Page 25 of Wrecked
CHAPTER 12
ELLIE (PRESENT)
Isit up in Katie’s guest bed, hugging my pillow to my chest, equally exhausted and exasperated. I’ve been tossing and turning for the last three hours, ever since I left my sister in the bathroom, refusing to voice another lie. I sigh deeply and think back on our conversation tonight. My mind is reeling. I don’t understand any of this. Why would Nate be with my sister if he doesn’t love her? The way she describes it, he never did. So why propose? Why go get this sham of a wedding dress? If it’s because he wants time alone with me, why now? What does he want to tell me?
I toss my pillow aside in frustration. After my initial reaction faded, I waited. I hadthatmuch faith in us, that much hope that it was all a misunderstanding, and he would come back for me. I forgave him for what he did, telling myself there would be a reasonable explanation, and Iwaitedfor him to come for me. He never came, and I felt pathetic—for years.
At first, I deluded myself into believing that what we had wasn’t real, that I misinterpreted everything, and all of his feelings were a façade. It’s a lot of work to gaslight yourself, especially when you’re constantly reliving the moments of a love sosignificant, so devastatingly beautiful, that it felt like a cosmic gift from the universe.
I tried telling myself we were only kids, that the love I reminisced couldn’t conceivably exist at that age. I believed that deception for months, disparaging thefeelings I hadwhile depreciating thewordshe said. Then, one day I decided I would no longer invent a fictional story to make sense of the past. We loved each other. It’s as simple as that. We experienced things together that not many people do. We awarded ownership of our souls to one another, trusting each other to keep the other half of our hearts safe.
I remained faithful, he didn’t.
Over time, I realized I would drive myself crazy trying to understand the ‘why’ of it all. So I decided to recognize what I knew as the truth—what we had was real—and then I made myself forget. Forgetting was easier than remembering all those moments that made it easier to breathe, the days that felt whole because I got to spend them with him.
My eyes burn with the memories of the past, and I rub my fists against them before my tears can fall. Sighing loudly, I get up from bed, grabbing a short robe to put over my silk pajamas. I open the bedroom door and quietly tiptoe to the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea.
I creep past the living room, but stop cold when I hear rustling coming from the couch. I assume it’s Katie’s cat, so I keep moving toward the kitchen. Once I reach the counter, I turn back to the living room at the sound of a throat clearing. Katie’s house is an open concept, so I squint toward the couch, trying to make out the figure in a sea of blackness.
“Katie?” I whisper, suddenly afraid some psychopath stalker broke into her home to take a quick nap on the couch. Logical? No. Have I read this once in one of my romance novels? Also no.
Okay, it’s a ridiculous thought.
“Nate,” the dark figure whispers back. My heart jumps in my chest, not in fear but anticipation. Nate and I haven’t seen each other since that night at the restaurant.
I busy myself, grabbing the supplies I need to make a cup of tea, anything to avoid the conversation I know we are about to have. I search for Katie’s teabags and see them on the very top shelf of her walk-in pantry.
Figures.
I stand on my toes, ready to climb up the shelves, when I feel his presence behind me. I can’t help the goosebumps that emerge on my arms because of his close proximity. His chest lightly grazes my back as he reaches up from behind me. I move back a step on instinct, my ass bumping up against his thighs. He steps forward, reaching farther onto the shelf, one leg finding purchase between the gap in mine. The higher he reaches into the pantry, the higher his muscular thigh rides up between my legs, heading for a destination he shouldn’t be welcome.
I don’t move.
I don’t breathe.
I can feel his chest as it begins to rise and fall faster the closer he gets. I quickly sidestep him, muttering a “thanks” as I basically run for the cabinet of coffee mugs. I look back at him as he brings a couple of different tea containers from the shelf. He is shirtless—of course—and wearing a pair of black sweatpants that somehow make his abs look even more delicious than they were at eighteen. I study his profile, the scruff growing on his cheeks, his chiseled jawline, the bulging veins running up his strong hands and muscular arms. This man does not look like a lawyer. He looks like the mechanic that changes your oil and then fucks you on the hood of your car.
New fantasy, check.
“Chamomile, right?” he asks, his voice gruff with sleep. Istartle, so lost in my inappropriate thoughts that I didn’t expect them to be interrupted.
“Right,” I squeak back, trying to sound unaffected, but failing miserably. I fill the tea kettle with water and set it on the stove, turning it on low. Nate sets the packet of tea next to my cup and heads back to his makeshift bed on the couch.
“Why are you sleeping out here?” I ask, far too invested in the answer.
“It’s for the best,” he says, but there is a sadness in his tone.
“For whom?”
“For everyone.”
I walk into the living room and settle onto the loveseat across from him. I study his face, the dark shadows under his eyes, the far-off look and blank expression. He’s not sleeping. I’ve seen this look on him before. It’s the same look he gave me the entire week before he broke my heart into a million pieces.
“You’re leaving her,” I state. I don’t frame it as a question.
“Yes,” he responds simply. He locks his eyes on mine, assessing my expression, wondering what I’m thinking.
“Why?” I ask, my voice hard. My heart is hurting for my sister, hurting for myself, angry at Nate. I have so many emotions overwhelming me right now. I want to grab him by the shoulders and shake him violently, demanding he marry her. I want to wrap my arms around his neck, begging him not to, while kissing him until we make sense again.
