Come Break My Heart Again

by C. W. Farnsworth

  The entirety of my afternoon is taken up by a deposition that stretches into the early hours of the evening. I’m prepared for it, but I go off-script for several of the questions I ask. Oftentimes depositions are a predictable recitation of facts we already know, but the ones with curveballs are my favorite. I’m good at thinking on my feet, and the third-year associate I was partnered with compliments me as we leave the conference room we’ve spent the past eight hours in.

  “Thanks, Mary,” I reply. “Have a good night.”

  “You, too, Eleanor.”

  I retrieve my belongings from my cubicle and head for the elevators. I try not to think about standing here with Ryder this morning as I wait for the doors to open. My phone buzzes in my bag, and I pull it out. It’s Paige.

  “Hey, how are you?”

  “Shitty.” I laugh. “You?”

  “Um, I feel like I should say fucking terrible to stay on this depressing kick with you, but I actually met a really cute guy at Campbell last night, so pretty good.”

  “I saw Ryder earlier.”

  “You did?”

  “Yeah, he came to the office, actually.”

  “To grovel, I hope.”

  “I was the one who exploded on him at the beach, Paige.”

  “One of your finer moments.”

  “Gee, thanks,” I reply.

  “I’m serious. You had no problem telling him off in high school, but ever since he’s gotten back you haven’t confronted him at all. Just given him longing stares.”

  “Yeah, you’re doing a great job at making me feel better.”

  “So… the conversation didn’t go well?”

  “He brought his case file. Told me what happened.”

  “And?!”

  “He was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Liam lied to the police. Steve Hastings backed him up. The cops had some file from other stuff he’d done. Threatened him with other charges. He… he was just a kid, Paige.”

  “Yeah, I know,” she replies.

  “I guess I thought when he told me it would all make sense. That it wasn’t just that Liam is capable of even worse things than I ever imagined and if we’d stayed downstairs, it never would have happened.”

  Paige is silent. “So… that’s it?”

  “That’s it,” I confirm as I step inside the elevator. “I told him how I feel.”

  “Actually, you shouted it at an impressive volume using swear words I didn’t even know were in your vocabulary.”

  “Right. Thanks for that clarification,” I droll.

  “Are you home? I can come over for a bit.”

  “No, I’m leaving the office right now.” I step out into the parking garage.

  I can practically hear Paige rolling her eyes through the phone. “Right. Of course.”

  “Do you want to meet at NoMad?”

  “Eleanor Clarke? Suggesting we go out drinking? On a weeknight? Hell yeah, I’m in.”

  I smile. “Okay. I’ll meet you there in twenty minutes.”

  Scout starts barking excitedly as soon as we stumble through the front door. I had the dog walker walk and feed him earlier, but he hasn’t seen me all day. I sprawl down right in the entryway, letting him climb and lick all over me.

  “Gross,” Paige comments. “That mutt is not sleeping in bed with us.”

  “Okay,” I agree.

  She rolls her eyes. We both know he will be.

  The two of us trip and slip our way up the stairs into my bedroom. I’m too tired and tipsy to do anything more than wash my face and brush my teeth before falling into bed, still in the sheath dress I wore to work this morning. Paige strips off her top and jeans and drops down beside me in her underwear. She smiles at me drunkenly.

  “You’re going to be all right, Eleanor Clarke. You know that, right?”

  “Yeah,” I smile back. “I know that.”

  “Good.” Paige lies down beside me. “Now keep the dog on your side of the bed.”

  The last thing I can remember before falling asleep is laughing.

  A blaring alarm wakes me up the following morning.

  “Shit.” I sit straight up in bed, shoving Paige’s arm off me. Her preferred sleeping position is starfish. I wonder how her endless slew of one-night stands feel about it.

  I hop out of bed, wincing as I stand. Right. That’s why I don’t usually have three drinks on a weeknight. I sprint for the shower. Being doused by hot water for ten minutes helps, but I don’t have time to prolong it. I down a couple painkillers between brushing my teeth, styling my hair, and applying a light layer of make-up.

