Chapter 22 Eleanor
ELEANOR
Ihad already dropped Ava off at school and was home in a blessedly quiet house.
My mom had left this morning for a shopping trip with her sister.
As I got back into the house, I kicked my shoes off by the door and smiled because there would be no one here to tell me to pick up my shoes for the next four days. It would just be me and Ava.
It used to bother me that my mom and sister were so close.
It would have bothered me that they were going on this big shopping trip while I was stuck at home.
But it didn’t bother me anymore. In fact, I could think of nothing I wanted less than being on that trip with them.
No, this house to ourselves was infinitely better than a shopping trip with commentary about everything I did wrong.
As I made my way upstairs, my phone buzzed in my pocket.
Alex.
As we spent the next couple of minutes texting back and forth, it was becoming obvious to me that I was attracted to him. I was attracted to him in a way I hadn't been to anyone in a long time.
By the time we finished texting, it once again struck me. I was in this house — alone — for the first time in I couldn't even remember how long.
I got in the closet and from the hidden pocket in my suitcase I pulled out a little satin bag. It had been a long time since I'd felt the need to do this, but after yesterday and those texts, I decided it was time.
I slipped off my yoga pants and slipped back into bed. I closed my eyes and let images of Alex play in my head. From the first time I'd seen him at the game over a month ago to the way he caught me in his arms yesterday. I'd been drawn to him from that first moment.
I pushed away the guilt as I let my hands slide down my curves. I cupped my breast with one hand, lightly pinching my already hard nipple as I let my other hand go lower.
I was already wet and wanting just from those mostly innocent text messages.
I picked up my vibrator, and before I knew it, I was clenching and riding the wave of my first orgasm in entirely too long.
As I came down, I blew my hair out of my face and got up to get in the shower. I wanted to get a few more pages to my editor.
I had a good feeling about this book. I had a good feeling about Alex. And I was beginning to have a good feeling about joining the Reapers.
How the tides had turned.
I shut off the shower, steam curling around me like a warm cocoon. I was relaxed, loose, humming in a way I hadn’t felt in years.
Being alone in the house . . .
Being able to take up space without tiptoeing . . .
Letting myself want something . . .
It had all left me feeling lighter. Braver.
I wrapped myself in a towel and wiped a patch of fog from the mirror.
My reflection looked different. Softer. But also, somehow, stronger.
Everything Alex had said echoed in my mind: You are someone worth catching.
I swallowed, heat blooming in my chest.
I wanted more of that feeling.
As I pulled on leggings and an oversized T-shirt, I heard a van door slam.
Belle.
Of course.
Her van was unmistakable, the slightly dented purple one with a GRIM REAPERS sticker peeling off the back window and a pink pair of skates hanging from the rearview like a disco charm.
I’d made my decision upstairs in the quiet of a house that didn’t quite feel like home anymore.
I’m trying out.
I wanted to tell Belle.
I wanted someone to know, someone who would be proud of me, not scold me or belittle the idea.
I padded downstairs, towel-damp hair clinging to my neck, and found Belle in the kitchen, elbow-deep in the pantry, pulling out ingredients with reckless optimism.
She was startled when she noticed me.
“Oh!” she said with a grin. “I was just seeing if your mom stocked the ingredients for brownies.”
She stopped and took me in fully.
“Hey,” she said, softening. “You okay? You look . . . glowy.”
I felt my cheeks heat. “Well. I, uh . . . yesterday.”
“Oooh,” she said, eyes widening with mischief. “Yesterday. Was it a Prince-flavored outing?”
“Belle!”
“What? I’m gathering data.”
I hid my face. “It’s not about that."
“Oh.” Her face fell dramatically. “Tragic.”
I laughed again, and then the words came out before fear could shut them down.
“I want to try out,” I said.
Belle blinked. “Try out?”
I swallowed. “For the Reapers. Or — whatever the beginning level is.”
For a second, Belle just stared.
Then she squealed.
