Chapter Sixteen Elliott
Chapter Sixteen
Elliott
Elliott lasted three miles before she quit, and it wasn’t because of the usual reasons, like burning lungs or a muscle cramp.
It was her brain.
Every runner knew the sport was mental as well as physical. More so, even. That was one reason she loved it so much—it was a place she’d found she could stop worrying and stop thinking about anything but the run. She could plug in her earbuds, listen to something with a strong beat, and focus on the pound of her feet across the pavement.
Not today. Instead of thinking about appropriate things like the perfect weather or the date she’d had with Stephen the night before, only one subject occupied her focus.
A tall ex-baseball player in gray sweatpants and a fitted white T-shirt, with mussed, dirty-blond hair, like he’d just run his fingers through it. She always looked for the dimple, because who wouldn’t want to see that man smile? But today was the first time she’d noticed the thick vein descending each bicep, intersecting the crease of his elbow and leading to the most deliciously sculpted forearms she’d ever seen.
Climbing trees did that body good.
She groaned and walked to the nearest curb, taking a seat and dropping her head into her hands.
She hated herself for being so attracted to Jamie. It was half of the reason she’d agreed to go out with Stephen last night—in the hope that spending time with another man might broaden her perspective and show her what else was out there. Stephen had given her an easy out when he’d texted with a ??Hey, if you never reconnected with that Jeremy guy, still want to hang sometime??? , but she’d wanted to go.
Jamie had been front and center in her brain for so long, she figured maybe she just needed a do-over in the man department. With someone different.
Stephen took her bowling, and she’d had a good time. He was an interesting guy, and their conversation flowed easily. He mostly talked about himself, though, spending a good chunk describing his tattoos in extreme detail, and he seemed uncomfortable if the topic took a turn toward anything related to her illness. She didn’t try to bring it up, but it had been such a big part of her twenties, it was hard to leave it out completely.
As she ran, Hank keeping stride easily beside her, she’d quickly realized her efforts were futile. Because while she could imagine Jamie’s jawline with disturbing accuracy, she couldn’t recall even one of Stephen’s tattoos. Instead of wondering what Stephen thought of their brief kiss goodnight, she wondered if Jamie ever said her name when she wasn’t around.
The telltale burn of impending tears pricked beneath her eyelids, and she rubbed the back of her hand across them.
“Dammit,” she muttered. She scratched Hank on the head and stood, making her way to Jamie’s building.
They arrived at his apartment and she knocked. A few seconds later the door opened to reveal a shirtless Jamie.
He stood there, one thick arm braced against the doorframe, with all that dark-blond hair, expressive hazel eyes, and those stupid hot glasses on his face, and miles upon miles of smooth skin stretched across taut muscles. Oh God, were those freckles on his shoulders?
Her jaw drifted downward and she caught herself, snapping it shut.
“Oh, sorry. Hang on just a sec ...” He released the door and stepped away, catching it again just as it was about to click shut. A white T-shirt hung around his neck, and he threaded his arms through it.
Elliott simultaneously wanted to thank him and weep with disappointment.
Hank nosed his way into the apartment, and she held out the leash.
Jamie took it, seemingly careful not to touch her fingers, and leaned down to unclip the other end from Hank’s collar. “How’d it go?”
“Great. You were right—he’s the perfect partner.”
Jamie grinned and her heart stuttered. “Told you.”
“Thanks for letting me borrow him.”
Hank took a few steps behind Jamie and collapsed onto the carpet, panting happily. “No, thank you,” Jamie said, laughing. “Look at him.”
Elliott smiled. “He’s such a good dog.”
“I’m lucky to have him.”
Their eyes met and held, and Elliott realized just how close they stood. If she took one step forward, her chest would brush his. Something flickered in his gaze, thick and warm, and the air surrounding them turned still and expectant, as if the very universe was poised for their next move.
“Want some water before you go?” he asked.
Despite only running half her planned route, she was thirsty. It would only take her a few minutes to get to her place for literally the exact same thing, but ... “Sure.”
He held the door open wider, and she stepped inside, resisting the impulse to smell him as she passed. She perched on the edge of the couch near the door. She wouldn’t stay long.
Jamie filled a glass with ice water and brought it to her, lowering himself to the armchair furthest from her. His legs extended so far one knee brushed the coffee table.
It was then she noticed the flowers.
“Are those peonies?”
He smiled. “Yeah, they’re my favorite. My mom had so many she didn’t know what to do with them, so she gave some to me.” An adorable flush crept up his neck. “I, uh ... Having plants around makes me happy.”
She remembered.
His apartment was full of life, with several other potted plants dispersed around the living room and kitchen. She didn’t have a single thing at her place. “Peonies are my favorite, too.”
His gaze locked on hers, another tangible connection arcing between them. It was really inconvenient, how perfect they seemed to be for each other.
He swallowed and adjusted his glasses. “So how far’d you end up going?”
“Not as far as I wanted,” she admitted.
His brows came together. “Was it Hank?”
“No,” she said quickly. “He was great.” She scrambled to find a reason to give him other than his too-handsome face and took a drink to buy some time. Finally, she offered a different truth. “I think I’m just tired. I haven’t been sleeping well.”
Concern etched heavier on his face. He leaned forward a little, bracing his forearms across his knees. “Why not?”
She rotated the cold glass between her fingers. “I’ve, um, had some trouble with anxiety since the transplant. Actually,” she clarified with a humorless laugh, “that’s a lie. It started after my first diagnosis when I was seventeen. Even when I’m considered cancer-free like I am now, I’m constantly terrified the leukemia will come back. I went into remission once, but it came back. The transplant is supposed to work better, but it’s not a guarantee.”
