Forcing yet another smile, I met his eyes. Unfamiliar eyes. Sad eyes. Eyes that knew what was coming but didn’t want to see it.
“I’m beat. I think I might just have a shower and go to bed. Do you mind?”
“No. But, Elle, I think we should talk.”
“I know.” I stepped closer and touched the side of his face, a tear trailing down mine. “But not tonight. We’ll talk tomorrow, okay?”
He held his hand over mine for a moment then let go, and I knew he knew we were over. “Okay. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
I showered then climbed straight into bed, relieved Byron had stayed up to watch TV. My hope was to be asleep—or at least pretend to be—by the time he joined me, because I wasn’t strong enough to say the things I needed to say without sleeping on them first. I didn’t want to hurt him any more than I already had, and I certainly didn’t want to fall victim to his business-like persuasive skills. My mind was made up; I was moving back to Melbourne for good. It was my home.
Leaning toward the bedside lamp, I was about to switch it off and go to sleep when my phone screen lit up, indicating an incoming message.
Connor: I’m sorry for today.
Another tear fell down my cheek, so I wiped it away and typed a reply.
Ellie: Don’t be. I wanted it just as much as you.
Connor: I doubt that.
Ellie: I don’t.
Connor: Please come back to me.
Touching the screen with my finger, I found myself tracing a heart.
Ellie: I will.
Connor: Then I’ll wait … for all of this life.
They were the lyrics to “Ever After”, and just like I had when I was younger, I believed them. Again.
The next morning, I woke up in an empty bed and it only enforced what I knew I had to do, sooner rather than later. So I got up, switched on the kettle, and grabbed two mugs and some coffee, smiling when I added a teaspoon of sugar to my mug. Byron had slept in the spare room, which was where I found him when I cracked open the door, a mess of white sheets and blond hair atop the bed.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” I said, my tone deliberately dulcet.
He shot up like a meerkat and wiped his eyes. “Huh? What? Is everything okay?”
To say yes would be a lie, so I sat down on the edge of the bed and handed him his mug instead.
“Thanks.” He took it from me and eyed me over the rim, his eyelids red and thick.
I took a sip of my coffee, rested my mug on my lap, and let out a long breath.
“You’re going back, for good, aren’t you?”
“Yes, and I’m sorry. I just … I don’t belong here.”
“I knew you’d decide to go back the moment I left you there. You were a different Ellie than the one I knew. She was wilder, more outspoken, carefree, and … homely.”
I let out a small laugh at him mentioning that word, and I think he went to object or query my reaction, his mouth opening then closing, his brows pulled together. But, instead, he inched back along the bed, sat straighter, and continued. “These past weeks, I’ve had time to think, and I realised you’d never truly be happy if you married me. The life you’d be expected to live isn’t one that would suit the Ellie I spent time with in Melbourne.”
I choked back a sob that had lodged in my throat and nodded my agreement, the warmth from the mug cradled in my hands the only thing keeping them from trembling.
“I’m sorry, Byron, but I’m not the person you want me to be. I tried, I really did. When I moved here, I wanted to reinvent myself. I wanted to be stronger, wiser, untouchable, except all I achieved was to become a shell of the person I truly am.”
“I don’t want a shell, Elle. I deserve better than that, and so do you.”
“I know that.” I reached for his hand and covered it with mine. “You deserve so much better than that, better than me.”
Byron slid his hand free and placed it on top on mine, and I felt like doing the same and playing that game you played as a kid where you kept stacking your hands on top of each other’s, but I didn’t. Now was certainly not the time for games nor was Byron the person to play them with.
.“If it’s okay with you, I’d like to stay here for the next week while I sort out my things. If it’s not okay, that’s completely fine. I’ll be out of your hair later today.”
“Of course it’s fine, Elle. I’ll help you. Whatever you need.”
“Thank you.” I stood up and trudged to the door.
“Did he have anything to do with you wanting to go home?”
Pausing at the threshold of the room, my hand on the door handle, I looked back over my shoulder at him, the answer written all over his defeated face.
“Yes,” I said, honestly. “He’s the reason I left and the reason I’m going back.”
“I see.”
I glanced down at my fidgety fingers, playing with the handle of my mug. “You need to understand that I think I’ve always loved him, even when I hated him. And that was a lot. He makes me cry as much as he makes me smile, makes me laugh as much as he makes me scream. He helps me breathe, and he steals my air.” My eyes once again found his. “I’m sorry, Byron. But Connor was and is my air, and I can’t breathe without him. I’ve tried and suffocated as a result.”
He brought his mug to his mouth. “No regrets, remember?”
Nodding, I stepped back and exited the room.
And one week later, I exited his life and started a new one.
Part Three
Chapter Thirty-Five
Ellie
Rain pelted my bedroom window, streams of water distorting the view into my childhood backyard. I was folding the last of my clothes and placing them into my closet when Mum entered the room and practically dropped a large cardboard box on the floor.
“This is the last one.” She stood straight, stretched her back, and then bent over, tearing the masking tape and pulling open the box’s flaps. Dust burst into her face, and she coughed, waving her hands like a bird. I moved closer and patted her back, curious as to what was inside the final box they’d stored in the garage.
