by Mia Sheridan
I frowned slightly, confused by her question. “Uh, lemon meringue pie.”
She tilted her head. “Oh.”
“Was that the wrong answer?” I teased.
“No.” She bit at her lip. “It’s probably not that easy to make, though.”
“You want to make me dessert?”
“I thought I would, yes. If that’s okay. Dinner, too.”
“Of course that’s okay. If you feel up to it.”
She smiled and it was bigger this time. “Would you mind taking a quick trip to the grocery store with me?”
I laughed, hope filling my heart. She was going to cook me dinner and make a pie. Something about the normalcy of that felt so good. “Not at all.” I tilted my head, grinning.
We drove to the grocery store in Morlea. I pushed the cart through the aisles while Ellie read ingredients off her phone from a recipe she must have looked up. I tried not to smile continually, but was hard-pressed not to. Watching Ellie walk through a grocery store—even on crutches—made me happy in a way I realized might be slightly excessive. Still, it felt like we were a couple, and I allowed myself to enjoy it. I felt comfortable with her beside me, found myself moving toward the soft brush of her arm rather than away.
As we were checking out, I noticed the looks, people talking, looking at me uncomfortably, the way they always did. I noticed and I saw Ellie noticing, too, although she quietly went about her business, unloading the items from the cart onto the conveyer. She looked embarrassed—for me, I assumed—and it put a sudden damper on the trip. Something about the expression on her face worried me, though I couldn’t say exactly why.
My eyes moved to the newspaper stand, where I saw a small article about the Wyatt Geller case. It wasn’t even a headline story anymore. That reality settled heavily in my gut. Other than checking the online news every morning, I had been somewhat successful at not letting my mind settle there. I was completely helpless and just had to hope and pray the police would get a break. Dwelling incessantly wouldn’t help anyone, least of all me.
Ellie was quiet in the truck on the way back, but once we’d arrived at home, she seemed normal again, and I helped her unpack the groceries before heading back outside to finish the yard work I’d started the day before.
I’d only been working for about an hour or so when I heard the front door bang open and looked up from where I was kneeling in the front flower bed spreading a bag of mulch. I stood slowly, my eyes moving up Ellie, her white shirt stained with something green, to her face, streaked with flour, up to her hair, which was splattered with the same green sauce on her shirt and in complete disarray.
“Ellie? You okay?” I watched her face, figuring there’d been a kitchen disaster, but not sure why she looked so incredibly devastated.
She came hobbling down the steps to stand in front of me and let out a long, shaky breath, using her hand to smooth back a piece of food-drenched hair. Her eyes were filled with such incredibly raw pain, I was rendered speechless. My heart wrenched as I stared at her.
What is going on here?
“When I was twelve, one of my dad’s friends came into my room one night while I was sleeping.” Oh no. Ah, Christ. I continued to stare at her, unwilling and unable to look away from her wide, pained eyes.
She had failed at making dinner, and this was her reaction. Why? Why had a simple failure brought such deep pain to the forefront? Was she trying to shock me again with something from her past she believed made her ugly and unlovable? I stood frozen, waiting for her to voice another thing she thought would do the trick and make me feel the same disgust for her she obviously felt for herself. Tell me, sweet girl. I can handle it.
She took a deep breath that made her whole body shiver. “We were together.” She raised her chin as if bracing for a reaction. I gave her none. You were raped, Eloise. Why don’t you call it that? A deep tremble seemed to move through her again, her shoulders raising and her eyes clenching shut for a moment. “He would bring me candy and then laugh and say he guessed he was my s-sugar d-daddy.”
Sugar.
Sorry, my lap-dance card is full for the night, sugar.
So what brings a nice guy like you to this den of sin, sugar?
Oh God. Oh Christ. It felt like someone was squeezing my guts in a vise. He was old enough to be her father, and she was just a little girl.
