Dear Elliot

by P. Stormcrow

  “We can stop, Em. Any time.”

  Perhaps those were the exact words she needed to hear. She placed both hands on his stomach and maneuvered to line his cock up to her pussy

  “More,” she whispered and sank onto his hard shaft, inch by inch.

  Emma rode him, using her legs to bounce herself on top of him. But the position proved tiring and she fell forward with hands on his shoulders. She rolled her hips over and over instead, moans spilling from her lips while her hair fell like a curtain around them. She panted with short breaths as she drove herself closer and closer to orgasm, her face scrunching up from the effort.

  Still Elliot lay there, though now the pained expression on his face made it obvious how hard it was for him to not move, how much focus he was spending toward willing his body to stay still. The enormity of what he was doing hit her just seconds before her orgasm did.

  She sat up and arched her back as she came, writhing and moaning his name on top of him as white light filled her vision and pleasure raced across her body. She collapsed onto Elliot, gasping for breath, and waited for the euphoria to fade.

  Then it hit her. She propped herself up on his chest. “You haven’t come.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Dear Elliot,

  How much have you given me? How can I ever return the favor? Balance the ledger?

  I’m not sure I can.

  With love,

  Emma

  “It’s okay,” Elliot coaxed and stroked her hair. “This isn’t about me. You take what you need, Em.” Never mind that all he wanted to do was take her in his arms, flip her onto the bed and fuck her silly. But he understood Emma didn’t need that right now

  “No. Tell me,” Emma insisted and flexed around his cock, eliciting a groan from him. His cock had grown so hard inside her that it was almost painful.

  “I need to be on top.” He winced and tried to convince himself that he could jerk off in the shower later.

  “Oh.” Fear flashed across her face as her eyes grew distant. The look scared him more than anything else.

  “Emma, you don’t have to. I never want you to fear me.” He reached up and cupped her cheek with one hand.

  She turned to nuzzle his palm, but hesitation still warred with determination on her face as she rose from him. She rolled to her back and though her body trembled, she stared at him with a fierceness he didn’t expect. “Fuck me.”

  “Em—”

  “Elliot. Fuck. Me.”

  The vehemence convinced him enough to roll over. When this time he hovered over her, he saw her tense and vowed he would make her assailants pay. No number of punches he had landed on them would ever be enough. No, they would pay, over and over again.

  “Elliot.” Emma breathed out his name like a sigh.

  “I will go slow. You tell me to stop any time and I will, okay?”

  Emma nodded once.

  He entered her, just as agonizingly slow as she had been sinking on to him. It took all the control he had ever learned in his life not to just ram in, but when he bottomed out at last, he let out a long groan of relief. She was wet still from her last climax. Warm and tight too. His mind spun.

  “Elliot?”

  He refocused on her, checking for signs of distress.

  Instead, Emma spoke again through her clenched jaw. “Move.”

  A knot within him unwound, and he laughed as he pulled out and thrust the first time. No panic. No more fear. He lowered his head and wiped away every touch from those bastards with his own kisses. Sensitive as she was still from her first orgasm, it didn’t take long before she clutched at his back, digging in her nails.

  The flash of pain combined with her lips parted in ecstasy was all it took. With one long stroke and a guttural groan, he came, emptying himself once more within her into the condom.

  Elliot didn’t spend long above her but withdrew. “I’ll be right back.” He rushed to the washroom to clean up and returned with a warm, wet cloth for her.

  When he approached the bed again, Emma remained still, staring at the ceiling. Afraid of what he would find, he inched closer and her gaze refocused on his face.

  “Are you okay?”

  She smiled, but the bittersweetness of it almost broke his heart. “Yeah, I will be, I think. It just takes time.”

  “May I?” he asked and held up a cloth.

  At her nod and slight parting of her legs, he moved in and wiped her down with gentle hands. “I think you are very brave…and very strong. I am not sure I would have the same strength.”

  The smile on Emma’s lips grew a little wider. “I can’t let them win.”

  “See? That’s what I mean.” He tossed the towel to the bedside table.

  “Are you proud of me?”

  “Of course, Emma.” He leaned forward to kiss her forehead. “Of course, I am. You are an amazing person.” He wanted to turn his back on her, to disengage so she didn’t fall for him, but he couldn’t, not when she laid there so vulnerable in his bed.

  “Can I stay here tonight?”

  The need to protect fought for dominance with his self-preservation instincts until, at last, the former won. “Yeah.” He climbed into the bed as she shuffled over to make room for him.

  He reached across to turn off the light and laid back down. After a few seconds, Emma cuddled up to him and he, on instinct, pulled her closer. As he lay there, holding on to her, his mind wandered and soon spun out an impossible tale.

  Him and Emma dating for real.

  Getting married.

  Emma pregnant.

  Fantasy bled into dreams turned into a nightmare as he fell asleep.

  Emma laying on the hospital bed giving birth.

  The baby too quiet.

  Emma too still.

  Blood. Blood.

  He startled awake, bolting up, and found himself drenched in a cold sweat.

  “Elliot?” Emma’s voice pierced the darkness and a moment later, light flooded the room as she turned the lamp on.

