“I wasn’t trying to be sneaky,” Elle says, smiling a little more. “And I don’t carry weapons. Unless you count the knife I used to slice the cake?”
Her voice is as easy as nostalgia is. And just as dangerous. Especially when it’s twisted with addictive Kys and actual kisses.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I say, barely above a mumble. “You’re the bride. You should be doing, y’know, married things with what’s-his-face.”
“I wanted to check on you first,” she says, standing beside me. There’s nothing between us but the sea and that scent I know too well. Chamomile and honey. The tea Sterling always makes for her.
She’s close enough that I could reach out to her. But I don’t. Don’t need to. “I’m okay,” I lie. “I’ve got pork belly and ube cake digesting deep in my soul.”
She doesn’t laugh, but she almost does. I can hear it in the breath she holds back.
The waves roll in. She watches them. But I watch her.
She looks so good in white. She looked good in white sheets too.Back when it was messy and all sorts of wrong and all kinds of right. Sterling must’ve hated sharing her with me, but I loved every second of it. I didn’t mind being the second choice, as long as I was a choice.
But I wrote myself off. Being with me was never Elle’s choice. My mother forced it on us.
Closing my eyes, I feel a chill run down my spine that has nothing to do with the evening breeze.
“You’ve always been good at hiding the way you feel,” she says.
“What can I say?” My eyes blink open and curve with my grin. “I’m gifted at lying to myself.”
She glances over. “Kaye told me about the ship.”
I smirk, deflect mode on. “She also tell you she and I banged once?”
“She did. She said you were loud.”
I snort, chin in the air. “I like to make my presence known.”
“What about when you’re about to leave?”
I shrug. My shoulders feel heavier than I want to admit. “Seems better than sticking around. Letting the withdrawals win. Watching my best friends be with my brothers.”
When our eyes meet, I hate how sad she looks, and that I’m the cause of it. That’s what gives me this itch in my throat. Feels like a scream I’ve been swallowing since September. Since I let Elle go because it was the right thing to do.
I try to breathe evenly. But my throat feels too dry.
All I want to be is worth something. To her. To my family. Even to my mom, locked in her coma like her hospital room’s a luxury suite. She should be here to see this—us trying to claw our way back from what she tried to wreck but didn’t. Except maybe me. Maybe I’m fucked up beyond repair.
Then Elle smiles wider. It’s not too much of a stretch, but it’s soreal. And for some reason, it’s aimed at me.
“I’m glad you’re sharing and accepting your feelings, Stan,” shewhispers. “But that doesn’t mean you have to disappear.”
“Yeah—I—” My voice cracks despite my best efforts. But I keep going. Because she’s still here. Because she’s still listening. “I think…I needthis, Elle. I needspace. I needhelp.”
She nods. It’s small. But it means everything. “If you ever need anything else…” she starts.
I cut her off. “Call you? Sure. Right after Sterling guts me and dumps me in the water.”
She laughs. I can’t help it. I laugh too. It’s a fucked-up joke. But it works for us.
After a moment, we face the water again. We don’t need anything more than this. I sure don’t.
Elle’s beside me, quiet as the sea. But my heart’s loud enough for the both of us. Right over that beating, beat-up thing is her initial in ink.
I’m leaving soon, but she’ll stay right here. And all I can think isdamn, I should’ve jerked off before the ceremony. Maybe I wouldn’t be such a jealous, emotional horndog then, huh?
