by Mariah Dietz
I stare at Ella, waiting for her to look at me.
She doesn’t. She moves her attention back to the menu in front of her. “That’s so great,” she repeats. “Hayden, honey, did you want to get the cheese pizza again?”
“Yup.” Hayden plays with his straw, trying to capture an ice cube.
“You looked like you had a lot of fun tonight,” Ella says, watching him.
Hayden nods.
“You know you don’t have to choose just one position, right? You can still be the pitcher too, sometimes,” Ella continues.
Hayden lifts his shoulders, his focus still on catching an ice cube. “Coach says I have to decide.”
Ella smiles, holding back words. “Well, maybe you can alternate seasons for a while until you decide which you prefer.”
“You’re an awesome pitcher,” Rachel adds.
Hayden looks up at me. “What do you think, Coen?”
Finally, Ella looks to me. Taking a deep breath, I consider all the advice my parents have given me over the years and then look to Ella, recalling her interactions with Hayden. “I think you should do what you feel most passionate about.” I lift a shoulder. “It seemed like you really loved pitching, but if you’d rather play centerfield, I think you should do it. As long as you’re doing it for the right reason.”
We spend the rest of our time eating and discussing the pros and cons of every position in baseball, naming off great players and their impact to the sport. By the end, Hayden doesn’t share his future intentions, and none of us ask, but I sure as hell hope he chooses to pitch again.
“Drinks at my house?” Rachel asks once their leftovers have been packed into boxes.
“Why don’t we do it at mine so Hayden can get showered and go to bed?”
When Rachel extended the invite, she had looked between Ella and me, but Ella’s focus is on searching for her cell phone, making me uncertain if her invitation includes me.
“You coming?” Hayden asks, standing from his seat beside mine.
Ella and Rachel look to me, and I nod before thought and reason can catch up and remind me I should be going to bed too.
Piling into our cars, we make the quick drive to our neighborhood, all stopping in front of Ella’s.
“Okay, spill it!” Rachel says, leaning her elbows on the counter once Ella comes downstairs from tucking Hayden into bed.
Ella’s eyebrows knit with confusion, matching my expression. “Spill what?”
“The date! Outdoorsyman! How was it?”
Ella looks to me and then Rachel before she sits down across from us. “Oh,” she says. “It was … good.”
Rachel squeals. “Did you really just tell me your date was good?” She claps. “Ella, this is huge.”
I consider getting up and leaving because I don’t want to hear details about her date, or about her liking some guy, especially not after this week.
Ella eyes me, and I stare at her, imploring her to tell me it was nothing. That he is nothing.
She steps into the kitchen and grabs some glasses. “Don’t get too excited. It was just one date.”
“You usually come home from dates telling me you’re never going out again and talk of donating all your clothes and adopting twelve cats.”
“I never said I was going to adopt twelve cats.”
“I’m waiting for it, though,” Rachel says. “So, what happened?”
“Not a lot. We actually went to your favorite restaurant,” she says, dropping the glasses off in front of us and stopping. “I almost ate what Patrick brought because I was so hungry.” She throws her head back. “Remind me to never, ever let a guy order for me.”
“What was so bad? That restaurant is awesome.”
“Calamari and pork fat!”
“Pork fat?” Rachel asks.
“Pork belly, same difference.”
“Ella, you have the same taste in foods that your nine-year-old does! Pork belly is delicious.”
Ella draws her chin back, disbelief visible in her widened eyes. “If we ever go somewhere that serves it, you can consider my portion yours.”
Rachel laughs. “Did he ask more questions than he has been in your messages?”
My eyes volley to Ella, watching the two interact. “Not really,” Ella says. “I don’t think he doesn’t care, but honestly, I don’t know.”
“Time will tell,” Rachel says.
Ella shakes her head and grabs two pitchers from her fridge that she places in front of Rachel and me.
“I can’t actually stay,” Rachel says, pushing back. “I just wanted to hear about your date. I have to wake up for an early shipment tomorrow, and by early I mean it’s going to be dark outside when I get there.” She looks to me, and I see the silent question for me to leave with her.
“Have a good night,” I tell her and pour some water into a glass as further proof that I’m staying.
Ella follows Rachel to the front door, and when she returns, her face is guarded as she refuses to look at me.
“I fucked up,” I tell her. “This was a rough week.”
Ella doesn’t say anything, just watches me.
“Why won’t you say something?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“Anything. Tell me, ‘You’re right, Coen. You were a shitty friend this week, and you owe me.’ Tell me I should have replied to your messages. Tell me I should have called and checked in. Tell me how to make things right!”
“If you knew you were in the wrong, why should it take me telling you how to make things right? You had the choice, and you made it.”
“Because it’s complicated.”
“It always is,” she says bitterly.
“So you went on a date?” I don’t know why I’m asking again. Maybe I need to hear her tell me about it so I can move on, move forward. Maybe I need her to tell me about it so I can explain all the ways he isn’t right for her.
Maybe I’m fucked.
Ella looks at me with pursed lips, trying to read my intentions.
