Chapter 20 Cracks in the Hate
Elena came home exhausted.
Derek had shadowed her all day, standing outside exam rooms, walking three steps behind her in the hallways, hovering by the break room door. Patients kept asking questions she couldn't answer. Marco had given her more concerned looks than usual.
She was tired of lying. Tired of pretending everything was fine.
When she walked into her apartment, Pierce was on the couch, laptop open, phone pressed to his ear. He looked up when she entered, his eyes tracking her movement across the room.
Elena dropped her bag by the door and headed straight for her bedroom.
"...tell him I don't care," Pierce was saying into his phone, his voice sharp. "He doesn't get to make demands. Not after what he pulled."
Elena closed her door, muffling his voice.
She changed out of her scrubs, washed her face, stared at herself in the mirror for longer than necessary. The woman looking back at her had dark circles under her eyes and a tension in her jaw that never seemed to go away anymore.
When she came out, Pierce was off the phone.
"How was work?" he asked.
"Fine." She said her voice sharper than she wanted.
"Elena..."
"I said it was fine." She moved to the kitchen, suddenly desperate for something to do with her hands. "Do you want dinner?"
Pierce blinked, clearly surprised by the offer. "You don't have to..."
"I'm asking if you want dinner." Her voice rose slightly. "Yes or no."
Pierce paused for a second before replying. "Yes."
Elena pulled out ingredients without really thinking about it. Pasta, the kind that didn't require Pierce's disaster-level cooking skills. Simple red sauce and garlic bread.
Pierce appeared in the kitchen doorway. "Can I help?"
"Can you?" She tilted her head.
"Probably not. But I can try."
Despite everything, Elena felt her lips twitch. "Fine. Chop the garlic."
"How small?"
"Small enough that it's not whole cloves."
"That's not very specific."
"Just do your best."
Pierce moved to the counter, picked up the knife like it might bite him, and started chopping with the kind of careful concentration usually reserved for defusing bombs.
Elena boiled water, started the sauce, tried not to notice how domestic this felt. Cooking together in her small kitchen, working around each other in the limited space.
"You're chopping it too big," she said without looking.
"How can you tell?" He asked surprised. "You're not even watching."
"I can hear it. Smaller pieces make a different sound."
Pierce paused. "That's... actually kind of impressive."
"My mother was very particular about garlic."
The mention of her mother made the air feel heavier. Elena focused on stirring the sauce, willing the tightness in her chest to ease.
"How small is small enough?" Pierce asked after a moment.
Elena glanced over. "That's... actually not bad."
"Don't sound so surprised."
"I watched you almost burn down my kitchen this morning." She said, her lip curve slightly. "I'm allowed to be surprised."
"That was one time."
"It was this morning."
"Still counts as one time."
Elena found herself almost smiling as she added the garlic to the sauce. The smell filled the kitchen.
They worked in silence after that. When dinner was ready, they sat at the table. Same seats as this morning. Elena twirled pasta on her fork, suddenly aware of how strange this was. Eating dinner with Pierce Diego. The man she was supposed to hate. The man who'd destroyed her life.
The man who'd held her through a panic attack last night and tried to make her breakfast this morning.
"This is good," Pierce said.
"It's just pasta."
"Still better than anything I could make."
"Again, not a high bar."
They ate in silence for a while. Elena could feel Pierce watching her between bites, could sense him weighing words before discarding them.
"You don't have to stay in the kitchen with me," Elena said finally. "If you have work to do."
"I'm okay."
"You're always working."
"So are you."
"That's different."
"How?"
Elena set down her fork. "Because my job saves lives. Yours... doesn't."
The words landed hard. Pierce's expression didn't change, but something flickered in his eyes.
"No," he said quietly. "It doesn't."
The admission surprised her. They finished eating in heavy silence.
Elena stood to clear the dishes, but Pierce stopped her.
"I'll do it," he said. "You cooked."
"You'll break something."
