Sever (Closer Book 2)

by Mary Elizabeth

  “What are you doing?” I can take the phone and throw it into the deep blue motherfucking sea, but let’s not be hasty.

  “Calling Joe. I’m surprised he hasn’t figured out we ditched him already.”

  I find a spot and park the car, waiting to unpack the trunk until I hear this.

  “Hey, Joe.” Ella looks at me and bites on her bottom lip, shaking her head. “Well, Teller got to the apartment early, so I just left with him. I figured you could ride with Em or Maby,” she tries to explain, pulling the phone from her ear. She puts her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing. “Don’t be mad, Joe. I’ll see you when you get here—bye.”

  “Did you hang up on him?”

  She hangs up the phone and looks at me. “He’s so pissed.”

  “He’ll get over it.” It’s hot, really fucking hot, and in about fifteen minutes Ella will be in her bikini and I will be here to put suntan oil all over her—I fucking love California.

  I get the cooler and Ella manages to carry our bags and the chairs. The beach is crowded today, but we find a good spot that has a fire pit and good sand. Then again, all sand in Malibu is good sand, rich fucking sand.

  I lay out our towels and unfold the chairs, looking up as Ella strips out of her unnecessary clothing. Her hair falls over her exposed skin, and it drives me fucking insane. She throws her dress to the side and places her sunglasses over her eyes. She’s changed so much since we were nineteen and twenty-year-old kids. Time and sun have done great things for her.

  Kicking off my shoes, I lift my shirt over my head and throw it on top of her things. The blaring sun immediately stings the top of my shoulders. It’s welcomed. She and I both need a good dose of vitamin D. After I take a seat on the towel beside my girl’s chair, I crack open a couple beers to help start this day right.

  “Teller, I needed this so badly.” She takes a long swig from the brew. Condensation drips over her fingers.

  Placing the can into the cup holder, Ella leans back and buries her feet into the sand. Her knees are open, and I can see all the way up them. Her arms are flat on the armrests with her hands hanging over the edge. She looks so relaxed and so fucking sexy. The one fucking mole on her stomach calls my fucking name.

  I want to touch her so badly—feel that electrical pull she has on me. I want to feel her thighs tighten around my hips and her fingernails dig into my back. Her naked chest on mine.

  Fuck this, I have to touch her.

  I bend down right in front of her and shuffle my way right between her legs, placing my hands on the outsides of her thighs.

  She lifts her head up and pulls her glasses to her forehead, but she doesn’t move out of my grasp. “What are you doing?”

  “Touching you. You’re far too beautiful for your own good.”

  Ella thinks for a minute and nods. She drops her glasses over her eyes and lays her head back. “Tell me more.”

  I run my hands up and down her thighs and kiss her navel. God, Joe will murder me if he finds out.

  “You smell like coconuts and banana.”

  “And?”

  I run my nose along her stomach to her hip bone and lightly bite it. “Your hair turns a million colors in the sun.”

  “Mmmm-hmmm.”

  I untie her bikini with my teeth and place a wet kiss on the exposed area. “You taste like the sun.”

  “The sun?”

  I tie her bathing suit back up and lean over her, so my skin is touching hers. “Like summer—your skin tastes like fucking summertime.”

  She reaches her arms around my neck, and I kiss from under her ear down to her collarbone. I’m getting hard, and if I don’t stop, I’m going to fuck her.

  She was mine first.

  “More,” she whispers.

  I reach back and grab her arms from around my neck and kiss from her shoulder to her elbow. She exhales a slow moan, and I’m losing my self-control. Her skin feels like raw electricity, hot and biting. I can just imagine what my dick would feel like surrounded by it.

  “Your skin burns me—calls me.”

  “Teller?” Her voice is low, and her grip around my neck is tight.

  I lift her arm I was kissing above her head and kiss down her rib cage. Always a thin line with Ella and me. A fine fucking line that cannot be crossed. Not now.

  Jumping to my feet, I gather her in my arms and throw her over my shoulder.

