Page 17 of Between the Flames

CHAPTERTEN

Ellie Goulding’s voice sang through my headphones as I finished up my last hour at work, calming me and guiding me through the final touches of the article I was pushing my deadline for.

“How Long Will I Love You” had been on my playlist for longer than I care to admit, and I have listened to it at least twice every single day since adding it. The first time I heard it, the song took my breath away and tears instantly pooled in my eyes as my mind flooded with the night my heart was ripped from my chest: green eyes staring at me between the flames. His words haunted my dreams and daydreams.

I will always be thinking about the what-if.

The memory of a single tear sliding down my cheek the first time I heard that song made it hard to breathe as I relived it in my thoughts. How could the words of a song speak to my soul so fiercely that all the walls I had spent years building came crumbling down?

The last eight years went by in a slow blur as I went through the motions throughout college, studying hard, partying hard, and pushing myself in order to obtain my degree, but it didn’t take more than three semesters before realizing that I had made a mistake. The place that I couldn’t get away from was also the place that I couldn’t curb my homesickness for, and the second I graduated, I knew I would be heading back. It made me feel both alive and nauseous.

When my time in college had come to an end, I packed my car full of the belongings that I had accumulated, hugged my dorm-mate goodbye, and hit the road. The sensation of déjà vu was strong as I retraced my steps, fleeing from my home yet again, as fast as I could. In the months leading up to my departure, it had become strikingly clear to me that you never know how good you have it until it’s gone. The grass is always greener… you get the picture. I missed my family; I missed the comfort of the town I grew up in.

It was time for me to leave.

But at the same time, I knew I couldn’t go back to Shadow Hills. There were still things, people, I was avoiding. Instead, I made the neighboring city of Ridgewood my new landing place, hoping that this time I could find the contentment that I so greatly craved. I couldn’t put my finger on my reasoning for still holding onto a high school infatuation, but no matter what I did to detach my heart, I just couldn’t.

When I moved back, it didn’t take me long to secure a place to live, thankfully. I quickly found a granny unit to rent on the side of a sweet elderly couple’s home and not only fell in love with the space, but the couple too. The Wilsons were in their seventies and had been married for over fifty years. Long term empty nesters, they called themselves, and they were all too happy to rent to me. I was quickly adopted as one of their own and together we loved to spend hours sitting in their garden, sipping on iced tea, while I listened to the stories they told. They referred to me as the granddaughter they never had and were constantly trying to set me up with one of their many grandsons. Although I adored the Wilsons and the opportunity I had been given by them, I was incredibly lonely at times—coming home to an empty studio often had me feeling a little blue after sharing my space with a roommate in the prior years. Despite the loneliness, it seemed that things in my life were finally on track.

It had been five years since moving to Ridgewood, eight years since high school, and I had acquired precisely one friend who I knew would always be my ride or die. I had always been relatively closed off, but I found that the older I became, the less I wanted to put myself out there and make friends.

Rosie, however, is a friend that I am incredibly grateful for. We met in the most of the wall way—literally bumping into each other in the feminine care section at Target. I was perusing the various tampon options, looking for a better brand, and she rounded the corner with a bulk box of condoms in her hand. I quirked a brow at the box while she rolled her eyes at mine, and we both fell into a fit of laughter.

The rest was history.

She was exactly what I needed in my life to balance me out. The storm to my calm. Where I am a little more quiet and reserved, Rosie is rough around the edges and every biker’s wet dream. She’s tall, slender, and has long, sleek black hair. Her hazel eyes are a little too big for her face, and her lips are full. Rosie’s arms are covered in black and gray artwork done by a man named Ramon, and she always wears clothes that reveal just the right amount of cleavage and midriff.

Rosie is everything that I wished I could be more of: confident, outspoken, fierce, and strong. She’s a take no prisoners kind of woman who always fights for what she wants and who she wants, and she is loud. So loud. In both volume and with her life. She’s the yin to my yang and being around her made me feel whole again—makes me feel whole again—and I haven’t felt whole since I left my friendship with Noah behind all those years ago.

The only thing that didn’t really fit her was her name. “Too sweet,” she had scoffed shortly after we met, and I had to agree.

* * *

One cool December afternoon,Rosie and I sat on my couch munching on snack mix, and I watched over her shoulder as she scrolled through Facebook on her phone. She cackled as she peeked at the profiles of people she had gone to school with in the past, passing judgment based on what they posted on their timeline. She continued scrolling, rolling her eyes while giving me the backstory about who was who, who dated who, and revealing the minuscule details she knew about their current lives.

One of her favorite pastimes was Facebook stalking her old boyfriends, lovers, and frenemies.

“Truthfully Elle, you should do a little stalking of your own. It’s tons of fun,” she said, tossing her phone aside and plucking mine from my hands. “What did you say your old high school crush’s name was? Ryan? Ryland?”

Panic seized my heart, clutching it tightly. Nope, no thank you, ma’am, we wouldn’t be going there.

“Ummm… I’m good. I don’t really want to stalk anyone.” I chose my words carefully, not trying to seem like her wanting to look him up affected me. It wasn’t like I hadn’t Facebook stalked him myself. A girl has curiosities, but it had been a significant amount of time since I had pulled up his profile. Maybe… two years? I was damn proud of that length of time, too. Older and wiser Elle was doing much better than younger and dumber Elle had when she Facebook stalked him more than she’d care to admit.

Had he ever Facebook stalked me?

“Ryder!” Rosie shouted, the proudness thick in her voice that she remembered his name. “Ryder Thomas!”

“Thompson,” I gritted through my teeth. I guess this was happening.

Rosie typed his name into the search function, her eyes following the screen as she searched for the correct profile. I’m not sure why she bothered looking when it was clear he was the first one listed. We had mutual friends, but I never friend requested him, and he never requested me. It was better that way. She clicked on his profile and a devious smile inched across her face.

She let out a low whistle. “Wouldn’t mind taking this one home with me.”

Her voice said ‘I’m kidding’, but her gaping mouth said otherwise.

I yanked the phone out of her hand, fumbling when she gripped it tighter and we momentarily wrestled it from each other. When I had it safely back in my possession, I smiled at her triumphantly. She rolled her eyes and playfully shook her head.

“Whatever twat, have it… shit.” Rosie’s eyes were cast downward, staring at Ryder’s picture, still pulled up on my phone.

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