“Oh, never mind. These are just your old posters. We can put them back.”
“What?” I dove through the dust cloud. “You kept them?”
“Of course, sweetie. We kept everything.”
Pulling out a large, rolled, tube of paper, I unravelled it to find a life-sized picture of Madonna singing live in concert, her hair pulled tight into a high ponytail, eyebrows thick, and a gold corset sharp enough to poke someone’s eyes out.
“Oh my God! This was my favourite one.”
Mum laughed and used her hands to frame the wall. “Pin it up then.”
I smiled. “Don’t be silly. I don’t plan on being here long. I’ll find my own place soon enough. I promise.”
“Eloise Mitchell, you can stay here as long as you want. This is your home, your room. Honestly, sweetheart, your father and I are thrilled to have you back.”
“I know. I just don’t want to impose. Chris does enough of that for the both of us,” I joked.
“He does not.” Mum sat down on my bed and picked up Ruby, my stuffed rabbit. She ran her hand down the fluffy, pink ears. “Maybe I like the imposing.”
“I’m sure you do in your own way, but we can’t stay home forever.”
“Shush. Just let me enjoy it while it lasts.”
“Fine. But I don’t think it will last long. I like my independence, you know?”
“Yes, I know,” she deadpanned. “You’ve been Miss Independent pretty much all your life.” She propped Ruby against my pillow then reached out her hands to mine, squeezing them. “Are you sure you’re okay? You’ve had a big week.”
“I’m fine, Mum. Really.” I sat down beside her and rested my head on her shoulder. “It was for the best. Byron and I just don’t love each other the way two people should.”
“Mm hm.”
“I mean … we both care deeply for one another. We j
ust don’t love like how you and Dad do. That’s what I want. That’s what I deserve.”
“A bit like how you love Connor and how he loves you?”
I nodded and looked down at my fidgeting hands, resting on my lap.
“Does he know you’re back?”
“No, not yet.”
“Why haven’t you told him?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“I think you do.”
Lifting my head, tears welling in my eyes. “I’m scared, Mum. I’m scared to open my heart and risk losing him again.”
She touched my cheek and wiped a lone tear with her thumb. “I don’t think you ever closed your heart to him, did you?”
“No, not really.” I sniffed. “I couldn’t close it, not to him. Every time I tried, I failed because wiping him from my life and losing him completely was far more painful than holding on to the pieces of him I had.”
She turned her body to face me and held me at arm’s length. “Do you want to know what I believe?”
I nodded.
“Come here then.” Mum stood up and pulled me up with her, our hands linked together in front of us. “I believe we don’t hold on to love; it holds on to us, and it has been holding you and Connor together since you were kids. So …” She let go of my hand and once again wiped my tears with her thumbs. “How ‘bout you give love a helping hand and go see him.”
“What? Now?”
“Uh huh.”
“But … it’s raining. And what if he’s not hom—”
A memory of Connor and I sitting together when we were younger, watching Sleepless in Seattle, shot to the forefront of my mind. We’d been discussing fate and paths in life, and how moments could be missed because of failing to act when the time was right.
“Oh my God!” I exclaimed, gripping her arms. “It’s just like Sleepless in Seattle, Mum.”
“What?” She let out a confused laugh.
I slapped my hand to my head and began to pace. “In the movie, Meg Ryan nearly misses seeing Tom Hanks at the Empire State Building because it was raining, and there was traffic, and it was late.”
“Oh, yes, I remember that.”
“But she never gave up because she believed in fate. She knew she was on a path that would lead to Tom. Nothing was going to stop her. Not even the security guard at the building.”
Mum’s knowing smile was growing bigger by the second.
“Connor and I have always been on the same path.” I stopped pacing. “And Lilah and Byron were just detours. Max is a passenger, and the rain, it’s … it’s JUST RAIN!”
Stepping back, I moved in front of my mirror, wiped my face, and fixed my newly strawberry-highlighted hair. “This will have to do.”
“What will—”
“I gotta go.” I pressed a quick kiss to her head. “Bye.”
“Ellie, where are you going?” Mum called out.
“TO GET MY TOM!”
The windscreen wipers on Mum’s car swished from side to side as I turned onto Connor’s street, my heart beating a million miles per hour, my bottom lip indented by my teeth. I was on a mission to get my man, regardless of whether he was home or not. I’d wait if I had to. I’d wait with Trevor the Trout.
My phone sounded an incoming call on the passenger seat beside me, so I glanced over at it, Connor’s name highlighting the screen.
Fate, I thought and picked it up to answer it.
“Hello?”
“Ellie! Listen.”
I pressed the phone to my ear. “What?”
“Listen. Can you hear that?”
Pulling up outside his house, I cut the engine and listened harder, the sound of Connor’s voice singing Ever After the only thing I could hear.
“It’s your song,” he explained.
I laughed and shook my head. “No, it’s your so—”
“It’s our song, and it’s ON THE RADIO!”
“WHAT?”
“They’re playing it on the fucking radio, Ellie!”
“OH MY GOD! That’s amazing!”