“What was good about the date?” I ask.
“He was nice.”
“You’re saying that like it’s all that matters.”
Her shoulders draw back. “It does matter. Call me crazy for wanting to date someone who’s kind.”
“Of course it matters!” I’m exasperated, wondering how this hellish week somehow got even worse while I was gone. “But there’s more to it than that. There’s a whole hell of a lot more to being in a relationship than the person being nice.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
“Do you?” I ask. “Because this guy sounded like he was boring and bossy and doesn’t have a clue about who you are and what you need.”
“What I need?” Her voice is high, and her eyes are slit, revealing how thinly controlled her anger currently is. “What do I need, Coen? Please, tell me.”
I stand from my seat and walk closer to where she’s standing with her arms folded over her chest.
“You need to stand up for yourself and be with someone who will help you do that, and do it for you when you won’t. You need someone who demands you acknowledge what you’re feeling when you stop yourself and look away, shoving whatever is bothering you even deeper. You need someone who is going to put you first. Your needs, your wants, your fears, all of it.”
Defiance lights her eyes, anger makes them round. “It was one date. How do you know he won’t do that?”
“How do you know he will?”
“I don’t. But I’ve learned a lot about people and continue learning, and I’ve realized that I’m constantly being surprised. I thought I had made a good friend. He seemed nice. He seemed funny. He seemed to care about me and Hayden and actually made an effort to be involved, and then suddenly he dropped off the face of the earth.”
My chest aches with guilt and years of harbored anger.
“The irony in this situation is I dated a guy who did the same fucking thing, and still I’m
talking to you, allowing you into my life though I know it’s probably a really bad decision.”
“This is not a bad decision. I am not a bad decision,” I argue.
“Until you get bored again.”
“It had nothing to do with getting bored. Out of everyone that messaged me, you were the only one.” I look between Ella’s eyes, gauging the fire burning in them, demanding she understand this point. “The only one who I replied to. Do I know my messages back to you weren’t worth shit? Yes, but you were the only one I even wanted to try to let in.”
“Where were you?” Her voice is calmer but no less intense.
“DC,” I tell her.
Ella glares at me, and I know it’s for not providing more information, but I’m managing to stay away from her by mere anger at this point.
“Why are you here, Coen? Why are you trying to be my friend?”
“I want to tell you about DC,” I say.
“Then tell me!” Her eyes flash. “I’m standing right here.” She spreads her arms out beside her.
My heart pounds in my chest, and I suck in a deep breath. “Can we just go to our penalty boxes and take a breather for a minute? I’m exhausted, and I don’t want to say something I’ll regret.”
“Like what?”
I stare at her, wondering if she knows. If my feelings for her are as blatant and obvious as they have grown, or if she’s challenging me to say something so she can continue to push me away.
She squares her shoulders when I take three measured steps that bring us toe-to-toe, and the flame in her eyes smothers me as it spreads like a wildfire, heating me, filling me with a fight-or-flight instinct that has me reaching up to grab a handful of her dark hair and lean forward until my lips steal her breath and give her my own.
Her tense muscles loosen as my hand travels higher in her hair, allowing me to pull her closer to me. My lips press harder against hers, seeking approval and comfort and desire that I direly need Ella to reciprocate.
Ella’s palms lie flat against my chest, applying no pressure, just like her lips. I reach up with my free hand, gently grasping the side of her face, and brush the pad of my thumb along her high cheekbone. Her skin is so soft and warm under my touch that I feel that flame inside of her burning me. A growl builds from my chest, and my fingers tighten and twist in her hair. “Ella.” Her name is a plea, though my voice sounds tortured.
She gasps, and though it’s quiet, I hear it all the way down to my soul. Her hands constrict, and her shoulders loosen, and Ella’s lips press more firmly against mine, matching my force, pushing my desire. Her bottom lip is driving me crazy with need as it rolls against my lips, perfectly soft and smooth and rounded so that I feel the pressure of her kiss everywhere.
Her tongue paves a path down the center of my bottom lip, driving me from blissful to pure crazy. I release her hair, and my hand cupping her face slides down her shoulder, over her breast. Her breath hitches, and she presses herself firmly against my palm. I pull back just enough to see that her blue eyes are open, watching me with a level of vulnerability present that I recognize before she always looks away. This time though, her chest rises and falls and her gaze remains level with mine as I brush my fingers against her nipple.
She shakes her head and takes a step back, and I nod and close the gap just as quickly as she created it.
“Rachel likes you,” she says.
I shake my head as the corners of my eyes grow tight, ready to protest and plead.
“She’s my best friend, and she likes you,” she says again. “I can’t do this to her.”
I know it’s not fair of me to make her choose, and in my mind, it isn’t a matter of choosing because there isn’t a decision to be made. I like Ella. Rachel has never been an option, not even a possibility.
I rest my forehead against hers, smelling the sweetness of her lip balm and her. It’s the scent I first became addicted to after I gave her a ride to the hospital and helped her find Hayden’s room. I had gone back to my truck and discovered the scent lingering there, tickling my senses and digging a trench that I began filling with thoughts and experiences of my time with her and Hayden.
