Chapter 110 The Aftermath
The lock clicked into place, a small, metallic sound that felt like the final line of a treaty. I leaned my back against the heavy oak door, my legs finally giving way. I slid down the wood until I hit the floor, my breath hitching in my chest.
I wasn't crying because they had hurt me. I was crying because of the way they had looked when they spoke his name—like Rhys was a disease they had finally decided to cure. The things Jace had said about "sacrificing for the family" felt like ash in my mouth. My brothers had spent their lives built on the silent, sturdy foundation Rhys provided, and then they had the audacity to call him an outsider.
"Ellie."
Rhys was there. He hadn't moved a single thing since he’d started staying in here; his bag was tucked neatly in the corner, his presence already woven into the fabric of the room. He didn't rush over to pull me up. He knew me better than that. He just knelt on the carpet a few feet away, giving me space to breathe.
"They don't see it," I choked out, wiping a stray, hot tear from my cheek with the back of my hand. My voice was still shaking with the remnants of that cold, hard anger. "They don't see that you’re the only reason this house hasn't burned down a dozen times over. I told them, Rhys. I told them everything."
"You shouldn't have had to," he said softly. His eyes were dark with a mixture of regret and a fierce, protective loyalty. "It’s my job to take the hits, El. Always has been."
"Not for me," I snapped, looking up at him through blurred vision. "Never for me. You don't 'take the hits' when it comes to us."
A sharp, rhythmic rapping on the door made me jump, my heart hammering against my ribs.
"Ellie? It’s Jace." My oldest brother’s voice was muffled but carried that practiced tone of "reasonable" authority. "Open the door. I’m worried about you. We just want to make sure you’re okay."
The hypocrisy of it made a fresh wave of nausea roll through me. He wanted to "check on me" after he’d spent the last hour trying to dismantle my soul.
I felt Rhys move before I saw him. He didn't get up to open the door. He simply shifted, stepping over me to stand directly in front of the wood. He didn't touch the handle. He just stood there, a wall of muscle and quiet menace, his shadow falling over me like a shield.
"She's fine, Jace," Rhys said. His voice wasn't loud, but it had a vibration to it that I felt through the floorboards. It was the voice he used when a situation was no longer up for negotiation. "But she’s done talking to you. All of you."
"Rhys, step aside," Jace’s voice sharpened. "This is family business. Don't make this more complicated than it needs to be."
"It’s only complicated because you’re still standing in the hallway," Rhys replied, his gaze fixed on the door as if he could see through it. "She’s exhausted. And I’m staying right here. Unless you’re planning on breaking down the door to your sister’s room on Christmas Eve, I suggest you go to bed."
I held my breath, watching the shadow of Jace's feet under the door. For a long, agonizing minute, he didn't move. I could almost hear his brain calculating the optics of a scene—the noise, the wives, the scandal.
Finally, the shadow shifted. The footsteps retreated, heavy and reluctant, until the hallway was silent again.
Rhys exhaled, the tension in his shoulders dropping only a fraction. He turned back to me and reached down, his large hand cupping my elbow to help me up.
"I've got the door, Ellie," he whispered, his thumb brushing against my skin. "I've got everything. Just go to sleep."
He didn't lead me to the bed and walk away. Instead, he pulled me into his chest, his arms locking around me with a desperate, crushing strength. I buried my face in his shirt, the scent of him—cedar and cold winter air—finally quieting the roar in my head.
"They're going to try to push you out," I whispered against his skin. "Grant... he looked at you like you’d stolen something that belonged to him. Like I was just property he’d let you guard for a while."
Rhys pulled back just enough to cup my face, his thumbs wiping away the dampness under my eyes. "Let them try, El. I’ve spent fifteen years earning my place in this house, but I only care about my place with you. If they want to treat me like a stranger, that’s their burden to carry. Not ours."
"But Owen," I said, my voice cracking. "He was so hurt, Rhys. He feels like he lost his brother and his best friend in the same hour."
Rhys’s expression softened, a flicker of genuine pain crossing his features. "Owen is the heart of this family. He’ll come around eventually, but he has to see that I’m not the enemy. He has to realize that loving you isn't a betrayal of him. It’s the most honest thing I’ve ever done."
He reached down to pull back the heavy duvet, and this time, there was no hesitation. He climbed in beside me, the mattress dipping under his weight as he pulled me into the curve of his body. We had spent so many nights in the shadows, navigating the guilt and the thrill of what we were, but here, with my brothers still pacing the hall, there was a new, defiant comfort in the way he held me.
"Do you regret it?" I asked, the question barely a breath. "Keeping it from them? Making this mess?"
Rhys tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, his gaze unwavering. "I regret that you had to stand in that room and defend us alone. But I will never regret a single second of the time we spent in the dark, Ellie. If the mess is what it takes to have you in the light, then I’ll spend the rest of my life cleaning it up."
I leaned forward, pressing my lips to his. It wasn't the frantic, heated kiss of the nights before; it was a seal, a promise. The silence in the room was no longer oppressive; it was a sanctuary.
I watched him as my eyes grew heavy, his hand resting firmly on my waist. The war wasn't over; tomorrow would bring more shouting and more "family meetings," but as I drifted off, the last thing I felt was the steady, grounding heat of him against my back—a silent reminder that the door was locked and, for the first time, I wasn't the one holding the key.