She took another heaving breath, and it was everything I could do not to reach for her. But I knew my gesture would stop her words, and right now, she needed to get them out. “My dad caught us one time and I thought … I thought … well, he didn’t c-care. He never cared. It went on for a year and then he s-started dating some woman across town a-and stopped coming over to my dad’s house. It was wrong, I guess, but when he stopped coming to me, I went to his h-house and begged him not to stay away. I begged him.” She spat it out as if it were poison. “I thought he loved me and so I begged him not to leave me. He did anyway, of course, but not before one last roll in the hay to remember me by.” A sound came up from her throat, not quite a moan, not quite a sob, but something that spoke of deep devastation, a sound I imagined had been lodged inside her for far too long.
It felt as if my body, my soul, was radiating pain. She gave me a shocked glance as if she had just come out of some strange fog and then turned abruptly and limped away, faster than I’d ever seen her move, as if the pain in her leg was the least of her concerns in that moment.
Oh Jesus. Now that she couldn’t hear me, I groaned out loud from the pain of her confession, the way in which she’d made herself starkly vulnerable in front of me. She’d been used—abused—so horribly and hated herself for mistaking it for love. God, sweet Eloise. I knew that type of pain, knew what it felt like to be so desperate for love that you’d try to find it anywhere. Create it if you had to. But the difference between her and me was that I had never been abused and thrown away by the people who were supposed to love me and keep me safe. My heart ached for her. And I realized again what a tender soul she was, how she wanted love so badly she had even tried to find it in the ugliest of places, in the first attention she’d ever received from a man.
Ellie, my Ellie.
A fierce protectiveness gripped me, the need to comfort her so overwhelming, it was a deep, aching need. And suddenly I realized that my desire to love her was bigger, more powerful, than my fear. It wasn’t practice I’d needed. It was love. Filling my heart so full there was no room for anything else.
I put my hands behind my neck and leaned my head back, staring up at the clear autumn sky, praying my love would be enough for both of us.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
You were given this pain because you’re strong enough to endure it.
Shadow, the Baron of Wishbone
ELLIE
I was shaking so hard I could barely catch my breath. Oh God, what had I done? And why? I couldn’t clear my mind. I felt overwhelmed with pain and horror and grief so strong it felt like it was pouring from my very soul.
I’d just wanted to make dinner and dessert for Gabriel. I’d thought I could do what Chloe had done so easily—just make a meal. I’d never really cooked—always made microwavable things, but had thought, How hard could it be? A simple meal and a stupid pie. And it had all gone so horribly awry. I’d started on the pie first, and the custard was watery and I couldn’t get the meringue to work, and I thought, Well, at least there’s dinner. But then I’d burned the pasta, which I didn’t even know was possible, and the pesto sauce I was mixing in the blender had exploded and hit me in the face like a blow.
I’d cried out, defeat and misery causing such a terrible, terrible lump to rise up in my throat. I couldn’t do anything right. I’d never do anything right. I was so useless, and Gabriel had told me he loved me but I didn’t deserve it. Chloe had made dinner and it’d looked so easy, so doable, but for me it wasn’t.
We’d gone to the grocery store, and everyone had looked at me so disdainfully. I’d remembered Dominic’s wo
rds about how Gabriel should have the life he’d been meant for. Obviously the people in town didn’t think I belonged with him, and I’d dismissed it, but then the pie and the dinner and all the terrible choices I’d made in my life, the way I’d never done anything right, not anything, came slamming down on me and—
“Hey.” The word was soft, gentle, and I looked behind me, startled out of my own painful, manic thoughts. Gabriel gave me a small, sad smile as he closed the French door to the patio, where I’d run. I turned away, dropping my arms to my sides, unsure of what to do, what to say, knowing he was going to tell me to leave, that he didn’t love me anymore. He’d do it nicely, though, because that’s who Gabriel was. He’d offer me a ride, tell me not to worry about the dirty kitchen. And it would hurt, oh, it would hurt but—
I felt him come up behind me, his big body right against mine, the heat from him permeating the cold coursing through my veins. I shivered. He pressed his body to mine, and I inhaled a quick, surprised breath as his arms came around me and he pulled me against him, leaning his head forward so his cheek was right at my temple. I stilled at the contact. Oh. Oh, Gabriel. He felt so solid, so sure, so confident, and although I was sick with the horror of what I’d confessed, something inside me rejoiced in this victory for him. He was holding me. We were about as close as two people could get, and I sensed no hesitation in his embrace. I closed my eyes with the power of the moment, tears escaping and coursing down my cheeks.