  He turned to stare at her, but all he could see was her pale unresponsive face superimposing her real one. This wasn’t right. None of this was right. “You…you need to go.”

  He shot up from the bed and grabbed her clothing, shoving it into her arms as she followed him, confusion marring her beautiful face—a face he could not stand to look at right now for fear of his dream coming true.

  Emma tried to talk, to ask him a question. He only shook his head and all but pushed her out of his room. When Emma spun around just outside his door, hurt plain in her eyes, he stammered a “sorry” then closed the door.

  How could I have been so stupid? How could I have let her get so close? He slumped against the door and slid down until he sat with his head in his hands.

  What have I done?

  What the fuck just happened?

  Emma refused to call it the walk of shame, but with her cheeks flaming red, she tiptoed downstairs to her own room lest she woke her mom.

  How could he be so tender and loving one minute and so callous in another?

  Emma lay down on her own bed, but sleep was a long way coming as her mind struggled to comprehend why he would throw her out.

  Something had spooked him.

  She couldn’t describe it any other way. He had looked at her with such fear, such horror that it couldn’t have been anything she had done. Little pieces fell into place. He battled some inner demons and every time he took a step forward, something would trigger him and set him back again.

  She needed to figure out what those triggers were and what had happened?

  Unable to sleep, she did the next best thing. Emma rose and stalked to her bookshelves, pulling out every single E.A. Jones she owned—which, in truth, was all of them. She resettled on the bed with the precarious stack. This time, she read for a different reason. This time, she combed through the stories for details, for hints of anything that would reflect his life, for writers often put something of themselves into the stories.


  Nothing. Not even a gap in publishing. But judging from Elliot’s latest manuscripts, he wrote far in advance. So now what?

  The deep black of the night lightened and outside, small chickadees chirped with a cheer that she did not feel. With a sigh of resignation, she put the books away and stretched.

  It looked like her mom was still asleep, though it was not surprising, given how fatigued she had been from the chemo treatments. Emma busied herself with pulling out food to defrost for dinner and with making breakfast. As long as she kept working, kept worrying at the problem with Elliot himself, the events of that night stayed away. And she was fine by that.

  “Good morning, Emma.” She spun to see her mom walking into the kitchen.

  Walking was an exaggeration. Anna used the wall for support, but every movement inspired a fresh bout of hurt clear on her face.

  “What’s wrong?” Emma rushed over to help her mom to the closest chair.

  “Ach, I’m fine. Just sore from the treatments,” Anna protested.

  But Emma narrowed her eyes. “You need to tell the doctor about the pain.” Worry hammered at her chest, but she refused to show any of it. She wasn’t Elliot. She wouldn’t let her fears rule her.

  “I will. I will. Mm, is that coffee?”

  Emma glared at her mother before she sighed and relented. “I’ll pour you a cup.”

  It didn’t take long for Emma to pour a mug for her mother and another for herself, two creams and two sugars for both. Double doubles. She sat down and studied Anna. Chemo had been even harder on her this round. More weight loss. More hair loss.

  “I’m fine, Emma.” Anna waved away her unvoiced concerns and took a sip of her coffee before leaning forward. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m fine, Mom.”

  “You know, if you need to talk things out, I’m here. Or if you prefer, therapy may help with dealing with—”

  “I’m fine, Mom,” Emma reiterated. When her mom gave her a frown, she relented. “I promise if I don’t feel fine, I’ll go use the counseling service at school, okay?”

  Anna held up her hand with her last finger extended. “Pinkie swear?”

  Emma laughed. They hadn’t done that since she was ten. “Pinkie swear.” She hooked her own last digit with her mom’s.

  Her phone buzzed with a notification and Emma picked it up, curious. Holly.

  Hey, I made you food, but I can’t step away. Can you come pick up? Do you feel up for a trip?

  Sure. What is it? Emma typed back, curious.

  Banana bread. And some cookies. I think I made too many.

  Emma grinned at the last comment. Her gut told her Holly didn’t bake for her alone this time. She typed back.

  So, am I getting leftovers from a batch you made for Corey?

  There was a much longer pause this time before a reply came back.

  No. I baked for both of you. Now shut up or you’re not getting any.

  Emma huffed when laughter threatened to spill out. She looked up at Anna to see her peering at her phone.

  “Holly baked stuff and told me to come over to pick it up.”

  “Oh?” Anna raised an eyebrow.

  “Yeah, though this time, I think we have to share with Corey.”

  “Corey? That older McMaster boy a few doors down?” Anna asked, her pitch a little higher with surprise. “Oh Emma, what gossip have I missed?”

  Emma laughed as she rose from the table. “I’ll tell you when I get back?”

  Anna sighed, exaggerating the sound. “Oh, very well. I shall wait here patiently then.”

  “Be back soon, Mom.” Emma swung by the table and headed to her room to change into her day clothes before she made her way to the garage.

  Emma slipped into the Beetle and started the car.

  Or tried to. The Beetle let out a little ratchet then a groan before the sound died.

  “Seriously?” She slapped the steering wheel with both hands and groaned. Over time, the car had needed more and more maintenance, but Emma didn’t relish the thought of working on it today.

