Page 33 of Dare To Live

“I’m going to make you a turkey sandwich.”

“I’m not hungry.”

I ignore him, open the refrigerator door, and find the leftovers from yesterday’s dinner.

“You can’t drink on an empty stomach. I’ve been through this with Elena, I know what I’m talking about.”

And I’m not sure I want to see you drunk and angry, I add silently.

The memory of my mother drinking when I was younger isn’t one I like to think about. After so many years of her being an absent parent, she finally made an effort to be one after she married Eli’s dad. It took time, but eventually we managed to build a better relationship.

I take out the plate of sliced turkey wrapped in saran wrap, kick the refrigerator shut, then move to the counter. I’ve barely set it down when a heavy hand lands on my shoulder.

“I said I’m not fucking hungry.”

I grab Eli’s hand, spin around and twist his wrist as I move behind him to pin his arm behind his back.

He freezes in place. “What the fuck?”

A little rush of power zips through me, and I tighten my grip. “You are going to eat the sandwich I make you. Then you can drink yourself under the table.”

“Or what? You’ll break my arm?”

I release him. “Of course not.”

Eli stares at me, eyes narrow, through the loose strands of hair hanging over his face while he rubs his wrist.

“Where the hell did you learn that?”

I find the bread and pull out a couple of slices. “Self-defense classes.”

Silence.

A quick peek shows him opening his mouth like he’s about to ask me a question. When he sees me looking, he scowls instead. He picks up his glass and nurses his bourbon against his chest.

I put the sandwich together, then make one for myself.

I slid it in front of him. “Here.”

Eli makes no effort to even look at it. “You just wasted your time.”

I shrug. “I have nothing better to do.”

“So, you’re just going to keep harassing me?”

I walk back to the counter, and collect my plate, and a drink. “You’re so fucking stubborn. Eat it. Don’t eat it.”

“Pot calling the kettle black.” Eli salutes me with his glass.

The urge to slap the smirk off his face is hard to resist. I leave him to his drinking and go and sit on the couch. Switching the radio back on, I find the only station that it picks up with non-stop rock bands playing. It’s enough to drown out the muttering I can hear coming from the kitchen.

Eli’s earlier words echo in my head.

I learned that it doesn’t matter how good you make someone feel, or how much you love them, they’re all going to fucking leave you in the end.

I’d never meant to hurt him. Not that he will believe me, no matter how many times I tell him that.

Chapter 20

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