Truce?: Hating Elijah Monroe

by Amelia Kingston

  I narrow my eyes and squint at him. He still won’t burst into flames. Guess I’m no fire starter. I push back from my table hard enough the chair goes crashing to the ground with a clatter as I stand. Athena looks over at me, dejected and jealous. With a forced smile, I make my way to the front of the room next to Elijah. Standing in front of a classroom, I automatically switch into my teacher persona. I’m not Harper anymore. I’m Ms. Delaney, helpful, caring teacher with unending patience.

  “Go ahead and lie down for me,” Elijah says. My persona slips as I snap my head to him. His easy smile makes my blood boil. He knows I can’t say no. I need this stupid certificate to keep my job.

  “Is that really necessary?” I ask, keeping my tone sweet and unassuming.

  “Well, most trauma victims I’ve encountered aren’t standing up and talking.”

  “Right.” I give a fake chuckle to the class, shrug my shoulders, and lie down at Elijah’s feet. Symbolic much? He kneels down beside me, his thighs brushing against my arm as he leans in.

  “Start by calling out to the person. Use their name if you know it.” Elijah looks down at me and I shut my eyes tightly against the draw. “Harper? Harper, can you hear me? Are you okay?” Even knowing it’s not real, hearing him call out my name with such concern twists my stomach into a pretzel. I lie still as a board, refusing to reveal a thing.

  “With the back of your hand, tap the person on the shoulder.”

  “Why the back of your hand?” one of the curious Boy Scouts asks.

  “Good question,” Elijah compliments with genuine approval in his voice. “Anyone want to take a guess?”

  The room goes quiet. I know we’re in a room full of people, most of them impressionable young minds, but the sensation of the back of Elijah’s hand brushing my arm is driving me crazy. My eyes are still shut tight, my racing heart the only sound I can hear. I blink my eyes open and stare up at his beautiful face. I’ve never seen him from this angle before. His broad chest and strong shoulders take up most of my view. There is a hint of a five o’clock shadow on his square jaw. I resist the urge to pull him down to me.

  “Electric,” I hear myself whisper. Elijah looks down at me and smiles, his deep green eyes twinkling.

  “That’s right,” Elijah praises. He leans down and my eyes drift to his lips. He’s going to kiss me.

  “What’d she say?” Athena’s voice reminds us where we are. Elijah clears his throat and continues his lesson.

  “Electricity. It’s all around us. We use the back of our hand”—Elijah glides his hand down my arm, his calloused, rough skin leaving a trail of goosebumps—“because in the event of an electric shock, our muscles would constrict, preventing us from letting go.” Elijah grabs my forearm, his strong fingers encircling it with a firm squeeze. I take a sharp breath and he lets go. His hand slides into mine, palm to palm.

  “Can you squeeze my hand?” he asks in his theatrical teacher voice. I do. He squeezes back.

  “At this point you have someone who is completely unresponsive. You need to determine if they are breathing. Tilt their head back to open the airway.” Elijah’s strong hands slide under my neck. I stifle a moan.

  “For ten seconds, you’re going to look, listen, and feel. Look to see if their chest is rising and falling.” Elijah’s hand presses down on my stomach, the heat from his palm burning through my thin top. “Place a hand just below their rib cage to feel for any movement. Put your ear above their mouth and listen for the sound of air moving.”

  His mouth is so close to mine, I can feel his warm breath on my cheek as he speaks. My heart rate spikes. My breath is ragged. The room is dead silent as Elijah counts to ten aloud. I’m excruciatingly aware of every square inch of his body that’s touching mine. Right when I thought ten seconds might last the rest of my life, Elijah pulls away.

  “Two breaths in ten seconds. That’s the minimum we’re looking for. Since our volunteer here is well above that, there is no need for CPR.”

  He must be able to tell the effect he’s having on me. Everyone must be able to tell. I’m an open book. Putty in Elijah Monroe’s hands. I’m just like every other stupid girl in high school who chased him around like a lost puppy. Just like Athena. I’m an idiot.

