Chapter 311 - 0311: You’re In Love With Him

Chapter 311: Chapter 0311: You’re In Love With Him

Elena’s Point of View

I stared at Heather, my breath hitching in my chest. The air in the room suddenly felt thinner, more charged, like the moments right before a blackout when the world holds its breath. My hands trembled slightly as I gripped the edge of the couch, knuckles whitening against the fabric.

I tried to find my voice, but it lodged somewhere behind the lump of unshed tears and the sudden, frantic thudding of my heart that seemed to echo in my ears.

"Heather, please," I whispered, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to steady it. Each word felt like dragging stones across my throat. "Don’t do this. Don’t make this about... feelings. It’s about betrayal. It’s about the fact that he kept a secret that could have destroyed me."

The words tasted bitter on my tongue, each one a reminder of how thoroughly I’d been deceived. How foolish I’d been to trust again after everything. I had promised myself, after the divorce, that I would never again hand someone the power to wound me so completely. And yet here I was, undone by a man I’d known for mere months.

Heather didn’t back down. She leaned forward, her eyes searching mine with that annoying, younger-sister intuition that I usually admired but currently hated. That uncanny ability to see through every wall I built, no matter how high or how carefully constructed. Her expression held a mixture of compassion and determination that made my carefully constructed defenses waver.

"Elena, look at me," she said gently, her tone the same one she’d used when we were children and I’d scraped my knees. "Yes, there’s Jaxx. And yes, he lied. He’s absolutely wrong for that, and I am not sitting here telling you that you’re at fault. You’re not."

She reached across the space between us, her hand hovering near mine but not quite touching, respecting my need for distance in this moment. The gesture itself spoke volumes; she knew me well enough to understand when I needed space, and she had always known, even when we were girls, exactly how close she could come before I’d flinch away.

"Finding out he’s connected to the same man who disrespected you, who manipulated you for years... that’s a special kind of hell. It’s hurtful. It’s messy. It’s a Sinclair-sized disaster." She paused, taking a deep breath as if she were choosing her words carefully, weighing each one before releasing it into the charged air between us. I could see the concern etched in the fine lines around her eyes, the way she bit her lower lip, a habit she’d had since childhood when she was worried about me. Some things never changed, even when everything else did.

"But please... don’t hurt him just for what his family did to you," she continued, her voice softer now, almost pleading. "I know he has his own faults. I know he’s not a saint. God knows none of us are. But from everything you’ve told me, the way he looked out for you, the way he gave you the strength to finally walk away from that marriage when you were paralyzed by fear, he has been good to you. Really good." She paused, letting her words settle, giving me room to absorb them rather than rushing to fill the silence. "That has to count for something, doesn’t it?"

The memories she invoked flashed through my mind unbidden: Jaxx’s steady presence during my darkest moments, the way his hand had felt in mine when I’d needed an anchor, the quiet strength he’d offered when my own had failed me. The sound of his laugh when I’d finally made a joke again after weeks of silence.

The warmth of his arms when the nightmares had come, the way he never asked questions, only held me until the shaking stopped. I pushed them away, refusing to let them soften my resolve. I couldn’t afford to be weak now. Not again.

"He lied to my face, Heather," I snapped, the frustration bubbling back up like acid in my throat, burning away any softness those memories had threatened to create. "Every time he touched me, he knew whose brother he was. Every time he promised to protect me, he knew the blood in his veins was the same blood as the people I was running from.

Every kiss, every whispered word in the dark, all of it built on a foundation of lies." My voice cracked on the last word, betraying the hurt beneath my anger, exposing the raw wound I’d been trying so hard to hide.

"I know!" Heather matched my volume for a second before softening, her own eyes glistening with unshed tears that caught the lamplight. She hated seeing me in pain; I could read it in every line of her face, in the way her shoulders tensed, in the slight tremor of her chin. It had always been this way between us, her pain tangled up with mine since we were children sharing a bedroom and each other’s nightmares.

"Be angry. Scream. Break a few more glasses if you need to. Hell, I’ll help you," she said, softer now, her voice dropping to an urgent whisper that somehow felt louder than her shout. "But don’t stay angry for too long, Elena. Please. If you stay in this hole, you’re only punishing yourself. Call him. Talk to him. Give him a chance to explain, even if you hate every word that comes out of his mouth. Don’t let the Sinclairs win by letting their shadow ruin something that actually feels real for once. Something that makes you smile the way you used to before everything went to hell. The both of you need to figure this out together, not in separate rooms brooding like characters in a tragedy."

The silence that followed felt heavy, weighted with all the things I couldn’t bring myself to say. The admission that I missed him, achingly, in the quiet hours of the night when the apartment felt too large and too empty. The confession that I was terrified of being hurt again, that another betrayal might finally break something in me that could never be repaired. The truth that maybe, just maybe, she was right.

Part of me knew she was right. Part of me wanted to throw something at her for being right, for seeing through me so clearly, the way she always had, ever since we were children and she could tell when I was lying about being fine. And another part, the part I was desperately trying to ignore, to bury beneath layers of justified anger, just wanted to hear Jaxx’s voice, to let him explain, to find a way through this mess that didn’t leave me feeling so utterly alone.

I rubbed my face, feeling exhaustion settle deep in my bones, the kind of tiredness that no amount of sleep could fix because it lived somewhere deeper than muscle and bone. The anger still simmered beneath the surface, but something else was slowly crowding it out: a hollow, aching loneliness that threatened to swallow me whole. My fingers trembled slightly as I lowered them from my eyes.

