Chapter 36
Aria
For a few seconds, I think I’m dreaming about there being a fire and having to run out of my apartment in nothing but a t-shirt that barely covers my ass.
There’s a fire alarm blaring, and I have no idea where it’s coming from.
Until I open my eyes.
I’m at Elliot’s, and a fire alarm isn’t ringing, but the smoke detector is.
Hearing the constant beeping takes me back to my undergrad days, when Serena and I moved into our first apartment and tried making flan. We only tried making it once, and it was horrible. The apartment smelled like burnt milk and egg for days.
Shaking the scent from my memory, I push the sheets off and grab the t-shirt I stripped off Elliot’s body last night.
By the time I step on the first stair to the first floor, the smoke detector quiets. I reach the threshold of the kitchen, and I get hit with the smell of burnt bacon.
“And here I thought the trust fund baby knew how to cook,” I say as I walk into the kitchen to find a very frustrated Elliot standing by the stove.
He turns to face me, and I try my best to hold in a laugh as he rolls his eyes.
“I know how to cook,” he says, walking over the sink and splashing the pan with water. “I just wasn’t paying attention.”
By the way he slaps the facet off, I’m going to guess his frustration runs a lot deeper than breakfast burning.
“Is everything okay?” I ask when he doesn’t leave the sink. He simply places his hands on the edge and drops his head. His shoulders look tense.
Elliot doesn’t respond right away, but he eventually nods and pushes himself off the sink, turning back to the stove.
“Everything is great.” His voice is clipped and has me raising my eyebrow.
He’s more than frustrated. He’s pissed, and from the looks of it, he’s taking it out on the eggs he’s cooking in a different pan.
Why is he pissed? I have no idea. I remember seeing a smile on his face right before I fell asleep—amazing sex and head would do that to a man—so something had to have happened to cause this mood now.
Seeing him like this reminds of the night we went to get burgers. He had a rough day at work, and I can’t help but wonder if that has something to do with it.
“By the way you are scrabbling those eggs, I would say everything isn’t great.”
Elliot stops stabbing the eggs with the wooden spoon for a second before he goes back to breaking them up with a gentler touch.
He doesn’t say anything.
What is going on?
Did I do something?
I try to remember if I said anything before I fell into a deep slumber, but nothing comes to mind.
It has to do with work.
Hating seeing him this frustrated, I walk over and wrap my arms around his middle, resting my cheek against his back. Part of me wishes there wasn’t a shirt separating me from his skin.
“What’s going on?” I ask. “I don’t like seeing you like this.
” For a second, I think he is going to pull away and tell me to drop it, but he proves me wrong when I feel him shift under me.
I hear him put down the spoon and turn off the stove.
When I feel his hand on top of my mine, I feel him relax a bit.
“I’m sorry,” he tells me.
“There’s nothing to be sorry about. Just tell me what’s going on.”
He stills for about a second before letting out a sigh. “Let’s sit down real quick, yeah? We need to talk about something.”
Now I’m the one tensing.
What do we need to talk about?
I try to think of what it could be, but nothing comes to mind, except that maybe he wants to end things.
We just made everything official not even a week ago. Maybe in that time, he figured out he doesn’t want to be with me after all.
Even thinking about it makes me want to cry, but I hold it all in and nod against his back.
“Okay.” My voice sounds so small.
And Elliot notices, because when he pulls away from my hold, he looks down at me with concern in his eyes. “Why do you look sad?”
I look up at his blue eyes. “Because we just got together, and now we’re breaking up.”
Never again.
Never am I going to walk into another relationship, willingly or not.
This shit hurts so damn bad, and we haven’t even talked yet.
I just know I’m going to be curled up in a ball for a solid year and possibly lose my job because I will have no willpower to even get out of bed.
I will have to say goodbye to the kids at the hospital, to Sophia. I will have to give up my apartment here in Chicago and go somewhere else, because no way in hell will I go back to Austin.
God, I fucking hate breakups.
I hate relationships even more. And I hate Elliot for making me break my commitment rule for him.
Never again. My vibrator will be my life now.
Hands land on my face as Elliot bends down just enough to look into my eyes that have drifted to somewhere off in the distance.
His navy blues stare into my brown before he leans in and places a kiss against my lips.
“We’re not breaking up. That’s it’s not what I wanted to talk about.”
My shoulders relax. “It’s not?”
He shakes his head. “No. It will be an uncomfortable conversation, though.”
That catches my attention. “Why? What’s going on?”
Another sigh escapes him. “Let’s sit down.”
Questions swim through my head as we walk to the living room.
Is he sick?
Is he going to be moving abroad for an extended period? If he does move, will he ask me to go with him?
There are so many ways this conversation could go.
Taking a seat on the couch feels a bit weird, since we don’t usually do this. I mean, we sit on the couch and talk about life and work and watch TV, but we don’t just sit here like this. Like one of us is a child and the other is a parent, both waiting for a lecture.
After about a minute of sitting in awkwardness, Elliot breaks the silence.
“There is something I need to ask you, and when I do, you have to promise not to close up.”
That’s an odd request.
I straighten my back, as if getting ready for whatever the question may be. “Okay. Ask away.”
His question takes me off guard.
“Is your ex a Jack Harrison?”
Just hearing Jack’s name feels like everything stops.
“H-how do you know that name?” My voice shakes as I speak.
To keep myself from spiraling, I start pinching the skin on my lower palm. It hurts, but I don’t care.
“Is that his name?” Elliot asks, his eyes moving down to my hands.
I nod. “Yes. His name is Jack Harrison.”
With my confirmation, the man next to me drops his head in defeat.
“Why are you asking me about Jack? And how do you know his name?”
The questions float between us until Elliot looks back up.
“A friend reached out and asked if I could lend them a hand finding information on a politician who was giving them trouble. He gave me a name, and I had Drake look into him.” He looks at me with so much sympathy, it hurts. “I had him send me the information last night, but he had reservations.”
“Reservations?” The question is barely a whisper.
He nods. “Yeah, because the information he found connected you to Harrison, and he wanted to protect you.”
It feels like my head is filled with static, and it’s trying to take over my senses.
“What did the information say?”
Elliot already knows what went down between me and Jack, but he doesn’t know what drove me to him. He doesn’t know why I finally agreed to go on a date during one of my darkest moments.
Did he find out through whatever information Drake sent him?
I really hope not.
“I don’t know.” He admits. “I haven’t read it. I haven’t even opened the file. Talking to you first seemed more important than learning about the fucker in the moment.”
A part of me relaxes at the knowledge Elliot didn’t find out about one of the darkest parts of my life by reading a profile on my ex. It’s highly unlikely that whatever information Drake found even has my hospital stay, but you never know how deep someone may go.
Then, I put together what he said a few seconds ago.
Drake had reservations about sharing the information on Jack because he wanted to protect me.
“Protect me from what?” The question slips out as if I had all the intention to ask it out loud. “You said Drake wanted to protect me. What was he protecting me from?”
Elliot’s face drops a little, and he rolls his lips as if he’s trying to figure out what to tell me.
I watch as he battles with himself. After a few minutes of silence, I start to get a little peeved.
“Elliot, just tell me. What was Drake protecting me from?”
He doesn’t answer right away. He just looks me in the eyes for what feels like a lifetime.
“From anyone who might want to hurt you because of your affiliation with Harrison.”
That’s the vaguest answer, and I almost roll my eyes, but I hold myself back. “And in this scenario, who might that be?”
Another few seconds of silence.
I’m about to walk out and call Drake so he can tell me himself when Elliot speaks again with a deep sigh.
“The cartel. The Muertos Cartel, to be exact.”