Page 93 of Written in the Oceans

I nod.

“Take care, Rhy,” he says, his hand patting my back. I turn and wave at Charles as I walk out the door.

It’s dark out when I leave. The star-scattered sky reminds me of the night I spent in the Hollywood hills with Ellie. I remember how the melancholy that spread across her face had shifted into acceptance that night. Acceptance of possibility. She opened herself up to me, allowed me in even though her better judgment told her not to.

Once in my car, I look at my phone, scrolling through pictures of Ellie. Blurred snapshots of us in bed, eyes half-open and hair rumpled but our smiles bright, drunken from the blissful cocoon we enveloped ourselves in. Her smile radiated sunshine, beaming as we basked in our contentment, all lazy and relaxed. I’ve been doing that a lot lately, looking through the curated gallery I created on my phone. As if the mere images of her are enough for me to fill the empty hole her absence has left. But I know it isn’t. Who am I kidding? How are pictures, still images of her happy, lively smile, supposed to replace the touch of her? Her warm body like sunshine, flush against me, filling all the gaps and crevices so that I feel whole. I want so badly to feel whole again.

My fingers swipe through my phone until they still underneath Ellie’s contact info. The green button, signaling a call to her, glares back at me. My thumb trembles, hovering above it.

I can’t call her.

I know I can’t, but all I hear is the singsong ringing of her voice calling my name. Her playful laugh that starts with a low, throaty giggle and spreads to her eyes, reminding me of my sunshine. Her fingertips grazing my skin as she traces the shape of my jaw. I feel a sharp pang in my chest, and I remember the feeling of melting into her hand, feeling like I could never tire of the way my cheek felt in her palm.

Without thinking twice, I call her, my thumb grazing over the call icon. The phone rings and continues to ring, the loud echo telling me to hang up. To let her go. And then it goes to voicemail.

My instinct is to hang up. This is a sign. I’m supposed to let her move on. But I can’t.

When her voicemail system beeps, signaling me to leave my message, I go silent. I’m at a loss for words. What can I say to this perfect woman that will make her see that I made a mistake?

“Ellie, I… don’t know if this is okay. I don’t really know what’s okay anymore.”

I sigh before the words start pouring out.

“Imissyou, Ellie. I miss you so much. I know I hurt you, and I don’t deserve to ever hear from you again but… God, I fucking miss you. It fucking hurts, and I don’t know what to do.”

The tears start rolling down my face. It’s my turn to completely and absolutely bare my heart to her. To risk it all.

“What I said before, over the phone and at the hospital, I didn’t mean it. I saw what they did to you, and I was scared I was going to keep hurting you. I don’t want to hurt you anymore, but I don’t know how to live without you.”

I pause, not knowing what else I can say to let her know that I’m a man who’s living with the consequences of his actions. Actions that were made based on the false assumption that my hands were plaited with harm. But I was wrong. The harm that I believed I would lash onto those I cared about was only there because I thought myself to be unworthy.

So I say the only thing that I know to be true. The one thing that I’ve been clinging on to, helping me realize that maybe I am worthy. That maybe I am deserving of the happiness that I dream of. With Ellie.

“I lo—”

I love you.

The phone beeps, signaling the end of my message. I look back at my phone as the automated message continues, giving me instructions on how to complete my message delivery. I hang up.

I rub the tears from my face and blink back at Charles’s house. The lights are all turned off except for the one coming from his bedroom. I see Charles and Amelia embrace before turning the lights out.

They said their marriage isn’t perfect, that the hurt that comes and goes is worth the love. They each made sacrifices so that they could see their marriage through. I don’t care what sacrifices I need to make so that Ellie knows that I made a mistake.

I’m willing to do what it takes to mend her heart and promise that whatever heartbreak we have to go through, we’ll do it together. I’m willing to work through it all, to see it to the end.

FORTY-ONE

ELLIE

“What a cheap shot! Foul!” Wes’s voice echoes through the bar as he shakes a very frustrated fist towards the big screen.

“That was a bullshit call,” Austin shouts, agreeing with Wes.

I raise my eyebrows at Claire and smile. We share a judgmental glance as the boys continue their irate yelling.She rolls her eyes at me in response.

On our search for whatever local bar was serving happy hour, I got a call from Claire to join her and Wes at The Cave, a sports bar which was only a ten-minute drive from Poinsettia Publishing. With the NBA playoffs coming up, Claire had given up fighting for Wes’s attention and decided to join him as he had screaming matches with the TV screen. Eager to celebrate with Claire and hold my promise to treat Austin to drinks, I agreed, knowing that she could use the company as well. What I didn’t expect was for Austin and Wes to warm up to each other so quickly.

“I give them fifteen minutes before Wes throws something at the TV and we get kicked out,” Claire states matter-of-factly.

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