My father’s face pops into my mind, and my breathing grows thick.
I sit up and thump my fist against my ribcage, inhaling slowly. I blow the air out in a steady whoosh as if I were in the gridiron’s locker room waiting to start a crucial game. I repeat this until my heartbeats quieten down.
Only then do I admit the shameful truth—the bitterness in my mouth isn’t because of my father’s impudence of waltzing back into Mom’s life despite my clear warning not to.
No, it’s the repugnant flavor of self-accusation.
Although I know it’s ridiculous, a part of me wants to believe Dad really has changed. That all those words he threw at me weren’t just lip-service but a sign that my mother was right about him all along. That his past behavior truly disgusts him, and he’s ready to redeem himself.
Since I don’t know what to do with this unsettling realization, I commit to the only action which may or may not ease the queasiness in my stomach—fetching myself a late-night snack.
I hop down from the bed without switching on the light. Though Ellie’s room is on the opposite end of the floor, I don’t want to wake her when I open my door.
I step into the corridor expecting darkness and silence. Instead, a faint light oozes upstairs, and the suction noise of a closing fridge hits my ears.
Is Ellie awake too?
I hurry down the stairs, taking the steps by two and putting some extra thump into each movement to alert Ellie of my presence.
Devon told me that his sister developed an interest in self-defense after one of her neighbors got mugged last year. If I know Ellie well—and after our week together, I think I still actually do—then she not only purchased silly gadgets to ensure her security but also watched countless YouTube videos on martial arts.
If I startle her, I could end up with a fork flying in my direction in her attempt to imitate a ninja.
However, as I turn the corner to the kitchen, I realize my efforts to draw attention to myself were in vain.
Ellie stands at the wood-paneled island with her back to me. Earphones hang down her shoulders, and she’s humming “Cotton Eye Joe” softly. Her elbows lift and drop as if she’s chopping something, while her feet drift from left to right on her mother’s vintage rug.
I stop and stare at her.
It’s not only my eyes that are taking her in but also my skin. It might sound weird, but I feel as if my pores open up to absorb her joyful energy, transporting it into each of my molecules. The uneasiness that drew me to grab a snack dissipates, leaving space for a far more pleasurable sensation—utter calmness, almost as if the sight of her has pushed me into a hurricane’s eye where, despite the twirling menace, there’s peace.
Ellie bobs her head, and her dark curls create scintillating reflections on the cobalt blue cabinets.
I watch the playful game of shadows, and a smile makes its way to my lips as I recall how the unusual shade for her parents’ kitchen cupboards got picked.
It was two nights after Devon’s and my senior prom. The Griffins invited me for dinner to celebrate their son and me moving away to college. I joined gladly because Mom had a charity meeting, and I didn’t want to be stuck home with my dad.
Ellie’s parents were bickering about what pantry color was the best for their newly refurbished kitchen. Her mom wanted beige to counterbalance the already present wooden surfaces. Her father defended the raw maple, claiming that “in rustic style, you either go big or go home.”
Devon had chuckled at their quibble, calling it “stupid,” but then Ellie had stepped in. She’d made her parents take turns explaining why they wanted what they wanted and then found the perfect compromise for them—a color that would remind her mom of the ocean she loved and be manly enough to complement her father’s John Wayne movie-style, buttery leather stools.
I should have known back then what a terrific therapist Ellie would become. She’s a natural at understanding people and helping them understand themselves.
Could this be the reason merely glancing at her makes me feel centered?
Ellie picks up her cutting board and turns. When her eyes zoom in on me, she flinches. Her knife, together with the carrot and cucumber chunks, stumbles to the floor.
“Ouch!” she exclaims.
I dart to her. “Did you hurt yourself?”
“It’s nothing serious.” She lowers the cutting board to the counter, then pulls out her earphones and mp3 player and stashes them too. She squats down to observe her feet.
I kneel next to her.
