Because I know Ella Rujkowski the way I know the ice, it’s pure instinct understanding at this point. When everything falls apart, Ella runs to the thing that makes her feel strong. The thing that's hers.
I park crooked in front of the studio and half-jog to the entrance. Through the glass I can see the silks hanging from the ceiling, purple and red, and one of them is taut.
I push through the door.
She's in the air like a gorgeous bird. She looks so strong and powerful, back arched, thick leg sticking out behind her. The swell of her belly glows in the sun streaming through the studio window. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.
Her suitcase sits against the wall by the shoe cubbies, packed and waiting for her to come down, wheel it to the airport, and disappear from my life.
"The only flying you should be doing," I say, and my voice echoes in the studio, "is down from there and into my arms."
Her head snaps toward me. She wobbles on the silk and tightens her grip, staring down at me from her perch. This beautiful, stubborn, brilliant woman who saves lives and climbs fabric and makes me feel like I'm special.
My black eye must look spectacular because her expression shifts from shock to concern to something softer. "Bernard. Your face."
"It's fine. Get down here."
She descends a little awkwardly and lands on the mat. "You found me," she says.
"Of course, I found you." I step closer. "I'm a St. Bernard, remember? Search and rescue. It's what I do."
Her face crumples — not into tears, into something between a laugh and a sob. "You enormous, ridiculous man."
"Come here, Ella."
She crosses the mat and walks into my arms, and I hold her the way I've been wanting to since I caught sight of her at the airport — completely, with everything I have, like she's the thing I've been looking for without knowing I was lost.
Then I kiss her. Not a stolen kitchen kiss or something secret. I kiss her like she ought to be kissed, in the daylight, openly.
When we break for air, I tuck her head against my chest and tell her, “You scared me. And your brother. What made you leave?”
She pulls back and looks up at me. "I got a voicemail from Susan." Her lip wobbles. “She wants me to come in for a meeting. About my position." Her jaw tightens. "I think I failed, Bernard."
"You don't know that."
"The tone of her voice?—"
"You don't know." I hold her face in both hands. "Ella. You are the most capable person I have ever met. You aced every practice test for weeks. You are a goddamn incredible nurse, and you are going to walk into that meeting tomorrow and hear what Susan has to say."
"I'm scared."
"I know. But you can be scared. I've watched you do scared. You do scared better than anyone." I press my forehead against hers. "I'll drive you there. I'll sit in the parking lot and wait. Whatever you need, but just stay. Please.”
She blinks up at me with tears near her lashes and swallows, nodding almost imperceptibly. But I’ll take it.
I release her and walk to the wall where her suitcase sits propped against the cubbies. I grab the handle and roll it toward the door.
"What are you doing?" she asks.
"Putting this in my car and taking you home."
"Bernard—"
"Your place is in Pittsburgh, Ella." I turn to look at her. "Your friends are here. Your job is here. Your weird circus hobby is here."
“It’s not weird.”
"Your glorious hobby is here." I hold out my hand. "And I'm here. So let's go home."
