Shelter

by Stephanie Fournet

  I sighed. If she was worried, nothing would satisfy her until we talked. “Fine.” My nose was so stopped up, the word sounded like a goose honk.

  I heard the knob turn, and she opened the door just enough to poke her head through. When she saw me, her cobalt eyes widened in concern. “Oh, honey—“

  “Stop,” I honked, turning my palm out to her. “Or go away.”

  “Hmmph,” Alberta huffed, raising a sassy brow at me. “I guess you don’t want this hot chocolate then.”

  I sat up with head-splitting speed. The only thing I wanted was hot chocolate. “Ah!” I pressed my thumbs into the hollows under each eyebrow and willed my skull and brain to stop fighting for space. “Not so fast. Hot chocolate. Please.”

  Wearing a self-satisfied smirk, Alberta pushed the door open with one and carried the mug of hot chocolate — that holiest of Holy Grails — with the other.

  I took it from her, and the rich whiff of cocoa reached my nostrils with its promise of dopamine and caffeine. Two things I desperately needed at the moment. Mini-marshmallows bobbed over the steaming surface, and I could tell just by the color that Alberta had made it on the stove with real cocoa powder, not in the microwave with a Swiss Miss pouch.

  The loving gesture made me swallow hard. “Thank you,” I whispered and then blew over the mug.

  Alberta smiled gently and lifted her shoulder with a shrug. Then she reached into the front pocket of her scrubs. “Here.” She pulled out two red and white pills. “Tylenol helps at times like this, remember?”

  I remembered the article I’d read to her recently about Tylenol helping to soothe a broken heart.

  I narrowed my eyes in a glower at her. “I said we’re not talking about it.”

  Her look was all innocence. “You have a headache, don’t you?”

  Defeated, I reached out my open palm. She dropped the pills into my hand. I had a broken heart. And a headache. Who was I to argue? Any port in a storm. I popped the capsules into my mouth and chased them with a sip of cocoa.

  “Mmm,” I moaned.

  Alberta took the sound as an invitation to sit on the foot of my bed. “Want to hear about my day?” she asked brightly.

  In spite of myself, I grinned. Since Alberta truly hated her job, I knew she was offering me a little misery of her own to keep me company.

  “Always.”

  “I won the Triple Crown today,” Alberta bemoaned.

  “Oh, God.” I sat up straighter, now both disgusted and a little intrigued. The Triple Crown was the distinction Alberta gave to any day she had to deal with three different types of body fluids at school. “I hesitate to ask, but which three?”

  Smiling with mock triumph, Alberta ticked them off on her fingers. “Snot, puke, and poo.”

  My eyebrows shot up. “Poo?” I glanced down at my mug with a grimace. “And you made me hot chocolate? Before taking a shower?”

  Alberta rolled her eyes. “Oh, I showered. I came home at lunch. See?” She gestured to her scrubs, which were lavender and made her eyes sparkle. “This morning, I was wearing periwinkle. The periwinkle ones are now in the dumpster, thank you very much.”

  “Aww.”

  “I know. But I could never wear them again after John-Carl Hollier actually grabbed the hem of my shirt with his shit-streaked hand after going number two,” she said, her face pinched in disgust. “I thought I was going to have to set myself on fire.”

  “Oh, Bertie!” I groaned and laughed. Alberta pulled a face, and I laughed harder.

  “I swear, E., if we can’t open our own place in two years, I’m going to do something drastic.”

  “Like what?” I said, eager to keep her talking.

  She turned her hands up. “Sell insurance? Work at the DMV? I don’t know. Anything has to be better than this.”

  I finished my hot chocolate as she told me about her other misadventures — being sneezed on and narrowly missing the splash zone of a sick kid.

  After I’d heard every horrific detail, Bertie stood up from my bed and stretched. “Want Chinese delivery tonight?”

  “God, yes.” I sighed. My head felt better, and my heart was definitely still broken, but I’d missed lunch in the search for Ava, and a night of lo mein noodles, egg rolls, and Will & Grace was about as much as I could hope for.

  “The usual?” she asked.

  “The usual.”

  “Got it. I’ll call it in if you’ll keep an ear out for the delivery guy. I think I need a second shower.”

