he disappears.
His jaw locks so tightly I can see the muscle ticking beneath his skin.
His blue eyes turn glacial, every trace of warmth replaced by something controlled and lethal.
The sheer coldness in him steals my breath.
I’ve never seen him look like this. It terrifies me and comforts me at the same time.
“What the fuck.”
A photo: CJ, kneeling beside my chair with his hand on my face, looking up at me.
Then another photo arrives, and my stomach drops away entirely: CJ kissing me.
Then a simple text appears:
Found you.
The world tilts, sharp and disorienting. My knees buckle, darkness rushing in too fast to fight. The last thing I hear before everything goes black is CJ shouting my name.