Ellie was right. The knife made only a minor scratch on her left pinky toe. Still, the faint red line on her skin makes my stomach clench with guilt.
“I’m so sorry I startled you,” I murmur, brushing my thumb on the bare skin of her foot. “Shall I bandage it?”
Ellie’s breath hitches, and she clears her throat. “One would think that as a quarterback, you’ve seen your share of worse injuries. It’s nothing. it’s not even bleeding.”
She picks up the knife and straightens.
I jump up, too, and point at the vegetables on the floor that are cut as neatly as if she’d marked them with a ruler. “You couldn’t sleep either?”
“Not exactly. I fell asleep, but when I woke, my stomach rumbled.” She wrinkles her nose and glances down at her belly. “So I made myself some healthy nibbles.”
“That’s because you didn’t finish your soup at the party in your effort of cheering me up.” I grin at her.
“You noticed that, huh?” she asks, blushing. “I thought I wasn’t that obvious when I invited you to dance.”
“You were, but I appreciated it.” I wink at her. “Plus, it was lots of fun, too.”
Ellie smiles. “It was, wasn’t it? I think I’ll look for a place in Phoenix to line dance and go even without my roomies.”
“Hope and Cora are not country fans?”
She shakes her head. “Hope is wooden-legged and knows it. While Cora…well, I suppose that folk music reminds her of her childhood, and as far as she is concerned, anything that brings up memories from that era is off-limits.”
“So I’m not the only one with a screwed-up childhood. That’s a relief.” I chuckle.
Ellie’s eyes flick to mine. She opens her mouth as if to say something, then bites her lip.
“Okay, spit it out,” I say to her. “I know you have your opinion about what I should do regarding Dad. I’d like to hear it.”
She backs up to the counter and puts her hands on the granite surface. She leans back, supporting her weight on her palms. “Are you sure you want to know?”
“I asked, didn’t I?”
She nods. “Fine. I think it’s time for you to put the past where it belongs.”
“So you agree with my mother.”
I’m not surprised. Deep down, I knew Ellie would have said this. Just like Mom’s, Ellie’s heart is filled with hope, generosity, and kindness instead of being resentful and guarded like mine. The proof of this is that she’s here with me, even after the way I’ve treated her in the past.
She nods again. “Yes. But not because I think that forgiving someone is the Christian thing to do. Your mom is certainly motivated by her faith, but my reasons are more selfish.”
“You, selfish? No way.” I shake my head. “You’re the most selfless person I know.”
“No, I’m far from that. I want our therapy to be a success.”
I meet her gaze. “So your only motivation is that?”
She shrugs. “I might also want to see you happy.”
My heart stutters at her words. “You do?”
“Of course,” she says, with a small smile. “Though I don’t know enough about your dad to judge whether he’s going to stick to his acquired sobriety or not—”
I cross my arms in front of my chest. “Then why do you want me to give him a chance?”
“Because if you forgive your father, your anger issues will dissolve. It’s your bitterness toward him that keeps
you hooked. Because letting go of your resentment could have tremendous benefits for you.”
I arch my brows. “Like what?”
“If you release the anger about the past, you make room for new emotions.”
“Impossible,” I murmur.
“Did you ever notice that impossible is actually spelled as “I-m-possible”? she gives me a cheeky glance.
“That’s cheesy.” I chuckle.
She grins. “It is, but it makes you look at the word differently, right?”
I run a hand through my hair. “Perhaps holding onto my grudge strengthens me. It’s been the fuel that drove me to excel in football.”
“I know that’s what you think. It’s the primary reason most people remain attached to their fury. But, believe me, resentment does not give you an edge.” Ellie’s voice reverberates with the wisdom of someone who truly knows what she’s talking about. She gives me an encouraging smile. “It comes down to what you really want, Wyatt. Living in fear of exposing yourself and getting hurt again? Or being brave and taking a chance?