  “What are you doing?” she shrieks and laughs.

  “We need cold water.”

  Ella kicks her small sandy feet as I run toward the ocean. Her protests chase us, and we have an audience of pissed looking tiger moms and their curious husbands. They’d be really appalled to see me fuck Ella on the beach, though.

  We need this.

  Instead of throwing her in and chasing after her, I run as far as the waves will allow and dive in with her. Cool, salty water envelops us, whooshing past our ears and carrying us until we can’t touch the ocean bottom. The ocean turns us around, and we break apart. But not before I take a foot to the chest.

  We break the surface, gulping for air and laughing. I’m clutching my chest.

  “Teller, I’m sorry.” She swims over. “I didn’t mean to kick you.”

  I’m not injured, but I play dead until she’s right in front of me. When she’s within arm’s length, I dive underwater and grab her by the hips, launching her into the air. Ella curves her back, and she falls backwards, hitting the water with a splash.

  She emerges and rubs water from her eyes. “You’re such a jerk.”

  “I know, but you love his jerk.”

  “I do.”

  She circles her arms around my neck, and I swim toward the shore with her on my back. There are not many waves today, so this is relatively easy. Her wet skin rubbing on mine is not helping our case. She feels like silk, and the saltwater only intensifies her smell.

  I guess either way we are fucked, if we’re lucky.

  I swim in circles while Ella holds on, running her fingers through my wet hair. She kisses my shoulder and whispers in my ear, “Your hair turns colors in the sun, too.”

  “It does?”

  “Yeah, it’s so dark, almost black. But in the sun, it’s rich. It’s like chocolate.”

  Stopping where my feet can touch, I swing Ella around until she’s in front of me and her feet are hooked around the small of my back. I stare at her saltwater wet lips. Out of all the places on her body I’ve kissed, her lips are not one. It’s been close, but never really.

  I could kiss her now. I could kiss her, and she would be mine.

  “Tell me more.” I use her words from earlier.

  She pulls her hand out of my hair and rubs one finger down my face to my neck, swirling it around my Adam’s apple.

  “I think this is incredibly sexy.” She smiles.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What else?” I ask, spinning us in little circles.

  “I am obsessed with the freckles all over your body. Especially the ones that are only visible if I look really, really closely. The freckles across your nose are my favorite, but the ones on your back are so hot.”

  Ella drags her nails across my shoulder blades. “I wonder what they would look like with scratch marks across them.”

  I cough, and she giggles.

  I move her hair off her shoulder and place a small kiss there.

  “And?” I dig for more.

  “You smell like cigarettes and gum. The scent of tobacco always takes me back to you, and I chew the same kind of gum you do to know what your mouth tastes like.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut and hold my breath. Deep down, I want to do the right thing. Deep down, I don’t want to hurt Joe or Kristi. Deep down, I know we have always done this all wrong. She’s making it so hard. She’s making me so hard. I would only need to thrust against her to prove how fucking hard she’s making this.

  I open my eyes, and she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth. Ella’s eyelashes
are wet and clumped together, framing dark brown eyes that have nearly gone black. She pulls me closer, pressing her chest flush with mine. She exhales, and I inhale. We come closer, closer, almost touching. The tip of her nose skims past mine. Ella closes her eyes now, and I press my lips to the corner of her mouth.

  She whimpers.

  “Ella?” I say before it’s too late.

  “Shh.” She shakes her head softly.

  “Are you sure?”

  I don’t know how she does it. Ella pulls me closer, until our heartbeats are touching.

  I’m going to kiss her—finally. I’m going to kiss her.

  Over Ella’s shoulder, I look to find Emerson and Nic at the edge of the water watching us. Em waves hesitantly, and Nic walks away.

  “Fuck,” I groan. “Your brother is here.”

  Out-of-breath-like-me drops her forehead to my shoulder and whispers, “Dammit.”

  “I only see him and Nic,” I say to put her at ease.

  “We can’t keep doing this, Teller.”

  “Can’t help it,” I say, keeping her close.

  “Well, we’re going to have to.”

