My Ellie (The Perfectly Paired #1)

Chapter 24

Ellie

My cheeks tingle with the bite of the morning breeze as I finish up my run. I try not to think about what manner of breakfast is waiting for me back at the coach house, but I’m unsuccessful.

I’ve come to cherish these mornings, the conversation and the food have become something I find myself looking forward to as I ready myself for bed each night.

I’m secretly hoping that Colton’s made pancakes, but I’ll be happy with anything that isn’t porridge. He’s never made me porridge—or, oatmeal , as he calls it—not after I told him about the mistress at boarding school who would make us eat it cold if we misbehaved.

I try not to let my mind wander to the way it felt when he swept me off my feet yesterday. The way his strong arms held me close, the weightless, elated feeling that his touch incited.

The embrace had felt far from friendly, and I could barely tear my eyes away from him at the pub afterwards.

I thought about knocking on his door last night when we were finally done with our tape analysis. I wanted to see how Wyatt’s prom was going—the concept has been so fascinating to me. We had an end of year ball every year at boarding school, which we looked forward to so much as teenagers, but there’s something so quintessentially American about a prom.

I jog up through the garden courtyard that sits behind the coach house, stopping briefly to wipe the sweat from my brow and tighten my ponytail before I open the back door.

There are no lights on in the kitchen, no smells to greet me as I close the door behind me. My shoulders deflate a little and I have to remind myself that we never agreed he would make breakfast for us every morning. I had thought he enjoyed this time just as much as I did, but I could be mistaken.

Perhaps he’s just running late , I tell myself as I peer at the clock face on the wall. I didn’t bring my phone or earphones with me this morning when I set off for my run—one of my more psychopathic tendencies, according to Sanya—so I decide that going and checking if he’s awake will be the best way to discern if we’ll be eating together this morning.

The morning sun streams in through the front doors of the coach house as I make my way up the stairs. I don’t hear any signs of life as I approach his door, and I contemplate pressing my ear to the wood before settling on just knocking gently.

Instant regret floods me as I hear the distinct sounds of someone rolling out of bed and shuffling over to the door. Mortified, I begin to turn away from the door just as it creaks open.

Colton stands in the doorway, hair ruffled, and eyes squinted as he takes me in .

“Oh,” He croaks, his low voice more gravelly than usual, “I’m sorry—”

“No, no it’s fine, I’m sorry. I should have just sent you a text like a normal person instead of waking you up. This is wholly my fault, how stupid, please go back to bed.” I turn to leave again, but he speaks again.

“No, Ellie, you’re not stupid . I just... had a bad night, sleep was hard to find.”

I take a second to scan him from head to toe and realize that he’s wearing yesterday’s clothes. The bags under his eyes are not indicative of someone who got a good night’s rest.

“Is everything alright?” I ask, taking a step towards him, “The prom—did something go wrong?” I curse myself for not coming to check last night, I should have sent a text or something.

What a shit friend .

“The prom went great,” He runs a hand through his tousled hair, “Wyatt asked me to thank you for all your help, it was a great success. This,” He gestures to himself with a flick of his hand, “Is more of a me problem. Bad brain day.” He taps his temple with a finger, a sad smile on his beautiful face.

“Ah,” I say as I fight the urge to wrap him in a tight embrace.

I, myself, have had more of those than I can count. But I’ve never seen him look so drained, so defeated. I know from experience that it never makes me feel better to brave the storm alone, even though it can sometimes be hard to accept help when it’s offered. “Well,” I say softly, choosing my words carefully, “If it’s alright with you, I’d like to try my hand at cooking something for us this morning. You get showered up and I’ll bring everything to you, we can eat in here—if that works for you?” I don’t want to baby him, he doesn’t need me to do that. But a small gesture like this might lift his spirits slightly.

“Won’t that make you late for—”

“I have the day off.” I say with a smile, the words feel foreign on my tongue.

“Since when?” He raises his eyebrow, and I think I see the ghost of a smile on his lips.

“Since right now, I just decided. Are you going to wash up or not?” I turn on my heel and head for the stairs, “I can smell you from here, Mr. Brooks!” I hear him huff a quiet laugh before his door closes.

