Page 67 of Fighting for Ella

For a second Ella stilled, but then she snuggled closer, plastering herself against his side, and her fingers resumed tracing circles on his pecs. “Drugs or alcohol?”

“Drugs. I started out just thinking I was cool and fitting in, smoking a little weed. Then my DNA took over. I almost threwaway everything that I'd been given, the second chance at life, a real shot at a future. Before I knew what had happened, it was spiraling out of control. I was lucky my parents noticed and didn't hesitate to do something about it. They put me in rehab, and I worked the program hard. I didn't want them to be disappointed in me. Didn't want my brother to be disappointed in me. I got clean and haven’t taken anything since, alcohol included, because I don’t trust myself.”

They lay there in silence for a few minutes. Ella didn't pull away, even though she had every reason to put a little distance between them.

It was one thing for her to be interested in him when she didn't know that he was an addict who could blow up her life at a moment’s notice, it was another now that she knew the truth.

Only she didn't move.

Didn't stop touching him.

Her expressive eyes remained warm and open, full of care and compassion.

Each thump of his heart seemed to echo through his body. Was this something Ella thought she could handle? Being an addict was a lifelong problem, it wasn't just going to magically go away, he would always have to be careful when stressors arose that he handled them in an appropriate manner. It was a lot for anyone to take on, especially a woman who had just lived through her own hell.

“Why don’t you trust yourself?” Ella finally asked.

Not the question he’d been expecting.

And not one he was sure he knew an answer to.

“Hard to trust yourself when you know how addiction destroyed your parents and almost took you down with it,” he finally said. “I never want to put an innocent person in the position that Luis and I were in. I couldn’t do that to someone.”

“You seem pretty aware of your issues, and it seems to me you have all the motivation in the world to keep yourself clean. What would you do if it felt like you were slipping?”

A much easier question to answer. “Book myself straight into rehab.”

Ella smiled like that was exactly what she had expected him to say. Then she rested her cheek on his chest and snuggled closer against his side. “Seems to me you already have a plan in place if the worst were to happen. If there’s one thing I've learned from this whole thing with the mole, it’s that you can do everything right and things still don’t work out. You can't control that. You can't control anything. Nothing that happens around you. The good or the bad. The only thing you have any control over whatsoever is yourself.”

“And what if you lose that control over yourself?”

“Then you do whatever you have to in order to get it back. Doesn’t make it easy, but nothing in life is easy. I might not know you well, Miguel, but I know you're a good guy. I know you save the world, I know you’ve saved me. I know what you were prepared to go through to give me a chance at being safe. I know that you have people in your life you care about, your brother, your family, your team. I know you would protect those people any way you had to. I know that you're strong and brave. I know that you can do anything you put your mind to, including having a future and keeping your addictions under control. The thing is, though, it doesn’t matter what I know. It only matters what you know. I just hope you can figure it out so you can have the future you deserve.”

All this time he’d been so focused on any potential partner’s future and what they deserved that he hadn't given much thought to himself.

Was Ella right?

Did he deserve a future, too?

Could he find happiness with a woman, have a family of his own, and manage to keep his addictions in check as he weathered the storms life would inevitably throw his way?

Or was that nothing more than a dream that would forever remain out of reach?

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

February 11th

8:08 A.M.

This little tasteof domestic bliss was enough to have her craving more.

After Miguel had told her about his childhood and his fears for his future, they’d made love once in the bed, and then again in the shower. Now they were downstairs in her kitchen cooking breakfast.

Nothing fancy, just making a little French toast. They didn't talk much as they bustled about the kitchen, yet they seemed so in sync with one another it was hard not to want more of this. Mornings where they barely had a chance to talk as they both hurried about grabbing bowls of cereal and heading off to start their days. And mornings where they could take their time, make something special, just enjoy being together and soaking up the little moments.

“Syrup?” Miguel asked.

“Are you kidding? OfcourseI want maple syrup on my French toast,” she informed him.

---