Page 226 of Double Daddies
“More than you know,” Elijah assures me, his expression softening. “We fought for you because we love you, Wren. You’re worth so much more than a bet.”
Tears prick at the corners of my eyes as I absorb their sincerity. “I was so scared, thinking I was just a game to you both.”
Ezra reaches out, gently squeezing my hand. “You’re not a game. You’re everything to us. We’ve always known that, and we’re here now to prove it.”
With their reassurance, I feel a flicker of hope igniting within me. The past may have left scars, but with Elijah and Ezra by my side, I know I can move forward.
“Thank you for saving me,” I say, my voice thick with emotion.
“Always,uccellina,” Elijah replies, his voice steady. “Always.”
I can’t help but smile at the endearment. “I like when you call me that.”
Ezra steps closer, his fingers grazing my cheek gently as he brushes some hair from my face. “You’re our little bird,” he says softly, his touch sending a warm shiver down my spine.
The tenderness in his gesture makes my heart swell. “I didn’t think you guys really cared about me like that,” I admit, feeling a mix of vulnerability and relief.
Elijah leans in, his eyes locking onto mine. “We do care, Wren. More than you can imagine. You’re not just a bet or a challenge; you’re part of us now.”
Ezra nods, his expression earnest. “We fought for you because we love you. You’re our everything.”
My breath catches as their words sink in. “You love me?” I whisper.
“More than you could know.”
“I love you both. I didn’t think it was possible for me to trust again, but you both made that possible.”
“Together, we’ll face anything,” Elijah promises, his voice filled with conviction.
“Always together,” Ezra adds, his gaze unwavering.
In that moment, I know that I’m not alone anymore. With Elijah and Ezra by my side, I feel a sense of hope and strength. The darkness of the past may linger, but together, we can overcome anything.
Chapter Seventeen
Elijah
Ezra and I have been working from home in the days that followed the incident in the warehouse. With Wren needing to rest and tend to the PR nightmare, we’ve stayed out of the public eye. It’s been a week, and most of Wren’s wounds have healed, but the bruising remains—a stark reminder of the horrors she faced.
Wren has been staying at our penthouse where we can take care of her, but the atmosphere is heavy with unspoken words and lingering fears. Each day, I watch her move through the space, a fragile shadow of the vibrant woman she once was. The laughter that used to fill the room has been replaced by a heavy silence, and I can see the weight of her trauma pressing down on her.
Ezra and I have taken turns checking in on her, but every time I try to engage, I’m met with a distant look in her eyes, as if she’s somewhere far away, trapped in her own mind. It breaks my heart to see her like this, knowing that the light she once carried is dimmed by the darkness of what happened.
“Do you think we should talk to her about it?” I ask Ezra one evening as we sit on the couch, the glow of the television casting flickering shadows around us. “I can’t stand seeing her like this.
Ezra sighs, running a hand through his hair, a gesture that reveals his own frustration and helplessness. “I want to help her, but I don’t want to push her too hard. She needs to come to us when she’s ready.”
I nod, understanding his perspective, but the urgency to help Wren gnaws at me. “But what if she never feels ready? What if she thinks she has to face this alone?”
Ezra’s gaze softens as he looks at me, the concern etched on his face. “You’re right. We need to create a safe space for her to talk. But we also need to guide her. She needs to understand that we’re here to protect her, to love her, and that facing this fear is part of healing.”
As if on cue, we hear the soft sound of Wren moving around in the kitchen. I exchange a glance with Ezra, and we both rise to our feet, drawn to her presence.
“Hey, little bird,” I call softly, stepping into the kitchen where she stands by the counter, her back to us. The sight of her, hair slightly disheveled and wearing one of my oversized hoodies, tugs at my heartstrings.
“Just making some tea,” she replies quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. She turns to face us, and I can see the remnants of bruising peeking out from under the fabric, a stark reminder of her vulnerability.
Ezra steps closer, his tone gentle yet firm. “Do you need any help? We can make it for you.”