I make a quick stop in my own room to retrieve my medication before I make my way down to the kitchen, silently cursing myself for never being a particularly great chef. I would love to cook up a three-course breakfast, but I need to be realistic.

I almost snap my fingers as I remember the dish one of my favorite boarding school mistresses used to make me when I was feeling homesick. I fetch the carton of eggs from the fridge before setting a pot of water on stove top.

I send off a couple of texts as I wait for the water to boil, one to my mother letting her know, in graphic detail, how unwell I am and that I’ve been stuck on the toilet for the past few hours—she has never dealt with illness well, specifically the kinds that involve bodily fluids and the possibility of contagion, so this should keep her away from my room for at least half the day. The other text goes to Sanya to wish her luck with the scout today and to let her know that I’m not unwell, but that she should play along with the idea that I’m fighting for my life in the bathroom.

The bread pops out of the toaster, and I make sure to butter it generously as the boiled eggs cool off. The cupboards in this kitchen are full to the brim with fancy dining ware, but I manage to scrounge up two rather well-loved porcelain egg cups. I place the eggs in their little thrones and let the extras lie next to the toast—one dippy egg is never enough. The last step before assembling everything on a tray is slicing the buttered toast into strips. I pour two hearty servings of orange juice and add them to the tray before making my way back upstairs.

Colton opens the door just as I arrive, as if he were listening for my approach. His hair is damp, and he’s changed into a new pair of jeans and a black t-shirt.

I make my way to the coffee table and set down the tray before sitting myself down on the sofa at the foot of his bed .

“What’s this?” He asks, his smile is more subdued than it normally is, voice a little quieter than usual.

“Dippy eggs and soldiers.” I say brightly as he sits down next to me. “A British delicacy, a little lesser known than beans on toast, but just as mighty.” I grab my spoon and thwack the top of my egg before removing the cracked shell. He watches, confused fascination on his face as I take one of my thin toast slices and dip it into the egg. “The soldier.” I say, pointing to the yolk covered toast before popping it into my mouth.

He takes my lead, using his spoon to crack the top of the egg before sending his soldiers in. “This is an extremely interactive breakfast.” He muses before finishing his orange juice.

“I had a caretaker at boarding school that used to make it for me all the time. Granted, I was eight the last time I had it, but it still holds up as an enjoyable breakfast.” I sit back on the couch, watching him as he finishes his plate. He reaches for two orange medication cannisters and shakes two capsules out into his hand before washing them down with the rest of his orange juice.

I fish my own meds out of my pocket and throw them to the back of my throat. There’s an unspoken air of solidarity between the both of us that I’ve never really experienced before.

“I’m sorry for being such a downer this morning,” He says after a few beats of silence, “I don’t feel so great about myself right now and it’s kind of hard to process.”

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t feel like it, but I’m happy to listen if you want a chat.” I bring my legs up onto the couch and cross them, making myself comfy so that he knows I’m not going anywhere unless he wants me to.

He smiles, the same close-mouthed half smile he’s had on his face all morning. Like a light bulb being controlled by a dimmer switch. He takes a breath before leaning back into the couch cushions, “I’m struggling with being so far from home, away from my family. When my parents died, a lot of things fell to me—but taking care of Wyatt and being there for him was always something I wanted to do, would have done no matter what. Getting to watch him go to prom yesterday was like a double-edged sword—I’m crazy proud of him, happy too. He should have regular, teenage experiences, in spite of all the crap we’ve gone through as a family these past few years. But at the same time, it’s killing me that I’m not there for him, physically. I’m so far away, and for what? For a job, a well-paying job that I absolutely need, but where am I going to draw the line? Will I take a job someplace else next? If I can’t make the ranch a success, will I have to travel again, be away from them again ? Maybe not England next time, but another state, another town, maybe. Will I miss the day Wyatt moves away to college, will I miss the day he graduates? His wedding? And Meemaw, despite what she says, she won’t be around forever. I feel so awful about being away, but I don’t have another choice right now. Wyatt tells me almost every day how much he misses me, and I just wonder if he’s starting to... to feel a kind of way about me being here. About me taking this job and being so far away from him.”

