Page 53 of Between the Flames

CHAPTERTHIRTY

Cradling a steaming hot cup of coffee, I wrapped the blanket tighter around me and zoned out blankly on the roaring fire in my fireplace. It was nearing spring, but the chill throughout my body wouldn’t dissipate no matter what method of warmth I tried. My body and mind were numb as I replayed over and over, every detail of that night at the bar. Our fight. His jealousy. The displaced trust.

The emptiness consumed me, leaving me feeling like a shell of the woman that I was. It was nearing two weeks, and while Ryder had called a million times, I wasn’t ready to talk. Things with him had progressed so quickly, this felt like a wake up call.

I missed him.

But once again he had hurt me, whether or not he meant to.

The side of Matt that I had seen that night at the bar scared me. Perhaps I had read the situation wrong, and he was just being presumptuous because of our past fling, but I trusted my gut. The warning bells that sounded when he gripped my thigh were ones I wasn’t willing to ignore, and instead of hearing me out and offering me solace after a moment that shook me, Ryder flew off the handle and assumed that I had been receptive of Matt’s advances.

Spoiler alert: I hadn’t been.

Not being given the opportunity to tell him my side is what hurt the most. At that moment, he didn’t care about my side of the story and had just assumed the worst. It’s one thing to be possessive and alpha-male, and I did truly enjoy that side of him, but it’s a completely different thing to dismiss my feelings, thoughts, and perspective.

So as I sit here staring at the flames, I let myself think about what I truly want.

Him.

I want him.

But I didn’t want that macho-caveman bullshit he pulled that night at the bar.

What if he didn’t want me anymore? What if he decided that this wasn’t worth it? That I wasn’t worth it?

The thought made my stomach turn in unforgiving circles. I had done such a valiant job of giving myself time to process all of this; to stay levelheaded and true to myself, but for some reason I could feel myself falling apart under this blanket right now.

I needed my people.

Picking up my phone from beside me, I called Noah. The phone rang several times, pulling me further into my pity party with each ring. Finally, he answered.

“Hey,” he said. “How are you?” I could hear the police scanner in the background. He must have been on duty.

“Been better,” I told him truthfully. “Is now a bad time?”

“I have a minute. What’s going on?”

“I just missed you. Wanted to say hi. How is everything with you?” I bit my tongue, knowing that he would be able to sniff out the lie in my voice. He always could. He also knew I was more of a texting kind of gal, so really I had set myself up for failure with this entire phone call.

“Cut the crap, Elle. What did he do?”

My head fell forward in defeat as I held the phone to my ear. I was internally arguing with myself about how much to tell him when the scanner went off in the background again. I waited until the dispatcher had finished talking before I opened my mouth to answer him, but I was cut off before I could.

“Elle, I’m really sorry, but I need to call you back. Will you be around later?” Noah sounded frustrated. But he was at work and that was more important than the problems that I was having, that I really shouldn’t be talking to him about, anyway. Rosie would be better suited for this topic; I should have called her first.

“Of course, Noah. Be safe.” Ending the call, I immediately scrolled to find Rosie’s contact before pushing the call button. She was my crazy, tattooed therapist, and I knew she’d be able to pull me out of this funk. Thankfully, she answered on the second ring.

“Hey, ho! Let’s go.”

Her humor did little to cheer me up, and I rolled my eyes, even though I knew she couldn’t see it. “Hey,” I replied solemnly.

“Aww Elle, are you still feeling down? Why don’t you just call the man and tell him to come fuck your brains out so you can feel better?”

“An orgasm isn’t going to fix this, Rosie. He screwed up. I’m still so angry at him,” I huffed, slumping down onto the couch farther.

The wind whipped through the speaker, muffling it slightly, and I could hear the sounds of cars passing. “He hasn’t called?”

“No, he has, I just haven’t answered,” I told her.

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