  I forced myself to stand. “Yeah. Sure thing.”

  “Great.” Alberta moved to my door and looked me over one more time, her eyes soft with compassion. “I have a feeling it’s going to be all r—“

  “Not talking about it,” I blurted, reverting to five-year-old me as I pressed my hands over my ears.

  Alberta just gave me a withering look — but one that still told me she loved me — and slipped into the hallway.

  I stood alone in my room. My muscles felt stiff and my skin raw, as if I were coming down with the flu. But I knew it wasn’t the flu. It was a case of CWW. Cole Whitehurst Withdrawal. And I might just have it for life.

  I eyed my bed with a longing glance, but then I forced myself to move to my dresser and pull out some pajamas. Pajamas, Chinese, and a dose of “Just Jack” would help. Besides, I had a job to do. Listen for the delivery guy. I could do that.

  I could stay up all night if I wanted. And I looked forward to going to work in the morning. Surely, after leaving early, I could count on a backlog of orders to take care of. I’d be too busy to think about anything.

  Too busy to feel anything, either, if I were lucky.

  And then I’d have twenty-four hours under my belt. I thought of Ava and her struggle with sobriety. Getting Cole out of my system had to be easier than heroin, right?

  Five minutes later, I padded into the living room in my old fuzzy duck slippers and my softest pair of flouncy sleep shorts and matching tank. I grabbed the green fleece blanket off the back of the couch and was about to flop down and drape it over me when I heard a creak outside our front door.

  It was a little early for the Dynasty delivery guy, but I went to the door and peeked through the peephole just to be sure.

  Our apartment sat on the second floor, and the black wrought iron stairs ended in the tiniest of balconies. One folding lawn chair and couple of teacup sized succulents took up most of the space to the right of the front door. But from what I could see, the landing and the stairs were empty. The sound of someone ascending the metal stairs usually could be heard throughout the apartment, so I dismissed the noise, made myself a comfort nest against one arm of the couch, and turned on the DVR.

  I kept a cache of my favorite Will & Grace episodes for emergencies, and today had been a tire-fire kind of day. So, I chose “Das Boob,” season two, episode three, because, no matter how shitty I felt, watching Grace Adler struggle to hide her punctured water bra like a late twentieth century Lucille Ball always made me laugh.

  Grace, Will, and Jack had just executed the simultaneous boob-grab when I heard more noise outside. But it wasn’t footsteps on the stairs. It was voices.

  And one of them sounded like it was coming from right outside the door.

  I paused the show and wriggled out of my nest. Peering outside again, I still saw no one. And it wasn’t until then that I heard footfalls on the stairs. Within seconds, a delivery guy stepped into view, and I slid back the chain and unbolted the door.

  And I opened it to find Cole. Standing on my balcony. Paying the delivery guy.

  My eyes almost bugged out of my head. “Wh-what are you doing here?”

  He ignored me, counting out bills to the Dynasty driver. “And that’s for you,” he said, laying a ten on top of the stack he’d dealt into the guy’s hand. The driver promptly handed Cole the hulking white paper sack.

  I couldn’t process anything I was seeing. What was Cole doing here? When had he arrived? Why was he paying for our take
out? And those were just the superficial questions. The biggest question I couldn’t tackle was tougher.

  Why is my heart trying to leap out my chest in his direction?

  “Hey!” I protested. “We ordered that, not him.”

  The guy held up the receipt and frowned. He looked back and forth between me and Cole. “Delivery for Coleman Whitehurst?”

  “What?!”

  Alberta, you traitor!

  Cole handed the guy another ten. “Thanks, man. We’re good.”

  Beaming, the driver nodded and gave Cole a half-salute. “Wow! Thanks. And thanks for choosing Dynasty.”

  The delivery guy turned and with an obvious skip in his step, he jogged down the stairs, making a hellish racket as he did. My gaze shot to Cole who’d set the takeout bag down on our folding lawn chair and was proceeding to dig through it.

  My mouth worked for a few seconds before actual words came out. “How— What— Please tell me what’s going on? What are you doing out here?”

  Cole fished out a pint-sized white box and a set of paper-wrapped chopsticks. He didn’t look at me when he spoke. “I’m taking Louis’s advice.”