As he talks his shoulders deflate a little, like he’s had all this pent up inside himself for weeks and he’s just now letting the words flow freely.

“I’m sorry,” He sighs, leaning forward to place his head in his hands, “I shouldn’t be offloading onto you like this. I have a weekly therapy call scheduled for tomorrow but somehow, I always manage to convince myself that I’m doing alright before my therapy appointments these days and we end up talking about... other things.”

“Colton,” I say gently, placing a hand on his arm, “There is absolutely no need to apologize. Your feelings are completely valid, and I’m really pleased that you told me how you’re feeling.” He turns his head to me as I continue, “Now, would you like me to give you my two cents on the situation? I’m a total outsider looking in, so I may have an insight you haven’t heard before. Feel free to tell me to bugger off.” I add with a smile.

“I don’t think I want you to bugger off.” He shakes his head, that sad smile still in place. “Please, outsider, give me your two cents.”

“Well,” I take a deep breath of my own, “You’re in a tough spot, there’s no denying it. I think that anyone would struggle in your shoes right now—sorry, boots . But—and I’m not just saying this as your friend, I think it’s important for you to know that you are quite literally doing the best you can with the hand you’ve been dealt.”

“I hope that’s not a strip poker reference—”

“It’s not, but thanks for reminding me of that wonderful night. Anyway, what I’m trying to say is—while your feelings are valid, they’re unfounded. Your brother and your Meemaw miss you, yes. However, I’m sure they don’t resent you for taking this job. If anything, it shows them how much you love and care for them—that you would be willing to come here,” I raise my arms, “In order to save the ranch your parents left to you. I’m sure they’re proud of you, so proud—hell, I’m proud! You’re carrying so much on your shoulders, and, quite frankly, I’m surprised you haven’t had far more down days like this. You’re incredibly strong.”

He looks like he wants to say something, his gaze is fixed on me, but no words make their way past his lips.

“Now,” I swing my legs off the couch and brace my hands on my knees, “Are we going to rot away in this bedroom all day or are we going to do something with our day off?”

“What do you have in mind?” He asks, seeming a fraction perkier, his voice a little lighter.

“I was thinking we could pack a picnic and head to a special place that I want to show you—it’s on the estate, but it’s a good two-hour ride. Have you got that in you, cowboy?”

“I think I could manage that.” He grins .

“Then we should get moving before everyone wakes up. I think you should bring your phone, it might be a good idea for you to call home while we’re out. I’ll meet you in the kitchen, oh and you’re going to want to wear a pair of swimming trunks.” I’m off the couch and out of the door before he can question me.

Once in my own room, I throw a bikini on underneath my clothes and leave my phone on the bedside table—while I think it’s a good idea for Colton to bring his and call home, I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to have mine and be distracted by the hundreds of texts my mother will undoubtedly send me.

I duck into the bathroom and grab a couple of towels before making my way down to the kitchen. Colton’s already down there, loading snacks into a draw string bag. His shoulders aren’t as slumped as they were in his room, and I smile as I note the way he darts around the kitchen.

Chef made individual blueberry pies based on another one of Meemaw’s recipes, so we add a couple of those to the already-full bag before heading out the front door. We jog over to the stables, splitting up as we head to our respective stalls.

I get Remi tacked up quickly, silently thanking whichever groom fed him breakfast this morning as I spot the empty feed bucket in the corner.

We meet Colton around the back of the stables, and I’m pleasantly surprised to find that his fancy-looking saddle has a little storage bag addition on the back of it. We pack the bag of snacks and towels onto Sweetie, who huffs in annoyance, before we set off under the morning sun.

Our conversation ebbs and flows as we ride through the grounds of the estate. It never feels forced, there’s never any awkward silences. Just two people enjoying each other’s company, content to chat or bask in the silence.

We take wooded trails mostly, popping out into lush meadows occasionally so I can catch my bearings. I’ve only been to this spot once in the past, but I’m fairly certain I can get us there in one piece.

Colton tells me even more about Wyatt, what he was like as a child and how smart he is. I feel like I know his family already, it’s easy to picture them all sat around a dinner table.

