Elliott Redeemed

by Scarlett Cole

  Anger rose in her throat. “Well, you need to get over it, because Daniel has been talking to Elliott. That’s his name. Elliott. And Elliott finally got him to open up and talk about the day of the fire.”

  Silence met her.

  “That’s great news, right?” she said.

  “Yeah. Look. It should be you and me there for him. Not some guy he barely knows. I mean, it’s great he made progress, but I’m sure we could have gotten him there together.”

  Kendalee rubbed the tips of her fingers along her forehead and attempted to control her response. She couldn’t face another argument. Not today. Not when so much good had happened. “Does it matter who he made the progress with? As long as he made it. And you and I . . . we aren’t together. You were the one who decided to walk out on Daniel and me. You’re the one who asked for a divorce.”

  “Please, Kendalee. That’s why I wanted to see if you’d come out for a drink. I’ve been . . . rethinking things. I’m thinking that for Daniel’s sake, we should reconsider. And then perhaps, he’d see me trying and let me visit him.”

  Adrian couldn’t have shocked her more if he’d punched her in the stomach. “We should reconsider.” Once upon a time, those were the very words she’d wanted to hear, had even hoped for. She looked down at her wedding ring.

  “What about . . . ?” She couldn’t bring herself to say the woman’s name.

  “I wanted to sound you out first.”

  Dear Lord. Was he really hedging his bets? Cold fury streaked down her spine, and she sat taller. “Let me get this straight. You want to get back together for the sake of seeing our son? Nothing to do with wanting me back as your wife. And you haven’t told your mistress because if I say no, you want to have your backup in place? Do I have that straight?”

  “Kendalee,” Adrian said in the same voice he always used when he thought she was being “moody” and “unreasonable.” “See? This is why we should have met in person. You are misconstruing what I’m saying. It’s simple. I want us to get back together to help Daniel. Give it some thought, and I’ll be in touch in a couple of days. I’m going to put two thousand dollars into the account when I get off the phone to show I’m serious.”

  Kendalee was speechless. Now he had money to give her. When it suited him. “Good-bye, Adrian,” she said, and hung up the phone.

  For a moment, she stared down at the wood floor, completely lost. When she’d first found out about the affair, she’d tried everything to get Adrian to stay. She’d promised to go to the gym to lose the pounds she’d gained because of all the fertility treatments and hormone injections and had never been able to shed. She’d offered to quit volunteering at the school if he wanted her home more. But nothing had worked. And now that he’d offered her what she’d once wanted, she wasn’t sure why she ever had.

  If she went back to him, she could kiss retraining to be a nurse good-bye. There was no way on earth he’d put up with her rotating through shifts.

  Kendalee stepped into the bathroom and set the tub running. There was a bottle of Jo Malone bath oil with the label POUR ME, so she did. The smell of clementines filled the room. As steam began to rise, she slipped out of her utilitarian no-frills uniform and poured herself a generous glass of red. She took a large sip and then moved both the glass and the bottle to the side of the tub. It was impossible to remember when she’d last let go, got drunk, relaxed. That’s what she needed. She couldn’t focus on Adrian right now. She wanted to try to enjoy just a few precious moments to herself safe in the knowledge that her best friend was looking after her son.

  A pile of hair elastics sat on the edge of the counter, and she grabbed one, throwing her hair into a big topknot on her head. Before she stepped into the tub, she grabbed a couple of the large fluffy towels, moved them closer, and pressed Play on the video.

  “Okay,” Elliott’s voice filled the bathroom as his face filled the screen. He was shirtless, wearing jeans that were unbuttoned, but not revealing anything compromising. “I’ve been thinking about our top-five songs to make love to, and it’s really bothering me that you would actually make out to such predictable music. I’m breaking it down for you so you’re ready when we get it on.”

  She rolled her eyes and laughed.

  “Yeah, and whatever eyebrow-raising, eyeball-rolling thing you are doing right now can just stop because I am a man on a mission.”

  She laughed as his voice turned all Barry White at the end. The water was hot and bubbly as she stepped into it.

