I’m speechless.
I don’t think. I step forward, plastering myself against his bare chest, careful not to jostle Violet. Sliding an arm around his waist, I hug him as tightly as I can. He doesn’t speak as he loops his arms around me, and rests his chin on my head. Closing my eyes, I listen to the steady beat of his heart. I’d forgotten how eloquent and poetic Leo can be. Quiet, introspective, and focused, but also romantic and thoughtful. I was the lucky one who’d had the privilege of being loved by him.
“Auntie Ella,” Oliver calls out from the living room. “I tired.”
Regretfully pulling away from Leo, I keep my gaze cast downward. “I need to get him into bed.”
“Do you want me to take Violet?” Leo asks.
“No, I’ll put her in her bassinet, then put your clothes in the washer.”
“Any chance you have any more of my shirts in your closet?” Leo jokes, making me blush.
“There’s a chance you might find a few more in the bottomrighthand drawer of the dresser,” I confess. Looking through my lashes, I watch as Leo grins. I follow him into the living room, watching as he gives Oliver a fist bump. Motioning for Oliver to walk ahead of us, I stare at Leo’s back. More shrapnel scars. This sweet man. I’m heartbroken for what he went through, and how my absence may have played a part in his recovery.
We have a lot of trauma to dig through if — or when — we think about a possible redo of our relationship.
LEO
It’s been more than a few weeks since that night at Ella’s. At the time, I’d wondered if it would be a turning point in our relationship. I hadn’t intended on fucking her against a wall, but once I saw her in my shirt, I felt like I didn’t have control over my body.
After getting the kids to bed, we’d watched a movie while my clothes dried, and I woke up with her snuggled in my arms. It felt perfect. Kismet. Karma. Me, her, and the kids. Like we were meant to be.
But once Ella woke up, it was clear she was uncomfortable. She barely made eye contact and ushered me out of there as fast as she could. I’d intended to ask if I could cook her breakfast, but she made up some bullshit story about work that I knew was a lie. Violet had woken up fever-free, but I knew Ella wouldn’t be out and about with Violet that fast after a fever. She just wanted me out of her space, so I left.
And I haven’t spoken to her since.
I continued to occasionally stop in at Purrfect Books, but she was always conveniently tied up. Lots of imaginary phone calls happened right as I walked in, or she’d tell me a delivery was at the back door. It was all crap, but it’s not like I could call her out on it. I know the way Ella’s mind works. While I’ve always been the kind of person who sees most things in black and white, Ella walksthrough life in the gray areas. She needs time to work through things.
So, I took a step back. Figured I would touch base with her at some point.
But then life got in the way.
One of the water heaters went out at Everlasting. Then two ovens stopped heating. I had a checkup at the VA in Denver, which ended up lasting two full days because of issues with their computers. We had two spring storms that dumped close to a foot of snow each time, and both times, it forced me to stay at Everlasting so I could keep track of all the mechanical systems.
I kept thinking I’d contact Ella the next day, but something would end up throwing a kink in my plans. But every night, as I laid awake in bed, I wondered if she was thinking about me.
Once life seemed to finally calm down, it was almost two months after the night at her apartment, and I figured there was no way I could possibly contact Ella without coming off like a complete tool, or like I was trying to get a repeat performance. I allowed myself one week of melancholy, holed up in my shrine of a home to her, and then I chose to keep moving.
Fortunately, my dipshit brothers and brothers-in-law kept things mildly interesting with a group chat of sheer chaos. I was added back against my will again.
Stone: Alright. Which one of you numb nuts hid a pickle in my house?
Luca: Oh, is THAT what we’re calling it these days, Stone? Gross. That’s my sister you’re talking about.
Stone: Suspect #1.
Alex: Are we talking about an actual pickle? Or like that weird ornament you’re supposed to find on the Christmas tree?
Dom: Katharine tried to start that tradition last year. I hid the damn thing in one of the gutters. It’s bad enough she makes us do that stupid elf.
Sebastian: Elf on the Shelf is big in our house too. Isabella is amazing at creating all these phenomenal scenarios for it. On the rare occasion I’m expected to do it, I just TP the tree.
Stone: I hate that I can’t tell if any of you are trying to redirect the conversation so I don’t realize you’re the asshole that hid a very large and real pickle in one of my floor vents.
Dom: How large?
Stone: The size of my forearm.
