by W. Winters
I’ve made it a point not to know all the details of Eleanor’s past. She deserves a clean slate with me, just like any other client. But the situation itself is different. The judge isn’t exaggerating when he says he’s never done this before. There’s never been a custody transfer from the Rockford Center, or anywhere like it in the state, to a private company. Eleanor’s case will be the first.
“If it’s a matter of documentation, Your Honor—”
The judge waves Cade off. “This is a matter of character.” He looks Cade in the eye. “You assume all of the responsibility for this patient’s care. You also assume all of the risk. The state will intervene if there’s cause to believe you’re not meeting your obligations.”
“Understood, Your Honor.”
The judge shuffles his papers again; for once, the gentleman is showing his nerves. “Does the Rockford Center have any additional input?”
“Only that we’ve vetted the plans by The Firm and have full confidence in Ms. Bordeu’s care. The staff at the Rockford Center all agree that the institutional setting has served her to its natural endpoint. It’s time for Ms. Bordeu to return to her home. Under appropriate supervision, of course, and getting all the care she needs.”
With a simmering strain, the courtroom awaits the judge’s verdict with bated breath. I hold mine, keeping with it the pent-up tension from the call this morning, the guilt I feel over being late, and my burning, driving curiosity about Eleanor Bordeu.
There’s a small movement at the front of the room that grabs my attention.
Eleanor’s eyes, flicking toward mine.
This is the third time she’s looked at me. The third time those dark eyes have pinned mine. It’s as if we’ve met before, but we haven’t. I would remember a woman who looked at me the way this woman does now.
Only one other woman has looked at me that way.
The memory of her tiptoes across the back of my mind. She had blue eyes, not brown, but the curiosity was the same.
Eleanor drops her gaze to the floor, and I remember to breathe.
The judge considers each of us in turn. “What you’ve requested today is unusual. So unusual, in fact, that I’ve considered denying the request to change custody simply to avoid setting a dangerous precedent. But you’ve impressed me today, Mr. Thompson. You and your team.” An exhale leaves me as he waves the papers in front of him, held in a loose fist. “I’ll grant your request to transfer custody and care of Ms. Bordeu from the Rockford Center to The Firm, with the full understanding that a life is at stake. Perhaps many lives.”
A shiver moves over my spine. Judge Martel referring to future cases with future patients makes me uneasy. If he opens the door to Eleanor’s custody transfer, then it’s open for more people after her. He and other judges will have to preside over cases like this one, but there will be precedent—us. I know that’s what he’s talking about. But the words “a life is at stake,” combined with the phone call, feel like ice at the center of my gut.
The conversation continues but dims and seems to blur into nothing as I stare ahead absently. My attention is on my own pulse. Steadying myself and refusing to allow any unwanted emotion to surface. I can’t meet the rest of this day with a knot in my stomach.
I can’t meet the rest of this day with the delicate curve of Eleanor’s neck on my mind. Or the way her sleeves flutter near her wrist in a simple, classic detail that makes me want to trace her bare skin there all the way around.
I can’t, and I won’t. I will not think of her that way. Not ever again. She is beautiful and tempting, but she is not mine to have.
With the pen held tightly in his hand, the judge signs a paper in front of him and taps his gavel in a perfunctory way that seems anticlimactic for all the work we’ve put in. As soon as his decision is finalized, there’s a flurry of motion. Aiden leaves his place at the front first. “Quick call,” he says on his way past. “Then I’ll be available.” The lawyer nods, and with a thin smile his hand lands on our client’s shoulder, gaining her attention. A heat rises up my chest, but it’s quickly displaced. Cade leans over the partition to talk to the lawyer. Silas and Dane get to their feet next to him. Then Damon. I’m quick to follow, taking great care not to give much thought to how slowly the lawyer’s hand drops back to his side.
Eleanor bends to lift her periwinkle wool coat from where it sat folded over her chair and pulls it on over slim shoulders. My palms ache in the strangest way. Like I should be helping her into that garment.
She doesn’t look at me as she dutifully follows her lawyer out of the courtroom.
Damon’s hand comes down on my shoulder, giving me a short squeeze. “You ready?”
Ella
The Firm will provide each client with twenty-four-hour care and security. All clients’ needs will be identified and addressed by the partners directly.
There’s an emptiness that’s unsettling. I’ve stood in this exact spot more than a dozen times, taking in the sight of this home. One of several I’ve lived in over the years, and truthfully, it was once my preferred home although with everything that’s happened, it was never an option for it to be more than a refuge.
I don’t believe that places can be haunted. Haunted houses and such … I’ve never given much credence to the notion. Do I believe in ghosts? I do … ever since I was a little girl. That sense of wonder and shiver of fear never left me. I think we all do to some extent; it’s simply a matter of what has happened to each of us that leads us to believe.
But I’ve never thought that ghosts can haunt a physical place. My aunt, who I haven’t seen in nearly a decade now, once told me that spirits don’t haunt locations; they haunt people. She told me there was no such thing as a haunted house.