  “Number one. Let’s talk rhythm . . .”

  Kendalee reached for her wine and watched Elliott position his fingers over the strings to strum gently as he spoke. “First up, ‘At Last.’ Etta James did a great job with that song.” He played the opening chords but never took his eyes off the camera. It was the hottest thing she’d ever seen. “But . . . I said songs to have sex to. Not songs to dance your girl around the living room to. So, let’s start with how on earth I’m going to get any kind of hip action going to this.”

  Kendalee laughed as he played more of the song, grateful nobody could see the way she had sprayed a little wine in surprise at his comment.

  “See,” he said. “Great song, but impossible to fuck to.”

  Elliott’s sometimes funny, occasionally crude, and always hot explanation of the anatomy of a love song had her tightening her thighs and swooning at his words in equal measure. He went through all the criteria he felt important. Long intros for kissing; beats per minute, which he crudely changed to bangs per minute; and how long it took the song to peak, which, yes, obviously parlayed into orgasms.

  “Now that I’ve explained it, you gotta listen to it and tell me which songs work best. Wish I was in that water with you, sweetheart,” he said.

  And then he began to play. And sing. In a voice so pure and true it filled the bathroom and her heart. Listening to the god-awful noise that Daniel had played, she would have never guessed the actual extent of Elliott’s talent. He was amazing. Song after song played for such a long time that she had to turn on the hot tap to top up the heat of the water. When the video finished, she was a prune, the wine was gone, and she was firmly halfway between drunk and asleep.

  Plus, she was horny. Watching those hands of his play the guitar so masterfully, listening to the downright incendiary tone of his voice, and getting hypnotized by the way he’d occasionally close his eyes as he sang had her all kinds of worked up.

  She clumsily stumbled out of the bath, giggling at the fact it was really fricking stupid to get inebriated in water. The towels were soft and warm as she wrapped them around her body, but she hurried through her nighttime routine, anxious to slip on her new nightclothes. Excitement filled her as she slipped the cool silk over her head and shoulders. It practically slithered over her breasts, leaving her nipples puckered and tender.

  Water. She needed a drink or else she was going to have the most treacherous hangover in the morning. Kendalee pulled on her new robe, which fit her perfectly and skimmed the top of her thighs.

  On the way down the stairs, she started to sing “At Last.” She’d probably remove it from her sex list, but she still loved it. Clumsily, she stumbled down the last two steps, which kicked off hiccups. But it was way too late to regret drinking a whole bottle of wine. Barefoot, she padded into the kitchen and pulled open the fridge. The air was cool against her skin, and she shivered.

  As she turned, Elliott appeared in front of her.

  “I was sitting down here,” he said roughly, “because knowing you were in that bathtub only a floor away was fucking killing me.”

  She hadn’t heard him come home, but he’d obviously been there a while, as he wore a pair of shorts that rode low on his hips and nothing else. Maybe it was the alcohol making her bolder, but she wanted to run her fingers down the lines of muscle that led down into his shorts. “Elliott,” she whispered, taking a step toward him. She placed her hand over his heart, a heart she knew was capable of good things. His skin was w
arm, his muscles solid, and she took comfort from the fact he was here with her and that she wasn’t alone. Tentatively, she stroked her hand down his chest, but Elliott placed his hand over hers and studied her intently. His eyes, heavy lidded, telling her that he wanted her as much as she did him.

  What was he waiting for? It had all made sense to stand her ground, to not get involved. But now, feeling as she did in her sexy new nightgown after years of feeling unwanted, none of it was relevant. She stepped up onto her toes and pressed her lips to his.

  Elliott groaned against her and ran his tongue along the seam of her lips, and she opened for him immediately. He nudged the robe off her shoulders, and it slithered to the floor. Softly, he nuzzled his way along her jaw, and kissed her as he had the previous evening along the side of her neck, leaving her knees weak.

  Kendalee slipped her fingers into his hair, holding him close. Her heart beat so furiously that she was certain Elliott could hear it. Finally. She’d get to experience what it was to let go and make love with someone who wanted her as she was.

