143

My fingers brushed against the cool metal of the gate hesitantly, my heart pounding so loudly it echoed in my ears. Then, slowly, I pushed the gate open. A long creak wailed through the still evening air, enough to rattle my teeth. I winced, breath catching, and stilled for a moment, listening. Nothing stirred. No dogs barking. No curtains shifting. Just the wind.

I left the gate half-open behind me to avoid another loud creak later, should I need to make a fast escape. Through the narrow slits of the panels, I caught sight of Dominic standing beside the car, Adam cradled against his chest. He looked like he was barely holding it together, his arms sagging slightly, shoulders tense, face drawn. He saw me watching and I gave him a thumbs up. He gave a weak nod, lips tight, probably winded from holding our son for so long. My heart pinched.

I turned back around, beginning the slow walk toward the building. The gravel cracked under my shoes, the sound in the unnatural quiet. Trees lined the edge of the estate, tall oaks and whispering cypresses swaying lazily in the evening breeze. The leaves rustled gently, casting moving shadows on the stone path. I remembered this place: how Isabella and I used to sit beneath the trees, chilled bottles of wine between us, gossiping and laughing until dusk. That had been a different time. A different me.

The breeze picked up slightly, slipping cool fingers through my hair and across my face. I inhaled deeply, trying to let the air calm me. It filled my lungs with a sweet, earthy scent, but the chirping birds overhead only made the moment feel more surreal, almost dizzying. Like they didn’t belong. Like I didn’t belong. My hands were clammy, cold despite the humidity. I wiped them against my jeans, dragging in another breath, trying to ground myself.

Each step deeper into the estate made the car behind me smaller, until Dominic was just a shadow at the edge of the world, Adam still curled in his arms. I kept glancing back, just to be sure. Just to see them. 

Now, standing in front of the porch, I paused. The late evening sun cast an orange-gold hue over everything, warm and heavy, like the world was holding its breath. My heart thudded like a fist against my ribs as I stepped up onto the first wooden plank of the porch. It creaked beneath my foot, but softer this time. Familiar. Like home.

I reached for the doorknob.

My fingers wrapped around it slowly, cautiously. The metal was cold and slightly dusty, like no one had touched it in a while. My palm was slick with sweat. I twisted. It didn’t move. Locked.

I pressed my forehead against the door for a second, breathing through the thudding panic in my chest. Then I shook the knob again. Still nothing. I knocked, the sound echoed. 

Nothing.

Again: one knock. Then two. Then three. Harder each time. My heartbeat climbed higher into my throat.

Come on. Come on.

I stepped back, eyes darting to the windows. Curtains still. Porch empty. I was starting to convince myself Isabella was out of town. Maybe it was a good thing. We'd have a few days to lie low, maybe even rest, before facing Vaughn's chaos again. Maybe it was better this way, and then a sudden click.

My whole body jolted. My breath hitched as the lock turned. The door creaked, slow and cautious, and then it opened just slightly.

Behind it stood Isabella.

Her eyes were wild, chest heaving slightly, and she had a damn gun raised, pointing it straight at my chest. Her thick black curls in a messy bun, wisps framing her face, and she wore one of those old hoodies she used to sleep in, paired with flannel pajama bottoms. Her mouth opened slightly, but when her eyes finally locked on mine, everything about her face changed.

Shock hit like a punch.

Her jaw dropped, eyes going even wider, hand trembling slightly now.

"Eleanor?"

The way she said my name, it wasn’t angry. It wasn’t warm either. It was like she was seeing a ghost.

I didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

I just stood there, on the porch, shaking, my chest rising and falling like I’d run a marathon.

Everything was too quiet.

And suddenly, I wasn’t sure if I was safe, or if I’d just stepped into something even worse.

I swallowed hard. My mouth was dry. I hadn't expected her to open the door, let alone like this, with a gun in her hand and my name leaving her lips like it hurt to say. It wasn’t the Isabella I remembered. She looked the same, but not. Her eyes had always been sharp, but now they were frantic too, like she'd been living on edge and barely holding it together. That made two of us.

"Yeah," I finally managed, my voice hoarse, quieter than I meant it to be. "It's me."

Her grip on the gun didn’t lower right away. Her hand was shaking, and I couldn’t tell if it was from surprise or anger or the kind of fear that settles in your bones and makes everything feel like a threat. I didn’t blame her. Hell, if I were her, I’d probably aim a gun at me too.

"I—I thought-the news," she whispered. "Jesus Christ, Eleanor. You look like shit."

That almost made me laugh. Almost. Instead, I let out a short breath and took a small step back, raising my hands slightly, palms open, like I was some criminal on the run, which, I guess, I sort of was.

“Put that down,” I said gently, nodding to the gun. “It’s just me. I’m not here to hurt you.”

Her eyes flicked over me like she was checking for the truth. My clothes were wrinkled, my shoes dirty from running through backroads. I knew I looked like shit.

She finally lowered the gun, not all the way, but enough that it wasn’t aimed at my chest anymore. Her arm dropped just slightly, muscles still tight, breath still shallow. The tension didn’t leave the air. It just shifted.

