Chapter 48 FAULT LINES
The text came in at 11:47 p.m.
Eli was sitting on the edge of the bed, knees drawn to his chest, thumb hovering uselessly over his phone as if he already knew the message would hurt before he even opened it.
Unknown number.
But he knew.
“I’m going to get my hands on you,” the message read.
“And I’m going to kill you for being so stupid. For being the reason that insane boy is humiliating me. This is your fault.”
The room tilted.
Eli’s fingers went numb first. Then his chest locked, breath cutting short like something had slammed a door inside him. He tried to inhale and couldn’t. Tried again. Failed again.
The phone slipped from his hand.
He hurled it across the room without thinking. It shattered against the wall with a sharp, brittle crack, plastic and glass scattering across the floor like teeth.
Eli slid down with his back against the bed frame, hands clawing at his shirt as if he could pull air out of fabric.
No no no—
He couldn’t—
His throat burned. His vision tunneled.
He could hear Henry's voice resaying those words on a loop, louder than the blood roaring in his ears. It's like he’d directly whispered the words because even though it was a text, Eli read it with Henry's voice and convinced himself he'd heard Henry say the words to him. Kill you. Your fault. Humiliating me.
The door flew open and Julian walked in.
He crossed the room in three long strides, eyes already sharp, already scanning for threats. “Eli,” he said, firm. “Look at me. What is it?”
Eli shook his head violently, curling inward.
“Breathe,” Julian ordered, crouching in front of him. “Slow. With me.”
Julian reached out.
The second his hand brushed Eli’s knee, the panic detonated.
“Don’t—!” Eli gasped, scrambling backward, spine hitting the wall. His hands came up defensively, shaking so badly they blurred. “Don’t touch me—please—”
Julian froze.
The room went deathly quiet.
Eli didn’t mean it like that. He didn’t mean Julian is the danger. But his body didn’t care about intentions. All it knew was guns and blood and choking hands and warning shots that passed inches from his skull.
Julian straightened slowly, raw shock flickering across his face
Anton appeared in the doorway.
One look at Eli told him everything.
“Julian,” Anton said quietly. Not a command. A request.
Julian didn’t move.
Anton stepped forward anyway, placing himself deliberately between them. He crouched, lowering his voice, his posture loose and non-threatening.
“Hey,” Anton murmured, not touching. “You’re safe. No one’s hurting you right now.”
Eli’s eyes latched onto him like a lifeline.
Anton guided his breathing without saying breathe. He talked instead; soft, steady, anchoring.
“Feel the floor,” Anton said. “Your back against the wall. Your feet. You’re here. There's no danger. It's just us.”
Julian stood, rigid, watching Eli shake apart under someone else’s voice.
When Eli finally gulped in a full breath, it broke into a sob.
Anton wrapped an arm around him then, firm and grounding, pulling him into his chest. Eli clutched at Anton’s shirt like it was the only solid thing left in the world.
Julian turned away.
\---
Julian didn’t come back to bed that night.
Or the next.
Or the one after that.
He disappeared into his office like a man punishing himself; working until dawn, drinking too much, sleeping too little. When Eli caught glimpses of him, Julian looked hollowed out, eyes shadowed, jaw clenched like he was holding something violent inside.
Eli felt sick about it.
“I overreacted,” Eli only said that days later, curled on one end of the couch, knees tucked under him. The television murmured nonsense neither of them were watching. “I shouldn’t have pushed him away.”
Anton sat beside him, close but not crowding. “You had a panic attack.”
“I know, but—” Eli’s fingers twisted in the fabric of his sleeve. “He was trying to help. And now he won’t even look at me.”
Anton sighed softly. “Julian doesn’t know how to function around problems like this. Especially since he thinks he’s the problem.”
Eli swallowed. “I’m scared of him. And I hate that. And I hate that I don’t hate him enough. I mean, he tied me down here with marriage over some twisted desire for revenge, I should be the angry one. Why is he so mad I yelled at him? Besides, he hates when I have a panic attack, why didn't he just tell me to stop acting weak? I prefer his cruelty to this silent treatment.”
Anton turned toward him fully. “You’re allowed to feel more than one thing at once.”
Eli glanced up.
Anton was staring at him; not predatory, not calculating. Just… there. Present. Warm in a way Julian never was.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Anton continued. “Julian scared you. That’s on him to fix, not you to swallow. Don't let it bother you, he'll come around.”
Silence stretched.
Eli’s chest tightened. He stared at Anton, really stared, and realized how close they were. How Anton’s knee brushed his. How Anton hadn’t let go of him since that night.
“You’re always here,” Eli whispered.
Anton’s smile was faint. “Someone has to be.”
They held each other's gaze… for longer than necessary. For too long.
The air shifted into this thick, charged, and very unsteady atmosphere.
Eli didn’t remember leaning in.
He just knew suddenly Anton’s lips was on his.
The kiss was slow at first; testing, tentative… but it didn’t stay that way. Anton’s hand slid to Eli’s waist, steadying him, grounding him, pulling him closer until Eli found himself straddling Anton’s lap without knowing when or how he moved.
Anton kissed like he meant it. Like he’d been waiting.
Eli gasped into the kiss, fingers tangling in Anton’s hair, body lighting up with something dangerous and wanted and alive. When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathing hard.
Anton’s eyes were dark.
“This is a bad idea,” Eli whispered.
Anton didn’t argue. He just leaned in again…
The front door opened with a soft sound…
…Julian stood in the doorway, briefcase slipping from his hand and hitting the floor with a dull thud.
His eyes locked on them.
On Eli in Anton’s lap. On Anton’s hands at Eli’s waist. On the unmistakable closeness.
Eli expected anger, yelling, or worse… a gun shot.
But Julian turned and walked back out without a word, the door shutting behind him like a gunshot.
Eli’s breath left him in a rush.
“Oh God,” he whispered, and tried to climb down from Anton’s lap.
But Anton didn’t let go, he held Eli tighter and said, “stay still. He knew I'd kiss you sooner or later, he'll come around and when he does, we'll be doing more than kissing.”
“Wh— what?” Eli stammered.
“Your lips tastes good.” Anton said