Chapter 17
Isuck in a deep breath, then lift my hand and knock. The rap of my knuckles against the wooden door echoes down the empty hallway, then fades into silence.
This is stupid. But I’ve partially committed at this point.
So, I knock again.
A few seconds later, there’s a muffled thud inside the room. Ten seconds later, the door swings open.
I have to lift my hand and pretend to scratch my cheek in order to hide the wide smile that wants to appear.
Elle’s hair is a chaotic tangle that resembles a bird’s nest, creased impressions from her pillow webbing across the left side of her face. Her eyes are bleary as she squints at me.
My gaze dips lower, and any amusement fades. She’s wearing a thin tank top that’s molded to her chest and a pair of lace boy shorts. Nothing else.
Fuck me. Seriously. I did not need this mental image.
I clear my throat. “Good morning.”
Elle’s knuckles go white where they’re gripping the door. “Morning.”
“I’m going for a run,” I tell her.
“Have fun.”
I smile. I don’t mean to, but I do. There’s an answering tug in one corner of Elle’s mouth.
“I was wondering about Scout,” I say, getting the conversation back on track.
“My dog?” She sounds surprised.
“Unless you know of another Scout staying here.” I rub the back of my neck. That was a stupid comment. “So …”
“You’re here to exercise my dog?”
“What did you think I was here for?” I make the mistake of glancing down again as I ask the question, the words coming out more suggestive than I meant to.
She has a boyfriend. She hates you.
She’s also the woman my body associates sex with.
“You don’t have to do that,” Elle says.
Her cheeks are pink when I meet her eyes again.
“I know,” I reply.
She stares at me for a few seconds, then nods. “Okay. Uh, just give me one minute.”
The door shuts, and I’m back to staring at white wood.
I want to bring up last night, but I’m positive Elle won’t want to talk about it. She shut down after we left the bar last night, not even glancing in my direction for the remainder of the evening. I’m the last person she wants to discuss anything with, I know.
“I’m not yours to worry about, Ryder.”
Problem is, she still fucking feels like it.
A couple of minutes later, Elle reappears. She’s wearing the same pink pajama set as yesterday, all the bare skin that was just on display covered. Her hair has been pulled back into a bun too.
Scout is wagging his tail so hard that his entire body is wriggling.
I smile and crouch down. “Hey, buddy. Feel like running?”
He whines like he understands what I’m asking, butting his snout against my stomach before licking my neck.
“Here’s his leash.”
“Thanks.” I straighten, taking it from Elle.
“I already put his collar on. And here are some treats. And bags—to clean up. He’ll probably go.”
“You should’ve gotten one of those dogs that doesn’t shit.”
She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. And still blushing.
“I’ll take good care of him,” I tell her.
“I know you will.”
I nod, bending down to clip the leash on Scout. He’s taken a seat right next to my foot, waiting expectantly.
“Okay. See you later.”
“See you.”
I don’t glance back as I lead Scout down the hallway, stuffing the treats and poop bags Elle gave me into my pocket. I forgot my phone in the guest room, but I don’t turn back for it. Disconnecting from the world for a little while sounds nice. And it’s a lot easier to do here, on the edge of the sea, than back in Fernwood.
Downstairs is just as empty and silent as the upstairs hallway was. It’s not even seven yet, and it was a late night.
It’s foggy out, watery sunshine barely peeking between the clouds. I suck in deep lungfuls of the salty, damp air.
I love the ocean. The freedom, the power, the majesty.
No one tries to control the sea. It’s this indomitable force that does what it wants.
If I could swing it, if my mom wasn’t sick, I’d move to some small town right on the coast and wake up to this view every day.
Scout has his nose straight in the air, sniffing the sea air with the same enthusiasm.
“You like the beach?” I ask him.
He barks in response, and I smile.
I wouldn’t have guessed Elle had a dog. She didn’t grow up with pets, just rules. She never mentioned animals or wanting one. But Scout fits her, somehow.
Once we’re past the first dune, I start jogging. Scout picks up the quicker pace joyfully, tugging the leash taut as he surges ahead. Fuck, this dog is fast.
Running on the beach is exhausting and irritating. My calves burn with each step in the sand, tiny grains working their way into my sneakers and abrading my skin. I miss pavement more with each stride. And I’m more grateful for the chillier temperature with each sweaty step.
I run until I feel like I can’t go any farther. I have no idea what time it is or how much distance I’ve covered. For the first time in so long, I’m somewhere unfamiliar. Free of any restrictions or expectations. It feels damn good. Cleansing.
The sun has burned away the haze by now. The sky is a brilliant blue above, unblemished by so much as a single cloud.
I’m still alone on the beach, none of the houses along the sand ones I recognize. I let Scout off his leash to sniff around the dunes. Pull off my socks and sneakers and walk down to the water’s edge, letting the bubbly foam wash over the tops of my feet. The water is as chilly as it was yesterday. Colder, without the rubber barrier of a wetsuit.
