Page 62 of Mended Fences

I love you and I don’t want to see you get hurt again.

ELENA

There’s nothing to worry about.

Thirty minutes later,there was a knock on my front door.

I need to get a Ring camera ASAP.

When I opened it, I found an utterly tortured looking Chase on the other side. “Elena...”

Tessa must have said something. What, I wasn’t sure.

“Don’t. I can’t. I am barely holding it together right now.”

“Let me help,” he said, stepping inside. His eyes darted around the empty house like he was looking for something to fix. “I can install security cameras. Change the locks. Whatever you need.”

“Chase—”

“That bastard’s not getting anywhere near you again.” His hands were already checking the front door’s deadbolt. “I’ll call my buddy Andy. He’s a cop, but he does security systems on the side. We can have one installed by tonight.”

“Please stop.” My voice cracked.

He froze, finally looking at me. Really looking. I could see the moment he registered my trembling hands, my shallow breathing.

“Shit. I’m making it worse.”

I nodded, wrapping my arms around myself.

“I just... I want to fix this for you.” His voice was rough with frustration—at himself, at Peter, at the whole situation. “Tell me how to fix it.”

“You can’t.” The words came out quiet and sad. “Some things can’t be fixed, Chase. They can only be survived.”

He looked so lost standing there, this big strong man who could probably break Peter in half but couldn’t punch his way through this particular problem. Part of me wanted to let him try—to accept his offered protection, his need to make everything better. But I’d spent too long letting other people think they knew what was best for me.

“I need to do this my way,” I said. “On my terms.”

Something flickered in his eyes—understanding maybe, or resignation. “Okay.” He ran a hand through his hair. “But will you at least let me help unload? No security system talk, I promise. Just... let me do this one thing?”

I managed a small smile. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

He didn’t try to hug me or touch me, didn’t push for more details about Peter. Just grabbed a box from the pod and followed me inside.

We worked in comfortable silence, and if he positioned himself between me and the door every time we heard a car pass, I pretended not to notice.

The afternoon light was fading by the time we got the last box inside. Chase had worked steadily, efficiently, letting me direct where everything should go without argument. When I stumbled over a box labeledKitchen, his hands found my waist, steadying me. The touch was brief but electric, reminding me of that day at the lodge when he’d taught me to snowboard.

“You okay?” he asked softly, not immediately letting go.

I nodded, hyperaware of his proximity, of how safe it made me feel despite everything. “Just tired.”

“Here.” He guided me to sit on one of the boxes then disappeared into the kitchen. I heard water running, cabinets opening and closing. He returned with a glass of water and two ibuprofen from the bottle I’d left on the counter earlier.

The simple thoughtfulness of the gesture made my throat tight. Peter had never… not without an audience. His affection had always been about appearances, something polished and public. Chase’s was different. Quiet. Uncomplicated. Just for me.

Chase crouched in front of me, his expression concerned. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” I took the pills, avoiding his eyes. “It’s just... no one’s taken care of me in a long time.”