  This cryptic answer cleared up nothing. Maybe Louis suggested he smoke a bowl, and Cole had taken him at his word. Nothing else made sense.

  “What advice?”

  Cole thrust the paper bag at me, his eyes locking with mine. In that crystal blue that could ensnare my heart and lungs, I saw an ironclad will. And behind that, I saw ease. Whatever Cole was up to, he was sure about himself, and he wasn’t about to be deterred.

  My stomach did a little flip.

  “He told me that if you left me, I should go with you,” he said, his voice so low and smooth it felt like a feather running up the back of my knee. But that sensation was bound to knock me off balance, so I pushed it away. I took the takeout bag from him and fixed my eyes on that.

  “Where’s Ava?”

  Staring at the bag, I waited for Cole to answer me, but when he didn’t, I looked up at him, puzzled. It was only when I met his gaze again that he spoke.

  “I’m not sure, but she may still be at Flora’s.” He wore the slight frown and puckered mouth of someone mildly interested in the subject.

  I stepped back, fast-blinking. “Y-you’re not sure?” Of course, he knew were Ava was. He had to know. After searching for her for hours, Cole wouldn’t just let her out of his sight. Not after the night she’d had.

  He just lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug. “I talked to Ava,” he said evenly. “From now on, I’m going to be taking a strictly supportive role in her sobriety.”

  Every drop of blood in my veins seemed to rush to the surface of my skin. “What does that mean?”

  I knew what it meant. I just couldn’t let myself believe it.

  Cole gazed at me, a smile playing at one corner of his mouth. “I told her I’ll help her if she needs me, but from now on, her progress is up to her.”

  “You didn’t,” I murmured, clutching the doorsill for support.

  He took a step toward me, narrowing the distance between us to a mere foot. I had to tilt my head back to keep my eyes on his face.

  His smile inched wider. “I did.”

  A thrill of fear surged up my chest. “Why did you do that?” If I was the reason for his sudden change of heart, he might resent me in the long run. Especially if Ava only grew worse.

  Cole studied me, the ease and determination still there in his eyes. In his smile. “It was time. Don’t you think?”

  I opened my mouth to protest. I couldn’t weigh in on this. There was no right answer.

  Before I could respond, Cole shook his head. “No matter what anyone else says, Ava and I agree it’s time.”

  But when had they agreed? Before or after I’d left Mama’s? To me, the when mattered just as much as the why.

  I opened my mouth to ask the question, but Cole lifted his hand and brought it to my cheek. “Let’s stop talking about Ava,” he said. “I want to talk about us.”

  At the touch of his hand, I shut my eyes. His warm palm felt too good. Too real. It tempted me to trust.

  In a feather-light touch, Cole ran the pad of his thumb over my left eyelid. “You’ve been crying,” he said softly.

  I turned my chin away and opened my eyes, staring down at the safety of his shirt. “I was upset, but I’m okay now,” I lied.

  Cole’s low chuckle poured over me like melted butter, and he resettled his hand on my cheek. “You suck at lying.”

  Lifting my eyes to his, I tried my best to shoot him a glare, but I just liked seeing him too much.

  Grinning at my wasted efforts, he shook his head. “Don’t worry. I’m not okay either,” he said, his smile turning rueful. “In fact, I’m a fucking wreck. Why are you doing this to me?”

  His expression held, but I didn’t miss the flicker of genuine pain that moved behind it as he searched my eyes. I should have looked away, but by now I couldn’t. Cole stepped closer until there was just the tangle of our heat signatures between us. He raised his other hand until both were cupping my face.

  “Elise. My Elise. Why are you doing this to me?” The words came out a whisper, and I felt his breath tickle over my lips.

  Why? Why was I doing this?

  I blinked in slow motion. His eyes now inches from mine had always seemed too unattainable. Sky-blue. Arctic-blue. Starlight-blue. A kind of blue I could never reach. He’d always been so far out of my reach. Even when we were kids.

  “You’ll always belong to a higher purpose,” I said, thinking of the life he’d lived for his family. “Something more important, more worthy.”

  A crease formed between his brows. “Than what?”