Scout whines. He’s followed me as far as he can while keeping his paws in the sand.
“It’s okay, buddy,” I tell him. “I’ll be right out to—crap.”
Scout interpreted my words as an invitation, dashing straight into the next oncoming wave.
I panic and rush after him, getting completely soaked in the process. Through a combination of pushing and calling his name, I get him to paddle back to shore. I could carry him if I had to, but he appears to be a pretty good swimmer.
As soon as we’re back on the sand, he shakes. Makes no difference since I’m already drenched. Now that I’m out in the water, under the relentless beam of the sun, it actually feels good.
I go to clip his leash back on—lesson learned about taking it off—but Scout takes off after a seagull. I call his name, and he races back, dropping into a down position and then rolling onto his back. He wiggles around in the sand until he’s totally coated in it, then stands and shakes once again. Most of the sand sticks to his wet fur. You can barely see his fur under the thick layer of beige.
Fuck.
I pull the bag of treats out of my pocket, relieved they stayed dry in the plastic during my unplanned swim, and lure Scout over with one. He munches happily as I clip his leash back on, then looks up at me with his pink tongue lolling.
“You’re in trouble,” I tell him.
No reaction. He looks as unbothered as Cormac did anytime I tried to discipline him.
The walk back takes a while. I decide to carry my shoes rather than try to jog in wet, sandy socks. Scout trots along happily, appearing as energetic as when we left. I wish I could say the same.
Finally, I spot the Parkers’ house up ahead. Scout and I climb the deck steps, leaving a trail of wet sand behind us.
I slide open the deck door a couple of inches, careful to make sure we’re both staying outside.
“Hey, Tuck?”
“Yeah?” He turns around from the island, a wide grin stretching his face when he gets a good look at me. “What the hell happened to you?”
“Does this place have an outside faucet somewhere? And a hose?”
“Yeah, around front. Left side of the garage.”
“Great. Thanks.”
“You need help?” Tucker calls after me.
“Nah, I’m good,” I reply before closing the door.
More clumps of sand fall as I lead Scout around the side of the house and along the stone pavers.
The spigot and hose are easy to spot. Not only is the hose a neon green, but Tucker and Keira are also standing right by it.
“How did both of you get like this?” Keira asks, glancing between me and the dog. She looks like she’s trying very hard not to laugh.
“Scout wanted to go swimming. Then he decided to roll around on the beach.”
“That doesn’t explain why you look like a drowned sandcastle,” Tuck tells me.
I roll my eyes. “I said I didn’t need help.”
“Oh, we’re not here to help,” he says, taking a sip from the mug of coffee he’s holding. “Just to enjoy this.”
I shake my head as I turn on the faucet, tempted to flip him off. Scout pulls at the leash and whimpers. Apparently, he hates water again.
“It’s okay. Good boy.” I turn the pressure down slightly, aiming the end of the hose at the driveway.
“Oh. My. God.”
My head whips up so fast that I hear a crack. Elle is standing at the end of the path that leads from the porch to the garage, wearing jean shorts and a white T-shirt, her blue eyes wide as she stares at her dog. Tucker and Keira exchange a nervous look.
“What happened?” she asks.
“He, uh … we went swimming,” I reply.
“Scout hates water,” Elle informs me. “Baths are his worst nightmare.”
The dog pressed tightly against my leg, as far from the water’s spray as possible, seems to agree.
“Well, he doesn’t hate the ocean. He ran right in. Scared the shit out of me, but he’s a good swimmer.”
Elle raises an eyebrow. “You’re going to need help rinsing him. He’ll fight you hard on it.”
“I’ll be fine?—”
Elle is already walking closer, and Scout makes a desperate lunge for his owner. The yank pulls me off-balance, and my arm flies up to steady me. I watch, horrified, as the hose I’m holding arcs water across the flower beds and then aims straight at Elle.
I drop the hose like it’s on fire, but it’s too late. She’s already as soaked as me, her dripping T-shirt revealing a pink bikini underneath.
Tucker and Keira gasp dramatically. And unnecessarily. This situation is terrible enough without sound effects.
“Shit, Elle. I’m so sorry?—”
An icy blast to the chest cuts me off.
My arms fall to my sides as I accept my punishment. The spray starts to move, down one arm and then the other. Elle avoids my crotch, which makes me smirk, but my legs get the same treatment as the rest of my body. My clothes are dripping again, so saturated that the fabric can’t absorb any more water.
And Elle is laughing. So hard that she’s having trouble standing up and aiming straight.
“Really?” I call out. “This is the thanks I get for exercising your dog?”
But I’m smiling as I say it.
Because I’m relieved. I’m so, so relieved.
Thisis Elle. Not the woman who silently picked at her pancakes yesterday morning. Or who looked lost on the bar steps last night.