  “We render first aid as we are able and place them in the recovery position.” Elijah’s hand sweeps under my knee, lifting it off the ground. “With one hand on the knee and one hand on the shoulder, roll the person onto their side. This will open up the airway while keeping the body in a neutral position.” Elijah rolls me over like a sack of potatoes. “Everyone pair up and take turns each going through those steps.”

  There’s a general commotion in the room as the students pair up and take their turns on the floor playing victim. I’m still pinned by Elijah’s hand on my hip, his body pressed against my back.

  “Can I get up now?” I snap.

  “Are you recovered?” he teases, leaning down and whispering the words in my ear.

  “Nothing a hot shower and a hefty scrubbing with some bleach won’t cure.” I’m done waiting for permission. I flop onto my stomach and push myself up. I peer down at Elijah, still on his knees in front of me. That’s an unnervingly arousing sight.

  “Whatever you say, Short Stack.”

  I groan at the stupid nickname and turn back to my desk.

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

  I look back at him quizzically.

  “Now you’ve got to do me,” he simpers, lowering himself down onto his back.

  “Is that really necessary?”

  “Only if you want your certificate.”

  I hate him.

  “This is such an abuse of power,” I hiss, leaning over him.

  “Always so dramatic. I’m teaching you how to save lives. Get over yourself.”

  Maybe I am reading too much into it. He hasn’t touched me inappropriately. It’s the same steps that everyone else in the class is doing. I reprimand myself mentally and go through the steps on Elijah, mimicking what he just did to me. When I get to look, listen, and feel, I hesitate before I put my hand on his stomach.

  “It’s a stomach, not an alligator pit. I’m not going to bite. Don’t be such a chicken.” His voice is soft, but commanding.

  “Oomph!” he exhales as I slam my hand down into his stomach. His abs are rock-hard as he tenses under my hand. I swallow a lump in my throat and pinch my thighs together.

  “Easy, killer. We haven’t gotten to chest compression yet.” Elijah’s hand covers mine and slides it up a few inches. “Just below the rib cage. Now start counting.”

  I lean forward and place my ear above his mouth. His breath is slow and even on my cheek. I pinch my eyes closed and fight against the pull. Elijah reaches up and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. One hand is holding mine to his chest, the other cups my face. Elijah starts counting, slow and steady.

  “Eight...nine...ten.”

  I don’t move. He doesn’t move. There’s a war waging between my will and my heart. I’m falling. Down, down, down, into a hole I’ll never be able to climb out of. I’ll be lost to anyone who isn’t Elijah Monroe.

  “Eli, can you help me?” Athena is my savior. Her voice brings me back from the edge.

  The magnet’s been flipped and I shoot away from Elijah as if that could stop me from wanting him. His eyes find mine. Surprise and concern fill them.

  “Eli?” Athena coos again from across the room.

  Elijah snaps into action, his professional face locked back in place. Athena plays interference for the rest of the class. She demands Elijah’s attention during any of the practical application drills, trying her hardest to casually slip lingo about trains into the conversation.

  I’m focused on counting my thirty chest compressions when I feel his arms circle mine.

  “A little deeper,” Elijah tells me. It isn’t a whisper, but if feels intimate. His hands are on top of mine, pressing them harder into the mannequin. I’m wrapped in his hard b
ody, the heat searing into me from behind.

  “I’ve got it.” I jerk away from him, but he doesn’t let go. I swing an elbow into his ribs, hard. He lets out a sharp exhale of pain and steps away.

  “I think Athena needs your help, again,” I quip with a smile. He just shakes his head and walks away. He mercifully leaves me alone for the rest of the class.

  My back is tight and my arms are sore from smashing that stupid mannequin until I couldn’t feel the heat from Elijah’s touch on my skin anymore. I walk to my car in the afternoon sun, happy to be alone with my thoughts for the first time all day.

  “Hey, H-train! Wait up.”

  I debate pretending like I can’t hear Athena calling to me. I could be in my car and driving off before she gets to me. But I’ve got to see her for the rest of summer. I take a deep breath and lock my fake smile in place before I turn around to face her. She’s bouncing up to me, light as a feather.

  “Want to grab a drink?” she asks.