  Saying it would make him see the truth, but he would come to the same conclusion in time. “Than me.”

  Cole’s brows reached high on his forehead. His lips parted. “Than you?” he echoed, sounding astonished. “There’s nothing more important than you. I don’t for a minute deserve you, but I’m too damn selfish to walk away.”

  The very idea of Cole being selfish had my head shaking in protest. “That’s crazy—”

  His hands left my cheeks and fell to my shoulders. “Elise, I’ll tell you what’s crazy. You. You thinking I wouldn’t choose you. Over anything.” His eyes sparked with feeling. Then he shook his head. “I made the mistake once of turning my back on you. On the way I felt for you. And the results were disastrous.”

  His grip on my shoulders tightened as a frown marked his forehead. “I spent eight years being miserable and adding to Ava’s misery. Elise. My Elise…” He stressed the words like a pledge. The ardor in his every feature, his eyes, the tension in his jaw, the curve of his mouth, made his beauty almost unbearable. “…I’m never making that mistake again.”

  Hope, the cruel friend who had tormented me with her company since I was sixteen years old, sunk her claws into my heart. And it hurt like hell. If Cole was wrong about this… if I was wrong about this, I’d never recover.

  “But what if—” I broke off, afraid to speak the words aloud.

  Cole angled his chin, searching my face. “But what if what?” he coaxed gently.

  I bit my lip, hoping a wicked fate wasn’t listening too closely. “What if Ava doesn’t…” I gulped a breath and made myself continue. “What if what happened before… happens again?”

  A shadow fell over his brow, and I immediately regretted my words. I knew they had summoned the memory of the overdose. The day he’d nearly lost her. If that happened again, this time when he wasn’t there to save her, Cole would blame himself.

  Frowning, Cole held my gaze. How he managed that, I didn’t know, because the thought of losing Ava had to remind him of the loss of the rest of his family.

  He cleared his throat. “You’re right. It could happen again.”

  My stomach pitched. See, I told myself, trying to absorb the blow. He’s not ready for this. Accepting this now would save us untold heartache later.

>   Cole tilted his chin, a deep-seated peace clearing his expression. His grip on my shoulders tightened. “If it does, I know the only way I’ll survive is with you by my side.”

  The bag of Chinese takeout almost slipped from my fingers, and I clenched it with startled force. Noticing my fumble, Cole reached for the bag, tugged it gently from my grip, and set it on the floor beside us. He straightened again and looked down at me, and his eyes narrowed in concern.

  “You’re shaking.”

  And I was. His words about needing me by his side had set me trembling. “Do you really mean that?” I heard myself ask.

  “What? About wanting to be with you through anything?” He caught my chin in his fingers. “A thousand times, yes.”

  The tightness in my stomach wouldn’t let go. Believing him would be like cliff diving, leaving the firm earth beneath my feet and hoping I didn’t smash against jagged rocks on my way down — or find myself sucked into a riptide.

  A riptide. That’s how Ava had described the chemistry between us.

  “You couldn’t fight it if you tried.”

  And, boy, was I trying to fight it. “How can you be sure you won’t resent me if things go sideways?”

  “Elise.” He kept his hand at my chin and wrapped his free arm low around my back. With gentle pressure, he tugged me forward until our bodies aligned, and a wave of warmth swept through me.

  I’d only been away from his embrace for a mere twenty-four hours, but already, I’d forgotten its safety. Its sweetness. I wanted to nuzzle my face into his shirt and feel the heat of his chest through the fabric. I wanted the strength of his arms to enfold me. And I wanted to believe it was mine for the taking for as long as I breathed.

  I opened my mouth to argue with him, but he pressed a finger to my lips.

  “Elise,” he said again, now tracing my lips with his fingertip. “You are my recompense, my restitution for all this life has taken from me.”

  Whatever protest I’d been about to utter died on my tongue.

  “Every moment of my life to come — the good and the bad — could only be made sweeter by sharing it with you.” His eyes lit with what I guessed was an imagined future, and by the look of it, a happy one. “In my whole life, you’re the one thing I’ve wanted just for me, and if there’s anything I’ll resent, it’ll be you trying to push me away.”