“I thought you were in some big rush?” She rolls her eyes and shoves a hair dryer into the backseat.
For some reason I expected some sentimentality from her, but she doesn’t even glance at the brownstone she’s spent the past three years living in as I pull away from the curb to start weaving through the Boston traffic. We pull up outside the massive Colonial-style house I’ve only been to once before forty-five minutes later.
“In and out, okay?” Elle tells me as we climb outside the car.
“You don't have to tell me twice,” I reply as we approach the front door of her parents’ house.
We met them in the city for dinner a few weeks ago. Uncomfortable is the first word that comes to mind to describe that evening, and that was before Elle informed them she’s moving to Maine with me. I seriously doubt drawing their only daughter to live in the northern wilderness has done their opinion of me any favors.
The door opens seconds before we reach it. If I had to guess, Elle's mother was tracking our approach.
“Hi, Mom,” Elle says.
“Hi, Mrs. Clarke,” I greet.
“Hello, Eleanor. Ryder,” she replies politely.
She steps aside, and I follow Elle inside the marble foyer, resisting the urge to whistle. The inside of the house is even nicer than the outside, and that’s saying something.
“Where’s Dad?” Elle asks, looking around the fancy furnishings for her father. I’m doing the same, except more in admiration. My uncle used to make a living nicking items from houses far less endowed than this one.
“He had to go into the office,” Mrs. Clarke replies.
“Of course,” Elle replies. The words aren’t sarcastic, more resigned. I’m left battling an annoying mixture of disappointment and relief.
“That’s everything.” Elle’s mother nods to a neat stack of five plastic bins located just below a painting that looks like it belongs in a museum in Rome.
“Do you think it’ll fit?” Elle asks me, dubiously.
No. “Sure,” I reply. “It will just take some… rearranging.”
The rearranging ends up consisting of me emptying the entirety of the car and re-packing it while Elle and her mother watch and talk. The conversation mostly consists of Mrs. Clarke catching Elle up on people I’ve never heard of or met. I get the sense she’s the type of person who likes to focus on the imperfections in other’s lives to avoid looking at her own too closely.
“Okay,” I announce once I’ve wedged the final bin in the footwell behind Elle’s seat. “That's everything.”
Elle gives me a wide smile, but her mother looks a bit lost.
“I’ll text you when we arrive,” Elle tells her mother, giving her a hug.
“All right,” Mrs. Clarke replies. Her tone is cool, but I’m good at reading people. She’s a facade waiting to crack.
I take a hesitant step forward, then two. I’m not sure who’s more surprised when Mrs. Clarke opens her arms to hug me: Elle, or me. “Take care of my little girl,” she whispers to me.
“I will,” I promise.
Elle’s mother drops her arms, and nods. Elle eyes us curiously but doesn’t say anything as she rounds the front of the car and climbs in the passenger side. I’m guessing she’ll save that interrogation for later. It’s delayed by her phone ringing as soon as I climb into the car. I don’t have to ask who it is, because Eliza’s voice blares out of the fancy surround sound speakers. “Where the hell are you guys?”
“Where the hell is the volume?” I ask, studying the panel of switches and dials.
Elle laughs, and then taps on her phone, switching off the Bluetooth connection. She and Eliza chat as I maneuver my way out of Elle’s parents’ driveway and through their cul-de-sac out onto the main road.
When we reach downtown Fernwood, Eliza and Tommy are already waiting, seated on one of the benches that line the street. I take the closest available spot, and we climb out of the car. Two bags fall out of the car in the process of Elle getting Scout out of the backseat, and I grimace. Looks like I’ll be repacking the car. Again.
“Hey, man,” Tommy greets when I approach, with Elle and Scout right behind me. He’s beaming, and I know exactly why. He hasn’t stopped giving me shit ever since Elle and I got together. Mostly about how happy he is for me, but also about how I could have saved a ridiculous amount of drama by figuring things out before his wedding. I suppose that’s fair.
