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He walks out.
Again.
CHAPTER TWELVE
"WhereisEli?"Renzasks absentmindedly from behind the desk in our shared office. Sliding the book I'd been flipping through back into the shelf, I grit my teeth at his question.
"I am not his keeper," I growl in protest. Probably a bit too much protest but that's only because, despite the fact that Eli took off without saying a word to any of us a few hours ago, I knowexactlywhere he is, the fool. Not because he had the decency to tell me, but because I know him, and I am not ignorant.
Renz looks up to face me, setting down the papers he'd been scanning, and arches a brow, a smirk playing on his lips. Fucker. "Oh?" he drawls.
I ignore his baiting and bypass him, heading toward the small bar behind the desk. I've been waiting for an appropriate time to crack open the scotch ever since I woke up to an empty bed this morning. Noon seems just as good a time as any. I pour myself two fingers' worth before turning and gesturing to Renz in offering. He cocks his head to the side, as though he can't understand the simple question. Fine. Fuck being polite. I drop the bottle back down and pick up my glass. He can serve his own damn self.
PRISONER-RAPHAEL LAKE
I take a healthy drink, relishing in the burn along my tongue and down my throat. I focus on it. Let it ground me.
I knew I had fucked up last night the moment the words had left my mouth. What was I thinking telling him that I think about her?Cazzo. I might as well have just admitted that I miss the girl because no matter what I do or do not feel, an admittance like that will be warped and twisted in Eli's head. There is no doubt in my mind that he's with her right now, trying to convince her to give us a chance.
Us, because I know he'll be working his magic, his charm, on behalf of all three of us. No doubt he's been waiting for the opportunity, for one of us to slip up and say something about her, giving him the go-ahead. And last night—last night I gave him that. Me, of all people.
I hadn't intended to. I honestly don't know why I brought her up in the first place. Maybe because she'd been on my mind since the situation at the club, since seeing her, as brief as it was. And then the attack, and Eli losing himself after. Finding him spiraling, lost to his mind, his demons weakened me. No matter how many times I've seen him in that place over the years, it never gets easier, it never stops breaking my heart.
Now that we have taken this tentative step into our new relationship, whatever it may be, it's only made the effect he and his heartache have on me that much worse. I would do anything, give anything, to make things easier for him. To help him heal, to help him find relief and solace. But I can't. I can't fix him, not that I'd want to. Eli is perfect, wonderful, just as he is. I just hate the way he hurts.
Over the years, I've learned that the only thing I can do for him, is be present. The aid I can give him now that we have broached a physical relationship is just a bonus, for both of us. Last night, when I walked in and saw him trapped in his head, I just went into caretaker mode, like I have so many times before, ever since we were children. When I'm in that place with him, I would do anything to bring him back.
That includes giving him my truth. Little did I know that he would take that truth and fucking run with it. Quel bastardo.
Though, if I dig deep down, I can admit that a small part of me is excited for the outcome of his attempts to win her back today. Will she give us another chance? Is she angry with us or has she forgotten us altogether? I’m curious. No, more than curious. I have to know.
Violet Duncan has been on my mind since the moment we walked out of her loft that day, longer if I’m being honest. She’s different. She’s a breath of fresh air amongst a world of ash. She is light, in the midst of darkness. That night with her was more than I could have ever imagined it would be and having another taste of her is far more than I deserve. Yet, I can’t get her off my mind. I can’t seem to let her go. I think of her often, far more than I let on with Eli.
So, maybe I let my thoughts about her drop intentionally, knowing what he would do with them. Maybe, I’m hoping that his mission today is successful. It’s the only reason I haven’t sent a team out to physically bring him home. Not that I’d ever admit that to anyone.
Shaking my head, I take another drink and turn back to Renz. "So, what is the plan?" I ask, changing the subject. He grins, not missing my refusal to speak on the subject. He sighs and rubs one of his large hands across his jaw and leans back in the oversized office chair, the leather creaking in protest.
"I don't fucking know, Zac," he mutters, sounding more exhausted than I think I've ever heard him sound before. I drop down onto one of the chairs opposite the desk, crossing one of my legs over my knee. I tap my fingers along the wooden arm of the chair as I take in his appearance.
Renz is the eldest between the three of us but he's still only 32 years old, yet right now, it's easy to see the price he's paying by dealing with all of this shit. He's had a hard life, mostly due to his militant and abusive father. We had always assumed that things would improve with Francesco’s death, but clearly, that has not been the case.
His appearance, which is usually put together and pristine, is now disheveled, worn, and unkempt. His black hair has grown out and constantly falls in his face. Typically, this would be a reminder for him to get a haircut, however, it seems he's just as content to force it back into place one hundred times a day. His strong jaw, inherited from his father, is now sporting a full-grown beard, obscuring the view of the majority of his face. His trademark sign of stress or concern is to idly rub his jaw but without any consideration, he has now switched to running his fingers through his beard.
The most noticeable of changes, however, are his eyes. His eyes are the kind of hazel that shines gold when reflected in the right light. No matter how he's feeling; angry, sad, happy—his eyes are always bright, alert, and aware. But now they are dull and damn near empty, only made worse by the dark bags beneath them.
All of those things individually are not a big deal, but together? Together, they contribute to the obvious and serious decline in my cousin's mental and emotional health.
My family is falling apart. Slowly. Painfully.Silently. And I have no idea how to save them.
"What can I do?" I croak, my voice thick and pained as I consider the repercussions of us falling apart, breaking, and fracturing to the point that we're unable to repair ourselves. I foresee that in our future if we continue down this path, dividing and withering away in private. We are strongest together. We have not overcome all that we have only to fall apart at a time when we should be celebrating our freedom from the ties that bound us.
Renz, who is still leaning back in his chair, now with his head tilted toward the ceiling as he stares into nothingness, doesn't respond. But the slight flex of his fists braced on the arms of his chair let me know that he heard me. We sit in a silence that quickly becomes so tense, so charged, that my skin begins to itch as I wait for him to respond. I need to acknowledge that he is not okay, and I need him to be the one to broach the subject. Renz is an exceptionally private and stoic man, likely as a result of his upbringing, and while I can understand that, appreciate and respect it, it needs to stop. At least to an extent.
Finally, after what feels like forever, he opens his mouth and speaks, "I am failing," he rasps, the words so quiet I have to strain to hear him, but I don't move, barely breathe, for fear of scaring him back into silence. "I am failing," he says again, louder, firmer. Again, I stay still and listen. "I thought we were free, Zac. ThoughtIwas free. I thought—" he pauses, swallows. "I thought it would end with him."
I know he's not talking about the chaos, the violence, and confrontation. Know he's not talking about the constant battles with enemies, both known and hidden. I know he's talking about something else entirely, something much deeper, darker. Still, I wait.
When he finally goes on, his body shudders, as though the purge of his thoughts, his emotions, is costing him greatly.
