Truce?: Hating Elijah Monroe

by Amelia Kingston

  She cocks her head to the side and asks, “Interference?”

  “Yeah, in case he starts in with the snide comments and I try to kill him.”

  “You know my favorite thing about you? Your emotional maturity. I’m so glad you’re state certified to teach the future of America.”

  I splash some dish water at her. “Bite me. I’m the consummate professional so long as Elijah Monroe isn’t involved.”

  “Sure you are, Short Stack,” Alisha chides with a giggle.

  “Don’t you dare call me that.” I grab the hose from the sink and douse her.

  Her shoulders bunch up in shock and her mouth drops open. “You so did not just hose me!”

  “I so did. And I’d do it again.”

  “Watch yourself, Delaney. I know where you live,” she threatens.

  “So, will you come tomorrow?” I ask, swinging the nozzle like a gunslinger in a cheesy western movie.

  “Fine. You really know how to threaten a girl.”

  “Yes! Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” Alisha sighs. “But there better be more cake.”

  “Even better. Bev will make us pancakes.” I wiggle my eyebrows.

  “Pancakes?” We lock eyes across the kitchen island.

  “Don’t.”

  “You mean like…”

  “I’m serious.” I lift the hose, aiming it square between her eyes. The kill shot.

  “Like...a short stack?”

  I unleash a torrent right in Alisha’s face. She dodges most of it, making it around to my side of the counter in a flash. We’re screeching, laughing, and slipping as we wrestle for hose control. There are puddles everywhere from our impromptu water war.

  “Girls, what on earth…” My dad’s voice draws both our attention, taking the spray with it. Dad takes a faceful of water like one of those clowns at the state fair carnival game.

  Alisha and I gasp, both of us dropping the hose and jumping back. I eye it wearily, like a snake ready to strike. The three of us are frozen. I’m ten years old again, waiting to be grounded.

  Alisha squeaks, “Harper started it.”

  “Traitor!”

  Dad pulls his soaked shirt off his chest and rings out the excess water onto the already drenched floor. The three of us burst out laughing. I buckle over, near tears, and lose my footing. I grab onto Alisha, but she’s as unstable as I am. We cling to each other, sliding around like newborn giraffes, all limbs and no coordination. I go down first, but I bring her with me. She lands on top of me like a ton of bricks. My clothes are soaking up the puddle underneath me, Alisha’s crushing me from above, and I can’t stop laughing like a crazy person.

  “Always nice to see you, Alisha. I take it there’s no more cake?” I can barely hear my dad over the sound of my own cackling.

  Now…

  The school bus pulls up outside the fire station and I’m hyperventilating. Even with Alisha on the tattered bench seat next to me, I’m terrified to be entering the lion’s den. Facing Elijah in his element seems like the worst idea I’ve ever had. I wipe my sweaty palms on my pencil skirt, close my eyes, and take a couple of deep breaths.

  “Calm down. I’m sure it will be...holy shit,” Alisha exclaims.

  My eyes shoot open. I lean across her and stare out the window. There’s a firetruck in the parking lot with all the doors and hatches opened for exploring. Coiled hoses and assorted firefighting gear is spread out on the ground. In front of the gear are the firemen themselves. Six strong men stand in a line, all in solid blue uniforms with crests on their chests. In the center of them all stands Elijah Monroe, his hands on his hips and a grin on his delicious lips. Gorgeous. He is absolutely gorgeous. Irresistible even.

  “I can’t do this,” I squeak as I scramble back over Alisha. I lean forward in my seat, cradling my head in my hands to hide my nervous breakdown.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s just a field trip. It’ll be fine. I’m sure Elijah will be fine.” Alisha’s empty words do nothing to untie the knots in my stomach. The bus parks and I hear the doors open. There’s no turning back now. I take one last deep breath and let it out slowly. I sit up straight, smooth down my hair, and plaster on my teacher face.

  “All right! Everyone make sure you have your buddy and stay together. We’re all excited, but we want to stay safe while we have fun today.” I nearly choke on the false cheerfulness.

  I stand tall as I march over to Elijah. His bright smile is more alluring the closer I get. I’m a moth to his flame.