"Does Dave know about this?" I asked, desperate to change the subject before the tears started again. The question came out rougher than I intended. "Because I don’t think I can handle another person’s opinion right now."

Heather let out a short, sharp laugh, breaking the heavy tension that had settled over us like a weighted blanket. The sound cut through the oppressive silence that had dominated my apartment for days. "No way. You know how Dave is." She shook her head, a wry smile playing at her lips, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of affection and exasperation. "If he found out a Sinclair, even a half-Sinclair, was anywhere near you, he’d storm over there and get into a fight with Jaxx. And let’s be honest, Jaxx looks like he could handle himself, but Dave would probably try to drive his car through the man’s front door."

Despite everything, a small, genuine laugh bubbled out of me, the first one in fourteen days. It felt lighter somehow, like a tiny crack of light breaking through a very dark room. The sound surprised me, almost foreign after so many days of silence and tears. My chest actually hurt from the unfamiliar sensation, a strange, almost pleasant ache after weeks of the other kind.

"The way he’s protective of us... one would think he’s our big brother," I said, warmth spreading through my chest at the thought of our younger sibling. The memory of Dave’s fierce loyalty made my eyes sting with fresh tears, though these felt different: softer, sweeter, the kind that came from love rather than grief. "He forgets I’m the one who changed his diapers."

"He loves you, Lena. We both do." Heather’s smile lingered, soft and genuine. She reached over and squeezed my hand, her palm warm against my cold fingers, and for a moment I let myself simply feel held, the way I used to when we were small and the world felt too big.

But then something shifted in her expression, the smile transformed into something else entirely: a sharp, knowing smirk that made my stomach do a slow flip. Her eyes took on that mischievous glint I’d learned to recognize over three decades of sisterhood, the same look she used to give me right before revealing she’d read my diary.

"And also... are you both dating? Like, officially?"

I gasped, my eyes widening as I shook my head frantically. Heat rushed to my cheeks, spreading down my neck in a traitorous blush I couldn’t control. "Of course not! Heather! We are... we were..." I stumbled over the words, trying to find the right ones. My mouth felt dry, my tongue thick and clumsy. "It was complicated. It wasn’t a ’dating’ thing. It was just... us."

Even as I said it, the words felt inadequate, too small to contain whatever Jaxx and I had been to each other. Had been. Past tense. The realization made my chest constrict painfully, a fresh wave of grief washing over the anger I’d been clinging to.

Heather’s mouth formed a perfect, silent ’O’ of feigned surprise, and that smirk deepened, spreading across her face like she had just discovered a secret I’d been keeping even from myself. She looked like she had just solved a puzzle I didn’t even know I was playing. Her expression reminded me of when we were kids and she’d figured out where Mom hid the Christmas presents, that same triumphant, insufferable delight.

I stared at her, my heart doing that annoying stutter again, the one that had become all too familiar these past two weeks. My pulse quickened, drumming an erratic rhythm against my throat. "What? What is that look for? Heather, stop it. What is it?"

She just shook her head, leaning back into the cushions with an air of satisfaction, looking way too smug for someone who had just walked into a disaster zone. Her fingers drummed against her knee in a rhythm that spoke of barely contained glee. "Nothing. Nothing at all."

"It’s not nothing! You’re doing that thing with your face!" I stood up again, restless energy propelling me forward as I paced a small circle around the coffee table. My hands gestured wildly, punctuating my words. The movement felt necessary, like if I stopped moving, I’d have to actually confront what she was implying. "There is no ’dating.’ He lied, remember? I’m mad at him! I’m furious!" My voice rose with each word, but even I could hear how hollow it sounded. How unconvincing, even to myself.

"Right. You’re so furious that you haven’t slept in two weeks," Heather said, her voice dripping with a gentle, sibling-brand of sarcasm that only she could pull off. She gestured toward me with one hand, taking in my rumpled appearance, the dark circles I knew were visible beneath my eyes, the clothes I’d worn two days in a row without noticing. "You’re so furious that you look like you’ve lost weight. You’re so furious that you called me over here just to talk about him for three hours."

The truth in her words stung, sharp and precise, each observation landing like a small, accurate blow. I wanted to argue, to defend myself, but what defense did I have? She was right. About all of it.

"I was talking about the situation!" The protest sounded weak even to my own ears.

"Sure you were," she said, her tone softening as she stood up to join me. She placed a hand on my shoulder, her touch gentle but firm, forcing me to stop pacing. The warmth of her palm seeped through my shirt, grounding me in a way I desperately needed. When I finally looked at her, she was watching me with a clarity that made my throat feel tight, made it hard to breathe. Her eyes held no judgment, only understanding and a tenderness that made me want to cry all over again.

"Elena, seeing his absence affecting you this much... seeing you this broken over a ’lie’ from a man you claim isn’t even your boyfriend... it only means one thing, sis."

My heart hammered against my ribs, so hard I was certain she could hear it. I knew what she was going to say, had known it deep down for days now, but hearing it out loud would make it real. Would make it something I couldn’t take back or deny. Something I’d have to face, finally, instead of circling endlessly in the safety of denial.

"What is it?" I whispered, terrified of the answer, terrified of the truth I’d been running from. My voice came out barely audible, fragile as glass. "What do you mean?"

Heather smiled, a real, warm smile that reached her eyes and crinkled the corners, the kind of smile that said she understood me better than I understood myself. The kind of smile that held no mockery, only love and acceptance. She brushed a strand of hair away from my face with infinite gentleness, the gesture so maternal it made my eyes burn.

"You like him," she said softly, each word deliberate and careful, as if she were handling something precious and breakable. "More than like him, actually. You’re in love with him."