Not watched: safe. Not controlled: safe. Not punished: safe.
For the first time in years, I woke up wanting something and didn’t immediately wonder what it would cost me. I had touched myself without fear, guilt, or consequence.
Somewhere along the way, without even noticing, I’d stopped expecting punishment. The realization feels fragile, like a new piece of myself I’m terrified to break.
I look up at CJ standing a few feet away, watching me, and warmth spreads through my chest.
“Eli?” his voice is soft.
And then it clicks. I’m not just safe here in Campbell River. I’m safe withhim.
My chest tightens with a surge of hope.
“Yeah,” I whisper.
“You okay?” CJ frowns slightly, stepping back toward me.
A laugh slips out of me, the tension finally loosening around my ribs. “Yeah.” I smile, a real smile. “Safe.”
Saying it out loud feels like handing him something fragile, hoping he won’t drop it.
I know CJ sits outside my room at night sometimes. I once opened my door and found him asleep on the floor. I’m safe because he listens, he doesn’t judge, and he stays. Somewhere along the way, this man became the one place my mind stopped searching for danger.
“Eli.” CJ has a small smile now. “Yeah, Baby Boy. You’re safe. And Eli…”
I look up at him.
“This morning… holy fuck, baby. It was incredible.”
“Yeah?” I chuckle.
“Yeah.” He kisses my forehead, takes my hand, and we head off down the street.
The touch lingers, my chest warming in a way that scares me with how much I want more.
We arrive at the café and place our order. CJ gets straight black coffee, no sugar: predictable, almost stereotypical. I order a caramel Macchiato with extra cream and extra caramel sauce. What? I like sweet things.
We wait at the side while the baristas move through the morning rush. CJ ordered muffins too, so we pick at them while we wait. He watches me when he thinks I’m not looking. I catch him doing it constantly. Being seen like this feels new, unsettling, and strangely comforting.
He isn’t like Adrian. Adrian watched to control everything around him. CJ watches because he cares, because he checks, because he wants to know I’m okay. There’s a world of difference.
The barista calls our names. We grab our drinks and head toward the office.
The waterfront is busy with people rushing to work, fog hanging low over everything and flattening the world into grey. This has become our routine: coffee, work, gym, home, recovery. One day at a time.
A few months ago, routine would’ve terrified me. Routine meant predictability, and predictability meant control. But now, the ordinary feels like another brick laid into something solid I’m rebuilding under myself. Predictability doesn’t feel like a trap anymore; it feels like a foundation.
Working with CJ, Deck, and Finn helps. They make me feel useful again. I’m no longer a guest; I’m part of something. Finn saves me a seat every day at lunch. Deck grunts a greeting across the office.
It’s family. My family.
* * *
By late afternoon, I’m exhausted. The day has run long, and we should’ve left an hour ago, but CJ is stuck on a conference call with a client in Florida. PalMerc Security has offices across Canada, America, and contracts overseas, too. Former SpecialForces operators move through the building almost daily, drifting in and out of meetings like it’s nothing.
I haven’t met everyone yet, but I’ve learned enough to know CJ and Deck weren’t ordinary soldiers. Whatever they did before PalMerc Security, it wasn’t small.
And despite all that, CJ still remembers my extra caramel sauce.