  “Sorry, I’ve got plans,” I lie.

  “With our hunky instructor?” She gives me that trademark Popeye wink.

  “What? No. He’s not...We’re not...No. Why would you even ask that?”

  “Because he was making googly eyes at you all day! That boy is one smitten kitten.” Athena takes my arm in hers and we continue the stroll toward my car.

  “That’s not what was going on at all,” I correct her. If Elijah was staring at me, I’m sure it was of the shooting daggers variety. “He’s not my biggest fan.”

  “Didn’t your mom ever teach you when a boy pulls your hair it’s because he likes you and wants your attention?” Athena gives me a light smack on the shoulder, as if I’m the clueless one.

  “We’re not kids anymore and believe me, I know exactly how Elijah Monroe feels about me.”

  “Well, all I can say is that I tried every trick in the book on him today. I even offered a ride on my caboose and all he could do was stare at you. He didn’t even take my number,” she scoffs. “I’d be totally pissed if we weren’t besties.”

  Athena and I have a completely different understanding of the world and how it works.

  “This is me.” We reach my car and I jingle my keys.

  “Guess I’ll see you Monday.” She gives me a quick hug before heading off down the street. “And do something about that fireman. A gorgeous man is a horrible thing to waste.”

  Now…

  I hate grocery shopping by myself. Alisha and I have a ritual. She pushes the cart, I manage the list. It’s a good system. When you have to manage everything on your own, in addition to dodging soccer moms with their six kids in tow, it all gets a little overwhelming. I’m completely unaware that I’ve left my cart in the middle of the aisle, blocking traffic on the cookie and chips expressway.

  “Could you move your ass already?” a guy’s voice snaps at me while I’m debating between Oreo flavors.

  “Excuse you,” I retort, turning to face the rude shopper. He has a huge smile and a mischievous look in his eyes. It takes all of a minute for my mind to click the pieces into place.

  “Marcus!” I squeal and jump into his arms.

  “Harper Delaney. As I live and breathe.”

  “You look great.” I pull back and take a look at my old friend. The past six years have been good to him. He’s still tall and lean, but his baby face is covered in a perfectly manicured five o’clock shadow. A quick once-over of his skinny jeans, loafers, and athletic fit blazer layered over his black crew neck confirm his style is still on point. Marcus appraises me in my jeans and Giants T-shirt. Only one of us looks like an adult, and it’s not me.

  “I’d say you do too, but I’m mad at you.”

  Marcus crosses his arms and pouts.

  “Mad at me?”

  “Yes. You ran off to San Francisco after graduation and all but disappeared. You didn’t even tell me you were coming back to town.”

  A stab of guilt twists in my stomach. I’m a shitty friend. Marcus is right. I was so excited to get away from Weaverton, I closed the door behind me and never looked back.

  “I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m a bitch.” I grab a package of birthday cake Oreos off the shelf. “Peace offering?”

  Marcus eyes me up and down, his fake scowl still firmly in place.

  “It’s a start.” He tosses the cookies into my cart. “Jesus, did you just get divorced?”

  “What? No. I don’t even have a boyfriend.”

  “Then, what’s with all the junk food?”

  I take a look down at my travesty of a shopping cart. I’ve got all the food groups, cookies, ice cream, and chips. Oh, wine. I need to grab a bottle of wine.

  “Just picking up a few essentials.”

  “For your crazy cat lady starter kit?”

  We share a laugh at my expense.

  “You’re such a jerk.”

  “You had it coming. Let’s go, I’ll introduce you to this new trend. It’s called fruits and vegetables.”

  Marcus grabs my arm and tugs me to the produce section, my shopping cart full of junk food a distant memory.

  “What brings you to our little slice of paradise?” Marcus asks as he hands me a bunch of asparagus.

  “I’m just here for the summer.”

  “Mmmmhmmm.”

  “What?”

  “I asked why you’re visiting, not for how long. Seems like you’re protesting a little too much.”

  I stalk off to investigate the oranges, throwing a sigh over my shoulder with, “You sound like Elijah.”

  “I take it you two haven’t kissed and made up?” Marcus closes his eyes, puckers his lips, and makes obnoxious kissy noises.

