14. Andie
Broken.
It’s the word for today. A theme, if you will. Everything in my gran’s house is broken. My heart is broken. Whatever had begun between Elijah and me is broken now. The latter is just me throwing a pity party for myself after reading into something that clearly wasn’t there. But in the recesses of my mind, I let myself have it.
It sucks.
I slide into a booth at the diner, and Mia takes the seat across from me. As she answers yet another phone call, I turn my attention to the front picture window, my gaze landing on the stormy sea.
Dark clouds are coming in, rolling over the ocean, and in the distance, lightning flashes. A storm is brewing. And not just the one in my heart. As though my thoughts brought him to the door, Elijah strolls past the window and crosses the street, heading down to the dock.
I watch him move, my gaze drawn to him like a moth to flame.
Never in my entire life have I felt so completely connected to someone. Even when we despised each other at first. Though there are still moments where I want to ring his neck, there’s something about him. A type of charming strength that draws me closer.
I get it now—why Gran thought we’d hit it off. And while it’s likely not in the way I imagine she’d hoped for, I can see myself being friends with the former Army Ranger.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell Mia as she hangs up the phone.
“Okay. Would you like me to order you something?”
“Water, please. And some soup. Whatever the soup of the day is.”
Mia nods and studies the menu as I slip from the booth. Outside, the wind whips at my hair as salty sea air fills my lungs. Whatever is coming is going to be a doozy, that’s for sure.
My heart pounds as I walk toward the water.
Up ahead, a few overly cautious shop owners are boarding up their windows. The pharmacist covers his with plywood while the church closes its metal shutters. Pastor Redding offers me a wave as I pass, and I return the gesture before making my way onto the wooden dock.
Elijah stands at the end, his hands on the railing, face turned up to the sky.
As I get closer, I nearly kick myself for coming out here in the first place. I hadn’t even considered that he might be praying. Or simply seeking solitude after what happened earlier. I start to turn around, but the desire to be close to him grows stronger, and I find myself moving in closer rather than putting distance between us.
I step up to his side and grip the railing, then look over at him.
Elijah’s gaze meets mine. Gorgeous hazel pools that have toppled the walls I so carefully built after what George put me through.
Lightning cracks in the distance.
Thunder booms. I jump, ready to run back inside. Anywhere I can shield my hearing from the storm.
“Are you okay?” I call out over the sound of more thunder.
“Fine. I just needed a minute.”
“Oh. I can leave.” Embarrassed, I step away, but Elijah’s hand covers mine, so I still, turning back toward the water.
“Please don’t.”
“Okay,” I say, nearly whispering the word.
“When you’re close, the world isn’t so loud.” He closes his eyes and drops his head forward.
The words break my heart and stir something in my soul. A feeling that this is exactly where I am supposed to be. Right here. Right now. I sidle in closer, hoping that my body language will tell him that he quiets the world for me too.
* * *
“I really don’t haveto sleep up here,” Elijah tells me for the dozenth time.
“I would prefer if you did,” I tell him as I toss a pillow over to the pallet he’s making on the floor. Outside, the storm rages. Rain hammers the side of the lighthouse; wind whips at the trees. Their branches scrape against the side of the building like nails against a chalkboard.
“After what happened earlier?—”
“I promise not to wake you up this time,” I tell him.
But he still looks nervous. Afraid, maybe.
“Elijah. I promise you, it’s going to be fine. But if you’re that worried about it?—”
Thunder crashes outside, startling me. I’ve never been one for thunderstorms. Ever. Honestly, I’m not entirely sure why, but every time I hear the sound of it cracking, it’s like I’m thrown back into my childhood, listening to the table splinter as my mom’s husband fell into it.
Over and over again.
No matter how many years have passed.
Elijah watches me closely. “I’ll stay. Just…please don’t try to wake me up. Unless it’s an emergency.”
“Okay. I promise.” Victorious, I pluck Aggie from the floor and climb into the bed. I stare up at the ceiling, the cat purring on my chest as I pet him. Of course, that position isn’t comfortable enough though, so he spins and puts his butt in my face.
I roll to the side, and he begrudgingly moves to the foot of the bed.
Elijah is still, lying on his back on his bed of blankets. I stare down at him as he looks up at the ceiling, unable to help but wonder just what it is he’s thinking about. Does he spend his nights thinking of his past?
Or running through what’s to come tomorrow?
“I’ve been reading my gran’s letters.”
He focuses on me. “And?”
“I hurt her. A lot. When I left.”
His expression softens a bit, noticeable even in the dim light cast by the cracked bathroom door. “You didn’t know.”
“You thought I did though.”
He looks away. “I was wrong.”
“What did she tell you about me? Did she talk about me at all?” When he doesn’t immediately respond, I sigh. “Was it really that bad?” The joke falls flat though, and he rolls onto his side, expression serious.
“She talked about how proud she was. How amazing you were doing in New York and how grateful she was you’d found your calling.”
“My calling.” I snort, unable to help myself.
“You don’t think what you’re doing is your calling?”
I remain quiet, unsure how to vocalize what I’m feeling. What I’ve been feeling for longer than I care to admit. “Have you ever stopped to look at your life then wonder just how you got there?”
“A few times, I suppose,” he replies.
“I never had any clear direction of what I wanted to do. My mother certainly wasn’t any help in figuring it out, and Gran tried to guide me, but I’d been so angry that I hadn’t wanted to pay any attention to any of it.”
“I get that.”
“It was George who told me I should go into fashion.” Once more, I roll onto my back to stare up at the ceiling. I don’t want to see the disappointment in his eyes or the pity that may accompany it.
Gran gave me every penny she could spare to send me to design school in New York. She’d fought to get me the future I’d told her I wanted, and it hadn’t even been my dream.
“I didn’t know that.”
“No one did,” I tell him. “I realize now that it was just part of the flattery portion of his grooming, but back then, it felt so good to have a man tell me I looked nice. That I knew how to dress. That I should build my adult life around it.”
“It’s wrong what he did to you.”
“I get that now. And looking back, I can’t believe how foolish I was. But in the moment, after spending my life being rejected by my father and the men my mother brought home, after being told over and over again that I wasn’t good enough, having someone look at me like that was…nice. As twisted as that is.” I laugh uncomfortably, unsure why I’m word vomiting like this.
We don’t even know each other that well.
“If you hadn’t done design, what do you think you would have gone into?”
“I honestly wish I had a clue. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy what I do, but I can’t help but wonder what would have happened if I’d never given George the time of day. Who knows? Maybe I would have stuck around town and we could have met under better circumstances.”
And what a dream that would be. To have met this man when I was unburdened by the mistakes I made. What would it have been like? To look upon him with eyes that weren’t haunted?
Elijah is silent for so long that I wonder if he’s fallen asleep, but then he clears his throat. “It’s easy to allow ourselves to be weighed down by the past. The difficult thing is forgiving ourselves and moving forward.”
“What do you have to forgive yourself for, Mr. Breeth?” I say it lightly because I can’t imagine this man, who stepped up to help an elderly woman without question, would have done anything in need of forgiveness.
“You’d be surprised at the weight I carry, Miss Montgomery. Good night.” Elijah’s tone is serious and leaves no room for further conversation.
He falls silent, so I lie there, staring up at the ceiling, my mind reeling as I go over everything I know about Elijah. Which I realize is not much.
Curious, I roll onto my side and draw the covers up over my head to shield Elijah from the light of my cell phone. I’ve just typed his name into the search bar of my browser when an explosion rattles the lighthouse and sends my heart rate skyrocketing.