Page 8 of Dare To Live

She laughs. “I really wish you’d come home for Christmas.”

“What’s the point? You’re in L.A. more than New York, anyway. Surely, you’re not planning to fly back to the house in the Hamptons just to spend Christmas with me.”

“I would, if I thought you’d join me.”

“I’d be terrible company and you’d miss out on all those parties you love so much.”

Her sigh is soft, and I immediately regret saying it.

“They’re not nearly as much fun without your dad.”

“I’m sorry, Ellie, I didn’t mean—”

“No, I know you didn’t. I just miss him. I think I’m going to go back to the house anyway if you don’t mind. I feel closer to him there.”

“You know you’re always welcome to go there. Hell, I’ll sign ownership over to you if you want it.”

“No. Elliot left the house to you. I don’t want it. I just like to visit sometimes.” She hesitates. “I was thinking …”

Her tone of voice suggests I’m not going to like what she’s been thinking. When she carries on, I congratulate myself on guessing correctly.

“I will see if Arabella would like to spend Christmas with me. Would you mind?”

“Why would I?” I keep my voice light.

“Eli—”

“Ellie, it was ten years ago. We’ve both moved on since then. I don’t even remember the last time I saw her.”

That’s an outright lie. The last time I saw her was at my dad’s funeral, standing pale beside her mom in a somber black dress. She’d laid her hand on my arm and leaned up to kiss my cheek.

I’d told her to fuck off and walked away.

Yeah, not my best moment.

Chapter 5

Arabella

I unlock the front door of my apartment, go inside, and hit the buttons on the alarm console before it goes off. Kicking off my sneakers, I drop my gym bag down beside them. The sweat from my self-defense class has long dried on my skin, and my muscles ache from the intense session.

I drop my keys into the wooden bowl on the small table by the door and walk along the hallway into the living room. The silence engulfs me, prickling my nerves.

I hate it. It’s just another reminder of how alone I am.

The TV remote is on the coffee table, so I snatch it up and switch on the television, just to have some background noise. A quick flick through the channels, and I find one with non-stop reruns of a sitcom I know well. Ten seasons and two hundred and thirty-six episodes to fill the emptiness of my apartment. The banter and familiar music settle over me like a favorite comforter and chase away the tension of the day.

I leave my jacket draped over the back of the couch and head for the bathroom. After a quick shower, I change into a comfy pair of yoga pants and a black hoodie. I rub the sleeve against my cheek. Sadness sweeps through me. It’s the only piece of Eli I have, apart from the padlock necklace around my neck. Memories I try to keep buried rise.

Eli smiling up at me from his bed. His lips on my neck. His hands on my body. The way he cradled me against his chest every single night we were together. Our laughter. His voice, a soothing husky whisper in my ear.

My Nasty Little Monster.

He’d marked me with his rough brand of loving, ruined me for anyone who came after, because no one else measured up. No one else could seduce me with their darkness the way he did.

He’d taken my first everything. Burrowed beneath my skin and into my chest, claimed my heart as his. And even though I walked away, he still owns it. I just don’t like to admit it.

We’d been perfect together.

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