  Paige is sitting up in bed petting Scout when I emerge into my bedroom wrapped in a towel. She eyes me. “How are you feeling?”

  “Headache and I’d kill for two more hours of sleep.” Pretty sure she meant emotionally, but she lets my answer slide with a nod before heading into the bathroom.

  I head into my walk-in closet to change into a dress and heels.

  “Coffee?” I ask the bathroom door as I pass it.

  “Please!” Paige calls back.

  I rush downstairs, starting the espresso machine as I pull a blazer on over my dress. I let Scout out in the backyard, feed him breakfast, and then pour the coffee into two mugs. Paige is ambling down the stairs as I walk into the entryway, cups in hand. I hand her one as I grab my bag and make sure I have everything.

  “Ready?”

  “Do you give all your one-night stands the boot like this?” Paige teases as she grabs her purse from the hook by the door. I’m impressed she had the presence of mind to actually hang it up last night.

  “Just my favorites,” I smile at her as I open the front door and head out on the front stoop. And then freeze. Paige’s sharp intake of breath tells me she’s right behind me.

  I descend the stairs slowly.

  “Morning.” Ryder gives me a small smile. Not the detached one I usually get. This one has a hint of emotion. Also a touch of nerves, if I’m reading it right.

  “Morning?” It comes out like a question. Because the way we left things yesterday did not leave me with the impression he’d be casually stopping by anytime soon. Or ever.

  “I can’t stay for very long. I’ve got work. Guessing you do too.” He eyes my blazer. “I just wanted to give you this.”

  I register what he’s holding for the first time. He offers a brown paper bag out to me. I take it hesitantly, eyeing it like it might explode.

  “Uh, thanks?” I shift my work bag so I have a hand free, unrolling the top of the bag so I can peek inside. The scent of fruit and butter hits me, and if I weren’t already motionless it probably would have made me so.

  “I’m not sure if they’re edible,” Ryder warns. “I’m shit at baking, and neither Mom nor Chris were any help at all.”

  I have to swallow several times before I can say anything. “You made me blueberry scones?” I whisper.

  “Looks that way, doesn’t it?”

  “Why?”

  “Because you seem to be under the impression I’m not affected by our past, and this is the best way I could think of to prove you wrong.”

  “Uh, Eleanor?” I startle, turning around to watch Paige descend from the stairs. She gives me and Ryder a small smirk. “Super sorry to interrupt, but I kind of feel like maybe I shouldn’t be standing here awkwardly watching this. So I’m going to go…”

  I smile. “Yeah, okay.”

  She gives me a quick hug, and Ryder another smile. “Good to see you, Ryder.”

  “Yeah, you too, Paige,” he replies, stuffing his hands in his jeans pockets. She disappears down the street, but Ryder and I stay put, staring at each other.

  He takes a deep breath. “You said I haven’t given you anything. And you were right. Because I didn’t think you’d want anything from me. I got out, and you were exactly where I expected you to be. You’d accomplished things. Met another guy. I thought maybe you’d have questions about what happened. But I wasn’t even sure of that. I figure
d you would have written me off a long time ago. Then, we spent that weekend together. It seemed like you were struggling, but with stuff that had nothing to do with me. That I was an escape, or a distraction, just like in high school.”

  I laugh.

  “What?” He’s clearly confused by my response.

  “It’s just weird hearing you say that,” I respond. “I feel like I’ve spent the past couple months walking around wearing a shirt that says I’m in love with Ryder James.”

  Ryder smirks, then sobers. “Well, I had no idea you felt that way until you told me on the beach. Kind of hard to miss it when it’s said at that volume.”

  “Righttttt.” It’s going to be a while before I live the beach meltdown down. In my defense, alcohol and intense emotions were involved. Often a bad combination.

  “And I didn’t realize until the Fourth you didn’t know how I felt about you. Feel about you. When you said I was humoring you…” He laughs. “Fuck, Elle. You really had no clue how far gone I was for you?”

  I shake my head silently.

