Chapter 8
EBBA
I finish filming my makeup tutorial and sigh now that I’m no longer being recorded.
I mostly stick to fashion and travel content, but my followers have been asking for a makeup tutorial from the look I wore earlier this year at the U.S.
Open, so I decided it was time to recreate it, especially while I’m not traveling since I don’t have as much of my usual content to share.
I save the video to edit later. I’ve thought about hiring someone to edit my content, but the idea of letting go of control makes me sick to my stomach.
Maybe one day I’ll be able to let go, but now’s not the time.
There’s a loud knock on my door and my brows furrow in confusion. I haven’t ordered dinner, and I don’t have anyone coming over that I know of.
Wincing when I stand, I give myself a moment to let the blood flow return to my leg. Sitting for extended periods of times has been triggering my leg to flare with pain.
Blowing out a breath, I grab my cane to help steady my gait as I make my way out of the guest bedroom that I’ve turned into a massive walk-in closet and filming room. Another knock sounds, much more impatient than the last one.
When I check the peephole, I find my brother standing on the other side with a bag of food and a grin.
“What are you doing here?” I swing the door wide. “Did Whimsy finally get some common sense and kick you to the curb?”
He rolls his eyes as he strides past me and straight for my open concept kitchen.
“No.” He unloads the Chipotle bag. “She’s at her parents and I couldn’t go because I had a podcast interview, so now you get the joy of my companionship.”
I let out a sigh, and he doesn’t miss it from the pursed lipped look he sends me.
“Don’t act like you don’t appreciate my presence.” He opens up my refrigerator and helps himself to a Fanta.
“Put that back,” I scold. “Those are my guilty pleasure and I only have a few.”
He pulls out his phone. “I’ll Doordash you some more. Problem solved.”
“You’re insufferable,” I gripe.
That only serves to make him smile. “You love me.”
He’s right, I do. Sometimes I wonder if we’d be this close if we hadn’t been twins, but I guess I’ll never know the answer to that.
My stomach growls, reminding me that it’s been hours since I last ate.
Elias arches a brow, a smirk dancing on his lips. “See, you need me.”
“I was filming a makeup tutorial,” I explain, grabbing my own Fanta. “I didn’t want to eat until I finished.”
He picks up his bowl and settles at my kitchen counter. “And did you?”
I follow suit and take the stool beside him. “Like two seconds before you showed up, ironically.”
His grin has me growling in annoyance which only makes his smile grow. “Look at that. I have impeccable timing.”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
“Too late.”
“I don’t know how Whimsy puts up with you.” I undo the lid on my bowl and scoop up the spoon.
“I don’t know either,” he replies with a soft tone. “But I love her for it.”
It’s weird—in a good way—seeing my brother in love.
He was a player for a long time. With all the traveling he does, I think he didn’t see the point in a relationship.
But him and Whimsy just make sense. She’s not afraid to give him shit and tell him like it is, which is what he needs in a partner—not someone who’s constantly blowing smoke up his ass.
“Speaking of love,” he says, and I arch my brow at his poor attempt at a segue. “Have you met anyone recently?”
I shake my head. “You know after—”
He cuts me off with his hand. “Don’t say his name.”
I roll my eyes. “I need some time after all that,” I finish.
“Are there any of the guys on the tour you’re interested in?” he asks. “Freddie Taylor is a good guy. I could introduce you.”
Freddie is a tennis player from the UK—a few years younger than us.
“No thanks.”
His lips twitch with the threat of a smile. “Are you sure there’s not someone you’ve already got your eye on?”
My thoughts, unbidden, stray to Fisher.
“Absolutely not. I’m enjoying my singleness.”
“Hmm,” he hums. “If you say so.”
I laugh, digging into my food with a ferocity that has him arching a brow. After taking a bite, I level him with a glare. “Why is it so hard to believe I’m happy being single?”
“It’s not that.” He stirs his food around. “It’s just…”
“Just what?” I prompt.
“You and Fisher—”
“Fisher?” I laugh incredulously, swallowing down my rising panic. “What about him?”
He narrows his eyes on me and my heart races. I wonder if he can see the skip of my pulse in my throat. Elias purses his lips and drops his gaze from mine.
“Nothing. Forget I said anything.”
“I don’t understand why you’re bringing him up,” I press, which might be dangerous. He’s giving me an out so I should take it and run.
He snorts. “So, you’re just oblivious to the way he looks at you like a lovesick puppy?”
I frown. “He does not.”
“You can’t be that unaware.”
My cheeks warm and I drop my gaze. “You’re crazy.”
“If that’s how you want to play it, that’s what we’ll do.”
Narrowing my eyes, I stare down my brother. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He stuffs his mouth full of a bite of food, I’m sure in an effort to stall. That’s confirmed when he swallows and says, “I wanted to hang out with you, not fight.”
Lowering my head, I say, “I’m sorry. I think I’m a little on edge.”
“A little?”
That sarcastic comment earns him a smack on his arm.
“Ow. I’ll never know how you make that hurt so bad.” He rubs his arm.
“You’re just weak.”
“Most guys are,” he agrees.
Smiling, I say, “I love it when you see things my way.”
Elias changes the subject when he says, “How’s your leg?” He nods toward the spot where I propped my cane up against the cabinet.
“It’s…” I search for the right word. “Frustrating.”
The pain, the stiffness, the ache—all of it is so damn frustrating.
His lips turn down in a frown, sorrow in his eyes. Since he was there for me the day of my accident, he knows how bad it was. I haven’t been on a bike since, and I’m not sure that’s a feat I’ll ever cross.
“I’m so sorry, Eb.”
I shrug. “Not your fault. It’s just a thing that happened and this is the outcome.”
“Still, I hate it for you.”
I go silent, lost in my own thoughts. I try not to dwell on my accident.
There’s nothing I can do. I can’t go back in time and tell my old self not to bike that trail with Elias.
This is the reality I’m forced to live. But it doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck.
It doesn’t mean I don’t get mad at times and question why me.
Clearing his throat, he says, “If you ever need someone to talk to you know I’m here for you, right? Or if you want someone professional I’ll make sure it happens.”
I give a soft, forced smile and give my brother’s hand a gentle pat. “Thanks, El. But I’m good. If that changes, I’ll let you know.”
“You promise?” His eyes are a shade darker with seriousness, something rare for my carefree twin.
“I promise.”
He holds his pinky out to me and I laugh. I can’t remember the last time we made a pinky promise. Maybe when we were twelve.
I wrap my own finger around his and smile.
No matter how bad things can get, and even though he drives me crazy half the time, I’m so thankful to always have him on my side.