Page 8 of Justice

That rips my heart out of my already broken chest. “You’re wrong.” I put my hand on his shoulder. I’m not going to hold it against him, the way he is acting right now, because if it were my daughter, I would be insane.

The thought of her being so scared that I wouldn’t want her on top of everything else that happened to her is awful and makes me sick.

If a man whose woman has been hurt and he leaves her because of it, he is the worst piece of shit and needs to be put the fuck down.

I meet Derek's gaze unflinchingly, my voice low and steady. "That baby is Elle's, and that's all that matters to me. I'm going to step up and take care of both of them."

Derek's eyes narrow, searching my face for any hint of deception. I can see the conflict warring within him, the protective father battling with the man who's known me my entire life.

You're young, Chris," he says, his voice gruff. "Both of you are. This isn't some game or some romanticized notion of playing house. This is real, and it's going to be hard as hell."

I clench my jaw, feeling a surge of frustration. "You think I don't know that? I've been in love with Elle since before I even understood what love was. She's mine, Derek. Always has been." I take a deep breath, steadying myself. "And now, that baby is mine too. I don't give a fuck how it came to be. It's part of Elle, and that's enough for me."

Derek isn’t liking my announcement, my claim, but I don’t give a fuck. He lost that right the second he kept all of this shit from me. I should have been here the second he found out about her assault, and maybe she wouldn’t have suffered so much.

“First thing I’m going to do is reassure her of her fears, because that shit is so far from the truth. This shouldn’t be on her after everything that’s happened,” I inform him.

He studies me for another few seconds before stepping to the side, nodding. “My guest house. She wanted to be alone.”

I turn around and don’t say another word, just needing to get to her. I need to see her like my next breath.

Elle

I'm sprawled out on the couch, my eyes fixed on the TV screen but not really seeing it. The drone of some daytime talk show fills the room, a poor substitute for the bustling hallways of my high school. But I can't go back there, not yet. The thought of those pitying glances, the whispers behind hands, the way everyone would look at me… it makes my skin crawl.

Homeschooling seemed like the best option. Here, in the guest house, I can pretend the world outside doesn't exist. I can ignore the fact that somewhere out there, the person who did this to me is walking free.

The distant rumble of a motorcycle engine breaks through my thoughts. My body tenses instinctively, then relaxes as I recognize the familiar sound. Dad, coming to check on me again. I close my eyes, taking a deep breath.

All day, Mom's been here too, finding endless tasks to keep herself busy. Sweeping floors that are already clean, rearranging books on shelves, anything to avoid sitting still.

I hear her in the kitchen now, the clink of dishes as she unloads the dishwasher for the third time today. My chest tightens. I know she's hurting, probably blaming herself.

My heart aches knowing she’s in pain, and while I wear that smile, deep down, I’m really broken. What's even more heartbreaking is me having to distance myself from Christopher, because he deserves someone without all this emotional weight and baggage.

But as the engine cuts off, something feels different. The footsteps approaching the door are heavier than my dad’s usual cautious steps.

My heart rate picks up, a mix of fear and anxiety. The knock on the door is firm, insistent.

"Elle?" The voice that calls out my name isn't my dad's. It's deeper, rougher, achingly familiar.

Christopher.

My breath catches in my throat. How is he here? Why is he here? I'm not ready for this. I can't face him, not now, not like this.

But even as panic rises in my chest, a part of me I thought was dead stirs to life. Because despite everything, despite my best efforts to push him away, a tiny, traitorous part of me is glad he's here.

The door handle turns, and I realize I never locked it. I sit frozen on the couch, my heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my fingertips as the door slowly opens.

The door swings open, and my breath catches in my throat. Christopher stands there, filling the doorway with his imposing presence. My eyes trace over him, drinking in every detail. He's changed, grown somehow in the months he's been away. His shoulders seem broader, his stance more commanding. The short buzz cut accentuates the sharp angles of his face, drawing attention to those piercing blue eyes that have always seen right through me.

My heart hammers against my rib cage, a mix of longing and fear. I want to run to him, to bury myself in his arms and forget everything that's happened. But I can't. I'm not the same girl he left behind.

"Christopher," I manage to whisper, my voice barely audible. "What are you doing here?" I hear the back door shut and I know my mom has left to give us some privacy.

He takes a step forward, his gaze never leaving mine. The intensity in those blue depths makes me shiver. "Elle," he says, my name a rough caress on his lips.

I struggle to maintain my composure, fighting against the urge to spill everything, to let him see how broken I truly am. But I can't do that to him. He deserves better than the mess I've become.

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