She said lost spirits follow people who they miss, the ones they have unfinished business with, or a long-lost soul they wish would remember them. So I’ve never been scared of ghost stories. After all, my mother and father didn’t want a damn thing to do with me when air still filled their lungs; surely they didn’t give a shit about me once they were buried six feet under.
Never once have I felt the presence of any being … But as I stand in the foyer, I can’t help questioning my beliefs. Every corner of this house seems to hold a memory that’s desperate to come back to life. Even with my eyes closed, the laughter from events long gone echoes in my mind as if it’s all so close. As if I could reach out and my hand wouldn’t meet cold air and proof this home has been vacant for nearly two years now. If only it was so easy.
No. My aunt wasn’t right about spirits and ghosts.
There are no haunted houses; there are no ghosts at all. There are only haunted people.
“When was the last time you were here?” The deep timbre brings me back to the present and the voices go silent. There’s only a creak of the floor as my memories slip away back to the corners of my sorrowful mind. I wish they would stay. I wish I could go back to them more than anything.
With a shaky breath blown out from between my slightly parted lips, I bring my eyes up to a kind gaze, although behind it is intention.
“I’m sorry,” I respond respectfully, taking in the fact that I am not at all alone, although it certainly felt like I was for a moment. For a very long moment, if I’m honest; too long of a moment. “What was that?”
The gentleman named Cade is the owner of a company my manager holds more confidence in than I do. I focus on his rather large hands as he forms a loose fist to clear his throat again. He’s nervous and for the life of me, I can’t understand why Kamden put his faith in him. Once he’s done clearing his throat, he repeats his question. “When was the last time you were here?”
Letting out an exhale that’s far from easy, but for his comfort, I allow it to be seemingly casual, I respond, “Over a year.” He tucks in his tie, although his deep green eyes never leave mine. There’s kindness there. He’s professional but kind. I add, “Maybe two by now.” My voice turns raspy at the last two words. I’m
still recovering and I’ve barely spoken for the last few months as it is.
There’s been no one to talk to. No one I’ve wanted to hold a conversation with either. For a moment the memories of laughter and happier times threaten to come back and instead I hold the poor man hostage in a trivial conversation.
Gesturing to the nearly empty space, I tell him, “Last time I was here we furnished the foyer with the rug and bench, and I intended to finish the space …” my voice trails off and I don’t bother finishing. With my chest feeling hollow, I remind myself that I don’t owe them anything. Not an explanation, not an answer.
“We can work on that, if you’d like,” he offers and it takes me a moment too long to understand that he’s referring to picking out furniture for this far too large house.
Nodding, I take a half step back, my cobalt wool coat providing the only warmth I feel as it’s draped over both my arms that are crossed in front of me. “We could start by turning on the heat?” I joke, keeping my cadence as smooth as I can and my voice gentle, to make up for my tardiness in comprehension. As if on command, there’s a click of the furnace that’s undeniable, and rather unsettling.
The white macael porcelain flooring is elegant and fresh, but is at odds with the vintage, pale and distressed medallion rug I chose years ago. The entirety of this home consists of shades of creams and dark blues. Modern furniture with retro accents and polished copper details only add to the iciness of the mountain setting when we came here to ski for the winter. It’s a careful mix of hard and soft, but I never realized until now just how cold it all is.
My initial instinct is to start fresh and redesign everything; I used to love doing that. Donating what’s here and bringing in new pieces, playing with color and all things from the newest collections. My teeth bite down on the tip of my tongue at the thought. A moment flashes before my eyes as I stare at the thick rug, and I know then I’ll never replace a thing that graces this home.
“Is there anything you’d like before we start?” he questions me. I have to lift my chin to look up at him. I’m rather tall, all legs so I’ve been told, but this man with his broad shoulders is even taller. He resembles the other man in the courtroom, the one whose dark gaze pinned me more than once. A chill runs down my spine at the thought, although the rest of me seems to heat with anxiousness.
“I think I’m fine for now,” I offer with a tight smile I’m all too aware doesn’t reach my eyes.
Silently, Cade nods.
One breath in, and he offers to take my coat for me. One breath out and he leaves my side. It feels like all the warmth in the room leaves with him although he’s only a few short feet away.
The din of chatter drifts toward us and muddled within is the familiar, confident pitch of my manager. Giving orders as he always does.
“Shall we?” Cade asks and again, I question everyone’s decision. His. Kam’s. Even the judge.
I’m not certain he knows what he’s getting into, especially after the court hearing. I don’t know what he knows about me or what research he’s done. I imagine all he’s been presented with is the file Kam gave the Rockford Center. Which is as barren as this empty foyer.
Lord knows there’s plenty on the internet for him to find, but none of it is what truly matters.
My heels click as he leads me through my own home to the sitting room across from the open kitchen. I wonder if he judges me as I judge him. I wonder what he thinks, the wheels turning as he interacts with me. Am I what he expected? I used to be able to tell from the first time I met someone what they knew about me. The men were the easiest.
A smirk was almost a given if he’d happened to stumble upon some of my younger days online. The corners of my lips lift slightly at the knowledge.
I know there are still a few … risqué videos … still lingering on the web. It’s possible he’s watched those, but if he has, he doesn’t let on. Perhaps, though, what’s happened most recently far outweighs the past.