  “Listen up. This is Fireman Monroe. He and the other firemen are here to teach you about the station and how to stay safe. Can you all say hello to Fireman Monroe?”

  A chorus of excited six-year-olds sings out sickeningly adorable variations on “wirewan moonrow.”

  “Hello, guys! We are all so excited to have you here. Please, call me Eli.” His strong voice is commanding but playful. I lock my knees to keep from swooning.

  “First things first, where is my buddy Tyler?” Elijah asks, looking around the gaggle of six-year-olds. When I arranged this little field trip, I made sure to tell Elijah it was only under severe duress from the near-constant pleading from my students, Tyler most of all.

  Tyler's hand shoots up. To make extra sure he’s seen, he starts jumping up and down, shouting “here.” He’s so excited, when Elijah waves him forward he knocks over the kid in front of him. One of the other firemen hands a plastic toy fireman helmet to Elijah, who’s kneeling down in front of Tyler

  “In recognition of your tenacity and determination in making this field trip happen”— Elijah side eyes me, knowing if it wasn’t for Tyler, none of us would be here today—“we’d like to name you the honorary Fire Chief today.”

  Elijah slips the helmet on Tyler. It’s too big, covering his eyes to the point where he can’t see. The ridiculous thing couldn’t cost more than a couple dollars, but Tyler looks like Elijah just handed him the world. I’ll admit, even my ovaries are sitting up and taking notice. After sending Tyler back into the crowd, Elijah stands up and turns his attention to the rest of us.

  “Now, the first lesson we’re going to learn today”—his eyes find mine in the crowd, sending my pulse racing—“never play with fire.” He gives me a quick smirk. My knees go weak and I stumble forward. Alisha catches me, but everyone turns to look.

  “Charlie horse,” I croak out the lie.

  “Been drinking?” Alisha teases in my ear.

  “I wish.”

  “Next time I’m bringing the purse wine.”

  We snicker.

  “What do you say, Ms. Delaney?” Elijah asks.

  I straighten up, reminding myself I’m still at work. “I’m sorry. What was that?”

  “Care to try out the fireman’s pole?” Elijah deadpans.

  “Excuse me?” I retort indignantly. He is not going to start with me. I turn on my disappointed teacher voice. “Mr. Monroe, I hardly think that is approp—”

  “Please? Can we?” little Maddie’s voice cuts me off as she tugs on my sleeve.

  Elijah gestures behind him to the two-story pole. Oh, fireman’s pole. Duh.

  “Sure, sweetie. If Fireman Monroe says it’s okay.”

  “Let’s go!” Elijah shouts and charges off into the station. The tiny horde chases after him screaming. Midget warriors, the lot of ’em. I turn to Alisha and roll my eyes.

  “Does he always have to be so…”

  “Adorable?”

  “Yeah right,” I huff. “He’s just a big kid.”

  “Exactly. Fudging adorable.”

  I warn, “Alisha, don’t you dare start crushing on my mortal enemy. That’s against the sacred best friend code.”

  “I’m not the one crushing.”

  “As if.” My inner valley girl shines through.

  She tugs me into the station. “Come on.”

  “Want to show us how it’s done?” Elijah asks as we walk up.

  “Afraid I’m not dressed for...
” Don’t say pole dancing. You’re a teacher, for God’s sake! “For...heroics.”

  Elijah’s eyes trail down my body, taking in my pencil skirt and heels with a smirk.

  “I’ve got just the thing for that.” He grabs my hand in front of the entire class, preventing me from pulling away. He guides me outside to a pile of fireman waders and boots.

  “I don’t think…”

  Maddie looks up at me with wide-eyed wonderment. “Ms. Delaney, you’re going to be a firewoman?”

  Oh great. Now feminism is on the line. I look back at Alisha for help. She’s pulled her phone out, ready to film my misadventures. So much for my backup.

  “Well?” Elijah quips, knowing I’m trapped.

  I narrow my eyes at him, kick off my heels, and accept the challenge with a, “how hard can it be?”

  He kneels in front of me and holds up the waders.

  “Harder than you’d think,” he mumbles. Gulp.