  “I thought it was obvious, just like you said. Tommy and the rest of the guys certainly thought so.” He chuckles, obviously recalling jokes made at his expense. About his feelings for me.

  “You never said anything.”

  “Yeah, I know.” He rakes his hand through his hair, and I almost smile. “I was trying to play it cool, I guess. I figured we’d be temporary anyway. Thought I’d have a chance to say it later.” His hand drops. “Things worked out differently. Obviously.”

  “You could say it now,” I suggest. Because he may be fessing up about high school, but he’s dancing around how he feels about me at this moment. Half-hearted honesty isn’t enough to move forward on.

  “I’m in love with you, Eleanor Josephine Clarke. Pretty sure I have been ever since you kissed me in that treehouse while I was trying to explain Newton’s Third Law to you for the fourth time.”

  I smirk and take a step forward. “You’re pretty sure, huh?”

  “Completely certain, actually.” He picks up a piece of my hair and winds it around his pointer finger. “And it seems to get harder and harder to ignore every time I see you.”

  “Are you going to stop trying to?” I ask.

  “Yeah, it would be great if my mom and Chris would stop glaring at me all the time.”

  I roll my eyes. Ryder grins, but then turns serious.

  “I didn't know you started your charity just for her. Or about the scholarship.”

  I shrug. “I didn’t tell you.”

  Ryder’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out and glances at the screen. I know what he’s about to say before the words leave his mouth. “I have to go.” He looks apologetic, at least.

  “Yeah, I’m probably at least fifteen minutes late by now.”

  Neither of us move.

  “Thanks for these.” I wave the bag of scones. “You know I… thank you.”

  “I thought—thought that maybe you might like to get some other food with me sometime.”

  I raise both eyebrows. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

  “Yeah,” Ryder confirms. “I am.”

  After all we’ve been through, maybe I should have to think about my answer. Or maybe it’s because of all we’ve been through I know my answer immediately.

  “Okay, I’ll go on a date with you, Ryder James.”

  He smirks, but it transforms into the genuine, crooked grin that’s my favorite sight in the whole world. “Just wait until you see what I have planned.”

  “Our last date consisted of you feeling me up in a treehouse. Pretty sure there’s nowhere to go from there but up.”

  Ryder laughs. “Damn.”

  “Are you going to kiss me before you go?”

  “I was thinking about it,” he replies, still grinning.

  “Oh, yeah? You were thinking about—” I’m cut off by the feel of his lips on mine. There’s none of the urgency and desperation of our last kiss. This one is a languid exploration. A reacquaintance.

  I’m pressed against him, so I feel his phone vibrate. Again. And again.

  “Shit,” he whispers against my lips. “I’ve really got to go. I’m sorry.”

  “You’re going to come back, though. Right?” Vulnerability fills my voice, and I know it’s because I’ve got something to lose now.

  His green gaze softens. “Right.” He bends down to give me one more soft kiss. “I’ll call you later. Okay?”

  I nod. He smiles, then turns and starts down the street. I can see his truck parked a couple doors down from mine.

  “Please don’t break my heart again,” I whisper.

  Epilogue

  Ryder

  “ELLE! Let’s go!” I call, straightening from the wall I’ve been leaning against to check the time on my phone. Again.

  “I’m almost ready,” she shouts back.

  “So… ten minutes?”

  Her head pokes around the corner. “Fifteen at most.” She gives me a sheepish smile.

  I sigh. We’ve already blown through the extra hour I budgeted for this very reason. “You’re sure there’s nothing I can help with?”

  “Nope. Just stand there and look handsome. Besides, you’re the one who’s going to have to carry it inside tonight!” She calls back.

  “Can’t wait,” I grumble. Truth is, I really can’t. I was terrified about reconciling with Elle for lots of reasons.

  That we wouldn’t be able to move beyond the past.

  That things between us wouldn’t be as good as I remembered them being in high school.

  That she would regret allowing my return to bulldoze her life.

