Chapter 19 The Truth Between Us
Elena's eyes grew heavy. The panic from the nightmare finally went down, replaced by bone-deep exhaustion.
"Pierce?" She murmured, half-asleep.
"Yeah?"
"Don't leave." She said, voice drowsy. "Not yet."
"I won't."
And he didn't. Elena drifted off with Pierce watching over her, keeping the nightmares in check.
Pierce stayed in that chair long after Elena's breathing evened out into sleep.
He watched her in the dim light, watched the tension finally leave her face, watched her fingers uncurl from the death grip they'd had on her blanket.
Her graduation day, the same say her parents died was also the same day his parents died at the same shootout.
Pierce's jaw tightened as the memories crawled their way back. His father had called that morning, asking him to meet for her lunch, saying they needed to talk about the succession.
Pierce had refused, he'd been angry, tired of the power games and tired of being pitted against Rodrigo.
Two hours later, both his parents were dead. Caught in crossfire that had nothing to do with them. Just like Elena's parents.
He'd spent five years wondering if things would have been different if he'd just said yes. If he'd been there, maybe he could have protected them.
But he hadn't been there.
And now Elena, this woman who'd saved his life, who'd shown him kindness he didn't deserve, had lost her parents in the same violence.
Pierce ran a hand over his face, exhaustion pulling at him. He should tell her. Should admit that he knew about that day.
But then she'd want details. Dates, his father's name. And eventually, she'd realize his family was responsible for the war that killed hers.
Pierce closed his eyes, he couldn't tell her, not yet, maybe not ever. She already hated him, If she knew the full truth...
He looked at Elena again, peaceful despite the nightmare that had torn her apart.
She'd trusted him with her deepest wound.
And he was keeping secrets that would destroy whatever fragile thing was building between them.
Pierce stood slowly. He couldn't undo the past. Couldn't bring her parents back.
But maybe he could do something small. Something good.
He could make her breakfast.
The problem was, Pierce couldn't cook.
He stared at Elena's kitchen like it was enemy territory. The stove had more buttons than seemed necessary.
"How hard can it be?" he muttered.
Very hard, as it turned out.
Pierce found eggs. Eggs were simple, right?
He cracked three into a pan, all the shells came with it, because he'd never actually done this before. He tried to fish out the shells and ended burning his hand.
The eggs started smoking almost immediately, then they caught fire.
"Shit!"
Pierce grabbed a towel, trying to smother the flames. The smoke detector started wailing.
He jumped on a chair, waving the towel at the detector.
That's when Elena's bedroom door flew open.
"What the..."
Pierce turned to see her standing there, hair a mess, still in pajamas, staring at the disaster.
Smoking eggs. Him on a chair waving a towel. They locked eyes.
Beat of silence except for the shrieking alarm.
"What are you trying to do?" Elena asked, voice filled with amusement.
"I was trying to help."
"By burning down my apartment?"
"It's not burned down." He corrected. "It's just smoking a little."
"A LITTLE?" Her voice rose.
Elena moved fast, turning off the stove and opening windows. The alarm eventually shut up.
Pierce climbed down, suddenly aware of how ridiculous he looked.
Elena surveyed the damage. "What were you even trying to make?"
"Breakfast." Pierce rubbed his neck. "You had a rough night. I wanted to do something nice."
Elena's expression shifted, her eyes soften slightly.
"That's..." She paused. "That's actually sweet. In a disaster-prone kind of way."
"I didn't realize cooking was this complicated."
"It's not. You're just spectacularly bad at it." Elena moved to the sink. "Move. Before you set something else on fire."
Pierce stepped aside, watching as she cleaned up his mess with practiced efficiency. She threw out the burnt eggs, wiped up the pasta water, and started fresh.
"You want to actually help?" she asked, pulling out a new pan.
"Sure."
"Toast." She said. "Can you manage toast without destroying my toaster?"
"Probably."
Elena shot him a look that said she didn't believe him, but she pointed to the bread and toaster anyway.
Pierce managed to make toast without incident, which felt like a small victory.
Meanwhile, Elena cracked eggs into the pan, properly, without shells included, and started scrambling them. Her movements were smooth, automatic. This was clearly something she'd done a thousand times.
They worked in comfortable silence. When everything was done, they sat at the small kitchen table.
They ate without speaking at first. Pierce was hyperaware of every sound, forks on plates, the quiet chewing.
"Where did you learn how to cook?" Pierce asked breaking the silence.
Elena looked up, surprised. Then her expression softened then turned sad.
"My mother," she said quietly. "Before she died."
Pierce felt like an idiot for asking.
"She used to cook every Sunday," Elena continued, voice distant. "Big family dinners, just the three of us. She'd make me help, even when I was terrible at it. Said every woman should know how to feed herself properly."
"Sounds like she was smart."
"She was." Elena took another bite. "She taught me that cooking was about more than food. It was about taking care of yourself. Creating something when everything else felt out of control."
Pierce understood that better than she knew.
"These are good," he said.
"They're just scrambled eggs."
"Still better than anything I've made."
"That's not a high bar." Elena said with an almost smile.
They kept eating. Elena seemed lost in thought, probably thinking about her mother. About Sunday dinners and normal moments she'd never get back.
Pierce wanted to tell her he understood. That he knew what it was like to lose that. But he couldn't. Not without revealing too much.
"Thank you," Elena said suddenly.
Pierce looked up. "For what?"
"For trying. Even though you almost burned down my kitchen." She met his eyes. "And for last night. For staying."
"You had a nightmare." He said gently. "I wasn't going to leave you alone with that."
"Still." Her voice was low. "Thank you."
Pierce nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Because sitting here, eating breakfast in quiet morning light, felt dangerously close to normal.
To something he had no right to want.
Elena finished and stood, collecting plates. She moved to the sink.
Pierce joined her, drying the dishes she handed him.
They worked side by side in silence, and for just a moment, Pierce let himself pretend this was real. That the danger and secrets didn't exist.
But they did. And eventually, Elena would find out the truth.
She'd learn his family was responsible for the war that killed her parents.
And whatever this was, this fragile thing building between them, would shatter.
Pierce dried the last plate.
Elena turned to face him, leaning against the counter.
"You look tired," she said.
"So do you."
"I have an excuse." She said sharply. "I had nightmares all night."
"So did I."
Elena's expression shifted. "About what?"
"Things I can't change," Pierce said honestly. "Things I wish I'd done differently."
She studied him, and Pierce felt exposed. Like she could see straight through him.
"Get some sleep," Elena said finally. "You look like you're about to collapse."
"What about you?"
"I have to get ready for work."
"Elena..."
"Derek's driving me, remember? I'll be fine." She pushed off the counter. "And you need rest. You can't protect anyone if you're running on empty."
She was right, even if he hated admitting it.
"Okay." He said reluctantly. "But if anything happens..."
"I'll call." Elena completed the sentence. "I promise."
Elena headed toward her bedroom, leaving Pierce alone. He looked at the clean dishes, the spotless counter, the windows still open.
It was such a small thing. Making breakfast. Cleaning up together. But it felt Big. Like they'd crossed some invisible line.
Pierce moved to the couch and lay down, his side aching.
From Elena's room, he could hear her getting ready for another day of supervised existence.
He closed his eyes and tried not to think about that day. Tried not to think about what would happen when she learned the truth.
Tried not to think about how much it would hurt when she looked at him with hate instead of this little trust.
He'd fallen for her. Despite everything. Despite knowing it was impossible.
He'd fallen for the woman whose parents died because of his family's war.
And when she found out, it would destroy them both.