  He gripped the silk of her nightdress, pulling it tight around her hips, then let go and slid his hands down her thighs until he reached the hem of the gown. Rough fingertips danced along her skin. In two steps, he backed her up against the counter, then lifted her as if she weighed nothing, making her gasp as the cool marble met her heated skin.

  The sensations were impossible to absorb. From the way his stubble tickled her cheek as he kissed her again to the way his calloused hands gripped her knees and pressed them open. As the nightdress rose up her thighs, Elliott stared at the space between them. She was naked beneath the slip of silk, and for a moment, she panicked, trying to recall just how many weeks ago it had been since she’d had the privacy to shave her bikini line.

  “Fuck.” Elliott groaned as his hands slid higher, his thumbs almost touching her most intimate places. “We can’t,” he then said and stepped away.

  * * *

  “We can’t.”

  If he’d poured an ice-cold bucket of water over her head, it wouldn’t have induced a look even close to the one of complete shock on Kendalee’s face.

  “What . . . I mean . . . but you . . . “

  Yeah, he had. He’d encouraged this. Shit, one look at his dick, which was harder than fucking iron right now, should be enough to reassure anybody that he desperately wanted it. But he wasn’t quite drunk enough to overrule the one rule Ellen had kicked their asses about when they’d first started getting sexually active, the rule he’d always broken until right this very moment. “We’re both—”

  “No. Please don’t make excuses. That will make me feel even more foolish,” Kendalee said, suddenly springing down from the counter. She grabbed her robe from the floor, and pulled it on.

  Elliott reached out and grabbed her wrist. “Stop, Kendalee. We’re both drunk.”

  Unable to just walk out on Daniel after his big breakthrough, Elliott had stayed at the hospital until Daniel had settled and he’d confirmed Kendalee was on her way with her friend, Rachel, and the nurse on duty had been able to page psych support. When he’d finally left the hospital, he’d called Jordan, who’d met him at a bar on College Street, where he’d proceeded to get blind drunk. The urge to find release, to find a way to deal with all the thoughts banging around in his head, was great. Something had to give. But he knew drinking wouldn’t get him to the headspace he needed to be in. Not as Daniel’s words continued to reverberate over and over in his head. He’d smelled himself burn. Elliott wasn’t sure if that was even feasible, but if it was, he couldn’t imagine anything worse. Even now, in the dark of the kitchen, it had made him feel ill. So, he’d drunk. A lot. Then he’d eaten a shit-ton of cheap Mexican food in a feeble attempt to sober up enough to come home. When he was a mess, only the F’s would do—Fight, Fire, or Fuck. Jordan had refused to go a round with him, no matter how much he’d provoked the big guy by making some ill-advised jokes about how he and the slender Lexi, the most mismatched couple he knew, made out. When Jordan had seen straight through him, had gone as far as saying that he understood just how much Elliott was hurting because he’d had to hurt too, before he could accept that he was worthy of Lexi, Elliott had felt like the biggest jerk on the planet. With no one to fight, he’d considered his other options. The idea of starting a fire after what Daniel had told him felt all kinds of fucked up. The confusion between the lure of starting a fire and his horror at Daniel’s comments had him out of his mind. Which left fucking. And here was Kendalee, a vision in silk as soft as her skin, ready, willing, and sure as fuck able to help him out, but he’d turned her down despite all the confusion coursing through him. He was exhausted.

  Gently, he tugged her to him and ran the pad of his thumb over her lips. “You know I want you, Kendalee. I’m not making any secret about that,” he said, holding her close where she could feel his dick against her as proof. “But not like this. No matter how beautiful you look right now.” He bent forward and pressed his lips gently to hers, a soft, sweet kiss that was more emotionally damaging than the passion they’d shared only moments earlier.

  “I thought you were rejecting me,” she murmured against his lips.

  Elliott pulled back for a moment. “The first time you and I make love, it will be with all our faculties about us. I don’t want you to wake up in the morning and wish you and I hadn’t happened. But, I really don’t want to sleep alone tonight. Come sleep with me, Kendalee. And if you still want me in the morning, I’ll be right there.”

