Page 41

Ryder raises an eyebrow, his expression suspicious as he leans towards me. “ Dear friends , huh? Did you hear that, Kieran? We’ve been upgraded.”

I shoot him a pointed look, my tone mockingly stern. “Ryder, behave yourself, please.”

He smirks, unfazed, turning his attention back to Mia as they head inside.

And then it’s just us. Ellie standing on the gravel drive, clutching her bag, her shoulders drawn up like she’s still carrying every heavy thing she couldn’t leave behind.

“Hey, you,” I say softly, my voice rough with the effort of not saying more.

“Hey,” Ellie breathes, forcing a fragile smile that barely masks the turmoil she's fighting to contain. Her gaze flickers between the ground and my face, as though she's afraid her composure might shatter if she looks too long.

The second Mia’s out of sight, the mask she’s been holding cracks wide open.

I step down off the porch, moving slowly, not wanting to startle her. “Ellie,” I whisper, unsure whether to close the gap.

Her hands tremble where they grip the strap of her bag. She tries to speak, but it’s like the words won’t come. And then she lets the bag fall from her shoulder, and a broken sound rips out of her chest.

Her throat works. Once. Twice. And in a voice so small it almost gets lost in the wind.

“I don’t know if I can do this, Kieran.”

And fuck…

That’s it.

That’s the sound of someone who’s spent every drop of strength holding themselves together for the sake of everyone else. Someone who’s reached the edge and is terrified of what’s on the other side.

I close the distance without even hesitating.

She crumples into my arms, her forehead pressing against my chest, her whole body trembling so hard I can feel it through my ribs.

I wrap her tight in my arms, but I say nothing.

Her hands fist into the fabric of my hoodie, desperate, clinging. She’s not crying, not exactly, but there’s a rawness to the way she’s breathing that guts me.

Her legs give way beneath her. I sink to the steps, bringing her with me, settling her between my knees, tucking her against me like I could somehow shield her from the whole damn world.

“I’ve got you, Ellie,” I whisper into her hair.

She nods. Her hands twisted in my hoodie.

I press my forehead against hers and close my eyes, letting the moment settle, feeling the full weight of her in my arms. Cradled into me. This is more than a hug. It’s surrender. It’s trust. It’s her finally letting go and choosing me to fall into.

I swear I’ve never been surer of anything in my life. Because this—her body in my arms, trembling but here, breathing but breaking—is the moment everything makes sense. All of it.

I say nothing else. I don’t rush her. I just hold her. One hand tracing slow circles over her back, the other wrapped around her shoulders like I can keep the world at bay just by staying close.

Like maybe, I can be the quiet that everything else wasn’t.

Ellie sits perched on one of the stools at the kitchen island, her fingers tracing slow, aimless circles into the worn wood surface.

Her eyes drift across the room, taking in the chipped cupboards, the faded cream walls, the ivy creeping across the windows. But nothing seems to land. She looks pale. Hollowed out. Like someone who’s been holding their breath for so long, they don’t trust the air anymore.

Behind me, the kettle hums, steam curling into the soft hush of the early morning.

I move around the kitchen on autopilot—mugs, coffee, milk. But my attention never leaves her. There’s still tension in the curve of her shoulders, a tightness that even the warmth of the room can’t loosen.

“This place is beautiful,” she says after a while, her voice low, almost shy. Her eyes sweep the kitchen again, softer this time. “It feels... peaceful.”

I smile as I pour the water, the scent of tea filling the air. “Yeah,” I say. “Growing up here was…” I glance out the window, letting the memories settle. “It was simple. A good place to be a kid.”

She turns back toward me, something flickering in her gaze. Curiosity. Longing. Maybe both.

“I can picture it,” she murmurs. “I bet you had all the freedom in the world.”

Leaning back against the counter, I fold my arms across my chest. “I did,” I say, grinning a little. “Dad let me run wild most of the time. Riding horses, climbing trees— falling out of trees. Pretty sure I gave him a few extra grey hairs.”

The softest laugh slips out of her, a small precious thing, and my chest tightens. Even tired. Even broken open like this. She’s still Ellie.

“You make it sound like a dream,” she says, a wistfulness threaded through her voice.

I cross to her, setting the mugs down on the worktop and sliding one toward her.

She eyes it like I’ve handed her poison. “Black?” she says, raising an eyebrow.

“You said you needed caffeine.” I grin.

She takes a sip anyway, then pulls a face like it personally offended her.

I chuckle. “Was that a wince or a spiritual crisis?”

“A little of both,” she mutters, pushing the mug away. “Got any milk?”

I find a half-full bottle of milk and splash a bit into her mug. “Better?” I ask, sliding it back to her.