She places her hands back on my chest, loosely holding onto my shirt. Knowing that neither of us wants to let go makes it impossible for me to leave and terrified to consider what may come when I do.
Ella’s breath tickles my skin, teasing and warm, and it makes me think of the way she gasped when I touched her, filling me with the desire to do it again. To see if the same loud breath will leave her lips.
“I’m your neighbor,” she reminds me as if it will in somehow change what I’m feeling.
“And I’m a firefighter.”
“I have a son.”
I cup the side of her face again before pulling back to look over her. “You think that makes me not like you?”
“When I first mentioned I had a kid, you…” She waves a hand over her face, grazing my fingers with hers. “You made this face…”
I shake my head. “Hayden is just icing on the cake.”
Ella’s hands release my shirt and wrap around my neck, and while she might regret this later tonight or tomorrow and likely next week, I don’t stop her from kissing me. Instead, I invite her to do so, meeting her halfway and grabbing her ass with both hands so I can lift her legs to wrap around my waist. She catches my bottom lip with her teeth, and my fingers grip her ass tighter, digging into her flesh.
She runs a hand up the back of my head and sighs my name. The sound is like a drug that blinds me to reason and sense. My mouth stretches over hers, pushing and plying, and I realize how much I’ve wanted her.
Needed her.
Ella’s fingers fall against my cheek, her palm warm against my jaw. She moves her hips higher, hitting me in the spot that tells her exactly how badly I want her, and she moans against my lips.
Fucking moans.
The sound is hotter than anything I was imagining and has me moving toward the living room that’s only a few feet away.
My elbow catches the door to the refrigerator, jostling us, but it doesn’t break our kiss, only makes me kiss her harder. Then I hit the back of the couch with my hands which remain cupped around Ella’s sweet ass, and it forces me back a few steps, making me open my eyes to ensure I don’t hit anything else.
Ella giggles through lips that are swollen and red from kissing me, and the sight and sound is so fucking beautiful I swear to work to make her this happy and playful every single day just so I can witness it.
I walk around the couch and place her on her back before I move to the bank of light switches. I don’t have any idea what controls which light, and I know from my own house that they have way too goddamn many, so I swipe at them all, darkening the room so that only a thin trail of light from the moon guides me back to Ella.
Even in the dark, her eyes are bright. I peel my shirt off and watch her eyes roam over me, starting at my face, where she looks me in the eye before moving her gaze slowly over me. She stands from the couch, and my heart stutters, unsure if she’s going to ask me to stop again because I don’t know how I’m going to.
Ella reaches forward and her fingers trace over my left pec. “I want to know your secrets,” she whispers.
I place my hand over hers, keeping it firmly against my chest. “I want to know yours.”
A small smile lifts her lips, but her eyes fall. “My body’s not … I mean, I had a baby…”
“Ella, stop,” I whisper. “You’re perfect.”
I kiss her before she can say anything else or fill her head with more doubt, and when she doesn’t kiss me back with the same amount of fervor I now know she’s capable of, I run my tongue along hers while moving my hand over her breast.
My insistence is met with another moan, and she reaches forward and slides my jeans and boxer briefs down and wraps her hands around me.
My head falls back as I release her name, and her grip tightens. I already knew my fate was seale
d. Knew it the moment I stood in my driveway and she answered my silent pleas to look over, but I reach for her shirt and pull it off and know without a single doubt that Ella Chapman will consume my thoughts for the rest of my life.
19
Ella
I trace the name on his chest again, watching my finger swirl with the tattooed letters.
“Did she break your heart?” My voice is only a whisper because the moment seems fragile as I lie between Coen’s legs, my chest against his stomach so I can rest my head on his chest and listen to his heartbeat.
My entire body feels too heavy and too weak to move, and Coen is so warm and such a comfort that I hate even the idea of doing so.
“She did,” Coen says. “But not in the way you’re thinking.”
I wait, hoping he’ll fill in the cryptic blanks without me having to ask.
“Carina was my sister,” he says, reaching for my hand and lacing our fingers together before pressing it against his tattoo of her name. “She was killed by a drunk driver six years ago last Tuesday.”
I sit up, balancing my weight on the arm I have leaning on the cushion beside him.
“Coen, I…”
“I know,” he says, shaking his head dismissively.
Guilt is seeping into my heart from every direction. How could I ever have compared Coen to Patrick? He is nothing like him.
“I’m so sorry.”
He traces the line of my cheekbone with his thumb. “Me too. She would have liked you.”
“I’m sure I would have liked her too,” I tell him.
He nods. “You would have. She was sweet like you, and never had a problem grabbing a situation by the balls and diving right in.” A sad smile crosses his lips, and my heart aches.
“I’m sorry I disappeared on you this week. I wanted to reach out to you, to talk to you about it, but I didn’t know how to…”
I nod, knowing exactly what he means. I know my situation with Patrick is vastly different, but also know how hard it is for me to discuss not only my failed relationship but also how difficult it’s been for me to move past it all.