Suddenly, I remember that I’m not the only one who faced the dilemma of excusing someone’s grave mistake. Ellie buried the hatchet with me.
Could it mean that she’s not afraid of me hurting her anymore?
I genuinely hope so. If I could travel back in time, I would never cause her the pain I did.
Ellie’s eyes shine with confidence, as if she knows that I have the strength and I’ll make the right choice.
As I glare at her, a warmth spreads in my chest at the faith she has in me.
When I’m around Ellie, I feel like I’m capable of anything. Perhaps even forgiving my father.
Suddenly, I don’t understand how I’d ever believed Coach Williams. Having Ellie in my life would’ve never made me sloppy in the game. She wouldn’t have hindered my career.
As I ponder this, a realization, almost as violent as a pass from Joe, slams me and takes my breath away.
Oh, sweet Lord, I want Ellie. Again.
Or, perhaps, still. Because frankly, I believe I’ve never stopped desiring her.
Chapter 31
(Ellie)
As I stare at Wyatt, my chest rumbles, telling me that the line between my duty of being his therapist and caring for him for real has blurred entirely.
But I can’t stop pondering this unsettling discovery. I’m too eager to know what he’ll decide. I’d like for him to make the right choice, to let go of what’s been eating away at his soul. I know he wants that too.
But is he ready to take the leap?
Wyatt studies me with an undecipherable expression, then cocks his head to the side. “Just out of interest…what sensations can you possibly feel for someone who’s hurt you?”
I shrug. “All kinds, really.”
“All kinds?” he asks in a throaty voice.
I nod encouragingly. “Yes. Even the ones you wouldn’t expect.”
Wyatt searches my gaze, then steps closer. “So after you forgave me for the hurt I put you through…”
I bend back slightly because I don’t like where he’s going with his question. “I don’t think I’m the best example…” My voice trembles at these last words and I blame it on his black T-shirt and the pajama pants that make him look like a Calvin Klein nightwear model.
Wyatt lifts his thumb, and I almost think he’ll brush it on my neck, but he only scratches his chin. “That’s the only example I’m interested in.”
“Fine, what do you want to know?” I focus on my breathing to suppress the sudden desire to snuggle up to the stubble sprouting on his jawline.
He sighs. “It’s simple. I’d like to know if you had new feelings for me? Perhaps something you didn’t expect?”
What am I supposed to say to this?
I can’t back out from advocating forgiveness, but I can’t confess to him that what I harbor for him has been in my heart all along. I thought I’d gotten rid of it, but I hadn’t.
My throat clenches as I search for words.
My mind draws a blank, probably because my body doesn’t want me to speak but to act. It’s torture not to move forward. All my cells want to be closer to him, possibly only a breath away.
Something in his eyes, shining in the suffused kitchen lights like melted caramel, tells me he’d be glad if I gave in to my instinct.
But where would that lead me?
I force a smile to my face. “Sure, I have plenty of new feelings. I feel responsible for you like a good therapist should. And I like you again. Just like you like me, right?”
Proud that I used my professional role and his own words from the dance floor to cover up my actual feelings, I take a step to the side and clap my hands, tuning my voice into a chipper soprano. “Anyway, now that we’ve established that a kiss and make up is the only correct way forward for you and your father, can I offer you a snack?” I point at the floor. “Obviously not these cucumbers and carrots, but there’s also some celery in the fri—”
Wyatt places a hand on my shoulder, which immediately stops my babbling.
I peer up at him.
“You don’t want any celery,” I mumble.
A strange smile plays on his lower lip. “I’m not particularly keen on veggies, right now, no.”
There’s a hungry glint in his irises, but judging by the way he’s looking at me, I can tell that he couldn’t care less about my healthy snack suggestions.
“Then what would you like? Guacamole dip?”
He shakes his head. “No. I’m still thinking about what you said.”
My brows arch while a warmth cascades down my ribs.
