I grinned. “I can still walk down the stairs.”
“And I can help you,” he responded easily, making my heart beat faster. I slipped my hand under his arm, trying not to shudder at the feel of his warm, smooth skin when my fingers wrapped around his bicep.
Jesus, did he do anything other than work out?
We carefully made our way down. I wanted to look over at him, but I kept my gaze on the steps in front of me. The hand he’d placed over mine stayed there when we reached the bottom, and all the way to his car. The silence as he opened the door and held my hand to help me in was surprisingly comfortable.
“Thank you,” I said when he got in on his side.
“It’s not a problem, Ellie.”
“I’m sure you have better things to do.” I studied the way his jaw clenched at my words. Truthfully I didn’t know much about his life, but I undoubtedly wanted to know more. Did he have a girlfriend? Was his family close by?
“Nope,” he answered. I slumped in my seat and turned toward the window. With a sigh, he surprised me by continuing, “I mainly keep to myself.”
“Your family isn’t around?”
“They are. They live about ten minutes from me, but we’re not close. I only see them a few times a year.”
I frowned, wanting to ask him more, but fearing he might do the same. And besides Damien, my family was the last thing I wanted to talk about. “What about friends? Or a girlfriend?”
“I have you,” he said. I froze as his head quickly whipped my way. “I didn’t… that’s not what I meant…” Grayson cleared his throat. “You’re my friend, that’s what I was saying. You and Damien.”
We settled into silence after that. A huge smile spread across my face, and I had to face the window so he didn’t see me looking like a complete loon.
I was his first thought.
It was an amazing feeling, and I doubt he understood how much it meant to me.
“I consider you my friend, too. Just so you know…”
“Thanks, Ellie.” Grayson sounded oddly emotional when he responded, so I kept my gaze outside to give him privacy. But my thoughts wouldn’t be as easy to control.
He’s thinking of you…
“I don’t know if I can trust you anymore…” I whispered.
I was shocked. Horrified. Betrayed. Who was this person sitting next to me?
Grayson rolled his eyes, even as a small smile tugged at his lips.
“This is serious,” I insisted. “How can you not like superheroes?” I pointed to the TV screen where the first Avengers movie was playing.
“I thought you were so much cooler than this…” I trailed off. He full-on laughed this time and it felt like a victory. Grayson wasn’t the type to show emotion often, so when he did, and it was because of me, I felt like a superhero.
The conversation had started after I asked him what his superpower would be. He hadn’t answered, and I looked over to see him glaring at the TV. This eventually led to him telling me he didn’t like superheroes.
I’d never read a comic book and I didn’t subscribe to any fandoms. Actually, I was pretty sure diehard fans, the ones who had mint-condition comics still wrapped in the plastic and framed, would cringe at some of my inaccuracies since I only went by the films. And I didn’t pick a side in the whole Marvel versus DC argument. I liked Marvel more—hello, Captain America—but I didn’t scoff at the Batman franchise either. Truthfully, I didn’t understand why there had to be a competition.
Either way, Grayson seemed to hate all of them.
“I don’t get it,” I tried again.
“Why do you like them?” he countered.
I loved the idea of superheroes. Other worlds. Magic. Fantasy. Anything that took me away from my lonely life. Shrugging, I said, “I don’t know. I guess I like the idea of leaving reality, just temporarily. Life can get pretty exhausting.”
“Well I prefer to stay grounded in reality.”
“But you’d get a power! Who wouldn’t want a superpower?”
“I don’t,” he bit out, using a hard tone he’d never directed at me before.
Stop being ridiculous, Eleanor. You’re embarrassing yourself.
With a flinch, I unconsciously scooted away from Grayson. I was fleeing from something else, something I couldn’t actually escape, but he didn’t know that.
He quickly reached out and grabbed my hand. Only when I stopped moving and relaxed against the couch did he let go. Grayson’s eyes moved to mine, and the silence became unbearable.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. I didn’t know why I was apologizing, but I hated the sudden tension between us.
“Don’t be.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. I thought that was the end of the conversation when he turned back to face the TV. But he wasn’t done.
“I’m not a superhero, Ellie. Not even close.”
My heart ached at the sadness in his voice. It was clear he wouldn’t open up to me about it today. That was okay—I’d wait. Grayson was good at hiding so many things, but I could sense his underlying pain. Maybe it was because I had so much of my own. There were so many things not even Damien knew. And as much as I loved my brother, I could never tell him—he wouldn’t understand.
There was something about Grayson that made me think he would, made me believe there was a greater purpose for why we were brought into each other’s lives.
I wasn’t a big fan of change. I never had been. I liked plans.
Since I was a police officer, most couldn’t understand it. My job wasn’t always smooth sailing. No day was the same. Some days were downright hectic depending on my assignment.
What they didn’t understand was that when I showed up to a call, for the most part, I knew what to expect. I knew who was hurting, who needed help, and who I was supposed to stop. There was always more going on in the background, for the victim and the perp. There were always things I wasn’t going to know. But that was the point. I didn’t have to. I didn’t need all the details. I just needed to save someone. After that, it was up to the detective to figure out the rest.