  I put one hand on his strong shoulder for balance and step into the stupid gigantic rubber pants. Once both feet are in, Elijah pulls them up slowly. My skirt rides up slightly inside the pant legs before he places the suspenders on my shoulders. My hands slide from his shoulders to his chest as he rises. We’re in public and both fully clothed. In front of kids no less. This shouldn’t feel intimate and erotic, but it does. Everything with Elijah does. I’m staring at his lips, mesmerized by the beat of his heart under my palm.

  “Boots,” he croaks.

  “Right.”

  He holds my arms, keeping me steady, as I step into the oversized galoshes. Next, I shoulder the heavy jacket. Elijah’s nimble fingers latch the front.

  “Now the finishing touch.” Elijah plops a helmet on my head. Unlike Tyler’s this one is the real deal, but it fits me in the same comically oversized way.

  I turn to face my tiny adoring fans, plaster my fake smile on, and give a little wave.

  “I feel ridiculous,” I hum to myself.

  “You look adorable,” Elijah professes. My fake smile is replaced by a genuine one.

  “Let’s go.”

  He takes my hand again, this time leading me up the stairs. Another firefighter is standing at the top of the pole. It’s been several years since I’ve seen him, but I recognize Noah immediately with his furrowed brow and general brooding nature. Death is still a surly jerk.

  I give him an awkward wave and blurt out, “Hey, Noah. Fancy meeting you here.”

  “Hey, Harper.” Two words, a soliloquy for Noah.

  I tug at the plastic jacket. It’s a pleasant mid-eighties with a light breeze, but sweat is pooling on my lower back. My nervousness is getting the best of me staring down a two-story hole in the floor.

  “It’s not as scary as it looks, I promise.” Elijah taunts.

  “Pfft. I’m not scared.”

  “Really? Hmmm. Guess you’re just always that shade of green then.”

  “Shut up, Elijah. You got me into this stupid mess.”

  “And I’m loving every minute of it, Short Stack.”

  “You know, I just got an idea for where you can shove this pole.”

  Noah laughs beside me, but Elijah shakes his head and turns back toward the stairs.

  “Where are you going?” I call after him.

  “I’ll be at the bottom. Someone’s gotta catch you when you fall.”

  “Ha! I’m doomed.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll catch you.” He lowers his voice and adds, “Too many witnesses to let you break your neck on my watch.”

  A hint of vertigo sweeps over me as I look down at the crowd two stories below me. Alisha is busy filming. Elijah has taken his post at the base of the pole and smiles up at me.

  “Let’s go, Delaney.”

  “Good luck,” Noah quips beside me.

  I grab the pole, wrap my legs around it, and begin my descent into humiliation. I don’t know how to control my speed and I zip down too fast. I land with a thud, crashing onto the floor. Onto Elijah, to be more accurate. True to his word, he catches me. I can feel his strong arms pulling me against him. I hate how good it feels.

  “Told you I’d catch you,” he reiterates underneath me.

  “There’s a first time for everything.” My voice is breathy and my eyes refuse to break from his. My heart pounds against my chest like a wild animal, desperate to devour Elijah.

  “That. Was. Awesome! Like, straight out of Bridget Jones’s Diary,” Alisha squeals, breaking Austin’s spell. I reach out my hand and she helps me up.

  I turn my back on Elijah, still at my feet, and lock my teacher persona in place. “Who wants to go next?” Every tiny hand shoots up, including Alisha’s.

  My best friend plops down on the couch next to me, sloshing her wine.

  “Damn, today was fun,” Alisha gushes with a satisfied sigh.

  I take a long sip of my whiskey and reply, “For you. I’m the one who was forced to dress up and parade around like an idiot.”

  “Forced?”

  “Yes. Elijah set me up. That whole fireman pole fiasco was all his doing. And he loved every minute of it.”

  “To be fair, so did I.” She giggles. I smack her shoulder.

  “God, I hate him. He couldn’t behave for one day. He had to humiliate me.”

  Alisha shakes her head. “Sweetie, he wasn’t trying to humiliate you.”

  “Of course he was. Whose side are you on?” I accuse, feeling betrayed by my own best friend.

  “Yours. Always. But I’m obligated to tell you when you’re being a complete idiot. Elijah was flirting with you. Or, at least trying to.”