  “Don’t tell me you don’t feel it, Ella.” It’s a struggle to keep my lips away from hers. “It’s always been this way with us. It’s not going to go away.”

  “Come on, Tell. I don’t want to have this argument right now.” She falls to her feet, letting the water come between us.

  Fighting for her is something I’m always ready for. Only, this isn’t the place. I’m starting to believe there will never be the right time or place to finally admit we belong together. The world doesn’t give us favors. Why would it start now?

  I trail behind her out of the water, shaking it from my arms and wiping it from my face when I reach the sand. Emerson offers Ella a towel, and she blankets her brother with fake smiles and over-delivered welcomes. I’m not in the mood for fake pleasantries and continue to the spot where our things are.

  “Did you just get here?” she asks with a hint of panic in her voice. They follow behind me.

  Emerson has an unusually high tolerance for bullshit, especially when it comes to his sister. He must have reached his quota for patience this month, because his tone is harsh, and his words are sharp. “I did. And I didn’t expect to see my sister in such a compromising position when I got here. You’re lucky Joe and Kristi drove up with Maby.”

  “We were swimming,” she answers.

  “What was that called, the fuck stroke?”

  “Did you seriously just say that to me?” she asks. Ella throws the towel at her brother’s chest and storms past us both.

  Emerson and I hang back as she kicks up sand, aware it’s best to stay clear when she’s pissed. I’m less concerned with her anger and more absorbed with the way her hips sway. Em instantly feels guilty.

  “I should apologize,” he says. “I don’t want her to get hurt, Teller.”

  There’s no point in explaining that pain is part of living. No one gets through an entire existence without harming themselves and others. Especially for people like Ella and me, who make bad decision after bad decision. There’s no point in telling him that this is what we do. It’s part of the rush we’re dependent on.

  There’s no point in admitting the pain feels as good as the pleasure.

  “She’ll get over it.” I clap his shoulder and go after her.

  My sister, Husher, Joe, and Kristi arrive twenty minutes later. Everyone falls into their respective roles, and what Emerson and Nic walked in on when they got here is never brought up.

  As the day turns into night and the temperature drops, we light the fire and gather around in hoodies and under light blankets. Conversation is easy, and laughter comes in abundance. Orange and yellow flames redden Ella’s cheeks. She and I sit side-by-side, not touching but close enough to do so if we wanted to.

  We steal looks from each other and see who can make the other laugh harder. We include Joe and Kristi; we exclude them. Ella and I are the only people on this planet one moment, and we are so fucking thankful for everyone in our lives the next.

  As I watch the flames reflect in her eyes, I don’t know if we’ll ever figure us out. I don’t know if we’ll ever be together, get married, and have a family.

  But I can’t wait to find out.

  Now

  Marriage didn’t fix anything.

  The pregnancy didn’t solve our problems.

  Society tells us that our issues will vanish if we put a ring on it and start a family, like the motherfuckers we were before legally binding ourselves to each other will dissolve into thin air like they never existed. Living happily ever after is impractical. Nothing changes after vowing to have and to hold through sickness and health. Ella and I are the same people, with the same insecurities, unfamiliar with compromise. Only now, we share assets and a last name.

  We’ve been married for six months, and the only things that have changed are the size of Ella’s stomach and our living arrangements.

  “She’s here,” Emerson says. He sighs. “I told her to go home, but you know how she is.”

  Grabbing my keys from the kitchen counter, I pocket them and head toward the front door. “I’m on my way.”

  Society also sells the idea that if marriage doesn’t deliver, if there’s conflict and expectations aren’t met, it’s okay to give up after seventy-two hours of marriage and file for divorce.

  “Try again,” society says. “Get married and divorced again and again until you get it right. The kids will be all right.”

  I’m not going out like that.

  Marriage didn’t solve our problems, but we’re making progress. When Ella runs away from me now, she doesn’t get on an airplane like she used to. She goes to her brother’s place, or she works an extra shift at the hospital. When I want her back, I don’t vandalize her car with a baseball bat or purchase camping equipment to sleep outside Emerson’s front door. I give her time to cool off, and then I bring her home.