I’d wipe my hands clean of the incident and walk away, ready to save someone else.
Sometimes I failed. We got there too late or there was too much damage. Those days were hard.
For the most part, though, my life had been planned out. I’d go to work and I’d help people. Then I’d come home and read or work out.
I’d never tried to help someone outside of work like this in almost eight years. But I’d told Damien I would help him, and despite the troubling sense of déjà vu, I enjoyed spending time with Ellie.
It had been almost three months since I’d knocked on her front door, and while we had only seen each other a handful of times—either meeting somewhere for lunch or watching TV at her place—I was still as drawn to her as ever.
Our conversations before she asked about my friends and family had been relatively superficial, which made staying neutral a bit easier. I was still trying to stay detached. I couldn’t help her if I wasn’t objective. I wouldn’t be able to keep her safe if I truly became friends with her.
That was what I had to remind myself every time I hung out with her and every time I left her. It was too easy to get caught up in how right it felt to be around her.
It helped that Damien also seemed determined to keep my relationship with his sister casual. He wasn’t subtle about hiding his concern, though I truly didn’t understand why he thought our friendship was a bad thing. A few weeks ago he’d asked about the nature of our friendship. I’d said, “We don’t speak often. But if you would like me to stop talking to her, I will.”
I was pretty sure it was lip service speaking, because I didn’t think I could actually stop. Not for him, and certainly not for myself.
So when he responded by shaking his head and saying, “No, no. Don’t do that,” I was instantly relieved. I didn’t even care when he added on a completely unveiled—and unnecessary—threat that we rema
in only friends. I had no intention of having a romantic relationship with Ellie. Yes, she was gorgeous and funny and smart and about a million other things any guy would be lucky to have. It just wasn’t a possibility. She deserved more than I had to offer.
But that didn’t stop me from coming back, time after time… like right now. Because despite my worries, I simply couldn’t stay away.
Raising my fist, I knocked on her door, balancing a box of pizza on my other hand.
“Coming,” I heard her shout from the back of the apartment. A few seconds later the door opened and she stood there smiling. “Thank God, I’m starving.”
I laughed, walking into the kitchen and setting the box down before turning around. She was locking the door when my eyes wandered to the table in front of the TV. Squinting, I asked, “What’s that?” It looked like a black blob.
“Nothing,” she squeaked, quickly waddling forward to snatch it up and hide it behind her back. Ellie began shuffling toward the hallway, keeping her eyes on me.
Laughing, I intercepted her. “C’mon. Show me.”
“Nuh-uh.” She shook her head for emphasis.
“Why not? What is it?”
She mumbled something I couldn’t quite catch, her eyes now on the ground.
“What?”
With a sigh, Ellie lifted her face. “I said, it’s a toy.” She frowned. “Or it was supposed to be. I was trying to knit this black mouse I saw in one of Naomi’s books. Apparently I’m not quite at that level yet.”
I had to hold in my chuckle, she seemed so upset by it. But she hadn’t been knitting long and from what she’d told me, Naomi was pleased with what she’d done so far.
“It can’t be that bad.”
“It is.”
“Can I please see it?” I asked, throwing in a small smile for good measure. She wilted and threw her hand over her eyes, removing her other arm from behind her back and holding the toy out to me. I took it from her, slowly inspecting it.
It wasn’t something you’d call cute or pretty or beautiful, and it wasn’t necessarily well made. A few stitches were crooked and there were bumps in places there shouldn’t be. Yet I couldn’t call it ugly, which she was clearly waiting for.
“What are you going to do with it?” I asked.
Ellie lowered her hand, clearly waiting for me to say more. When I didn’t, she said, “Throw it out.”
I frowned and looked down at it for a second before lifting my eyes back to her hazel ones. “Can I keep it? I’d love to give this to one of my nephews.”
Her mouth dropped open in shock before she recovered. “You don’t have to pretend—”
“I’m not.” I held the toy up. “Will Martha Stewart nominate it as the best toy ever knitted? No.” Her lips twitched. “But, do I want it because I like it? Yes, absolutely.”
Despite my comment about not being a hero, I sure as hell felt like one when Ellie smiled at me like she was now.
“Okay. If you’re sure—”
“I am,” I cut her off. Wanting to boost her a little more, I asked, “Have you tried to make anything else?”
At that, her eyes lit up. She grabbed my hand—like it was nothing, like we touched all the time—and pulled me down the hall toward her room. Ellie let go and moved toward her closet, standing on her tiptoes to reach a box.
“Yes. I have a few scarves and even a hat…” She huffed as her fingers grazed the box, pushing it farther away from her. I walked forward and she froze when one of my hands fell to her waist.
“Let me get it,” I whispered, reaching my other arm over her shoulder and easily pulling the box out. Ellie was still until I shuffled back a couple steps; only then did her limbs unlock.
She turned around and I smiled when I noticed the rosy color fading from her cheeks. Clearing her throat, she dropped the box on the bed and removed the lid.
Her excitement grew with each item she removed, telling me a story about each one, like what mistakes she’d made and how she’d fixed them. I was smiling as she ran out of breath talking about the first hat she made.
