Page 133 of The Anchor Holds

It might’ve amused me, and it definitely would’ve turned me on, to see that other side of Elliot in any other circumstance. Instead, it made me incredibly sad.

“You don’t have to accept it for it to be true,” I shrugged, forcing my voice to remain level.

I saw the look on his face, the battle, the love. I wanted to hoard it. Wanted this to be the last thing I saw of him before I left. Wanted so terribly for him to see me as the honorable, brave soldier going to battle—in fights she started—on her own, to protect those she loved.

But that only happened in movies.

“He killed her,” I said flatly. “Jasper. He killed Naomi.”

Elliot’s face froze at my words, staring at me, unblinking.

My hands stayed at my sides, my eyes on his, my face blank as my insides curdled. “I’ve known. For months. Since it happened. And I didn’t tell you. Because I’m a coward. Because I didn’t want you to look at me like you are now. Like you really see me.”

It was true. Elliot’s face was contorted in horror, disbelief. I’d managed to kill that reverence. I’d booted myself off the pedestal he’d put me on. I was down in the dirt where I belonged.

“Goodbye, Elliot,” I whispered.

I turned my back and walked out before I lost my nerve.

I moved quickly. I knew I had to. He was the man I loved. The one who had quickly become my whole life without me noticing. He was standing in the middle of his living room shocked, disgusted, betrayed. But even that bombshell might not have kept him rooted to the spot, might not have made him disregard all of his feelings for me. It gave me time, though. To do what I needed to do.

I wasn’t surprised to see him striding from the front door with purpose as I got into the car, yelling at me as I started the car and pulled out of the driveway. I watched him in my rearview mirror as he threw himself into his truck. The truck I’d already disabled.

Elliot was not hobbled by male pride; his next course of action would be calling for help. Which was why his smashed phone was sitting on the passenger seat of his truck. It gave metime. Not enough, but enough for a head start. And if he did manage to raise some kind of calvary to follow me, by the time they got there, my job would already be done.

Or I’d be dead.

ELLIOT

Pounding on the door of Rowan and Nora’s place when they had a new baby was an asshole thing to do. But I figured the worst that could happen was waking a baby, and if I didn’t go there, the worst that would happen would be Calliope.

Not an option.

I’d walked there.

Because Calliope had been so fucking determined to do things on her own, intent on saving me yet not letting me save her back. Because I had never wanted to save her. I knew she was capable of that. But fuck if I would let her fight alone anymore.

She took that choice from me.

To protectme.

Sure, it was respectable, but it was also infuriating and terrifying as all hell. I thought I’d mastered being okay with powerlessness. In the middle of the ocean, in a storm with waves ten feet high, you had no choice but to come to grips with how little power you had over your own life, your own survival. I used to find it comforting.

Not right then.

Naomi was dead. She’d known for months. The sting of that betrayal hurt. My body revolted at the knowledge of Clara’s mother being dead at the hands of Calliope’s ex, her being used as a pawn in his sick game. It put an ugly smear on my feelings for Calliope, but it didn’t change them. Didn’t kill them as I knew she’d intended. I wasn’t so fickle.

Rowan answered the door, jaw tight, which made sense since someone was pounding on his door like the sky was caving in. His eyes did a quick scan over me, and though we didn’t know each other all that well, he seemed to read everything in my posture. He likely deduced that there would be only one reason for me to be pounding on his door, covered in sweat, and what I assumed was a grimace on my face.

“Fuck,” he muttered, the single word heavy with dread and grief.

“Come in.” He stepped aside. “I’ll call Kip.”

His voice scared the shit out of me. As did his expression. Because it was grim. But it was also expectant, like he knew this was going to happen at some point. That he was grieving Calliope before she was even gone.

And she wasn’t gone.

She wasn’t.

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