Finding Ourselves.

chapter 4

The morning sun filtered through the uncurtained window, waking Elaine right at seven o'clock. The room was bright, washed in early golden light. Sitting up with a quiet breath, she stretched her arms overhead and moved through a series of basic yoga poses to loosen her tight muscles and clear the lingering weight of the night's nightmares.

​She showered, completed her morning routine, and packed a small suitcase. She intentionally left most of her belongings behind in her closet—this farmhouse was her home, these were her people, and she knew in her heart she would be back.

​As she zipped her bag, her mind drifted back over everything that had transpired: her sister Eleanor being alive in Los Angeles, the raw grief of their shared past, and Hayes. The moment his sharp, intense face flashed across her mind, a hot flush crept up her neck, making her cheeks burn as she recalled the embarrassing, breathless thoughts she had harbored about him the night before.

​Quickly pulling herself together, Elaine dressed in a knee-length, flowy purple dress paired with simple ballet flats. She grabbed the handle of her suitcase and dragged it down the hallway toward the kitchen.

​The dining room was already full, the family seated around the table for breakfast.

​Well... almost everybody.

​Before she could even look up, a sudden shiver raced down Elaine's spine, making the fine hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She cleared her throat softly and turned toward the doorway.

​Sure enough, Hayes was leaning against the frame, his piercing green eyes locked directly onto her. For a split second, he looked completely dazed, as if her appearance in the soft morning light had rendered him speechless. Recovering his composure, he offered a low, formal greeting.

​Breakfast was a quiet, solemn affair. The atmosphere hung heavy with unspoken sorrow; Mama Vera, Papa John, and her step-sisters knew what was coming next. Elaine was leaving. Though none of them were ready to let her go, they understood she had to find her sister and unearth the truth of her past.

​After the meal, Elaine helped Mama Vera and her sisters clear the table and wash the dishes. They moved with deliberate slowness, dragging out every second to postpone the inevitable goodbye.

​"I'm not leaving forever," Elaine promised softly, wrapping her arms around Mama Vera as tears began to spill. "This is my home too. You are my family, and I will always come back to check on you. I'm never letting you go."

​Mama Vera sobbed, holding her tight, while her sisters threw their arms around them both. Papa John stepped in, pulling all four of them into a warm, massive embrace to comfort them.

​Outside, Hayes and Liam stood waiting by the lead SUV. Elaine's suitcase was already stowed in the trunk. After one final, tearful wave to the farm, Elaine climbed into the backseat alongside Hayes and Liam. The luxury SUV rolled slowly down the gravel driveway, kicking up a quiet cloud of dust as the farmhouse faded in the rearview mirror.

​Los Angeles, California

​Three thousand miles away, the neon sign of The Velvet Anchor hummed softly in the mid-day haze.

​The bar was neither a run-down dive nor a high-end luxury lounge; it was a comfortable, medium-tier city bar tucked into a busy L.A. street. Managed by Eleanor's adopted mother—who spent most of her time in the back office handling finances—and enforced by her adoptive brother, the venue was Eleanor’s domain. She ran the floor, kept the staff organized, and ensured operations ran smoothly.

​At twenty-four, her adoptive brother, Jeremiah, was a rugged, fiercely protective force. He was the heavy muscle that kept trouble far away from his family.

​The afternoon shift was usually quiet, but today, a sudden rise in angry voices echoed from the far corner of the floor. Eleanor paused, her sharp gaze snapping toward a booth where seven men were causing a scene. They looked like low-level, broke mobsters—the kind of ugly, rowdy trouble that came in purely to pick fights. One of them was leaning over a young waitress, aggressively harassing her.

​Eleanor stepped in immediately, dismissing the shaken waitress with a calm nod.

​"Is there a problem here, gentlemen?" Eleanor asked, her posture cool and unbothered. "How can I compensate you so we can keep things peaceful?"

​The ringleader sneered, looking her up and down with a sleazy grin. "Ha! What can a sweet thing like you do for me, huh? You know how you can compensate me? Sit right down here and knock back twenty shots with me—on the house."

​Eleanor didn't flinch. "I don't drink. And considering you haven't paid for the drinks already on your tab—and clearly don't intend to—I'm going to ask you to leave."

​"We're not paying a dime, and we're not f*****g leaving," the man barked, slamming his fist onto the table so hard the glasses rattled. He shoved his chair back violently, creating a loud scene.

​Before the situation could escalate further, the heavy oak front door swung open.

​Thud. Thud. Thud.

​The rhythmic, heavy step of steel-toed boots echoed through the sudden silence of the bar. Swinging casually in a large, calloused hand was a solid wooden baseball bat.

​The air in the room shifted instantly. Heavy. Dangerous.

​Jeremiah walked in slowly, his rugged frame blocking the light from the doorway as he brought the bat to a rest against his shoulder. His dark eyes scanned the room before settling on the table of mobsters.

​"What the hell is going on here?" Jeremiah asked, his voice low, gravelly, and deadly calm.

​The ringleader, eager to save face in front of his crew, puffed out his chest and grabbed a heavy wooden chair. "Who the f**k are you?!" he snarled, raising the chair to swing it. "How dare you interfere in my—"

​CRACK.

​Jeremiah didn't even blink. He whipped the baseball bat forward with terrifying speed, planting it squarely into the mobster's stomach.

​The air exploded out of the man's lungs with a sickening gasp. He doubled over instantly, collapsing onto the floor as the chair fell uselessly over his back.

​Silence gripped the bar. The rest of his crew turned pale, quickly dragging their wheezing boss to his feet. Dropping a crumpled five-dollar bill onto the sticky table in a panic, they practically sprinted out the door.

​Eleanor let out a low, amused chuckle, shaking her head as she looked at her brother. "I didn't even have to raise my voice before you came in here beating people up."

​Jeremiah offered a slight, crooked grin, resting the bat against his side. "Not my fault. You know I can't let some broke thugs harass my princess."

​Eleanor laughed softly, stepping over to clear the scattered glasses from the table. Before she could pick up the second glass, one of the waitresses rushed over, gently pulling the tray from her hands.

​"No, Miss Eleanor, please! I've got it," the girl insisted warmly. "Thank you so much for stepping in for me."

​"It's no problem at all," Eleanor replied with a gentle smile.

​Leaving the staff to tidy up the booth, Eleanor turned and walked toward the back office alongside Jeremiah, unaware that three black SUVs were already speeding across the state line, carrying her twin sister—and the shadows of their shared past—straight to her doorstep.