Page 10 of Justice

He climbs onto the couch next to me, lifting me until I’m lying on his chest and in his lap. “I’m fucking sorry that someone hurt you this way. I will absolutely destroy whoever has done this.” The safety he provides is intoxicating.

I tilt my head back to look at him, thankful that he is still wanting to be a part of my life, but feeling disbelief. “Everyone had such plans for us, it’s like everyone just knew we were meant to be. Is that why you want to be with me?” My eyes search his for any hint of doubt. “Is that what you want, Christopher? To be with me not because it’s expected, but because it’s what you truly want?”

My voice trembles with the weight of the questions, my heart pounding in my chest at the thought that he might feel obligated. The fear gnaws at me, a sharp edge that I can’t ignore. What if he’s only here because of our families’ close ties?

But for me, it’s always been more.

From the moment I saw him when I was fourteen, climbing out of the pool with water cascading down his abs, I knew. His presence hit me like a storm, overwhelming and inescapable. He wasn’t just good-looking, he was everything I wanted. Every glance, every smile from him has been etched into my memory.

Christopher's eyes darken, a storm brewing in their depths. He shifts, pulling me closer, his muscular arms encircling me like a protective shield. I can feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat against my back.

"Elle," he breathes, his lips brushing against my ear. A shiver runs down my spine at the contact. "You've always been the one. Not because of what anyone else thinks or expects, but because I can't imagine my life without you."

His words wrap around me, a blanket of comfort and desire. I turn in his arms, needing to see his face. His eyes are intense,boring into mine with an emotion so raw it takes my breath away.

"You mean it?" I whisper, my voice barely audible over the pounding of my heart. My fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, anchoring myself to him

“With everything I am,” he replies, his grip tightening around me as if he’s afraid I’ll slip away. His voice takes on a darker edge. “Family told me that when I was a baby, I would toddle over to you and declare you as mine. Even then, I knew. And I still do.”

I can’t help but laugh slightly at the image he’s painting.

I run my fingers along his strong forearm then interlace our fingers. "For as long as I can remember, I’ve taken comfort in knowing that you were always going to be there. We've never spoken the words, but I knew," I say, my voice calm and steady.

His presence has always been my anchor, a constant in my life. The intensity of the moment is clear, every touch, every word finally expressing what we both have felt for years.

Deciding to take control and do what I have wanted to for years, I press my lips against his.

He freezes under me, shocked. His large hands glide up my body, warm and safe, cupping my face. He takes over the kiss with a fervor and intensity that sends shivers down my spine, erasing any lingering doubt about how he truly feels. My heart races, not from fear but from the overwhelming rush of pure, unfiltered emotions.

"Please don’t leave again, Christopher," I gasp against his mouth a few moments later.

His hand glides softly along my scalp, then down my back, a touch so tender it aches. "There is no way I will be leaving you," he murmurs.

"I haven’t felt safe since it happened, not until now," I admit, my voice breaking with the weight of my vulnerability.

He embraces me more firmly, and I rest my head on his shoulder, feeling my body gradually unwind.

The tension begins to dissolve as I finally relax after so long. “Sleep well, sweet girl.”

And I do, for hours, undisturbed, without the nightmare of faceless shadows for the first time since that night.

This is the moment Christopher and I begin—an unsteady start marked by hurt and anger.

But a start nonetheless.

Elle

Later That Night

The door to the guest house crashes open with a resounding bang, jolting me from my peaceful slumber. My heart leaps into my throat as I nearly tumble off Christopher's chest, his strong arms instinctively tightening around me to keep me secure.

"Jesus Christ!" I gasp, my hand flying to my chest where my heart hammers against my ribs like a caged bird. My eyes, wide with shock, dart to the doorway.

There, silhouetted against the fading evening light, stands my dad, his imposing figure filling the doorframe. Behind him, my mom hovers uncertainly, a tray clutched in her hands.

Christopher's growl rumbles through his chest, vibrating against my back. "What the fuck, Derek?" His hands grip my hips, gently but firmly lifting me back onto the couch beside him. The loss of his heat is immediate, and I have to resist the urge to curl back into him.

My mom's eyes widen at the scene before her, a mixture of surprise and something else—is that amusement flashing across her face? She tries to hide a smile behind a curtain of hair, but I catch it anyway.

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