Chapter 19 #2
"You were terrified."
"That's not an excuse."
"It's a reason." Eli ran a hand through his hair. "You were nineteen. Your entire identity was wrapped up in being the golden boy. I knew what I was asking when I took the blame. I knew the cost."
"And I should have paid it with you."
"You did. Eventually." Eli met my eyes. "I heard about your disciplinary council. About your family."
"From who?"
"Your mom called mine. About a month after I got home. Wanted to commiserate about their disappointing sons who'd thrown away their salvation for 'perversion.'" His mouth twisted. "My mom was very sympathetic. They bonded over it."
I closed my eyes. "Eli—"
"It's fine. I'm fine. She remarried. Started over. I'm apparently dead to her and her new eternal family." He said it flatly. Matter-of-fact. Like he'd practiced saying it until it stopped hurting. "But yeah. I know you came out. Know they excommunicated you. Know you're on your own."
"Then you know I tried to find you."
"I know you called my mom. She told me. Called me from her new number specifically to tell me some 'predatory ex-missionary' was trying to contact me and that I should block you."
I flinched.
"I didn't," Eli said quietly. "Block you, I mean. You never even had my number, and I didn’t have yours.”
"I tried everything. Social media. Church contacts from Vegas. I even contacted the mission office to see if they'd forward a letter."
"Did they?"
"No. President Dalton said it would be 'inappropriate and potentially harmful to both parties.'"
Eli laughed. Sharp and humourless. "Of course he did."
We sat in silence.
I watched him cradle his coffee cup. Noticed his hands were stained with charcoal. Noticed the callus on his right middle finger. Noticed he still bit his thumbnail when he was anxious.
"I sketched you," he said suddenly.
I looked up.
"For a year after I got home. Filled three sketchbooks. Your hands. Your profile. The way you looked when you were praying. When you were sleeping." He paused, his voice dropping. "When you were with me."
My chest ached. "Eli."
"I burned them," he said. "All three books. Took them out to the desert and lit a match. I decided I needed to stop living in the past and figure out who I was without the church, without the mission, without..." He stopped. "Without you."
"Did it work?"
"Mostly." He met my eyes. "Until tonight."
I didn't know what to say.
"I'm not angry," Eli said. "I want you to know that. I was. For a while. Angry that you stayed silent, that you didn’t stop me or follow me out.
That you let me take the fall alone. But then I got angry at myself for expecting you to be a martyr, knowing that I chose to sacrifice myself so why should I be angry at you? For putting myself in that position."
"I wasn't a martyr. I was a coward."
"You were a kid who lost his entire world in twenty-four hours." Eli leaned forward. "And you survived it. You built something new through struggle and hardship. Practical Sam."
"Practical Sam," I echoed with a weak smile. "And you? Are you... happy?"
"I'm free," Eli said. "I paint what I want. I live how I want. I don't have to apologize for existing. It's enough."
"Is it?"
He looked at me. Really looked at me. "It was. Until about forty minutes ago."
The air between us shifted. The two years of silence and grief seemed to thin, leaving us exposed.
"I don't know what happens now," I said.
"What do you want to happen?"
The question terrified me. Because I knew the answer. I had known it since the moment I saw his name on the gallery wall.
"I want to know you," I said. "Not Elder Vance. Not the person you had to be in Barcelona to survive. Just... Eli. Who you are now."
"Even if I'm different?"
"Especially if you're different."
Eli studied me. "You're different too. You cut your hair. You look... heavier. Not in a bad way. Just solid."
"I am solid," I said. "I had to be."
Eli reached across the table. Rested his hand palm-up on the scarred wood.
I stared at it. At the charcoal stains and the familiar shape of his fingers. It was an invitation. A second chance.
I placed my hand in his.
His fingers closed around mine. Warm. Real.
"Yeah," Eli said quietly. "Okay."
We sat like that while the coffee shop filled and emptied around us. While the terrible octopus mural judged us from the wall. While two years of silence finally began to heal.
"Coffee tomorrow?" Eli asked.
"Yeah."
"And maybe you can tell me about this roommate of yours. He seems intense."
I laughed. actually laughed. "If you tell me why you're in Seattle instead of somewhere with better light."
"Deal."
He squeezed my hand once, then let go.
We stood. Gathered our things. As we walked toward the door, Eli paused.
"Give me your phone," he said.
My heart skipped a beat. I unlocked it and handed it to him. His fingers brushed mine—a deliberate, lingering contact that sent a jolt straight to my chest. He tapped the screen for a moment, then his own phone buzzed in his pocket.
"There," he said, handing it back. "Now you have my number. And I have yours."
"I'll use it," I promised.
"You better."
Outside, the Seattle rain had started—soft and persistent. Eli turned up his collar.
"I'll text you," he said. "About a time. And a place that doesn't smell like patchouli."
"I'm holding you to that."
He smiled. Small and real and just for me. Then he walked away into the rain.
I watched until he disappeared around the corner.
My phone buzzed. Jordan:
WHERE ARE YOU?
Did you ditch me for someone hot?
Something like that. Home soon.
OMG DETAILS REQUIRED NOW.
Yeah. Tonight.
I pocketed the phone and started walking.
The rain fell steady and soft, nothing like Barcelona's sudden downpours. Different city. Different life. Different versions of ourselves.
But for the first time in two years, I felt lighter.