Actually squealed.
She launched toward me so fast I didn’t have time to brace before she wrapped me in a hug that smelled like berry lotion and confidence.
“Oh my GOD, El! YES!” she shouted right into my ear. “Yes, yes, YES. This is HUGE!”
I laughed into her shoulder. “I’m not even good yet.”
“Doesn’t matter!” She pulled back, eyes shining. “Trying out isn’t about being perfect. It’s about showing up. It’s about choosing yourself. It’s about doing the thing even when you’re scared.” Her grin softened. “It’s about taking your life back.”
My throat tightened.
Belle saw it. She always saw it.
“Hey,” she said gently, cupping my elbows. “You’re doing something for you. That’s beautiful.”
I blinked against sudden emotion. “I think I needed to hear that.”
Belle smiled like she’d been waiting all day to say it.
“You know what else you need?” she asked.
“What?”
She grabbed two wine glasses and popped one of my mother’s many bottles of rosé.
“A celebration drink,” she declared. “To your future derby bruises and future derby ass. Which is going to be amazing.”
I snorted wine through my nose. “Belle!”
“What? Ass is important.” She clinked her glass against mine. “And so are dreams.”
Warmth spread through me. It was filled with hope, friendship, and this new version of myself taking shape.
“Tryouts are in four weeks,” Belle said casually, sipping her drink.
My eyes widened. “Four weeks?!”
She winked. “Better start practicing, princess.”
I groaned. “Oh God.”
She smirked. “Don’t worry. Prince Charming has you covered.”
I covered my face again.
But I was smiling. Bright and uncontrollable.
My life finally felt like it was mine.
The bell above the coffee shop door chimed as I slipped inside, warm air and the smell of espresso wrapping around me like a hug. Belle spotted me immediately and saluted with her milk frother.
“Your usual?” she called.
“Yes, please!”
I took our usual corner table, our table, and set out my sketchbook, pencils, and little watercolor tin. The book was coming together fast, faster than anything had since Ethan died. My fierce little avenger derby girl was practically sprinting out of my fingertips.
It felt healing. It felt like breathing.
I was so lost in adding a swoosh of watercolor blue behind her skates that I didn’t notice the bell ring again.
Only when a familiar voice said, warm and amused, “You get this quiet and I know you’re up to something magical,” did I look up.
My heart did a full somersault.
Alex stood there, slightly out of breath, hair a little mussed like he’d rushed. He had a coffee in one hand and the softest smile on his face.
“You startled me,” I said, tucking a stray blonde strand behind my ear.
“Sorry,” he said, sliding into the seat across from me. “Didn’t want to interrupt. You were in the zone.”
I laughed softly. “It happens.”
His eyes drifted to my sketchbook . . . then froze.
“El,” he breathed, “this is . . . wow.”
“You think so?”
He didn’t look away from the page. “It’s fierce. And sweet. And brave. And her expression—” he traced the drawing in the air “—that’s you.”
Heat pooled in my cheeks. “Is that . . . good?”
He lifted his eyes to mine. “It’s the best.”
My heart fluttered in that new, terrifying, wonderful way.
He took a sip of his coffee, still looking a little flushed.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said. “I . . . didn’t have Leo today.”
I blinked. “Oh. It’s Becca’s night?”
He nodded, a shy smile tugging at his mouth. “Yeah. So I didn’t need to be here.”
He hesitated, then added quietly, “I came anyway.”
My breath caught.
“You . . . came just to see me?”
He rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish and devastatingly charming. “Yeah. I guess I did.”
Oh.
Oh.
“Alex,” I whispered, warmth flooding through me.
He cleared his throat, embarrassed in the cutest way possible. “Don’t make it weird.”
“I’m not!” I said, grinning. “It’s just . . . unexpectedly sweet.”
His shoulders relaxed a little. “Good.”