“Hey.” I grin back, and he gives me a hug, clapping me on the back. I ignore the questioning look that follows. I hug Eliza next, but it’s briefer. I know she and Elle go back, to a chapter I wasn’t part of. And I was too distracted by the brunette currently hugging Tommy to really get to know her at any of the events this summer I was supposed to do so at.
Scout pulls Elle over to a nearby tree, and Eliza follows them. Elle and Eliza start chatting about something involving shoes, and I quickly tune it out. Tommy and I trail behind.
“So?” Tommy asks as soon as the girls are out of earshot, just like I knew he would. “What did he say?”
I sigh. “He wasn’t even there.”
Tommy’s face falls with disappointment. “Are you not going to ask her, then?”
“I don’t know.” I kick a pebble on the path. “It shouldn’t matter, right? It’s our decision. And I know things aren’t great between them right now.” Partly because of me, but I don’t say that. Tommy already knows.
“Duke Douche probably asked.”
“York. Yeah, I’m sure he did.” He also knew what the answer was going to be. I don’t. “Isn’t not asking better than getting a no?”
“You don’t know it’s going to be a no,” Tommy replies. “They’re letting her move to Maine with you.”
“I’m not sure if ‘letting’ is the right word,” I inform him. Elle told me very few details about her conversation with her parents regarding our future plans. I’m guessing it was for a reason—one I wouldn’t be very happy about. “And she’s a grown woman. There’s nothing they could do to stop her.”
Tommy shrugs in agreement, which isn’t super helpful. “What have you got to lose, man? She picked you. Take the high road. Make it harder for the old man to hate you.”
“So you’re agreeing he does hate me.” I laugh. “Your pep talks need work.”
“He doesn’t know you, Ryder. Aside from…”
“Right. The prison stint.”
“Yes. But he also knows you care about Elle. Really care about her. I mean, you’ve been obsessed with her since we were fourteen!”
“Not obsessed,” I dispute.
Tommy snorts. “Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that.”
I spent the first day of high school—and many since—repeating one sentence over and over again in my head. Not Don’t get in a fight. Or ignore the whispers. Nope. It was She’ll never be yours. I’ve spent the past eleven years telling myself this would never happen. That Eleanor Clarke would never choose me. The first two months of senior year were the only time I even allowed myself to ponder the possibility. Then life royally fucked us over. Me, more specifically. I spent seven years certain that was that. Did everything I could to push her away. But I also wasn’t going to make the same mistake I know William York is going to regret for the rest of his life.
Eleanor Clarke isn’t someone you just walk away from.
If she was willing to fight for me, I sure as shit wasn’t going to give her up.
With that thought in mind, I pull my phone out of my pocket.
Tommy beams. “I’ll tell Elle and Eliza you got a call about the new job.”
“Thanks, man,” I reply, taking a deep breath. Just like with Elle, I have no idea what I did to deserve a best friend like Tommy.
A quick Google search pulls up the name and number of Elle’s father’s law firm. It only rings once before a pert female voice answers. “Washington and Stevens, how may I direct your call?”
“Hello. I’d like to speak with Michael Clarke, please.”
The chipper secretary falters. “Can I take a message? Mr. Clarke doesn’t like to be distur—”
“Tell him it’s Ryder James calling.” Anxiety injects a harsher form of authority in my voice. “He’ll want to take this call.”
There’s a pause. “One moment.”
I stand there, looking at Fernwood’s small downtown strip. Elle, Tommy, and Eliza are almost a block away, standing in front of the coffee shop that used to be Brewed Awakenings. Elle catches my eye and gives me a questioning look. I reply with what I mean to be a reassuring smile. Hard to say if I succeed, though. My insides twist and dip like the pavement below me has turned into a roiling sea as nothing but silence permeates the phone line.
Elle points at the coffee shop, and I nod my understanding before they disappear inside.
“Is my daughter all right?”
