Chapter 85
Eleanor POV
The descent began with Olivia, James and me walking in front, while Derek trailed behind with Daniel and Melissa. I could feel his eyes on my back, burning through my jacket, but I refused to turn around. My heart still raced from what had happened at dawn—Derek’s confession, the kiss that shouldn’t have been. Each step down the treacherous, snow-slick trail was a battle to focus, to not let my thoughts spiral back to the warmth of his lips on mine.
"You okay?" Olivia whispered, linking her arm through mine. "You seem... different."
"Just tired," I lied, staring at the icy path beneath my boots.
Occasionally, when the trail widened, I’d glance back to check on the group, only to find Derek’s intense gaze waiting for me. Each time, something electric passed between us—a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken. I forced myself to look away, gripping Olivia’s arm tighter.
By the time we reached the base of the mountain, exhaustion weighed on my limbs. The parking lot was stirring with early hikers, their chatter a jarring contrast to our quiet tension.
"Let’s head back to the resort and rest for a bit," James suggested, wiping sweat from his brow despite the chill. "We can grab lunch together at noon before driving back to Boston."
Everyone nodded in agreement, too drained to argue. I noticed James’s expression, though—his usual warmth dimmed, his smile tight. I knew I hadn’t given him any clear signal about my feelings, and after what had just happened with Derek, my mind was too tangled to even consider his. Guilt pricked at me, but I pushed it aside. I couldn’t deal with another emotional puzzle right now.
Back at the hotel, we dispersed to our rooms with promises to meet in the dining hall at noon. I collapsed onto my bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to quiet the storm in my head. Sleep eluded me, and soon enough, it was time to reconvene.
Lunch was a subdued affair, the group too tired for much conversation. James sat across from me, his glances fleeting and guarded. I felt a pang of regret but kept my distance, unable to muster the energy to address whatever was brewing there. Derek, seated at the far end of the table, watched me with that same unrelenting intensity, though he said little.
When it was time to head back to Boston, James offered to drive Olivia and me.
The drive back was long and quiet, the winter dusk settling over the highway by the time we reached Newton. I stepped into my parents’ Victorian home as evening deepened, the familiar chill of the house mirroring my own. Sunny, my golden retriever, bounded toward me, her enthusiasm a small balm to my weary soul.
"At least someone’s happy to see me," I murmured, kneeling to scratch behind her ears.
I dropped my bag in the foyer and trudged to the living room, collapsing onto the worn leather sofa. Above the fireplace, my parents’ portrait gazed down—young, smiling, oblivious to their fate. I stared at their faces, seeking answers.
"What would you think of me now?" I whispered.
No matter what Derek said or did, I couldn’t—wouldn’t—be pulled back into that cycle. Three years of emotional whiplash was enough. The divorce was almost final. I had to stay strong.
Determined, I headed upstairs for a hot bath to wash away the mountain chill and the memory of Derek’s touch. The old clawfoot tub filled slowly, steam fogging the mirror. I shed my layers, wincing at sore muscles, and sank into the water with a sigh—part relief, part ache.
But my mind betrayed me, drifting back to the mountain, to Derek’s lips, his hands. And then further, to just a month ago, in the marble bathroom of the Wells family home in Beacon Hill. _Derek behind me, water streaming over us, his breath hot on my neck. His hands, possessive, sliding over my wet skin, tracing every curve with deliberate intent. His fingers had explored, teasing, igniting every nerve until I was trembling, lost in him._
My breath hitched now, alone in my tub, as my hand moved beneath the water almost against my will. I fought it—God, I tried—clenching my other fist against the porcelain edge. I shouldn’t want this, shouldn’t crave the memory of him after all the hurt. But my body didn’t care about reason, responding to the ghost of his touch, fingers circling slowly, tentatively, until heat built and I bit my lip to stifle a gasp. When release came, it was sharp and hollow, leaving me shuddering with water rippling around me.
Shame surged in its wake, bitter and heavy. I sat up, water sloshing, and pressed my palms to my eyes. “Eleanor, you’re pathetic,” I hissed. “How can you still want him?”
I stepped out, toweling off roughly, and wrapped myself in thick winter pajamas, desperate to bury the day under layers of fabric and denial. But as I reached my bedroom, my phone lit up with notifications—missed calls, texts, all from Derek.
6:14 PM: [Did you get home safely?]
7:22 PM: [Eleanor, at least let me know you're home.]
8:05 PM: [Are you deliberately ignoring me?]
8:17 PM: [We need to talk about what happened.]
8:45 PM: [Are you hiding from me, Eleanor?]
The phone rang in my hand, his name glaring on the screen. I answered after a beat, voice steadier than I felt. “What do you want, Derek?”
“You’re finally answering.” His tone was clipped, irritation barely masked.
“I just got back.” I kept it curt, gripping the phone tighter.
“I texted you hours ago.”
“I didn’t see them.”
A pause. “Are you avoiding me on purpose?”
I walked to the window, nudging the curtain aside. My heart stuttered—his black Bentley was parked under the streetlight, Derek’s tall frame leaning against it, phone to his ear.
“You’re outside my house,” I said flatly.
“Come down,” he demanded. “I want an answer. Face to face.”
“No.” I let the curtain fall. “Go home, Derek.”
“Did you mean it, Eleanor? Have you ever loved me?”
The question struck like a blade. I gripped the windowsill, fighting for control. “I don’t owe you explanations.”
“Eleanor—”
“Goodnight, Derek.” I hung up, shutting off my phone before he could call again.
Peering through the curtain again, I saw him still there, staring up at my window. Finally, he flicked a cigarette into the snow, got into his car, and drove off.
The doorbell jolted me awake the next morning. I’d barely slept, tossing in bed, my mind replaying every moment of the past day. Sunny’s bark echoed as I shuffled downstairs, glancing at the clock—7:30 AM.
Derek stood at the door, a paper bag from my favorite bakery and two coffees in hand. “You look terrible,” he said, scanning my haggard face.
I moved to shut the door, but he wedged his shoulder in the gap. “I’m hungry, Eleanor,” he murmured. “You wouldn’t let a man freeze on your doorstep, would you?”
Sighing, I stepped back. Sunny circled his legs, tail wagging traitorously. In the dining room, we sat across from each other at my parents’ antique table. Derek tore a croissant in half, passing me the larger piece.
After we finished, he said, “I can get you to work.”
I knew I couldn't refuse.
Twenty minutes later, I sat in his Bentley, watching Boston’s snow-draped streets slide by. The silence was suffocating, thick with unspoken tension.
“Did you sleep well?” Derek asked, a smirk playing on his lips.
“What do you think?”
“I couldn’t sleep either,” he continued, fingers drumming the steering wheel. “Kept thinking about you—how you tremble when I touch you, how your breath catches just before you lose control. I want to see that again, Eleanor. I want to feel it.”
Shock ripped through me, heat flooding my face.
Derek’s smirk deepened, eyes glinting with something dangerous. “The same kind as you, apparently. We’re only just starting to figure each other out, aren’t we? All these hidden edges, all this... need.” His voice was velvet, laced with intent, his gaze flicking to me briefly before returning to the road. “Don’t pretend you don’t feel it too.”
My pulse thundered, a mix of fury and unwanted desire tightening my chest. When the car stopped a block from my flower shop, I fumbled for the door handle, desperate to escape the charged air between us.
“I’ll get myself the rest of the way,” I said, voice unsteady.
I slammed the door and hurried off, his words—and the heat of his gaze—lingering on my skin as I turned the corner into the snowy morning.