I glance at my shoulder, and that’s when I realize Wyatt’s fingers are still clasping me.
He follows my gaze but doesn’t release me. “You said a kiss and make up is—”
“It was just a figure of speech,” I interject quickly, as my heartbeat shoots through the roof.
Wyatt smiles, his eyes dipping to my mouth. His ardent glance could light up a fireproof blanket. “You told me that certain semantic expressions can make us aware of what we truly desire. I think your figure of speech just did that to me.”
Seeing his yearning scares me because my soul mirrors his longing. Yet, I summon all my self-control and clear my voice. “Wyatt, let’s not do this.”
“Why?” he asks, and this time his hand moves to my chin. His thumb slides on my jawline, easy like a feather. “Tell me you don’t want it.”
The most exquisite thrills rush over my skin, and I can’t bring myself to protest.
“If this feels good, don’t fight it,” Wyatt says and moves forward.
I don’t want to listen to him or to the drumming in my chest. I want to listen to the cautious voice in my head that knows that committing the same mistake twice is the sign of a real fool, but I can’t because Wyatt’s lips close on mine and our skins melt together.
My doubts get crushed by the wave of passion that his breath liberates in me. His arms snake around my waist with the desperation of a choking man, and my mouth reacts to his desire with equal fervor.
His familiar smell envelops me, releasing my last blockades. I abandon myself to the sweetness of his caresses.
Wyatt takes my hand and presses it on his chest. He moves back only an inch so that his words are a hot stream of air on my mouth. “Let’s give us another chance, Ellie.”
His puzzling statement jars me out of the trance I’ve fallen into.
The thumping of his heart still reverberates on the tips of my fingers as I lower my hand and step back. “No, Wyatt. This isn’t right.”
“I say it’s the rightest thing in this whole darned world,” he murmurs, inching closer again.
“You don’t know what you’re saying. The chemistry between us is—”
He shakes his head. “It’s not just chemistry…” He pats his ribcage. “It’s more.”
“No,” I squeak.
“Yes. That’s why I want a second chanc
e for us.”
“A second chance?” I try to wrap my head around the meaning of Wyatt’s words.
Wyatt smiles and nods. He seems convinced about what he just said, but I can’t trust him because the leery voice his kiss silenced is back and it’s screaming at me.
“You’re probably just confused,” I mumble. “I’m your therapist. It’s frequent in such a setting to think you’ve developed emotions for the person treating you and—”
Wyatt presses a thumb on my lips. “No, it’s not an eroticized transference.”
Before I can even wonder how he knows this term, he adds, “It’s all real. It’s always been real; I was just too much of a coward to admit it. Ellie, I lov—”
I grab his hand, tear it away from my mouth, and shake my head. “Don’t say a word more, please.”
“Why?” he asks, wide-eyed. “Why don’t you want to hear the truth?”
Because whatever you say, you might take it back in a phone call.
I couldn’t handle that. Not when the choking in my throat and the drilling in my chest show me that our kiss undid all the careful mind-training I practiced while forgetting how much I loved Wyatt.
I shift my arms behind my back. I roll my hands into fists so tight that the pain in my joints cuts through my mind’s haze. I can’t use the therapist argument, so I have to invent something else—even if it’s only a fib. “Because I can’t,” I blurt, before my heart can convince my head to surrender to its desire. “I’m dating Bill. You know that.”
“Bill?” Wyatt echoes. “But you only had one dinner with him. And it ended early, too. I didn’t think…”
If Wyatt is to believe this lie, I need to make it believable. I nod. “That’s right, but our evening went exceptionally well. Bill and I really…clicked. I guess it’s because we’re interested in the same things and have similar dreams about our future. In fact, I can’t wait to see him once we’re back in Phoenix.”
Wyatt narrows his eyes. “That’s why you kissed me?”
Law #3: Don't Fall for the Athlete: Sweet Second Chance Romance (Laws of Love) Page 24