I have to consciously stop my racing thoughts before the spiral begins and it’s then that I notice how the chatter has stopped.
“Ella.” Kam’s voice is the first I hear as I take in the group of men. He’s already taken off his suit jacket. It’s hanging over the back of a mahogany stool with navy blue tufted upholstery at the kitchen island. The kitchen is a stark white with the same porcelain tiles as the foyer to my right, but the dark navy of the stools is echoed to the left, covering the walls including the wainscoting and coffered ceiling.
“Finally.” He announces the word with his hands up, arms outstretched. His charming smile greets me just before he embraces me. Kamden’s never been a large man and he’s always had a smaller frame, but like me, it appears he’s lost weight. His jawline shows it the most.
I vaguely wonder how else he’s been affected. I know his boyfriend left him when I was first committed. He wasn’t well then either, but in the months I’ve been away, I haven’t heard from him apart from his plans to get me home.
In my heels, I’m eye level with him.
“Finally,” I repeat, echoing his upbeat and relieved tone. It does wonders for my mood. To see him, to hold his hands and know I’m safe. To feel truly protected. This man would move mountains for me. He has before.
“How are you feeling?” Before I can answer, he lifts a brow and comments as he moves to the sitting room with me trailing behind him, “It was fucking freezing when I first got here. How the hell do we turn this fireplace on?” If his tone is anything to go by, today is any other day and the last year didn’t happen.
Oh, how I wish. All the wishes don’t add up to anything I can hold on to, though.
The silence is uncomfortable as all the men in the room watch me, all six of them, and the only thing that can be heard are my heels muted by the rug as I slip across the room to flick the switch to the gas fireplace. It ticks steadily until it lights, and then blue flames rage from the crystals.
“Ah,” Kam says, then claps and makes his way to stand beside me. “What would I do without you?”
His calming and comforting voice only eases the brokenness slightly. His genuine smile produces fine lines around his eyes that I never noticed before.
“It’s been a cold year,” I tell him and my throat turns tight.
“It’ll warm up soon, babe,” he replies and quickly turns, no doubt in an attempt to hide any true emotion that brought the glossiness to his gaze. If he thinks I didn’t see it, he’s mistaken.
One breath in, one breath out.
“I’m sorry it took this long.” His apology grabs my attention and I catch his gaze skipping from my collarbone back up to meet mine when he asks, “Have you eaten?”
Self-consciously, I reach up to pull the blouse back in place.
Cade cuts in before I can answer that I don’t think I’ve eaten since this morning. “Should we discuss the menu that was suggested—”
“Absolutely not, she can have whatever it is that she wants to eat. There’s no reason that she can’t,” Kam cuts him off, responding with a strictness that he’s always had. Ever since I was a teenager, when my dad died and Kam took me in to keep me from going to the state, I’ve never wanted for anything a second longer than it took for me to tell Kamden what it was I’d set my sights on.
Whether it be food, drugs … a man. He’s the brother of my long-time friend Trish, although I haven’t seen her in forever. He’s a good friend, a father figure in some ways, but in all things, my rock. If I’m honest, I felt most comfortable with him more than anyone else simply knowing his preference for men. I could tell him anything, show him anything, and he would never use me as other men had tried. Hiring him as my manager was unquestionably the easiest decision I’ve ever made with my estate. Recently, he’s also become my conservator.
“Everything was a misunderstanding and that place did more harm than good,” Kam says, meeting my eyes rather than Cade’s or the other men in the room I’ve yet to be introduced to.
; A misunderstanding. The very word steals my breath.
“What’ll it be?” Kam asks, ready to take any order I give him and, in my periphery, Cade watches the two of us. I don’t miss the skepticism. Kam’s gotten me out of trouble for years. Never anything like this, though.
“I think I’d like to go over the necessities and meet these … gentlemen first?” I state, turning slightly so I’m facing the room. With the fire blazing just beside me, my back is to the corner. As the sun sets beyond the paned windows, the fire casts a shadow along the man standing the closest to me at the end of the long white couch.
The roaring flames seem to dance a little hotter as I take him in. His white collared shirt is tight over his broad shoulders. I’m not certain if it’s the lighting or something else that makes him appear even more intimidating in my home than he did in the courtroom. There’s a tension that crackles, an undeniable feeling that’s nearly suffocating as I force myself to meet his stare and not to back down. His eyes are gorgeous, a concoction of shades of emerald and ambers, his jaw chiseled as he remains where he is across from me.
After a moment he nods, acknowledging me for the first time.
I dare to speak, barely breathing. Interrupting whatever is brewing between Kam and Mr. Thompson, I comment, “Let’s get on with it,” and with that I break this man’s gaze to turn to the room again. “Shall we?”
Zander
All partners of The Firm have extensive backgrounds in high-profile security and personal client care. We are equipped to respond swiftly and appropriately to any need or crisis.
Ms. Bordeu stands through Cade’s introductions the way she stood through the hearing—still. Her delicate hands folded in front of her. Next to the fireplace in the sitting room where we’ve gathered, with her manager, Kamden Richards, close by her side.
Maybe I imagine that she glances at me a moment longer than the others.