We sat there smiling like two teenagers passing notes in homeroom until Belle slammed a tray of muffins onto the counter and shouted, “If you two don’t stop flirting, I’m charging rent for that table! But I can't be too mad since you talked our girl into becoming a Reaper.”
We both startled.
Alex choked on his coffee.
I bit back a laugh.
When Belle returned to her espresso machine, muttering about “idiots in love,”
Alex leaned in slightly. “You told her you’re trying out? For the Reapers?”
I nodded, shy but proud. “Yesterday.”
His whole face lit up. Not polite excitement. Not supportive-friend excitement. Real joy.
“El,” he said softly, “you’re going to be amazing.”
My cheeks warmed again. “You’ve even seen me skate,” I said, my words laced with self-deprecation.
“I have,” he murmured. “You just don’t know how good you are yet.”
I ducked my head, smiling like an idiot.
And we kept talking, warm and close, the world softening around us as if it knew something was blooming.
Rehearsal was just winding down when I walked into the lot. Kids streamed out of the community theater doors like a flock of loud, brightly colored birds. I spotted Ava instantly, headphones on, backpack half-zipped, animatedly talking to Leo while he bounced like a neon ping-pong ball beside her.
Before I could even get out of the car, a woman with blond hair cut into a bob that framed her face beautifully stepped up beside me.
“Eleanor.”
“I’m Becca,” she said, offering a hand and a very knowing smile. “We meant briefly at the picnic.”
“I remember, how are you?”
“I’m good. I’ve heard a lot about you lately.”
My stomach did a traitorous flutter. “You . . . have?”
“Oh yeah.” She nodded, eyes sparkling. “Alex is a lightweight. He tries to play it cool, but the man has been smiling at his phone all week.”
My face went hot. “We’re just—”
“Uh-huh,” she said, cutting me off gently. “I know him too well. I know the look.”
Before I could attempt an argument, Leo spotted us and came barreling over, cape flying and mismatched socks scrunched around his ankles.
“Hi, Miss Eleanor!” he shouted, skidding to a stop. “Did you know Ava is really good at pretending to be a villain? She did the laugh and everything. It was amazing.”
Ava trailed behind him, barely containing her own grin.
Becca leaned close to me. “He adores her already.”
That warmth in my chest expanded further..
Then Leo turned abruptly. “Can Ava come over?”
Ava’s eyes widened behind her headphones. “Can I?”
“Oh—um.” I tried to regroup. “It’s a school night, sweetheart. Not tonight.”
“But tomorrow is Friday,” Leo said matter-of-factly, hands on hips like a tiny lawyer presenting Exhibit A.
Ava nodded vigorously. “And Friday is not a school night.”
I blinked. “Well . . . no.”
Becca bit back a smile. “They’re not wrong.”
The kids stood shoulder to shoulder, united in the most powerful force known to humankind, tiny best friends with shared chaos energy.
I looked at Ava, cheeks flushed, hands flapping excitedly.
Then at Leo, rocking from heel to toe, hopeful and wiggly.
Then back to Becca, who raised an eyebrow in a your move kind of way.
“I mean . . . ” I started slowly, “if it works for you—”
“It works,” Becca said, no hesitation. “We have him tomorrow night, too. My wife will be there too. Mel, I believe you met her the other day at the rink. You’re welcome to stay for dinner, or you can drop Ava off for an hour or two. Whatever’s easier for you.”
Leo fist-pumped like he’d just won a championship.
Ava smiled so wide my heart clenched.
“Okay,” I said, warmth prickling behind my eyes. “Tomorrow it is.”
Becca grinned. “Great. You should text Alex, since it looks like you will both be child-free tomorrow."
I flushed again. “I . . . might do that.”
“Oh, he absolutely would.”
We shared a quiet, conspiratorial laugh.
As the four of us walked toward the parking lot, kids chattering, dusk settling soft and blue over everything, I realized something. This felt good. Like community. Like possibility. Like the start of a life I hadn’t dared to imagine for us a year ago.
And maybe . . . something for just me, too.