  She pressed her forehead to his chest, and hiccupped. “Okay.”

  They stood for a few moments longer, and he savored the quiet embrace. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had someone to just hold on to. Someone to ground him. As he held Kendalee, he could feel his heart rate decelerate, and the thoughts that had been bouncing around in his head began to settle.

  “Thank you for being there for Daniel today,” she said, quietly, her forehead against his chest. “It means the world to me that he has you right now.”

  Elliott could feel his chest fill up. Pride? Warmth? Who knew what the hell it was, but it was something. Something that told him in a little voice that this was his path out. His road to something better. If he could survive it. He wanted to tell her what had happened in his life, and prayed that she’d understand, that she’d still want him once he was through. And he needed to hide the fact that every step Daniel took to feeling better left him feeling worse. “You’re welcome. I want to help. Which is why, as incredible this feels right now, I think we should go to bed.”

  He stepped away from her, grabbed them both water, and then took her hand and led her up the stairs. On the first landing, he paused. “You want to keep going up those stairs without me, I’ll deal, but I’d much rather you sleep in here with me.”

  For a moment, she looked towards the staircase, then shook her head. “Take me to bed and hold me, Elliott,” she sighed.

  Several hours later, as true to his word as ever, he still held on to her. He learned every inch of her curves from the way they pressed up against him, her face against his chest and her leg over his thigh, leaving him comforted and horny in equal measure. As the dark settled around them, an invisible heaviness closed in on him. One that had been crushing him, like a cloak made of lead.

  She wouldn’t be able to see past who he was.

  Go burn something.

  It was foolish to expect her to understand.

  Go burn something.

  She’d be looking for positive role models for Daniel. Not someone like him who still felt the compulsion.

  Go burn something.

  Gently, he slipped out of bed and watched as Kendalee snuggled into the spot he’d left behind. As soon as his skin had left hers, he wanted to be back in there with her. In the walk-in, he opened a closet door and grabbed a box from the top shelf. Silently, he closed the bathroom door before turning on the light. He needed something to stop the thoughts rushing around h
is brain. The ornately carved wooden box had been given to him by his third foster family before they’d decided he was a danger to their own two children and returned him, box and all. He opened the lid and took out the lighter. It was solid and heavy in his hand. Brushed steel with an engraved flame on one side. It had been Adam’s. Ellen hadn’t known Adam had taken up smoking before he died. Cigarettes, weed. Didn’t matter. It was the only thing of Adam’s he still had. He hadn’t been able to face anything else in Adam’s room.

  Finding him dead in the garden had been . . .

  Elliott shook his head and placed his hands on the counter either side of the sink. He stared into his own eyes. Perhaps if he looked into them hard enough, he could force the breakthrough that would stop this behavior for the rest of his life. Who was he fucking kidding? He looked down at the lighter. He hadn’t even kept his promise to Ellen. He hadn’t called Anne and made an appointment.

  But something had to give. Perhaps he’d call in the morning. Fuck. He shouldn’t have let himself get this down.

  Go burn something.

  “I could smell myself burning.”

  The alcohol and food in his stomach made uncomfortable companions at the memory. How badly did it have to hurt, did it have to burn for that to happen? What pain had Daniel had to withstand? It suddenly became imperative that he understood.

  Elliott flicked the lighter on, then off. In all his recklessness, he’d never badly burned himself the way Daniel had. Not once. More out of good luck than any kind of plan he had in place. Even the burns his stepfather had caused weren’t, when compared to Daniel’s, that severe. At worst they’d lasted minutes, and rarely required hospitalization. He flicked the lighter on again and took a deep breath. He ran the inside of his left arm over the lighter he held in his right. It was hot, but he moved quickly.

  He repeated it a second time, this time moving slower, and the heat had more bite. With one eye toward the door, he sniffed the skin on his arm. All he could smell was smoke.

  A red line appeared on his skin between his tattoos. No blister. Nothing.