Page 128 of Chasing Shelter

It was all one giant haze. Like an impressionist-style painting I’d see at The Met or MoMA. People were only blurs of shapes and colors as they moved in and out of the space. I was aware of Trace’s proximity only by his scent. And my brother’s by his occasionally raised voice, which Arden tried to soothe and quiet.

Someone crouched in front of me. I had to blink a few times to register Trace’s face. His hands slid from my knees to my thighs, a steady pressure bringing me back. “Do you think you’re ready to talk things through with Gabriel?”

My gaze shifted from Trace’s face to register just how many people were there. Nora and Sutton hovered in the dining room, lookingon nervously and both wearing aprons, caretaking via food as was built into their DNA. Cope moved to Sutton’s side, pressing a kiss to her temple and whispering words in her ear.

Shep and Thea were curled up in an overstuffed chair near the doors leading to Trace’s backyard. Shep had been sticking close since they’d arrived, and I could see how he watched her now, checking in and making sure she was all right. Guilt pricked at me, knowing she’d been the recipient of her own violating photos and threats. And while different than this, my circumstances had likely brought up memories.

Rhodes busied herself arranging flowers on the dining table as if brightening the space would solve all the problems, while her boyfriend, Anson, spoke with Gabriel in the entryway. They used hushed tones, but their worried expressions gave far too much away.

Kye and Fallon spoke in quiet tones also, tucked away in a far corner of the living room. Kye sporadically tugged a hand through his hair, jerking the dark strands with every movement, until Fallon finally gripped his hand and squeezed tightly. Her dark blue gaze locked with his and held firm, speaking words only he seemed to understand.

But Linc wasn’t quiet or calm. He stalked back and forth across the space, his footsteps angry as if taking out all his rage on the floorboards of Trace’s house. Arden looked on, worry seeping into her features.

“Ellie, baby. Can you look at me?” Trace’s too-gentle voice pulled me back. “Do you want me to clear the room while we talk?”

“No.” The word was stronger than I felt. But I knew what I needed to do. I was so damn tired of the lies and half truths, the shame and the guilt. If I was going to talk about everything, it’d be better to do it with the people who were becoming my family around. I didn’t want to hide it from them, and I didn’t want to lie to my brother anymore.

I cleared my throat, feeling like I was shaking off heavy chains that had been with me for far too long. “I want them to stay.”

“Here,” a new voice said, crossing into the living room. Lolli offered me a mug that readWorld’s Best Dadon the side. “I made you some tea.”

Trace’s head whipped around. “What kind of tea?”

“Oh, relax.” Lolli waved him off. “Sadly, my poppy tea is at home.”

“You mean your opium tea?” Kye challenged as though searching for any source of humor at the moment.

Lolli made apshhnoise. “Didn’t expect you to be a buzzkill. But this is just plain ole chamomile.” She leaned into me as she placed the mug on the side table. “With a heavy shot of whiskey to soothe the nerves.”

I looked up at her, finding the barest flicker of a smile. “Thank you, Lolli.”

She patted my shoulder, then gave it a good squeeze. “I’ve got your back, honeybunch.”

And I could feel that. From every single member of this patchwork family. They all showed up in good times and bad. They each gave in the unique ways that were their strengths. Together, it gave me the strength to dive into the darkness I needed to.

“I’m ready.”

Trace waited for a beat as if giving me a moment to reconsider. When I didn’t, he stood. “Gabriel. We’re ready.”

Gabriel looked over, ending his conversation with Anson, and then they both started in our direction. Trace settled in the spot next to me on the couch, weaving his fingers through mine, creating a fabric that was stronger together than anything we could create on our own.

Gabriel moved into the space, but instead of hovering over me, he sat on the floor on the other side of the coffee table. He placed his phone on it and tapped the screen a few times. “Is it okay if I record this so we don’t have to go over it again?”

“Yes.” My voice sounded rusty, but it was enough.

Anson moved in then, taking a seat in the second overstuffed chair. He was careful not to stare at me, but I felt his gaze finding me in steady intervals as if he were trying to read the meaning behind my every facial expression and movement, his profiler training springing to life.

“Are you okay to begin?” Gabriel asked.

I gripped Trace’s hand harder, my fingers tingling from lack of blood flow, but I didn’t let go. “We can start.”

Gabriel shifted, pulling out a small notepad and pen. “Can you take me through your day? Everything up until you got home.”

He’d started me off with a softball question, but I appreciated it. It gave me a chance to steady my voice and my heart rate a minute to slow. I told him about doing Keely’s hair for school. My shift at The Mix Up. Thea giving me a ride to the school for the parade, and everything that happened there. My words slowed when we reached the portion of the day where Trace, Keely, and I had arrived home.

Gabriel looked up from his notepad with a gentle smile on his face. “That’s great. Very helpful. Tell me, did you notice anyone following you? Have there been any encounters at work that were odd or raised any flags? Nothing is too small.”

My mind felt fuzzy, like I was slogging through mud to recall everything.

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