  The small door leading into the garage opened and closed again. Emma caught the movement in her rearview mirror and scrambled out of the car. Elliot, clad in his leather jacket and riding boots, ignored her though and made a beeline straight for his bike.

  “Hey!” Emma got no response as he grabbed his helmet.

  Enough was enough.

  Emma circled around and planted herself in front of the bike. It had the desired effect as Elliot halted his motion.

  “Where are you going?” Emma demanded.

  He glanced from one side to another before he settled on a spot just over her shoulder. “Don’t know yet.”

  She would not fight with him now about how he’d thrown her out—or how he hadn’t been out of his room all morning. Emma sucked in a breath. “My car’s not working. Can you go to Holly’s and pick up some stuff for me?” She hated asking him, but it was the fastest way. Then she could stay and keep an eye on her mom too.

  Elliot didn’t answer.

  Emma sighed. “It’s fresh baking.”

  His gaze snapped back to hers and he tensed before he slumped his shoulders. “Give me her address.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Dear Elliot,

  Sometimes when you try to put back the jagged pieces of a thing that broke long ago, they don’t quite fit quite the same. The cracks are still there, and they would always be there. So how do you move on from that except to discard the damn thing altogether?

  Love,

  Emma

  The words rang in his head all over again as soon as he saw Emma standing there, unapologetically fierce, demanding to be seen, to be heard. He thought she would confront him about the previous night. Instead, she sent him off like an errand boy.

  It could be worse.

  Elliot walked up the three steps to one of the older mid-rises along English Bay. The breeze from the ocean whipped at his hair, but he inhaled the fresh air and reveled in the faint saltiness. It had been a long time since he had been down this way, and he didn’t realize how much he missed it.

  He turned and punched the number on the keypad next to the door, a thing much newer than the building itself. A minute later, a buzzing filled the air.

  “Come on up.”

  Elliot opened the door then took the elevator to the third floor.

  Holly had already opened the door as Elliot walked down the hall and she poked her head out. “Oh! Hi, Elliot. Where’s Emma?”

  “Her car broke down, so she sent me,” he explained. But just as Holly was about to reply, a baby’s scream pierced the air.

  Elliot froze.

  “Oh, sorry. My sister has a doctor appointment and asked me to babysit. I swear he was sleeping a second ago. Hold on.”

  A few seconds later, the baby stopped crying, but the one in his head wailed.

  Why was the baby not crying?

  ‘I’m so sorry, Mr. Carmichael.’ A nurse brought a bundle of blankets over to him. ‘Would you like to hold her before…?’

  He didn’t want to. He wanted to. He held his arms out, and she placed the blankets in his arms. There she was, nestled in them. Perfection. But she was so cold…and so still.

  “Elliot?” Holly returned, a small baby in one arm, a bag in the other.

  His palms grew sweaty and his breathing hitched. But he forced air into his lungs and took the bag from her.

  “Say hi to Uncle Elliot.” Holly maneuvered the baby to show him Elliot. So small. He didn’t even have neck support yet.

  Elliot’s heart drummed against his chest as if it were about to burst. An anxiety attack. He told himself that, but it didn’t help. His collar grew too tight, and he tugged at it, struggling to not be too obvious.

  “You okay?” Holly continued to rock the baby

  “I’m fine. Bye.” Elliot half stumbled out of there while Holly shouted his name from behind. But he ignored it and waited until he turned the cor
ner before he doubled over.

  Elliot studied the carpet and focused on his breathing. In. Out. In. Out. He studied his hands and noticed they trembled. No, he was okay. It had happened long ago. Illusions. In. Out. In. Out. Happy place. Happy place.

  That first night with Emma.

  “Shit.” Elliot slammed his fist against the wall.

  The dull throb of his hand grounded him better than any mental exercises he’d run through. Feeling a little more stable, he made his way back down and out of the building to his bike.

  Should he be riding?

  He checked himself. The sweat was drying off his face. His hands no longer shook. He should be okay.

  Elliot rode home.

  Emma stood, waiting for him in the garage, her arms wrapped around herself as if it would ward off the cold, except the temperature remained pleasant.

  He turned off the bike, used his heel to push the kickstand into position and got off. At least she had waited until this long before she approached.

  “Are you okay? Why did you ride home? You should have called a cab. Holly phoned and said you looked like you were about to faint. Shit. You’re so pale.”

  “Emma.”

  “If you weren’t feeling well, why didn’t you tell me? You could have said no.”

  “Emma.”

  “Don’t ‘Emma’ me.” She stepped closer and grabbed a hold of his face in both her hands, pulling him closer. “What the hell happened?”

  The concern, the worry, the need to understand all surfaces in those cornflower blues. “I…” How should he explain? How could he not? Maybe she would understand then.

  “Can we sit down somewhere?” Elliot said at last, his voice hoarse.

  Emma tilted her head to one side, then took his hand. “Yeah. I know a place.”

  He let her lead while he focused on his breathing, preparing for just how bad the telling would be. His parents had pushed him to see a therapist back home, and it had taken him five sessions and multiple panic attacks before he’d gotten through the entire story.

  “Sit.”