My spine immediately straightens. “You left her there alone?”
Wyatt levels his gaze on mine. “Yes, Cole. I left her home alone, with her daughter. She’s been doing this by herself for long enough, she knows how to take care of herself.”
“But what about Ja–”
Wyatt immediately cuts me off. “He’s not coming back, Cole. And even if he did, she would call the police or call me.” He lets out a breath. “She’s fine.”
I let out a ragged breath, clutching the beer bottle in one hand and running my other through my hair. “I just–” My chest deflates. “I know I can’t help her, but I want to. I want to take all of this away from her.”
“I get it,” Wyatt says, his voice low and understanding. “You have to let her do this alone. It's all out of your control right now.” He pauses, his hand hand lifting to squeeze my shoulder. “Ella is strong and independent and believe it or not, she doesn’t need you.”
“I know she doesn’t,” I agree, my voice gruff. “I hate this helpless feeling.”
“Well, get over it,” Wyatt says, his hand dropping from shoulder. “All of this will work out in the end, you just have to trust her. Let her get this all straightened out and let her come back to you.”
A harsh laugh rumbles in my chest. “How can you be so sure that that will even happen?”
“Because she loves you, Cole.” He speaks the words as if it's a fact. “And even though this is my sister we’re talking about, a good guy like you deserves to get their happily ever after.” The corners of his mouth twitch. “And you’re the best person for her.”
His words play over in my head and I attempt to hang on to every syllable, letting it seep into the fibers of my heart. I hope he's right because I can't imagine a life without her and Chloe. And I don't want to.
I can't imagine a future that doesn't revolve around my girls.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
ELLA
Exhaustion settles in my bones as I take my paint brush and sweep the bristles across the canvas once more. It's already the middle of the afternoon and Chloe went down for her nap an hour ago. This is how I've been spending my time these last few weeks, letting the emotions pour from me, mixing with the oil paints. Life has been a bit of an overwhelming, emotional whirlwind since I found Jacob sitting in my kitchen.
There’s a soft knock on the door and I divert my gaze, lowering my paintbrush. “Come in.”
The door opens slowly, Wyatt stepping into my space. “Hey,” he says softly, walking over to stand next to my easel. “Sorry to interrupt. I just finished installing the cameras and wanted to show them to you.”
After Jacob’s unexpected drop by, my brother, along with Iris and Remi, decided that I needed to get a doorbell cam installed, along with some other cameras around the exterior of the house.
“Of course,” I say, climbing to my feet. I look down at my paint laden hands as we slip out of the room and head down the hall. My feet carry me to the kitchen sink and I run the warm water over my hands as my brother walks over with my phone.
He already knows my passcode and unlocks it, opening the app he downloaded. “I put a camera by each door and installed the doorbell camera. All three are linked to this app,” he explains as he shows it to me.
I work a lather with soap in my hands, scrubbing my fingertips, listening to him explain how to operate them. Wyatt goes through the entire thing and I rinse and dry my hands.
“Thank you for doing that,” I say, a tense smile on my face. “I never would have thought I would need this, but here we are.”
“Everyone only wants you to be safe, El,” he tells me, his voice soft. “I’m not here and it doesn’t make me feel great all the time. I don’t even want to think about what may have happened if Cole weren’t here with you.”
Cole.
The sound of his name alone sends an electrical current through my veins.
“Yeah, me too,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’m glad he was here–that I didn’t have to face Jacob alone.”
“You know, sometimes it’s okay to let other people in, right?” Wyatt says, his voice quiet. “I know you don’t want to get hurt again. You’re the strongest person I know, but letting someone in, letting someone help you… it doesn’t make you weak.”
I stare at him for a beat, swallowing over the lump lodged in my throat. “But it can make me dependent.”
“It doesn’t have to,” he says. “You can depend on someone, without being dependent on them.”
I let out a breath, a heaviness tightening around my chest. “Maybe.”