I think it makes him feel better to talk about them, and it makes me feel content to listen. I have never had a family unit like his, have never spoken too fondly about my own relatives, not that I have many close ones to speak of. It’s captivating to hear him describe their family dynamics, how Wyatt loves to joke around and how Meemaw is the glue that holds them both together.

I’m almost saddened when I spot our destination up ahead. I say almost because this place is just as beautiful as I remember it.

“Here we are.” I breathe as we come to a stop at the edge of the clearing. The river Avon stretches out ahead of us, lush vegetation growing on the other side of the water, framing the river with an assortment of mature trees. There’s a small pebble-covered sand bar on our side, perfect for sitting by the river’s edge and soaking your feet. Large willows grow on this side of the river, shielding the private sitting-spot from view, though there’s no sign that anyone’s ridden or walked through here recently.

“This place is something.” Colton says as he dismounts, keeping his eyes on where the slow-moving river peeks through the willows.

I have to agree, it looks like somewhere that fairies would congregate—quiet and peaceful, and just a little bit magic.

“I can’t take the credit for discovering it,” I admit, loosening Remi’s bridle as he finds a particularly succulent patch of grass to snack on. “Rory brought Sanya and I here last year and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since.”

“There are worse places to third wheel.” He laughs for the first time all morning and I feel myself relax into the sound, even as I scowl at him. We make our way through the willow branches, leaving the horses to graze as we set ourselves up on the sandbank.

The river moves slowly and is low in the peak of summer. I dip my foot in and let out a surprised ooh at the relatively warm temperature. We pop our towels down on the bank and set about emptying the food bag .

“So,” I work some of my blueberry pie onto a spoon, “Do your family know how awful you feel about this whole thing?” It might be best to avoid mentioning what he brought up earlier—easier, even. We could have a nice couple of hours down here at the river, pretending everything is wonderful. But sweeping something under the rug never makes the problem go away. It hides it, allowing it to fester and grow whilst you act like everything is perfectly fine.

“No,” He swallows a mouthful of food, “I mean, I tell them I miss them but... I don’t think they know how bad I feel. And it’s not all the time, it’s like...”

“Like ten good days and one that makes you question everything?”

“Exactly, like I’m having a great week and then I realize I haven’t had a bad day in a while, and I feel like maybe I’ve cracked the code. Maybe the meds are working, and my brain is starting to function the way it used to. But then the storm rolls in and...”

“And here we are.” I finish for him, offering him an understanding smile. Because while we suffer from different ailments of the mind, I can absolutely sympathize with just wishing the good days would stay—just desperately hoping not to get caught in the storm without a raincoat.

“Well, if you feel up to it, you might want to give Wyatt a call. I’m sure he’ll have something wise to say. And you need to thank Meemaw for these Godsends.” I take another bite of the pie, savoring the tartness of the filling, the crunch of the brown sugar that sticks to the pastry. “I’ll take a dip in the river to give you some privacy—”

“You don’t have to do that, I mean, I’d like it if you stayed.” He looks at me for a moment, eyes searching my face before smiling and pulling his phone from his pocket. “That therapist of yours should bring you on as an apprentice.” His smile grows as the dial tone sounds from his phone.

“Hey!” Wyatt answers and I watch any hint of tension dissipate from Colton’s face.

“Hey, you at the prom clean up?”

“Just finished, I’m heading home now. What’s up?” I hear the sound of a car door closing behind him.

“Well, firstly, our friend Ellie’s with me,” Colton smiles and angles the phone towards me.

“Hi, Wyatt.” I wave as I shovel in a spoonful of pie, “Please tell Meemaw to stop sending over her recipes, I can barely fit into my clothes anymore.”

“Hey, Ellie.” He laughs, “I’ll see what I can do, no promises though—she’s been known to brandish a rolling pin when provoked.”

Colton angles the phone back to his face and takes a deep breath. “I called because I wanted to talk to you about something, and I’m just going to come out and say it. I’m struggling with being away from home, Wyatt—with being away from you and Meemaw, and the ranch. And I’m not telling you this because I want you to worry, or feel sorry for me. I just want to be honest with you—you deserve that, you’re not a baby. I’m still taking my medication, and I have a few really good friends here, I just... I just need you to know that I’m not doing this—this job—because I want to be away from you.