She’s a fighter. She bends the world to her will, just like the ocean does.
Staring at her, grinning with flushed cheeks and dancing eyes, I realize … I’m not over her.
I don’t think I ever will be.
I’m sitting down by the water, staring out at the waves, when I catch a flash of movement out of the corner of my eye.
Elle walks straight past me and into the surf, not stopping until the water is up to her knees. She stands like that for a good minute, then runs back onshore. Drops down beside me, a few stray droplets splashing my legs. “It’s cold.”
“Not as cold as the well water.”
She laughs under her breath. Amusement I’m not supposed to hear.
After rinsing Scout, we both had to shower and change. Elle was right about him hating baths.
My morning run was the main topic of conversation at breakfast. But no one mentioned the hose incident. That felt like a private moment, somehow, between me and Elle. The first happy one we’ve shared in a long time.
“Where’s Scout?” I ask.
“Asleep in his crate. You really wore him out.”
“He’s a good running buddy.”
Elle nods. “We run along the Charles most mornings.”
“That sounds nice.”
“You should get a dog,” she tells me.
“Maybe one day. Trailer is pretty tight with the three of us.”
I study it carefully, but Elle’s expression remains completely smooth. If my mom and Cormac had played it this cool, I’d have had no clue about her visits.
“I’m sure they’re happy to have you home.”
I nod, then draw the four tic-tac-toe lines in the sand between us.
Elle’s inhale is sharp and immediate. “What are we playing for?”
“An honest answer. Winner gets one question.”
“And if it’s a cat’s game?”
I guess we’re a cat’s game after all.
Does she remember the letters she sent me? Did she memorize them the way I did with the response I never sent?
“No winner.”
“Deal.” She takes the center spot, same as always.
My X goes in the top right corner. I’m playing fast, planning three steps ahead, hoping Elle will react impulsively and provide me an opening.
Two moves later, I see it. The spot I can mark that sets up two opportunities for three X’s in a row. She can only block one.
Elle realizes the same, her hand falling to her side and then wrapping around her knees. “Congratulations.”
Her face is aimed toward the ocean, so all I can read is her profile. She’s nervous, if I had to guess. Unsure what I’m going to ask.
“Why’d you go to law school?”
“What?” She glances over, forehead wrinkled with confusion.
“That’s my question. Why’d you go to law school?”
“That’s your one question?”
“Yep.” I lean back on my palms, waiting.
“Um, I … well …”
I hide the smirk that wants to appear, not wanting to make her feel more self-conscious. I know Elle must have a prepared response to this question. One she’s used in job interviews and carefully phrased in essays on applications. But I figured she didn’t have an honest one ready, and I was right.
“I couldn’t think of something I’d rather do,” she finally answers. “There was no secret dream of being an astronaut or a ballerina or a surgeon. And if there was nothing else I wanted instead—nothing else I wanted more—I figured, why not? There’s a lot you can do with a law degree. It’s a smart career move.”
A seagull swoops down in front of us, then lands a dozen feet down the beach.
“Say something.”
“Say what?” I ask.
“Something. Anything.”
“Thanks for answering.”
Elle huffs an unamused laugh. “You think I sold out. Gave in. Just rolled over and played the part.”
“I didn’t say any of that.”
“But you’re thinking it.”
“I’m not thinking it.” I shift forward on the sand, resting my elbows on my knees instead of leaning back. “And you shouldn’t take career advice from a high school dropout.”
Elle’s silent for a minute. “You like working for Tuck?” she eventually asks.
I wonder how she found that out, but I don’t ask.
“Yeah. It’s … Don’t know what I’d do without that guy, honestly.”
“Keira said you’re restoring the old Warren house?”
Mystery solved.
“Uh-huh. Well, I’m part of the crew that is.”
“That’s a beautiful house. I’ll have to drive by the next time I’m in Fernwood.”
I’m swamped with an immediate rush of uncertainty, thinking of the exterior paint color I just picked out. Would she recognize it? Remember?
“Give it a couple of years,” I suggest. “It still needs alot of work.”
“You’ll be around that long?” Elle asks.
I rub a hole in the sand with my foot. “Not sure yet.”
I doubt I’ll stick around after my mom passes. But Elle doesn’t know my mom is dying. Doesn’t know I would be long gone if not for that sick twist of fate.
“Ryder!” I turn to see Tuck standing out on the deck, waving his arms. “We gotta go!”
“’Kay!” I call back. Then glance at Elle beside me. “Reason not to vacation with your boss, I guess.”
I catch a glimpse of her smile before it disappears.
“Say bye to Scout for me?”
Elle nods.
I clear my throat, then stand. She stays sitting. “Take care of yourself, Elle.”
“You too, Ryder.”
I turn and walk toward the house, fighting the urge to look back the whole time.
And it’s not the ocean I want one last glimpse of.