18. Andie
Sketch pad in hand, I sit on the porch overlooking the ocean, drawing the gorgeous view as I see it in front of me. Bright rays from the sun, a seemingly endless waterscape that draws my eye and makes me long to fly like a bird.
Just so I can see where it goes.
My feet are bare, my pink toenails bright against the wooden porch railing. A once steaming mug of tea sits beside me, though it’s long gone cold and still sits barely touched. Gran used to hang every single doodle I’d draw on her fridge. There was often not a single spare inch of blank space. And when she ran out, she’d move them to a folder to make room for more.
I’d drawn everything from horses to butterflies. Flowery landscapes and rocky mountains. Maybe that’s what helped George convince me that I wanted a future in fashion. God knows I drew a lot of outfits while I’d been pretending to pay attention in class.
It’s been years since I drew anything but clothing now.
I add a bird to the sky on my drawing then shift my attention to the partially drawn person standing, back to the viewer, on the page. The beach spans out to both sides of him while he stares out at the ocean. Back bare, I can see every single scar, every ragged injury left behind—a roadmap of his trauma.
Elijah captivates every ounce of my attention. More so now that I know some of what he’s gone through.
“Lesser men survive.”
The fact that he can think of himself as lesser than anyone is dumbfounding. He’s the strongest man I’ve ever met—not that the bar for that is particularly high. But even if it were, I’ve no doubt he’d still exceed it.
So why does he think so low of himself? And who are those he said would argue?
The door behind me slides open, so I shut the sketch pad quickly then glance over my shoulder as Elijah steps out onto the porch. He’s moving easier today, likely the night’s sleep and another round of pain meds helping him stand straighter and walk taller.
The black shirt he wears covers most of his injuries, so if you were looking at him, you’d never know he nearly died a few days ago. Though the fading bruising on his face is evidence of some of the pain he suffered.
“You’re supposed to be on bed rest.”
“Thirty minutes a day,” he replies, taking a seat and staring out at the ocean. “This is part of my thirty minutes.” His tone is sharp, and he’s been a bit off since Lance left yesterday. But after our near—whatever that was—in the hospital, I have to admit it feels a bit like rejection.
Even if I know we’re nothing more than two people thrown together due to unfortunate circumstances.
“Okay. Need anything? Coffee? Tea?”
“No.” He closes his eyes and leans back against the chair.
Did he have another nightmare? I didn’t hear anything, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t suffering in silence. “Are you sure, I can?—”
“I’m fine, Andie,” he snaps. Before I can respond, he hisses between clenched teeth. “I’m sorry. It was a long night.”
I’d gone to bed somewhere around eleven, but he’d been wide awake and sitting up in bed on his laptop. He’d barely grunted when I told him I was heading to my room.
“How late did you stay up?”
“Late enough.” He turns to me. “Did you sleep okay?”
No. “Good enough,” I reply with a smile. He doesn’t need to know I’d spent nearly the entire night dreaming of him and what it might feel like to have his lips on mine. The intensity of that look we’d shared in the hospital flashes through my mind again, and my cheeks heat.
I turn back to the ocean. That’s something I understand. The breaking of waves. The draw of the tide. But this connection between Elijah and me is completely foreign. It goes well past attraction and settles far deeper than simple friendship.
“Anything in the letters?” he questions.
He’d offered to help me read through Gran’s letters, but I told him no. I’m not ready to share what is likely the last personal moments my gran and I will have together. Even if it means unlocking the puzzle sooner.
That may change at some point, but not now. Not today.
“Not yet. I read quite a few last night, but they’re all updates about the town, things she’s thinking about. Her missing me.” My throat constricts on that last part. I’d been unable to keep myself from crying while I thought Elijah was dying, and while I don’t want to dissect the reason behind him being my breaking point, I do know that I don’t want to lose the fight in front of him again.
“Great. Let me know if that changes.” He gets up from the chair with a slight groan, so I stand too.
“Do you want some food? I can make some eggs.”
“No. I’ll have a protein shake.” He slips into the kitchen, and I follow.
“I really don’t mind, Elijah. I’m making some for me anyway.”
“I don’t need you to take care of me!” he nearly yells it, the tone of his voice so frustrated it catches me off guard.
“I’m not trying to take care of you.”
“Yes,” he argues, “you are. You fought me going into that cellar because you were worried about me. Then there’s the answering for me yesterday, cooking me dinner, trying to get me to stop working and get sleep last night, and now the eggs! I don’t need a caretaker! You are my client—that is all. I am the one who is taking care of you.” His cheeks are red, his hazel eyes furious.
But there’s something else in them, too. Hidden behind the anger. Fear?
“First of all,” I snarl, my own anger meeting his. “I was afraid for you. And I will not apologize for being the kind of person who didn’t want to sit down there and listen to you die. As for the dinner, Eliza technically cooked that. I merely heated it in the oven. I thought I was saving you time by heating it up since I was hungry too. But, hey, I tell you what. Next time, I’ll be sure to cut the lasagna in half and put your portion in the refrigerator before heating up mine.”
I move in closer, glaring up at him. “As for you getting sleep, you can’t exactly protect either of us if you’re dead on your feet. And the eggs? I couldn’t care less what you eat for breakfast, but it seemed a friendly gesture to offer to make you some too when I’m already going to feed myself and it’s literally no extra effort.” I turn on my heel.
“Andie—”
“No. Don’t worry, Mr. Breeth. Going forward, I will ensure that I only look out for myself. You can starve for all I care.” I slam the bedroom door behind me and cross over to the letters.
As I take a seat on the bed, I half expect him to knock on the door, so when he doesn’t, I’m a bit let down. Men. Taking a letter from the box, I settle back against the headboard and break the envelope’s seal.
Dearest Andie,
Today started out as a hard day. But as I was preparing to lose my grip on three bags of groceries, a young man rushed over and grabbed them from me. He kept my feet firmly on the ground, and when I got the first full look at his face, I was nearly struck down to the ground. He looks so much like my Charlie. Nearly a spitting image, even. Though, as I spent a few more minutes with him, I noticed that his eyes are a different color, and they are far more haunted than Charlie’s ever were.
He’s new to town, a former Army Ranger, from what he told me. And he’s working over at Knight Security. Remember my last letter? I told you that they opened up in our tiny town? I nearly laughed when I found out! Can you imagine any danger in our small town?
Anyway, he was kind, and I do hope our paths cross again. I think you would like him.
Missing you more every day,
Gran
Elijah. I’d been wondering when he’d make an appearance in the letters. Seeing him here, on the page, somehow eases some of my anger. I’m not sure why—but I can’t deny that it does. His eyes are far more haunted than Charlie’s ever were.
Haunted is a good word for it.
Would Gran say the same thing about mine if she could see me now?