  But most pressing was the fact I didn’t want to stay in Massachusetts. And despite the other areas of her life in which she expressed discontent, Elle never mentioned any desire to move to me. I told her about the job in Maine at Tommy’s bachelor party, but I didn’t tell her I’d already taken it.

  Our first date hadn’t seemed like the time to bring it up. Neither did our second. Or our third. And then on our fourth Elle announced she’d accepted a job at a law firm in Maine like it was as simple of a decision as ordering the salad she’d just decided on.

  I wasn’t surprised she received an offer so quickly. My guess is they don’t have a lot of Harvard Law grads with Elle’s credentials looking to start their legal careers in northern Maine.

  I was shocked she announced it so nonchalantly. Like the two of us moving there together had been the plan all along. But that’s exactly how she made it sound when I asked her why. “Because you’re moving there,” is what she said.

  I braced myself for her to change her mind over the past few weeks. But she hasn’t expressed anything but enthusiasm since that conversation.

  When she was sending me listings for remote log cabins awfully different from the opulent brownstone I’m standing in now.

  When she was purchasing a new wardrobe of flannel and snow boots and giving away designer heels.

  When she told her parents she was swapping a position at one of the top law firms at the world to work at a tiny law practice handling a dispute over the ownership of a grove of saplings. That’s not a joke; it’s their current case.

  Standing in the midst of a sea of cardboard, I finally let myself accept the possibility she’s not going to.

  “Okay, that’s the last of it.” Elle rounds the corner and stacks yet another box atop the dozens already lining the entryway, swiping away some of the hair that’s fallen out of her ponytail. She eyes the piles of her belongings. “God, who knew I owned all this?”

  I snort. I’ve lost count of the number of times I tactfully suggested we sort her belongings before hauling them all to Maine. To which she informed me it was a project that would keep her busy there. I couldn’t really argue with that. The town we’re moving to doesn’t even have its own library. Residents have to travel to the next village over to pick up new reading material.

  “Yeah, ye
ah,” Elle rolls her eyes and redoes her ponytail. Then she kisses me, and God, I’ll never get sick of it. The privilege of being the person who gets to touch Eleanor Clarke like this.

  She pulls back with a sly grin. “The movers already took all the furniture, but there’s always the kitchen counter…”

  I smirk. “Maybe if you hadn’t taken so fucking long to pack. We’re supposed to be meeting Tommy and Eliza in twenty minutes.”

  “So?” she grins devilishly.

  “It’ll take an hour just to get to Fernwood if we hit any traffic. And we’re supposed to stop at your parents’ on the way.” A stop I’m not exactly looking forward to and would love to get over with as soon as possible.

  “I bet I could change your mind…” Elle persists teasingly.

  Could? Elle Clarke clearly has no inkling of the power she wields over me. “Yeah, you could,” I inform her. “But we’ve got the rest of our lives to have countertop sex.”

  Elle bites her bottom lip, and at first, I think it’s another attempt to make me forget about traffic and the movers waiting outside to carry the rest of her belongings—which, let’s face it, would be a successful one. But then I realize it’s in response to my words.

  “We do?” she asks, a mixture of vulnerability and veneration in her voice.

  I’m trying to come up with a way to respond that won’t entirely give away the real reason I’m in such a rush to depart when there’s a loud knock on the door. I step away from Elle and open it to see it’s one of the movers.

  “Hey, you got the rest of the stuff ready yet?” The middle-aged man asks. His tone clearly conveys there was an unspoken finally he wanted to add somewhere in that question. I can relate.

  “Yes. It’s all good to go,” I reply, pulling the front door of Elle’s home fully open so he can see the stacks of boxes.

  The mover grimaces. “We should be there at eight.”

  “Perfect,” I reply, grabbing one of the bags Elle set by the door and heading down the steps for the car. She follows me, with the last of the belongings we could possibly stuff in her sedan. Scout’s already in a crate in the backseat, and he barks forlornly as I stuff a duffle bag in beside him. Elle tosses me the car keys, and then climbs into the passenger seat, covered with so many odds and ends I can barely see her.