I startle as a brisk bass barks the question out, breaking the silence on the line. “Hi, Mr. Clarke.”
“My daughter, Ryder?”
“Yes,” I rush to assure him. “Elle is fine.” I guess it’s hardly a surprise that was his first inclination for why I might be calling him, based on our relationship. Or lack of, rather.
There’s a pause. “Why are you calling, then?” Michael Clarke doesn’t waste any time. It’s a trait I admire, even as I’m currently having a lot of trouble convincing myself this was in fact a good idea. “Ryder?”
“I’m planning to ask Elle to marry me. Tonight.” I blurt out.
Silence.
“I know you don’t approve, but I thought I should let you know.” It’s not really a request for a blessing, but it’s more than I thought I’d be able to choke out.
“Eleanor just ended an engagement.”
Something tells me Michael Clarke is not a man who appreciates sarcasm. So I swallow Really? I had no idea, and instead say “I’m aware.”
More silence.
“She’s moving all the way to Maine for me. I want to make certain she doesn’t have any doubts about my commitment.”
“I don’t see how she’d have any doubts about that.” A compliment. Maybe? “Any teenage boy who spends three months working on a two-week Physics project can clearly commit.”
I wonder if Elle has any idea her father was aware of our freshman year relationship. Because I sure as hell wasn’t. Tommy’s words about me being obsessed with Elle since we were fourteen come back to me. Does the length of my interest in Elle work in my favor with Michael Clarke? Or is it merely another strike that I was corrupting his daughter for even longer than most think?
Now it’s my turn not to say anything.
“Kristen always hoped for a summer wedding,” Elle’s father finally says. “But we can make other months work. If you two wanted to make it official sooner.”
It’s not a blessing, but it’s close.
It’s an acknowledgement.
It’s also a clear indication he doesn’t think Elle is going to turn me down, which is a reassurance I didn’t realize just how much I was needing.
“I’d leave all those details to Elle,” I reply.
“Probably for the best.”
“Well, I should—” I start. I was half-expecting him to hang up on me. Bringing up wedding details was not anticipated.
“Hathaway lost his bar license last week following an independent investigation. He’s no longer at this firm.” Michael Clarke informs me.
I falter. Having a conversation with Elle’s father includes a lot of decoding, I’m finding. I may be clueless when it comes to a lot of Elle’s world, but I do know her father wields the power at his firm. If Liam’s father was fired because of something involving me—which is what I think he’s saying—it means Michael Clarke either made it happen or allowed it to happen.
Either option suggests less loyalty to a good friend and more towards—well, me. Elle only told her parents we were moving this past weekend. Which suggests this may not have just been a reaction to whatever ultimatum I’m guessing she gave them.
“Okay,” I say. Something tells me more questions or a thank you is not what he’s looking for.
“Drive safe.” The phone clicks.
I stand there, looking at Fernwood with fresh eyes. I wasn’t lying when I told Elle I was looking for a new start. But a part of me was also certain I’d never find any modicum of acceptance in this town, at least not outside the trailer park relegated to its outskirts. But my conversation with Elle’s father has me reconsidering. Maybe this isn’t a place I need to dread returning to. Not even the couple side glances I receive as I walk down the street have me reconsidering.
I push open the door of the coffee shop to find Elle, Eliza, and Tommy are all standing at the end of the counter, waiting.
“Everything okay?” Elle asks me as soon as I approach, a small wrinkle appearing between her eyes as she studies me. Tommy is looking at me as well, obviously burning to ask me the same thing. Eliza’s the only one not analyzing me.
“Great,” I reply, flashing her the grin that usually makes her blush. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Tommy smile as well.
“Your new boss?” Elle pushes, her cheeks pink.
“Yup,” I lie. “Just wanted to make sure I’d gotten some paperwork.”
She nods, relaxing. Is she as concerned things might tumble around us as I’ve spent the past few weeks worrying about? That I might hate my new job? That she might hate hers? That one of us might get cold feet?