  I scoff. “That’s all part of the game for him. He’s Famine. He’s all about the tease. He makes you want it so he can turn around and tell say you can’t have it.”

  “He wasn’t the one pulling away today,” she quips with a raised eyebrow.

  “Excuse me? You have got to be drunk. Do you even hear yourself right now?”

  “I mean, I’m a little buzzed. But I’m still right. You were the one picking a fight.” She points an accusing finger in my direction.

  I throw my arms up in frustration. “I can’t believe this. He’s got you fooled too! It’s official. I’m the only one on the planet who can see Elijah Monroe is a manipulative sociopath.”

  “Who rescues people from fires, is amazing with kids, and catches you when you fall on your ass.” She ticks off each one of Elijah’s qualities on her fingers, wiggling them in my face as proof of her assertion.

  “Only after setting me up to fall. It’s all an act. He’s been doing it for years. He puts up this front to everyone like he’s a freaking saint when underneath he’s this evil mastermind plotting my demise.”

  “You think he gets up every morning and decides to charge into burning buildings as part of an elaborate master plan to make you look bad?”

  “Yes.”

  “You know you sound crazy, right?”

  “I swear, he’s evil. He hates me.”

  “Believe me, Elijah Monroe does not hate you.”

  “Yes, he does. Has since the first second we met.”

  “You’ve been obsessed with hating Elijah for so long, is it possible you’ve overlooked the fact that he’s a decent guy? Maybe there’s another reason why he acts the way he does. With you.”

  I roll my eyes and cross my arms. “Oh yeah, like what? Enlighten me.”

  Alisha sets down her wine and turns to face me. Shit just got real. She looks me dead in the eye and says, “Like maybe he’s in love with you.”

  I shake my head so hard I almost give myself whiplash. This is nonsense. I down the rest of my whiskey and tell her, “That’s not possible.”

  Alisha pulls out her phone and hands it to me. I look at the picture on her screen. It’s Elijah and me from earlier today when he was dressing me in that stupid fireman getup. The gears in my head grind to a halt and I’m unable to process the image.

  “Look at his face, Harper.”

  I zoom i
n. In the picture I’m staring at Elijah’s lips. I remember wondering how soft they are, wanting to kiss him. I wasn’t looking at his eyes then, but I am now. They’re full of tenderness. We look like a cheesy hallmark card or the poster for some romance movie. We look like a couple in love.

  “Trust me. That’s not an act. That man is in love with you.”

  I toss the phone back at her. It lands in her lap with a thud.

  “You’re full of shit. It’s just a game to him. I’m going to bed.”

  Alisha doesn’t answer. She just sighs and lets me walk away.

  As I lie down in bed, my brain is running a mile a minute with thoughts of Elijah. Every moment we’ve ever had, every time I’ve ever been lost in his eyes. I question everything I think I know about him. About us.

  My phone pings. I unlock it to have the picture of Elijah staring back at me.

  Alisha’s text reads, “It’s not an act. Think about it.”

  And I do, for the rest of the damn night.

  Now…

  I head to Mrs. Davis’ office right after I put my last student on their bus home. I didn’t even bother to dress up for my interview. Taking over Mrs. Blake’s third grade class is not the dream job. It is the break-glass-in-case-of-emergency last resort job. The safety net. The sure thing.

  Weaverton Elementary doesn’t have STEM programs or an art department beyond finger painting and the annual talent show. But it does have the allure of being the only elementary school in town, a fact that keeps it full of blue-collar kids. Just about every resident of Weaverton has walked the halls of this less than hallowed institution. Including Elijah. The cute dimples that are particularly noticeable in his fourth grade picture pop into my head. I smirk at the thought of precocious little Elijah. Cute enough to get away with murder and smart enough to try. He’ll make beautiful babies with someone one day.

  “Argh. Give me a break!” I plead with my rogue thoughts, tugging at the roots of my hair before pulling my fingers through it and smoothing it out. I blame Alisha. She’s back home in San Francisco now, but the insidious thoughts she’s planted about Elijah are still here. For the millionth time, I chase them away with images of my dream apartment in San Francisco. An open-concept apartment in Pacific Heights, walking distance to Fisherman’s Wharf. By the time I reach Mrs. Davis’ door I can practically hear the ocean.