  I throw a lime at his head, nailing him square between the eyes. All those long softball practices were worth it for the look on his face. We laugh hysterically next to the bananas as he wipes lime juice off his forehead.

  “You guys are still at it?”

  “Yep. Now and always. That man survives off my despair.”

  “Pot kettle much?”

  I give him a shove. “Shut up. He’s always the one who starts it. Don’t take his side.”

  “Not taking sides, darling. I’m just saying he’s not the only one with a razor-sharp tongue. You can hold your own.”

  “I’ve had to.”

  “But you don’t have to enjoy it as much as you do.”

  I smirk. “Why wouldn’t I? He does.”

  “I don’t think it’s the torture that keeps him coming back…” Marcus trails off as his phone starts ringing. “Hey, baby. No, I’m out shopping. You’ll never guess who I bumped into.” Marcus gives me a quick wink. “Boo. Small towns. I never get to have any secrets. Oooooh. That’s brilliant. I will. Love you too.” Marcus hangs up with more kissy noises before turning his attention back to me. “What are you doing Friday night?”

  “I think Bev was hoping for a game night, so pretty much anything to get out of that.”

  “Perfect. You’re coming to my place for a dinner party. We’ll get to catch up properly. Plus, I can show you what adults eat. Spoiler alert, it’s not Twinkies. Phone.”

  I hand Marcus my phone without question and he types in his number with a snarky, “Try not to lose it this time, little Miss. Thing.”

  “Promise.”

  I give him a quick hug and wave as he saunters to the checkout counter.

  Eight years ago…

  It’s less than two hours after Dad and Beverly left for their belated honeymoon and people are already showing up for Elijah’s party. A pool party, judging by all the bikini-clad girls walking around. I wasn’t invited.

  I’m on my tiptoes, peering out the kitchen window into the backyard, searching for Elijah. My toes are almost off the ground, my weight mostly on my hands on either side of the sink as I lean farther to try and see the back half of the pool.

  “Whatcha lookin’ at, Short Stack?” Elijah’s voice is in my ear, so close I can feel his warm breath on my neck.


  “Ahhh!” I scream and jump out of my skin. My hands slip off the counter and I fall backward into him.

  “Oh, shit,” he cries out as his arm wraps around me, trying to catch us both. It’s a valiant yet ineffective effort. After several seconds of awkward back and forth, attempting to balance, we both come crashing down onto the tile floor. Elijah lands first, taking the brunt of the impact as I crash down on top of him. We lie in a pile, wheezing in pain.

  “Why’d you do that?” I admonish with a slap to his hard bare chest. I’m sure he made a softer landing than the tile floor, but not by much.

  “What did I do, exactly?”

  “You scared me.”

  “Wasn’t trying to.” He looks up at me with a sweet smile. His hands are still wrapped around me and he holds me a little tighter. My eyes dart down to his lips. They’re so close. I wonder what they feel like.

  “Am I interrupting something?” a guy’s voice calls from our feet.

  I scramble to get up, my face flushing with embarrassment as I catch Liam’s smirk.

  “I fell,” I explain. “Elijah tried to catch me.”

  “Oh, you’re such a gentleman, Famine,” Liam coos in mock affection.

  Propped up on his elbows, Elijah shifts into his alter ego. Wiggling his eyebrows, he quips, “Whatever closes the deal, right?”

  Liam reaches down and helps him up as they share a laugh. I walk away with a groan.

  Locking myself away in my room, I give Marcus a call to complain about the horseman invasion. I’m barely even finished saying the words pool party before I hear Marcus starting his car.

  “Everyone is out by the pool. Why aren’t you in a bikini?” Marcus asks when I open the front door. He’s rocking boat shoes, board shorts, and a linen button-down that probably costs more than my entire wardrobe. His Aviator sunglasses are perched on his perfectly tousled locks. Classy casual. Even shy Charlene is in a one-piece with a few tasteful cut-outs and a pair of shorts.

  “I don’t have one.”

  “Bullshit. You’re from California. You own a bikini.” Marcus declares matter-of-factly.