You and Meemaw mean the world to me, and I would be right there on the ranch with you right now if I could. It kills me that I wasn’t there for your prom yesterday and it got me thinking that I don’t want to work away like this again. I want to be there for you, for Meemaw. I don’t want to just be the guy who sends home a check.” He takes a breath, and I watch his shoulders loosen, like a weight being lifted from his muscled frame. “I just wanted you to know that, brother.”

Wyatt is silent for a moment before he says, “Colt, I... Thank you for sharing that with me, but just so you know—I never thought you went away because you wanted to. I know you’ve been enjoying yourself a bit more over the past few weeks and you shouldn’t feel bad about that one bit. You deserve to enjoy yourself, you deserve good friends like Miss Ellie. And I need you to know that I don’t resent you for taking this job.” Wyatt lets out a soft, disbelieving laugh, “I could never resent someone I respect so much. You have sacrificed so much over the past few years, and I know momma and daddy would be just as proud of you as I am.”

I glance up at Colton’s face and catch the glimmer tears in his eyes. I reach over and gently place my hand on his leg, which he promptly covers with his own.

“So, I hope that clears up any uncertainty for you,” Wyatt continues, and I don’t have to be looking at the phone screen to know he’s smiling. “Tell your mind to stop beating itself up, alright?”

Colton laughs, “Alright, I’ll try that.” He sounds like a different guy than the one I woke up this morning. His dimpled smile is back on his face, eyes upturned at the corners. “I’ll let you go, you probably have a hot date with Christina to rush off to.” Wyatt laughs before attempting to deny it, but Colton continues, “I’ll call Meemaw later, if you see her, please grab her phone and take it off do not disturb —I think she turned it on by accident. Ellie and I will be spending the next few hours here.” He taps on the screen, switching the camera to show a view of the river.

Wyatt lets out a whistle, “Hey, Ellie, feel free to drown him just a little.” Colton laughs before he and his brother say their goodbyes. I busy myself with my pie as they hang up, the sounds of the river seem to grow louder in the silence.

“Well, damn.” He sighs, turning his head towards me, “I was not expecting to be able to salvage this day, but I feel... so much better, and I don’t think I ruined Wyatt’s day by telling him how I was feeling, which is also a win.” He grins, “You’re the best.”

“Well, I have been known to have a good idea now and again.” I wink before scraping up the last of my pie.

“So, when you’re having a bad day,” he tilts his head and it feels like his blue eyes are staring directly into my soul as he asks, “Who do you talk to? Your mom? Did Peter ever—”

“ God no,” I laugh, “Both my mother and Peter find talk of mental health to be a bit... taboo ? I’ve never been able to broach the subject properly with my mother, she calls my medication my happy pills , but she’s happy to pay for my therapy sessions if it’ll help me to perform better. Peter just avoided the conversation altogether, sometimes he’d throw it in my face during an argument. Call me a crazy bitch or something equally as creative whenever I’d question his behavior.” I sigh before reaching up to secure my hair in a claw clip, “I go to Sanya, mostly, when she has the time. My therapist is often booked out for a week or two so she can’t help on short notice. I have coping mechanisms like breathing exercises and stuff, but a lot of the time I’ll just go and spend time with Remi in his stall if I’m feeling really awful.” I can feel him watching me as I turn my attention towards the river.

“You can come to me, if you ever need to.” His voice is soft and full of sincerity.

I smile at him in answer, and I know it’s hypocritical, but I don’t feel like talking about my own bad days, not right now anyway. “I think it’s time for a swim.” I turn to him and grin before hopping up off my towel. I pull my t shirt over my head and shimmy out of my leggings. “If I eat anymore, I’ll just sink to the bottom.” I make my way to the shore and look back to find Colton watching me. “Are you joining me?” I ask as I wade backwards into the river.

He stands from his towel, lifting his own shirt over his head.

“Absolutely.” He smiles.