My resolution about proposing hardens. I was worried it was too soon, but I think it’s reassurance we could both use.
A chance to start this new chapter with a new significance.
“I ordered you a coffee,” Elle tells me.
“Thank you,” I reply, smiling at her. She doesn’t break eye contact the way I expect her to, and we just stare at each other. Is she remembering the last time we were in this coffee shop together, the same way I am?
All my most recent memories in Fernwood include her.
She’s spent the last seven years here for summers and holidays.
Did memories of us haunt her?
“Were they this bad in high school?” Eliza asks Tommy. I jerk my gaze away from Elle, who’s blushing again.
“Worse,” Tommy replies, but he’s smiling as he says it.
I guess this turn of events might be a bit jarring for Eliza. Elle and I have spent the last couple months having an array of painful, public arguments. Especially since she was friends with Elle for the entirety of her relationship with William and seemed oblivious to my existence being anything more than Tommy’s best friend.
“We were not,” I argue.
“Right. The incessant making out wasn’t the least bit obnoxious,” Tommy replies.
“Yeah, I recall you hating hanging out with the cheer squad while we were busy,” Elle retorts.
Tommy grins. “Yeah, okay, there were perks you were the one who fell for James’ charm.”
“What charm?” Elle replies, smirking.
“I’ve been saving it for a special occasion,” I inform her, smirking back. “Maybe I’ll break it out later.”
“You promise?” she asks.
“Doesn’t our new place have a counter?”
Elle laughs, loud and genuine. “Touché, James.”
“Get a room,” Tommy tells us. He’s clearly under no illusions we’re talking about cooking. But he’s also studying the two of us like a proud parent, so I don’t flip him off like I was originally planning to.
The barista serves up our drinks, and we head back outside to retrieve Scout.
“We should get going, guys,” Elle says. “Someone is obsessed with our travel itinerary and how far behind we are on it.”
Tommy smirks at me. He knows exactly why I’m obsessed with leaving on time. “If you want to unload the hundreds of boxes you packed in the middle of the night, we can leave whenever you want,” I tell Elle.
She smirks at me before hugging Tommy and Eliza goodb
ye. Yeah, that’s what I thought. We finish saying our goodbyes and then head back toward the car. It takes ten minutes to get Scout in and repack the backseat. Finally, we’re back in the car with all our belongings. Minus the moving truck’s worth of Elle’s.
“You ready?” I ask her, turning on the car.
Elle turns, her smile brighter than the September sun. It filters through the glass window, turning some of her chestnut hair into shades of auburn. “Yeah, I’m ready.”
“You sure? Four hours is a long time to spend in a car,” I warn.
“Four hours doesn’t sound long to me at all,” Elle replies. There’s no trace of hesitancy in her face as she smirks at my thinly veiled reference to the rest of our lives.
I shift into drive and pull away from the curb. The coffee shop we just left flashes by on the right, followed by the bookstore next door to it. A couple of restaurants, the general store, and the post office follow. Then, there’s the field, with only a few wildflowers still standing. Next, Fernwood High School, with a parking lot full of expensive cars. A couple houses, and then I press down on the accelerator. This road transitions right into the highway that will take us north.
I don’t look in the rearview mirror as the car picks up speed. Elle doesn’t glance back at Fernwood, either.
I know we’ll be back.
I know this is a beginning, not an ending.
And I’m more excited about what lies ahead.
Author’s Note
Thank you so much for taking the time to read Come Break My Heart Again. I hope you enjoyed Ryder and Elle’s story!
Please take a moment to rate or review this book. It’s an irreplaceable way to help me reach new readers, but more importantly, I’d love to hear your thoughts!
All the best,
C.W. Farnsworth
Acknowledgments
First off, I’d like to say a massive thanks to my early readers, as well as the incredible members of bloggers and bookstagrammers community. Your willingness to share and support my writing means more than I could ever convey.
Come Break My Heart Again Page 28