We were both quiet as we listened, the smile on my face so huge my cheeks nearly cracked. “Wow! Look at you go, you Singer McRadio Head you.”
He chuckled.
“I’m so, so proud of you, Connor. You deserve this.”
“Thanks,” he murmured, his voice losing its spark.
“What’s wrong?”
“We should be celebrating this together. We should be togeth—”
I smiled. “We can. I’m—”
“I’m sorry,” he said, cutting me off. “I didn’t mean to ring out of the blue like this. I hope I haven’t interrupted anything. I just … I just really wanted you to hear it.”
My stomach butterflies took flight at what I was about to do, and I opened the car door, stepped out into the rain, and closed my eyes, breathing in as I let the tiny droplets splash my face. There was something magical about standing in the rain, that perfect moment before a perfect moment.
“Actually, Connor,” I said, opening my eyes and smiling to myself. “You have interrupted.”
“Sorry. I’ll let you go—”
“No, don’t,” I blurted.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t ever let me go.”
“Huh?”
“Promise me you’ll never let me go, ever again.”
“I … I promise. But…” He sighed. “I don’t have you to let you go, Ellie. You’re a million miles away.”
“No, I’m not.”
“What?”
“Look out your window.”
His curtain moved and then his front door flew open. Connor stepped out onto his porch, his face frozen with shock, his phone still pressed to his ear. Ripped, denim jeans hung low across his hips, a t-shirt hugging his chest, his feet bare, his hair a mess.
I bit my lip and said, “Hi” into the phone, raising my hand to wave. “So, do you promise?”
He didn’t answer, he just dropped his phone and leapt down the steps, and I couldn’t tell if he was going to cry or smile. I squealed, pushed off from the car, and ran to him, our bodies colliding, our mouths beginning where the other ended.
Warmth coursed through my body despite the rain pouring down my face and neck, and I knew, like I’ve always known, that he was my home. My life. My ever after.
“You’re here,” he mumbled around my tongue, his hands wild, clasping my face, my shoulders, and my face again, as if he had to touch me enough to know I was real.
“Yes. I’m home.”
He finally settled his hands on my arse, squeezing lightly before lifting me up.
I wrapped my legs around his waist and hungrily nibbled at his jaw, panting as I whispered, “It’s right, Connor. It’s finally right.”
He didn’t answer, his words, as per usual, unspoken. Instead, he plied my face and neck with kisses and walked us back to the house, not stopping to put me down when he fumbled with the door. Water squelched with each step he took on the floorboards towards his room, but he didn’t seem to care, his focus solely on my mouth, on my body, on me.
“You’re here,” he mumbled again, as he set me on my feet at the foot of his bed, his fingers frantic as they undid each button of my shirt. “You came back.”
“Of course I came back. You’re my Tom.”
I reached for the buckle of his jeans, but he stopped my hand, holding it still, his eyes his wide and adorable.
“Who the fuck is Tom?”
I giggled. “Tom Hanks, silly. And I’m your Meg.”
The poor thing looked confused, and I couldn’t blame him.
“Fate, Connor,” I explained, kissing him softly. “Fate would have me in your arms, regardless.”
He swallowed, heavily, and nodded once then peeled my shirt from my shoulders, the wet cloth falling to the floor with a thud. Trailing his finger down my arm and back up again, his eyes followed the movement, his touch gentle and controlled but incredibly intimate. Heat danced alo
ng my spine and across my breasts, igniting a need so strong I thought my body had been set on fire.
I grabbed the hem of his t-shirt and lifted it over his head before running my hands across his delicious chest, shoulders, and down his arms, my finger stopping when it skimmed his ampersand tattoo.
I paused and caught my breath, tracing the pattern before looking up at his hazy eyes.
“Are you here for good?” he asked, bringing my wrist to his lips. He kissed my heart and closed his eyes.
“I’m here forever, Connor Bourke.”
In the month that followed, “Ever After” debuted on the ARIA chart at number forty then steadily climbed, peaking at nineteen. It was crazy. The second single “Whispering to You” did even better in the month that followed and sparked an invitation for Saxon to be the opening act for Alanis Morissette during her national tour.
“Isn’t it Ironic … that we’re here today,” I said, as the town car Connor, Jackson, and I were sitting in pulled into the back entrance of Melbourne Arena.
Jackson smirked, but Connor kept his attention fixed to the window, his knee continuously bouncing.
“Seriously, You Outta Know that I’m Head Over Feet excited right now.”
I received a not-bad tilt of the head from Jackson, but still nothing from Connor.
“Fine. I’ll just put one Hand in my Pocket and pretend I was Uninvited then.”
Connor flicked his eyes to mine, a small smile curling his lips. “Will you stop with the Alanis puns already?”
“Come on, loosen up.” I held his leg still and flexed my fingers, massaging his stiff thigh muscle. “You’ll be amazing. You are amazing.”
Truth be told, I was probably more nervous than him, I just didn’t want him to see it. I’d drunk a bucket of water, pee’d a dozen times, and had even been sick after rushing around to get ready—my fault for not eating breakfast or lunch.
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