“What can I do to help?” Elena suddenly asked.
Reed jerked to a full stop. He’d been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t even heard her coming down the stairs. She stood in the kitchen doorway wearing jeans and a soft gray sweater, her dark hair loose around her shoulders.
“Uh,” Reed said, collecting himself. “Could you set the table? The dishes are out on the counter there.”
Elena moved to gather the plates and silverware he’d laid out earlier. As she worked, the classical Bach piece he had playing seemed to catch her attention.
“You haven’t changed,” she said with a small smile.
Reed felt all kinds of things at that comment, but he hated the fact that resentment was mixed in with the warmth. “My musical taste hasn’t changed, but a lot of other things have.”
Elena fell quiet, the easy moment evaporating. She finished setting the table while Reed plated their food, the silence stretching between them. Classical music that had seemed peaceful moments before now felt like it was highlighting the tension.
They sat at his kitchen table, and Reed waited for Elena to pray. She closed her eyes and bowed her head briefly, her lips moving silently. When she finished, they began to dish up their portions.
“Reed, what’s wrong?” she asked after a few moments of watching him load his plate.
He hesitated. Was he ready for this conversation? For the honesty it would require?
He finished serving himself and picked up his fork, taking a bite of the pasta. It was good—the flavors balanced, the vegetables still crisp—but he could barely taste it.
Elena waited. Her plate sat in front of her, untouched.
“Eat,” Reed said.
“What’s wrong?” she pressed, ignoring his direction.
Finally, Reed put his fork down and met her gaze. “You could have communicated with me.”
“What?” Elena’s eyebrows rose. “No.”
“Yes,” Reed said, his voice gaining strength. “Just like you said you did with your mom, you could have found a way. You’re trained in covert communications. You?—”
“I didn’t want to get you killed, Reed,” Elena interrupted, her tone strong with an edge to it that he remembered from their old arguments.
Reed met her gaze steadily. “And I didn’t want to spend five years thinking the woman I loved was dead when she was actually just choosing not to contact me.”
Elena blinked rapidly, emotion flashing across her face. Then she stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. “I shouldn’t even be here. I could still get you killed.”
She turned toward the doorway, but Reed was faster. He pushed back from the table and caught her arm gently.
“Elena, wait?—”
“No,” she said, trying to pull away. “This was a mistake. I should go. I should find another way to stop Webb that doesn’t involve you or your family.”
“You’re not going anywhere.”
“Reed, let me go.” Elena’s voice was strained, and it was clear she was fighting tears.
“Not again,” Reed said, moving to stand directly in front of her. “I’m not letting you disappear on me again.”
“You don’t understand?—”
“Then make me understand. Talk to me, Elena. Actually talk to me instead of making decisions for both of us.”
Elena looked up at him, and Reed could see the war playing out in her dark eyes—fear against hope, protection against connection.
“I was trying to keep you safe,” she whispered.