  “She says not to come unless you’re ready to go to counseling,” Em repeats what Ella says in the background. “She says you’ve embarrassed her for the last time.”

  I hop into the Range Rover and say, “Tell her to get her shit together.”

  When I get to Emerson’s, Ella’s nowhere to be found at first glance. Since there’s only nine hundred square feet of apartment to hide in, I find my runner in her old room pretending to unpack clothes into the dresser she left behind when she moved out.

  It’s a pathetic attempt to trick me into believing she’s serious about leaving this time.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” she says, throwing a rolled-up pair of socks at my head. “Don’t smirk at me like this is a joke. I’m serious. I’ve never been this serious. You should be afraid of this seriousness.”

  I lean against the doorjamb, unsuccessful in my effort to lose the smile. There’s no holding it back when she’s this cute, this pregnant, this unconvincing.

  She smiles. “You’re a dick.”

  My half-hidden smirk unleashes into a full grin. “What are we fighting about this time?”

  Growing out of old habits and absorbing new ones is our biggest obstacle. I have an arm full of nicotine patches, but I still smoke a pack of cigarettes a week. Ella’s taken a part-time job at the hospital and is almost done decorating the baby’s room, but when times get uncomfortable, she acts like there are no roots keeping her here. We’re as addicted to the chaos as we were eight years ago. Madness is our culture. It’s our way of life. We come by it honestly.

  Ella stands up, all belly and reddish cheeks. “Teller, I sat at the marriage counselor’s office for thirty minutes alone before you called to say you forgot. You didn’t forget.”

  “Baby,” I say with a chuckle. “I forgot. You know I’m getting ready for exams.”

  Eight weeks out from delivery, our son’s overtaken Ella’s body. My wife walks with a wobble, her back hurts, and her tits are fucking gigantic. I di
g it. She hates it.

  I can’t wait. I love it.

  “I can’t get upstairs without losing my breath.” She points at her stomach with both hands. “So, if I can get my fat ass over there, so can you. Or, maybe our marriage isn’t that important to you?”

  “You’re not fat. Stop saying that.” I know it’s the wrong thing to say as soon as it leaves my lips, but it’s too late now. I pop one, two, three pieces of nicotine gum from a foil pack and chew like my life depends on it.

  Because it does.

  “Idiot,” Nicolette mumbles as she passes through the hallway behind me.

  “Thanks for the support,” I call after her.

  “I’m not fat?” Ella asks. She shifts from hip-to-hip. “Are you blind? I’m huge, and I’m swollen all over.”

  “Gabriella, you’re pregnant. There’s a difference.”

  “That’s easy for you to say,” she argues, throwing her hands up. “You’re not carrying around a human being inside of your body. I can’t tie my own shoes. My fingers look like tiny sausages. I can’t sleep.”

  “Everything will go back to normal after the baby is born.” Wrong again.

  “Who are you?” Ella’s eyes narrow, like she’s having a hard time recognizing me. “Because I thought you were a doctor and my husband, but apparently not. Everything will not go back to normal after the baby is born, Dr. Reddy. My vagina will never be the same.”

  Emerson starts to cough from the living room.

  “What do you want me to do?” I ask. “I can’t have him for you.”

  “Be a little more understanding. Show up to our appointments. Act like you care.” Her tone edges hysteria, and her complexion is three shades past red. “I hate being pregnant. Why did you do this to me?”

  Marriage does not equal perfection, just like pregnancy isn’t a rite of passage for all women.

  Every day isn’t like this, but pregnancy hasn’t been an easy transition for Ella. For someone who spends two days a week caring for mothers bringing lives into the world, it’s clear she isn’t having the same experience they are.

  When she calls herself fat, sleepless, or breathless, it’s easy for me to overlook those things and file them as normal complaints. But when her face crumbles and she cries true, true devastation because she’s uncomfortable in her own body, I know I’m an insensitive asshole.