“What the hell are you doing here, Eleanor?” Her voice wasn’t angry. It wasn’t even surprised. It was tired. Flat. Like someone who already knew the answer and hated that they had to ask anyway.

I held her stare. “I need a place to stay. Just for a couple of days. Maybe longer. There wasn’t another option.”

She blinked, slow, like the sentence had to land in pieces. Her jaw clenched. I could see it in her eyes, that flicker of recognition, the fight between what we were and what we’d become. Memories were clawing their way up her throat. The time I’d stitched her wrist up in this very house after she put it through a window. The late-night drives, her drunk crying into my shoulder, my hand in her hair keeping her steady. The unspoken promise we never admitted out loud but always somehow honored.

Now? I was standing in the doorway, wanted by half the country, and asking for shelter. In my house, yes, but it was up to her if she wanted to rat me out or not. 

“I have company,” I said next, my voice softer. “I didn’t come alone.”

She raised an eyebrow, lips parting slightly.

“I’ve got a kid with me,” I said. “My son.”

Her face changed. Just slightly. Not a full reaction, just a flicker. Her eyes went a little wider, her brows pulling together in a way she didn’t try to hide.

“And Dominic. He’s here too. In the car. I didn’t bring them to the door just in case—” I gave a small, dry laugh. “I don’t know. I wasn’t sure if you’d shoot me.”

Something twitched in her mouth, like the ghost of a smile tried to fight its way through before dying halfway.

I dropped my hands finally. “We wouldn’t be here if we weren’t desperate.”

She looked at me for a long time. Then she let out a breath, not relief, not exactly permission, but that kind of heavy sigh that feels like it's trying to drain the weight of the last two years all at once. Like it hurt her to even let it go.

“Come in,” she muttered, stepping back, swinging the door open wider.

The warmth of the house hit me immediately. The smell of lavender cleaner, fresh bread, maybe something baked earlier that had already cooled. The lights were low, the curtains drawn. Homey. Safe. Unbelievably normal. I hadn’t realized how loud the world had been until I stepped into the silence of it.

I turned and gave a small wave toward the gate, not like Dominic could see but if he could, I wanted him to know I was fine. Then I stepped inside the house that used to be my second home but now felt like a photograph that had been bent and wrinkled too many times. Familiar and foreign. My chest ached.

Behind me, Isabella lingered by the door, and I felt her eyes still burning into my back. She was quiet, but her body wasn’t. I could feel her shifting weight between her feet, her fingers twitching slightly at her sides. Not fear exactly. More like… reluctance. The kind that comes from not knowing where to place your trust anymore.

I turned to face her. “I know this is asking a lot, considering the cops are searching for me. I know I should’ve never shown up like this. But we don’t have anywhere else to go. And I need to know—Isabella, I need to know you won’t rat us out.”

She didn’t answer right away. Her eyes searched my face, hard. Then she finally spoke, voice low but steady.

“You can trust me.”

Just like that.

No hesitation. No conditions. Just the truth.

“I mean it,” she added, stepping closer, her voice growing firmer. “You helped me when I was in the worst fucking place of my life. You didn’t ask questions. You didn’t judge. You let me sleep in this house for years when I had nowhere else to call home. You saved me. I never forgot that.”

The breath left my lungs before I even realized I’d been holding it. I pressed my hand to the wall for a second, grounding myself. “Thank you,” I whispered. “God… thank you. Even though it’s my house—technically—thank you. Because this version of me? This isn’t the one you used to know. And I didn’t know if you’d turn your back or… or panic and make a call.”

She gave a sharp shake of her head. “I won’t let anything happen to you. Not after everything.”

My eyes burned, but I pushed past it. “I’m grateful. I really am. But—”

I paused. There was more. Too much more.

“I need to tell you something else.”

She tilted her head slightly, the shift subtle but alert.

“My son’s outside,” I said again. “I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned him but he is outside.” 

Her mouth parted, but she didn’t speak. I didn’t know if the kidnap of Adam from his school had already aired on the news and if it had, if she doubted me. Her brows lifted, lips trembling slightly like a question was forming but hadn’t quite found its shape yet. Shock was washing over her in slow waves.

“And,” I added quickly. “We’re not alone in the car.”

Her body tensed, just barely. “Who?”

“There’s someone in the back. She’s hurt. Bad. She lost a lot of blood. I—” I rubbed a hand over my face. “We need help getting her inside. We don’t have a choice. We couldn’t go to a hospital. It’s not safe. Not with who we are..”

Isabella still hadn’t spoken.

I took a quick step forward, eyes searching her face. “If this is too much, if there’s anything we should know before we bring her in—”

“No,” she said, snapping out of her silence. Her tone was quick, final. “No, I’ll open the gate. Drive them in.”

She moved fast then, like the decision had unlatched something in her. She crossed the foyer, grabbed the remote off the hook, and bolted out the door, barefoot, hoodie bouncing behind her.

I stood there a second, staring after her, heart hammering so hard it echoed in my ears.

We weren’t safe yet. But the gate was opening.

And for now… that was enough.