Page 10 of Holding the Line
With his tech.And his cameras.And the ghost of a man with swimmer’s shoulders and eyes full of defiance.
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Dinner was alreadyunderway when Eli arrived, following the path Ezra had described behind the Ridge House.It led to a stunning craftsman-style home nestled beneath the rocky overhang of the ridge.Light spilled from wide windows and the scent of roasted garlic and warm bread met him at the porch.
Ezra greeted him at the door and introduced his husband Ricky who had been emerging from the kitchen with a wine bottle in one hand and a teasing smirk.Then Ezra pointed out their niece, Sophia, who was curled up on the floor near the fireplace playing with two other children, Ryan and Celia, the three of them deep in a card game involving animal noises, wild giggles, and some very flexible rules.
The table that was set against a bank of windows with stunning mountain views was a long rustic piece that could easily seat twelve, already half-filled by the time Eli walked in.Anton Bateman, Dale Ricoh, Chris Hogan, and Blake Bateman were there—each an imposing presence in their own way, but quick to offer a nod or warm smile.
Conversation flowed easily, laughter even more so.Eli kept mainly to himself, answering questions politely but not offering much.His nerves thrummed just under his skin.These people were close—tight in the way he supposed only people forged in shared danger and pain could be—and it left him uncertain where he fit in.And to be fair, recent elements in his private life had told him over and over that he was trying too hard to please, and that his role should be more in the background.
That he lacked the basic intelligence to hold a conversation with smart people.He smiled when spoken to, nodded at jokes, but his posture was guarded, his voice soft.
Until Marsh wheeled through the door.
The room quieted.
The scrape of a chair.A clink of a fork.
No one knew quite what to say.
Marsh looked like he regretted coming the second he crossed the threshold.His jaw was tight.Shoulders drawn up.He was quite literally seconds from fleeing, it was easy to see.
Eli felt it, too—that collective unease.No one wanted to say the wrong thing.No one wanted to look at that man like he was broken.
Eli sat up straighter.His eyes flicked toward Marsh, then to Ezra, then to the others who suddenly didn’t know where to look.He hated that silence, hated that awkward hush of people unsure how to behave around pain.He cleared his throat and jumped in.
“So,” he said, his voice surprisingly firm, “I was thinking today that there’s a fine line between bravery and stupidity—and buying a two-tone car with your last five hundred bucks probably lands somewhere in the middle.”
Everyone turned and stared at him.
“But the funny thing?”Eli continued, warming to the story.“Halfway up the mountain, with the engine rattling like it was signaling its death throes to the world, and a teaspoon in the ignition, I realized—I wasn’t nervous.I wasn’t even scared.It just ...felt like I was going the right way.Even if it was in a glorified tin can that might’ve doubled as a getaway car at some point in its past.”
Bateman raised an eyebrow.“Is that positive glass-is-half-full crap, a therapist thing?”
Eli smirked.“Nah.That’s a ‘I bought a two-tone death trap with my last five hundred bucks and trying to justify it’ thing.”
That earned a round of laughter.Hogan leaned in.“I wondered who owned that death trap.”
“Cream and green beauty?Hell, yeah, she’s mine.Starts with a teaspoon.Total classic.”Eli said with a grin and an exaggerated sweep of his hair.
Dale snorted.“Looks like something that’s seen a crime scene or two.”
“Probably.But it got me here.”
Ezra, visibly relaxing, lifted his wine glass.“To beaten-up cars and better instincts.”
“Cheers to that,” Ricky added.
As the laughter mellowed, Eli turned subtly toward Marsh.“Anyway.Some places grow on you.Fast.Some people, too.”
He glanced at Marsh without being obvious, giving the man a doorway to enter the conversation without feeling exposed.
Marsh arched a brow.“You sayin’ you’re already forming opinions?”
“Professionally, of course,” Eli said smoothly.“Strictly observational.Like a wildlife documentary.”
Dale leaned in.“Oh, now I need a narrator voice.”