When she caught me she blushed, dropping it and rubbing a spot on her elbow. “Sorry,” she murmured, looking chagrined.
My brows pulled down. “Why?”
Ellie shrugged, but I could hear what she wasn’t saying. She didn’t know how to show her excitement, so she brushed it aside.
I noticed she did things like that a lot. She’d get excited only to dismiss her emotions as “stupid” or “unimportant,” like someone told her the things she thought and felt were stupid and unimportant… like she was stupid and unimportant.
It broke my heart, and boiled my blood.
She also had a habit of zoning out for a bit; sometimes it was only a few seconds, something you’d miss if you weren’t paying attention.
I’m always paying attention.
And when she came back around, she’d flinch, as if she were hearing something no one else heard. Like right now…
“Ellie?” I asked, my fingers grazing her elbow, breaking her out of her trance. She shook her head.
“Sorry,” she repeated.
“For what?” I challenged. She blinked up at me, her eyes wide and panicked. “What are you sorry for?” I repeated.
“Umm…”
“For staring off into space? For standing there? For turning oxygen into carbon dioxide?”
She laughed. “Only you could say it that way, like it was as normal as saying breathing.” Her smile faded as I waited. “When you say it out loud it just sounds ridiculous.”
“That’s because it is ridiculous.” I sounded angry, but it wasn’t directed at her. I was angry on her behalf. Because no one popped out of the womb and started apologizing for everything. It was learned.
“I’m working on it.” She smiled, and even though I knew it’d be a difficult feat, I believed her.
It was a little bit like her knitted “mouse.” It wasn’t perfect, it needed work, but the result didn’t always matter. To me, there was always something beautiful about people who simply tried.
“THIS WAS A HORRIBLE idea,” Grayson muttered from beside me. I was surprised I could hear him over my blubbering.
“It’s s-so beautiful…” I sniffled as I grabbed another tissue.
“Okay, no more.” He reached forward and grabbed the remote off the table.
“Nooooo.”
Did I just whine?
Grayson arched a brow, clearly unimpressed with my imitation of a five-year-old. I held up my hands—tissues overflowing out of one—and rushed out, “I’msorrycanwepleasekeepwatching? I’ll stop crying.”
He shook his head and, with a sigh, set the remote back down, not calling me out on my lie. There was no way I’d stop.
Grayson was right. This was a terrible idea.
We were at my apartment because I was getting more and more nervous to leave. I really didn’t want my water to break while I was strolling through Walmart or out at a restaurant. Talk about mortifying…
My hormones and nerves were all over the place. I cried during about half the commercials. So thinking I could handle America’s Got Talent, watching people’s dreams come true and the joy on their faces when it happened, was pretty stupid.
No one accused you of being smart.
No. Stop. I silenced the voice in my head as quickly as it came. I was happy. Even with all the unknowns and the fear, I was genuinely happy. I wouldn’t let my mother take that from me.
I smiled, rubbing my hands over my baby bump. I was due any day now. It wasn’t an ideal situation. I was twenty-one—as of last month, single, and a recovering alcoholic. None of those were promising traits for a mother, let alone all three.
But I was away from any environment that made me feel guilty for simply being who I was. I was living with my older brother and Naomi, getting ready to welcome a baby into this world with the wonderful man beside me.
Wait. That came out wrong.
Actually, it sounde
d incredibly right—probably only to me. Grayson was simply a friend. He’d be beside me in a friend capacity. Friend.
I hated that word.
I often had to repeat it to myself when I was around him. Otherwise I got caught in fantasies that would crush me when I came back down to Earth.
The truth—while a little painful and sad—was definitely the safer option.
Like right now. I could imagine he shifted a little closer to me. I could pretend that his eyes lingered on my lips when he thought I wasn’t looking.
But none of that would do me any good. So I stuck with the truth. The two of us were sitting on my couch—at a respectable distance that didn’t once shrink—watching TV together… as friends.
With a sigh, I wiggled around, looking for a more comfortable position. My back was aching and I was cramping more than ever, but that wasn’t unusual lately.
“Are you okay?” Grayson asked. I turned to find his unflinching stare on me, concern swirling in his dark brown eyes.
“What? Oh yeah. You’re right, though. We should probably change this. I know the last thing you want to deal with is an overly emotional girl who can’t stop crying.” But even as I said it, I realized my tears had dried.
His lips pulled down into a frown. “I’d deal fine. I just don’t like to see you upset.”
“Oh,” I whispered.
“Maybe we should watch—” he started, only to stop when I let out a sob.
My hands flew to my watermelon-sized stomach, a sharp pain ricocheting through my body. A shrill scream left me and Grayson was immediately alert, bolting upright and asking all the right questions. Questions I wouldn’t be able to think of on my most calm and collected day.
“What’s the pain like?”
“Have you experienced it before?”
“Squeeze my hand whenever you feel a contraction. I’ll time it, okay?”
I’d been so prepared, so excited, for this baby. Now all I felt was bone-deep terror. All the joy was gone.
How was I going to do this alone?
How would I stay sober?
I’m about to have a baby.
A wiggly, screaming, depend-on-me-for-everything, tiny human being.
Unveiling Fate Page 5