“I ruined dinner,” I whispered.
I felt him smile right above my ear. “I saw.”
I nodded, a jerky movement of my head against his chest. “The pie, too.”
“I saw that, too.”
“Oh.”
We were both quiet for a moment as my body stopped shaking in the warm cradle of his arms. He continued to hold me as my breath slowed. “I must exhaust you,” I said, and I could hear the note of desperation in my tone. I needed to give him an out, but it hurt so badly. He had said he loved me, that he wanted me, but surely he couldn’t want this. He shouldn’t want this. Me.
“No. But is that the worst of it for today?” I felt him smile again. He was teasing me, and the reality of that both startled and calmed me. He wasn’t horrified. Why?
“I … for today,” I said, turning my head slightly, too embarrassed to meet his eyes. I felt hollow and far, far too tender.
He chuckled softly, and this time I shivered with pleasure, the beautifully masculine sound of his laugh right at my ear, right against my skin.
Gabriel. Just like the angel. My angel. I want him to be my angel. I closed my eyes and pictured his arms as massive wings wrapped around me, protecting me from the world, and the vision brought forth a smile.
The truth was, what I’d told him was the worst of it. The thing that shamed me most of all. The thing that lay deep inside like a secret sickness. The thing that, until now, I’d never shared with another living soul.
“I love you, Eloise. That won’t change.”
I opened my eyes. He was the only thing that was solid in the whole wide world, and I sagged against him, a small strangled sound coming up my throat.
“Why does that scare you so much?”
“Because … because I’m afraid you’ll take it away.”
“Do I strike you as a man who loves carelessly or recklessly?”
“No.” The word was a broken whisper. Gabriel didn’t strike me as a man who did anything carelessly or recklessly.
“I won’t take it away.”
He said it with so much resolve, so much surety, as if it wasn’t a possibility at all. I wanted to believe. God, I wanted to so much but I didn’t know how to do that.
“Can I show you something?” he whispered.
I felt so unbalanced, so flustered and scared. So wrung dry. So unsure why Gabriel still loved me and why he’d started in the first place. “O-okay.”
He pulled back and took my hand, picking up my crutches where I’d dropped them on the ground and handing them to me. I followed him past the kitchen, where it looked like there had been a green and yellow paintball war. “Can I just change shirts quickly?”
“Of course.”
I ducked into my room and pulled on a clean shirt, using a wet towel in the bathroom to wipe as much goop from my face and hair as I could. When I was done, I rejoined Gabriel where he was waiting in the hall, and we headed out the front door and into his truck. “Where are we going?”
“We’re moving rather than cleaning up that kitchen.”
I surprised myself by laughing, and Gabriel grinned. We drove in silence for about ten minutes or so. I was still trying to calm my racing heart, trying to come to terms with my emotional meltdown, still feeling a bit of embarrassment and insecurity, but also a sense that something inside had swollen beyond capacity and burst free. I felt a sense of lightness I didn’t know how to explain.
Gabriel glanced at me and smiled warmly, reaching for my hand and holding it until we arrived at the turnoff to a small back road. I thought about another back road I’d been down recently—how Tommy Hull had demanded “payment” for a ride and then smacked me. A distant sense of anger gripped me at the memory, and I wished I’d fought him, wished I’d punched him the way George had taught me. Or better yet, wished I hadn’t gotten in his truck at all.
Not all men will take advantage of you just because they have the opportunity, but you gotta learn to spot the ones who might and then stay away.
I supposed I had a hard time spotting them at all. Men who took advantage were the familiar. My norm. It was the good men who were unfamiliar, foreign. Ironically, the good men were the ones who scared me. Like Gabriel.
Gabriel made a series of turns and pulled his truck over, smiling at me before hopping down and coming around to help me out, too. I looked around as we walked to the front of the truck. The area was heavily wooded, the leaves on the trees so many colors—vibrant gold and scarlet and small bursts of purple.
Up ahead was a dark red covered bridge running over a small creek. As we moved toward the bridge, I inhaled the crisp scent of autumn and running water. “This is what you wanted to show me?”
