Page 9 of Staying Selfless

“I’m drunk and need to steal my spare key.” He digs through the top drawer in my desk until he finds it. “I lost my keys at the New Year’s Eve party.”

“Oh.”

“I didn’t go,” Eli interjects as he finally walks into my room. “I couldn’t sleep, and Marc needed a ride,” he adds as if he needs to explain himself to me, which he doesn’t. I don’t deserve any type of explanation after what I’ve put him through the last three weeks.

“You can’t sleep?”

Eli lets out a soft sigh. “Of course I can’t, Logan.” He seems sad and broken, and I did that. I did that to him.

“I gotta go sleep this whiskey off,” Marc chimes in, obviously noting the tension between his brother and me. He snags his spare and stumbles out of my room, leaving us alone.

I don’t know what to say right now, and it’s evident that Eli is as lost for words as I am. I want to tell him that I love him, and I missed him, and that I want him to kiss me. Or that I want him to save me from the sadness I’ve lived in for almost a month, but I can’t because that’s not fair. So, I don’t.

“What happened to your hand?” I nod towards his swollen and busted knuckles. They look even worse than the day he punched Zac.

He glances down at his battered fist before looking back at me.

“Don’t worry about it.” He shakes his head, brushing me off.

There is so much unsaid between us right now. The air is thick with tension and unasked questions. I hate myself at this moment, seeing Eli like this. He looks lost and upset, but also pissed. He’s mad at me, and I don’t blame him.

“When do you leave for Chicago?” I blurt out, trying to find some words that will ease the ache between us.

He stays silent for a moment, obviously flustered by my presence the same way I am by his. There are way more important things I should ask right now. Like, “Are you okay?” “Do you hate me?” “Did I ruin everything?” But all I ask about is Chicago.

“Tomorrow night,” he plainly states. “Are you still coming?” His question has no emotion.

I don’t respond with words because I don’t know the right answer. So instead, I give Eli a shrug. I don’t know if he still wants me to go or if my presence will throw off his game. He needs to be at his best during Senior Showcase, and I already feared that I ruined his last shot three weeks ago, but thankfully Marc assured me that Dallas is still heavily scouting him.

“Well, it’s up to you,” he says as my heart breaks from his lack of opinion.

Again, silence falls between us as Eli awkwardly scratches at his brow with his thumb.

“I’ll let you get some sleep.” He turns to leave. I can tell he’s trying to keep his composure, to hold himself together right now. I can tell because I tried that for months. I know what it looks like.

“Eli.” I stop him before he walks out my door. “Happy Minnesota New Year,” I add in reference to his text that I hadn’t replied to yet.

He slowly turns to face me, his stern, rigged expression softening as his brown eyes pour into mine.

He bounds over to me in two easy strides before bending down and tucking my hair behind my ear.

“Happy New Year, Logan. Thank you for coming home.” He kisses my cheek, followed by my tattooed collarbone. He quickly turns to leave my room, switching off my light and closing my door as he goes.

I can see the shadow of his feet in the hallway under the gap in my door, and I can hear his strained inhale, gasping for air on the other side of the wooden barrier. He lingers just outside for a moment until, eventually, the shadow of his feet disappears down the hall.

I didn’t want him to leave, but I can’t blame him. I obviously hurt him, and I asked him to let me grieve alone, which is exactly what he’s doing.

More tears start falling down my cheeks. They haven’t stopped in weeks, and I don’t know that they ever will. But these ones are for Eli. For the distance I caused us, for the pain that was evident on his face. I did that. It’s my fault.

I toss and turn all night. I keep grabbing my phone from my nightstand, hovering my thumbs over the keys, contemplating texting Eli. I want him to come over. To come sleep next to me. To come make me feel better and reassure me that everything will be okay between us, but that’s not fair of me because I’m not the same girl he fell in love with, and I don’t know that I’ll ever be her again.

Instead, I lie in bed, thinking about our interaction. About how uneasy I felt after, how hurt Eli looked, and how I have absolutely no idea where we stand or where to go from here.

Around seven in the morning, my door that I forgot to lock opens without a knock. Marc comes walking in with his head down, and his hood pulled over to shadow his face. Apparently, he’s been spending too much time with Ali because he’s never once just barged in here unannounced, but I’m thankful for it. Having him here with me already makes me feel better.

Marc climbs onto the bed beside me, lying on his stomach with his arms crossed under his chin, looking at me.

“I’m not sure if I’m still drunk or if the hangover is starting to kick in, so I’m not going to say too much right now,” he sleepily admits. “But I want you to know that I love you, and I’m sorry.”

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