She looks at it, eyeing me over the rim, then looks back at the mug like it’s still suffering. “That’s adorable,” she says dryly. “You think that counts as milk.”

I raise a brow. “That was milk.”

She sets the mug down and levels me with a look. “You gave it a suggestion of milk. A whisper. Like it’s in witness protection.”

I laugh, already reaching for the bottle again. “Alright, alright. How much milk does it take to stop you judging me?”

“Enough to make it look less like tar,” she says, smirking.

I add enough to make her happy and she wraps her hands around the mug, satisfied with herself.

Adorable.

“You’re lucky, you know,” she says then. “This is a special place.”

I take the stool across from her, our knees almost brushing under the counter.

“Yeah,” I say. “I know. Didn’t always see it when I was younger, though. Back then, all I wanted was to get away.”

She smiles, small but knowing. “Funny how that works.”

“Yeah.” I tilt my head, watching her.

“The older I get, the more I realise how much this place shaped me.”

She nods, thumb brushing the side of her mug. And something in her posture shifts. A little less braced. A little more here. “Well,” she says, voice steadier now, “I can see why. It’s beautiful, Kieran. Really.”

“You and Mia are welcome here as long as you need,” I say softly. “I mean that, Ellie. No rush. No rules.”

She blinks fast, looking down at her hands. I catch the smallest tremor in her chin before she presses her mouth into a tight line, holding it back.

Then, she reaches across the island. Her fingers brush against mine. Light and uncertain. Testing. I turn my hand over, let her find her own grip. The warmth of her touch anchors something deep in me.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

It’s just two words. But it sounds like surrender. Like relief. Like trust cracking through the fear.

We sit there in the stillness. Not awkward. Not heavy. Just quiet.

Footsteps shuffle down the hallway, slow and deliberate. The familiar creak of the floorboards tells me who it is before he even appears. Ellie notices too.

I feel the way her body tenses, her hand slipping away from mine, like a reflex she hasn’t learned how to undo yet. She reaches for her mug, fingers wrapping around it.

Dad appears in the doorway, blinking against the soft morning light spilling through the kitchen windows. His hair’s sticking up in soft grey tufts, his dressing gown thrown half-on like he gave up halfway through getting dressed.

There’s a moment where his gaze falls on Ellie and he hesitates. “Oh,” he says, voice still rough with sleep but warm underneath, “didn’t realise we had company.”

He smiles the way only my dad can. No suspicion. No judgement. Just that quiet, steady welcome that’s built into the bones of this house.

I step around the island, rubbing a hand over the back of my neck. “Dad, this is Ellie. Ellie, this is my dad, Brian.”

Ellie rises to her feet, polite but uncertain. She smooths her sweatpants with one hand and offers the other out, her smile small but genuine. “It’s lovely to meet you, Brian,” she says, her voice soft. “Kieran’s told me a lot about you.”

Dad’s face softens. He crosses the kitchen in a few strides, taking her hand in both of his like he’s greeting an old friend, not a stranger standing in his kitchen at the crack of dawn.

“Well,” he chuckles, “any friend of my boy’s is more than welcome here.

Especially if you’re putting this smile on his face before sunrise. ”

Ellie lets out a small laugh, and the tightness in her shoulders loosens just a fraction. “Thank you,” she says, meaning it. “I appreciate it. I… kind of showed up without warning.”

Dad waves that off with a grunt, like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. “Don’t be daft. This house is built for people who need it.”

And something shifts in Ellie’s face. Something fragile and aching. It’s there for just a second before she blinks it away. But I see it. That flicker of longing. That tiny part of her that’s starved for this kind of unconditional welcome.

“Thank you, Brian,” she says again, quieter this time.

Dad squeezes her shoulder. “No thanks needed. You’re family now.”

He claps me on the back as he passes, shooting me a look that says, “We’ll talk later” without a hint of menace. Just understanding.

“I’ll be out back if you need me,” he calls over his shoulder. “Don’t let him burn anything important.”

“I’ll do my best,” Ellie replies, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

We listen to the creak of the floorboards as he disappears down the hall.

The house settles again and Ellie exhales, setting her mug down with a soft clink. Her gaze lingers on the doorway like she’s trying to memorise the moment, store it somewhere safe.

“He’s lovely,” she says eventually.

I smile, nudging her foot under the counter. “Yeah. I got lucky.”

She looks at me then, really looks. And I know she sees it. The home. The safety. The love that built this place.

And maybe she’s starting to believe there’s space for her here too.

There’s still so much unsaid between us. So many questions I want to ask, stories I want to hear, pain I want to carry for her. But I don’t press. I just stay here, in this moment, holding the quiet with her.

Whatever she needs, however long it takes. I’ll be here.