“For as long as I've known you, you've never passed up on the opportunity to have a beer. I've seen you do that twice now,” she said, delicately arching her brow to drive her point home.
I sighed heavily and leaned back against my chair, running a hand through my hair. “I'm an alcoholic, Elle.”
She blinked at me for several beats. “No, you're not.”
“Yes, I am,” I inhaled deeply, my eyes dropping down to the table for a beat before I forced myself to look at her. “I fell apart after my mom died. After I... screwed things up with you. I started drinking more, a hell of a lot more than I had before. Harder drinks too...anything to kill the guilt and the regret.”
Elle opened her mouth, searching for something to say. She looked genuinely shocked by my revelation. “I... I'm sorry Braden,” she finally said. I knew she meant it; I knew that she was blaming herself, even though it wasn’t her fault.
“It's not your fault,” I told her, needing her to believe me. “It was only a matter of time. Addiction runs in my family. Brock and Becky got sick of it and told me to either sober up or get out. They told me I was walking down the same path our father had.”
Elle winced as if my words had physically slapped her. She knew how much I hated my father, how much I resented everything about him and how painful it must have been to be compared to him. Her hands reached across the table to grasp mine. She squeezed gently. “You're not him,” she told me, as she'd told me so many times before. Her brown eyes were locked on mine—searching—and I knew without a doubt that she believed it.
She was the only person to ever seeme. Everyone else saw a rebel, a trouble maker. The wayward son of the old town drunk; the product of a broken family. Elle saw more. She still did, even after everything I’d put her through.
I swallowed hard and forced a smile, squeezing her hands back. “I know. But it was the kick in the ass I needed to smarten up. I went to rehab, enrolled in college, and left town.”
“I heard that,” Elle cleared her throat, pulling her hands away as if my touch burned her. “Mechanical engineering, right?”
“Right,” I responded, my lips lifting up in a grin. She'd done her homework. “I heard you're a paramedic now,” I added.
“Yeah,” she nodded, looking away abruptly. Something dark clouded her eyes, something she wasn’t going to be forthcoming about. I got a sense that this subject was off limits to her.
The waitress approached with our drinks. “Are you guys ready to order yet?” she asked, setting our glasses down on the table.
“Not yet,” I drawled, flashing the waitress a smile that made her blush. “Why don't you give us another five minutes to look over the menu, darling?” She nodded and turned around, heading to tend to her other tables. When I looked back at Elle, she was frowning. “What?” I asked.
“You're seriously hitting on the waitress?” she snorted, shaking her head. I could detect a note of jealousy in her voice.
“You said this wasn't a date,” I reminded her. “Besides, I was just being nice. I wasn't hitting on her. I don't bother with pleasantries when I want something Elle, Igofor it.”
She swallowed, likely remembering that fact about me all too well. She suddenly took a keen interest to the menu in front of her.
I didn't bother glancing at mine. I'd been there enough times to know the menu like the back of my hand. Instead, I took the time to watch the girl that still had a hold on my heart.
I could feel the familiar tug between us; it had never faded during our time apart. I didn't even have to touch her to know that connection was as strong as it had always been. Her soul called to mine; and I still felt at home in her presence.
“What are you staring at?” Elle asked without looking up, her lips pulled into a slight smile that she was trying to suppress.
I could have told her I was looking at my future—and I almost did, but it was too soon. Elle wasn't willing to admit that she still felt even a fraction of what she once felt for me. I knew my stubborn girl almost as well as I knew myself—it was inevitable. Instead, I tossed her an innocent smile and shrugged, the words I wanted to say caught in my throat.
“Are you ready to order yet?” our waitress asked, saving me from having to reply as she reappeared at our table, her pen posed over the notebook she held.
“The lemon and herb roasted chicken sounds good. I'll have that please,” Elle said, closing the menu and setting it down in front of her. She looked up at me, waiting.
“I'll have the Greek style pepper steak,” I added, my eyes never leaving her face.
“Sounds great,” the waitress offered. She turned around, sauntering over to the kitchen.
“Tell me something,” I leaned forward, my eyes locking on hers before she had a chance to look away.
“What?” Elle's brow furrowed, as if she didn't trust where this conversation would end up going.
“Anything. Tell me what you've been up to the last few years. Tell me about your job. Tell me if...tell me if you're happy,” I asked, swallowing hard.
Elle exhaled and brushed a strand of her long hair behind her ear. She looked away from me, nodding her head slowly. “Well...I haven’t been up to much, to be honest. I went to school, then I got a job. I’ve just been working, really.” She stopped talking, lost in thought.
“Do you like your job?” I pressed, needing her to keep talking. I needed to know what was going on behind those brown eyes. I need to know the words her heart was whispering, even if her mind was counteracting it all. I knew it would—I knew that she'd talk herself out of trusting my company. I couldn't blame her either...but I still had to try.