"I managed toast this morning without incident." He said firmly. "I think I can handle dishes."
Elena wanted to argue, but exhaustion won. She moved to the couch, sinking into the cushions with a sigh that came from somewhere deep.
From the kitchen, she heard Pierce washing up. Darrel jumped onto the couch, immediately claiming her lap. Suzie followed, settling on the armrest.
This was normal. Except for the armed guards outside and the criminal doing her dishes.
Pierce finished and appeared in the doorway, drying his hands on a towel.
"No casualties," he announced.
"Congratulations." She said with a fake smile.
"Should I be offended by how low your expectations are?"
"Probably."
Pierce moved to the chair across from her, but hesitated. "Mind if I turn on the TV? I can go to another room if you want quiet."
Elena was too tired to care. "Go ahead."
He grabbed the remote and started flipping channels. News, immediately skipped. Drama, no. Reality show, definitely not.
He landed on an old sitcom. Something from the 90s with a laugh track and bright colors.
"This okay?" Pierce asked.
Elena shrugged. "Sure."
They watched in silence. The show was ridiculous, something about mistaken identities and a wedding that kept getting interrupted. The kind of mindless comedy that didn't require thinking.
One of the characters said something stupid. The laugh track erupted.
Elena felt a laugh bubble up before she could stop it.
She caught herself immediately, the sound dying in her throat.
Pierce glanced at her but said nothing. Just turned back to the TV.
Elena felt heat rise to her cheeks. She'd actually laughed. While sitting with Pierce Diego in her living room like this was normal.
Like they were normal. The show continued, and another joke came up. Elena kept her face carefully straight.
Darrel, the traitor, left Elena's lap and padded over to the space between them on the couch. He circled once, twice, then settled directly in the middle, spanning the gap.
Neither of them moved him.
Elena stared at her cat, at his gray fur and twitching tail, at the way he'd claimed the space between her and Pierce like it was the most natural thing in the world.
She should move him. Instead, she just sat there, hyperaware of Pierce's presence on the other end of the couch.
The show played on. More laugh track, bad jokes And then the happy ending.
Elena's eyes grew heavy. She told herself she'd just rest them for a minute. Just one minute.
When she woke, the TV was still on, playing some late-night talk show she didn't recognize.
And she'd slumped sideways on the couch.
Toward Pierce. Elena's head was resting against something solid and warm. She blinked slowly, her sleep-fogged brain trying to process.
She was sleeping on Pierce's shoulder. Elena jerked upright so fast she startled Darrel, who meowed in protest.
"Sorry," Pierce said quietly, his voice rough. "You fell asleep. I didn't want to wake you."
"How long was I asleep?" Elena's voice came out hoarse.
"Maybe an hour."
She'd slept for an hour on Pierce's shoulder.
"Why didn't you move me?"
"You needed the sleep." He stood, putting distance between them. "And you seemed... peaceful. Didn't want to ruin that."
Elena wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold where his warmth had been.
"I should go to bed," she said.
"Yeah." His voice was rough. "Okay."
Elena stood, but her legs were shaky from sleep. She swayed slightly. Pierce's hand shot out, steadying her elbow.
"You okay?"
"Fine." But she didn't pull away immediately. His hand was warm, solid, grounding.
Their eyes met.
For a moment, neither of them moved. The space between them felt charged.
Elena pulled back first.
"Goodnight," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Goodnight, Elena."
She fled to her bedroom, closing the door and leaning against it.
Her heart was racing. Her skin still tingled where he'd touched her elbow.
This was bad. This was so bad.
She wasn't supposed to feel comfortable with him. Wasn't supposed to fall asleep on his shoulder or cook him dinner or almost smile at his terrible cooking attempts.
She was supposed to hate him.
But somewhere between the nightmares and the burnt breakfast and the quiet moments watching terrible TV, the hate had started to crack.
And Elena didn't know what to do with what was underneath.