Something in his eyes when she said that last part flickered in ... distress? It was hard to tell, and he quickly dropped his gaze. “Would you know if it was back? Based on how you feel?”
She shrugged. “My first symptoms were vague. Like fatigue and headaches. Lots of other things can cause that stuff, too. I had some bruising, which I now know was because my platelets were low. Every time I see something on my skin, I desperately try to remember if I bumped into something recently, just so I have an explanation.”
Jamie’s head slowly moved back and forth as he processed. “That’s ... rough. I’m really sorry you have to deal with that. I can’t imagine having that kind of thing weighing on me.”
Hank rose from where he’d landed on the floor and approached her, shouldering his way to sit on the floor between her legs. She couldn’t help but grin at him, the goofy dog. Something about his presence—and Jamie’s—made the words spill out. “It wasn’t so bad when I was in the hospital or living at home. At least there, I had people around me. In the hospital I was attached to so many machines, if anything went wrong the nurses knew it before I did. It was annoying as hell but comforting at the same time, to know someone else was keeping an eye on me. And even though it wasn’t that intense at my parents’ house, at least I knew someone else was there. If I thought something was wrong, I could just call out and someone could help me.”
She should have stopped there, but she kept going, her voice nearly a whisper. She hadn’t realized just how badly she’d wanted to talk about this with someone. “I wanted to live alone because I feel like I should. And I want to, I really do. I’m twenty-eight and have never done it. I’m an adult, for crying out loud. But when I’m in that apartment, alone, all I can think about is the fact that if something happened to me while I was in there, no one would know. I have no one to call out to. No one to help me.” Those fears had led to her short-term lease agreement in the first place, and she’d almost cancelled twice since arriving to Omaha, ready to throw in the towel and head back home. Hank laid his head on her knee, and she found comfort in the weight of it. “It just gets to me sometimes. At night, mostly.”
Elliott closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She’d never admitted any of that out loud before.
When she opened them again, she found Jamie sitting very still, just watching her, his expression somehow compassionate and troubled at the same time.
“I’m sorry,” Elliott said, embarrassment creeping in. Why had she said all that? “I didn’t mean to unload that on you. I just ... That’s why I can’t sleep.”
Jamie said nothing. He gripped the back of his neck, his gaze dropping beside her to the floor. With this profile view, a muscle flexing in his cheek became visible, as if he were clenching his jaw.
Well. She’d freaked him out. She took a huge gulp of water, forcing the ice-cold liquid down. She’d finish it and get the hell out of here.
“I wish ...,” he started, his voice so low and throaty something warm slid across her skin. He pressed his lips closed for a second, met her eyes, and tried again. “I wish there was something I could do. To help.”
That was the thing, though. No one could. “Thank you,” she said anyway, because she appreciated people’s concern for her. Pity, she didn’t care for, but genuine hope for her well-being was always welcome.
“I started a terrible book the other day. It was so boring I was asleep in under five minutes. We’re talking really, really bad. Wanna borrow it?”
She laughed, and it felt really, really good. “What was it?”
“Some pretentious memoir that hit the NYT bestseller list last week. I’ve had more time to read lately, so I figured why not? It was a mistake.”
It wasn’t lost on her his “time to read” was likely due to his breakup. “I mean, I’ll give it a shot. I’m pretty desperate at this point.”
He dipped his chin in a small nod, looking pleased with himself, and stood. She drained the glass while he went to another room and was on her feet when he returned.
He noticed and opened his door as he held the book out to her. “I hope you hate it as much as I did.”
She tucked it in her arm. “Thanks. For ... everything. Hank, the water, the book.”
The conversation.
She’d never admit it to him—barely even acknowledged it to herself—but she felt just a touch lighter as she walked through his door.
“Would you want to do that again?” he blurted from behind her.
She glanced over her shoulder.
He shifted so his hip held the door open but made no move to follow her. “Run with Hank, I mean. I meant what I said a while back, that you’d be welcome to take him anytime you want. He loves it, and it would help me out on days I’m too busy to take him myself. I, um, I could give you my number. You could just text me if you wanted to come grab him.”
That was probably a bad idea. And yet, some foolish part of her thrilled at the idea. “Oh. Sure.”
She swallowed and faced him again, unlocking and holding out her phone. With a small smile he took it and programmed in his number, then handed it back.
“I hope this is okay, but I want you to know you can use it anytime. If you need anything, even just a reminder someone’s close by. I know it’s not the same as your family or friends, and I’m definitely no doctor. But I’m a few minutes away, and if you ever needed help ...” He paused for a beat and slid his hands into his pockets. “Or even just a friend. I’m ... I’m here.”
Tender emotion flooded her, and she kept her eyes down, refusing to look at the man who made her feel things she didn’t want to. She almost deleted his number right then and there.
“I’m sorry,” came his quiet voice. “You don’t have to use it, obviously. I—”
She shook her head quickly, swiping at her cheeks. “No, it’s not that. I appreciate the gesture, really. It’s just ...” She paused to collect herself. “You’re a really nice guy. That’s all.”
His forehead creased as if he were in pain. “I’m not.”
“You are. Not everyone would offer to do that.”
“It’s nothing, Elliott. If it would help you sleep better and feel safe, I’d ...” He stopped suddenly and clenched his jaw, as if trying to determine if he should keep going. The words he finally spoke were quiet but fierce.
“I think I’d do just about anything.”