And I finally turn to face him. His arms are folded across his chest as he studies me, his expression soft. His hair is more unkempt than it’s ever been, a lock falling over his brow that my hand aches to brush away.
There’s nothing left to do but retrieve the drumstick from my bag and listen to the strange quiet that falls over us as we both stare at it. The one prize left. I roll it between my fingers, trying to memorise the sensation.
‘The time has come for us to decide who gets this in the divorce,’ I say. The air between us feels like it has been pulled taut. Something unfamiliar and unsettling fizzles in the space around us.
He snorts humourlessly at the ground. ‘Right.’
There’s no point dragging this out. My gut stings with the weight of the decision that I think I unknowingly made hours ago. A small part of me hates myself for falling at the very last hurdle, but the bigger, gentler side has known since last night that this is the right thing to do. When he covered his face with his hands and told me everything. When he unintentionally showed me that he needs it far more than I do. Its sole purpose in my life would be to sit on a shelf and collect dust, occasionally serving as a trigger for my own memories. Ultimately, it wouldn’t change anything like it could for him. As much as I desperately wish it could be mine.
Elliot could truly use it to connect with someone who needs him. He could offer it as a symbol of his affection – a promise that he cares. And I don’t have it in me to deny him the chance.
I take a deep breath.
‘I think you should keep it,’ I say, nearly tripping over my own words.
His head shoots up. ‘What?’
I bite my lip and briefly toy with the idea of taking it back.
‘I think it’s yours, Elliot.’
He just stares at me, temporarily stunned, his blue eyes like orbs.
‘You still want it, I’m guessing?’ I say, offering it to him with raised brows.
‘Is that a trick question?’
I shake my head. He runs his hands through his hair, heaving a broken sigh.
‘No, I can’t… I can’t take it, Nora. It’s yours.’ He looks at the drumstick as if it’s tainted or cursed. ‘It’s always been yours.’
I fight a smile. ‘This feels very different to our first conversation.’
‘A lot has happened since then.’
Our eyes meet, and something passes between us. Memories of all the moments of Firecrest that I’ll always cherish. A mutual regret, that any of this has happened and that it has to end with a choice.
‘I can’t take it,’ he says, his voice gruff. ‘Not from you.’
‘I really shouldn’t be so surprised you’re being so difficult.’
‘That’s my thing,’ he counters.
‘Elliot,’ I say patiently. ‘If you don’t take this, I’ll be throwing it directly into the Thames.’
He gives me an incredulous look. ‘Why?’
I sigh lightly, twirling it with one hand. ‘I don’t know, but it would be a terrible waste of a perfectly good drumstick…’
He’s in front of me in a flash, catching hold of my wrist with a look in his eyes that makes my words die in my throat.
‘I know how important this is to you,’ he says. ‘I’m not joking about this.’
‘It’s yours, Elliot. You have to take it.’ He studies me with a wild, desperate look. ‘My conscience won’t let me keep this now.’
There’s a brief silence as he swallows, my words sinking in for both of us.
‘Why?’ he asks quietly.