“Up here. Is your leg okay?”
“Yes, it’s fine.”
I studied the bridge as we moved toward it. To me, there had always been something so quaint and old-fashioned about covered bridges, something simple and romantic. But up until now I hadn’t dwelled much on romance. Not until Gabriel.
He led me to the edge of the bridge and walked along the outside, where there was a small ledge just above the shallow running water, shaded by the overhang of the bridge roof. I looked at him questioningly, and he took off his shoes and started rolling up his jeans. I watched as he did so, frowning slightly and then following suit, kicking off my one shoe. He sat down and put his feet in the water and laughed, grinning up at me with one eye squinted. Butterflies took flight in my belly, and I sat down next to him, scooting one hip back so my cast didn’t touch the water and dangling my bare foot in the creek. A small burst of laughter rose in my throat as the cold water swirled around my toes. “Oh, that’s cold.” I laughed again. But it felt good, like cool silk rushing over and along my skin to tickle up my ankle. It made me feel present and alive.
Gabriel leaned back on the side of the bridge and pointed down in front of him. Below us lay a valley of wildflowers in every hue, surrounded by the vibrant changing trees. For a moment the colorful beauty stole my breath. I’d lived in Vermont my whole life and I’d never spent more than a minute looking at the beauty of the landscape. Sitting there with Gabriel, I was stunned—almost overwhelmed—by it.
“There are rainbows everywhere,” Gabriel said, tilting his head and smiling at me.
I laughed softly, glancing at him, feeling suddenly shy by his closeness, by the way he was looking at me. A breeze stirred a piece of my hair into my face, and I brushed it back, closing my eyes and inhaling deeply as the scent of the wildflowers below found their way to us.
“I want to give you all of this,” Gabriel said softly. I opened my eyes and looked at him, at the serious expression on his beautiful face, the way his eyes seemed to see straight into my soul. The way he seemed to know everything about me. And now, I supposed he did. Most of it anyway.
My heartbeat quickened, and I looked away as my cheeks heated at the nearness of him, the love in his expression. I wasn’t sure what to do with it yet, as I’d never experienced it. I soaked in the view again, feeling the rush of the water as I moved my foot languidly through it, the feel of the breeze caressing my face and ruffling my hair. “You can’t give someone the wind, Gabriel,” I said softly, looking back at him, caught in his gaze.
He reached out and cupped my cheek, and my heart stuttered as I instinctively leaned into his palm. Just like on his patio earlier, there didn’t seem to be any hesitance in his touch, just loving certainty. His lips tipped up in a sweet smile. “I can try. Let me try, Ellie.”
I let out a soft breath as my own lips formed a smile. I knew what he meant. He wanted to give me the peace of this moment, the … poetry of this place, the romance, the scents and the sounds and the serene beauty all around us. He wanted to give me love. And, God, I wanted to take it, I was just so scared to reach out and grab it. Still so fearful it would be taken away. And if it was, I would never be able to go on. I would never recover.
A few leaves fluttered from the trees, twirling lazily in the light breeze, and I felt a gentle falling inside me, too. I wondered how trees knew to let go of the things they no longer needed, and I wondered if I could do that, as well.
“How do you do it?” I asked. “How do you let go of the fear?” He had been hurt before, too. So very, very profoundly. How did he move past that when I couldn’t seem to figure it out? Still held so tightly to it.
“The fear?” he asked, his gaze moving over my face.
“The fear of loving.”
A look of sad understanding came into his eyes. “Because, Ellie,” he said, and his voice was filled with so much resolve it made me blink in surprise, “I win every time I’m bold in how I love. I want to say I win a hundred times a day, a thousand, by loving the sunrise, and the wind, and the way raindrops sound on my window.” He paused, his thumb moving lightly over my cheekbone, caressing my face like I was precious. “And you, most of all, you. I want to look at you and say, one evil man did not stop me from presenting my heart to the girl who claimed it. You get my heart, Eloise. You. And, God, I hope you want it. But if you don’t, I still won’t regret giving it to you. Even then, I won’t regret loving you because it means I win.”