Chapter 18
“What do you do, Sutton?” Elijah asked as we walked out to the car after that disaster of a therapy session. I had revealed too much. Felt too much. I didn’t like it. “Back home? When you’re not here taking care of your mom?”
It seemed pointless not to answer his questions now. The therapist was never guessing. And we only had one session left anyway. Michael and Elijah were going to win this bet. I felt sorry for Tara, who only wanted to strengthen her relationship. “I own a restaurant in the city.”
“You own a restaurant in Los Angeles?”
“Don’t be too impressed. It’s been called a lackluster, boring dining experience.”
“How old are you?” he suddenly asked.
“Same age as Tara. Twenty-eight.”
“And you own a restaurant,” he said again. “For how long?”
“Almost a year.” I stopped at my car and turned to face him.
He had a look of wonder on his face. “Are your parents loaded or something?”
I didn’t know why that question felt like a kick to the gut.
Maybe because I knew that, even if I’d asked, my parents wouldn’t have given me money.
Maybe because I knew that we had borrowed money from Raya’s parents.
It wasn’t a lot, but enough to show the bank we were willing to put up collateral for the loan.
We made payments on that family loan monthly, along with the payments to the bank.
And that was all the help we’d gotten. The rest we’d done on our own.
Something he obviously didn’t think possible.
“Something like that,” I muttered and turned to open the car door.
“Sutton, wait.”
I sighed and faced him again.
“My parents are loaded. They’re the ones who started the boxing gym because I was somewhat good at boxing when I was a teenager.
They built this whole thing around me, for me, and I don’t even want it.
But I have to stay. At least until it makes enough to pay my dad back.
I can’t fail at this.” His face was open, vulnerable, pleading. Like I somehow had all the answers.
“Is it failing?” I asked.
“No. Unless you judge failure by how much you want to be in a place.”
“That’s hard,” I said.
“Yeah.”
“Maybe you should talk to your dad. Tell him how you feel.”
His eyes shot to the ground, then back up to mine. “Easier said than done.” His smile crept back onto his face. His vulnerable expression tucked behind it. “Probably not for you. You seem to have nerves of steel.”
“Cold as steel, my ex would tell you.”
“You’re not cold,” he said.
I let out a single laugh, wondering if he was being sarcastic.
He didn’t return the laugh. He only seemed sincere. “You’re not. Do you think you’re cold?”
“Maybe … sometimes.”
He widened his heart-stopping smile. “You searched out an ice pack for me, then held it on my face when I was being stubborn.”
“After I punched you,” I reminded him.
He took a step closer. “You were very good at comforting me. You’re not cold,” he said again.
I wasn’t sure why those words, of all the words he could’ve said, were drilling into my chest, seeming to fracture the walls I had up. “Okay, well…” I took a step back, toward my car door.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said.
My head whipped in his direction. “Why?”
“Because I’m helping you with your mom.”
“That was last week’s homework.”
He shrugged. “Wrap your warm steel beams around it, because it’s happening.”
I rolled my eyes and he laughed. Then he was walking to his car, and I was letting him without further protest.
“What if we did karaoke every Friday?” Raya asked on the phone the next morning.
I tried not to immediately shut down that idea. Tried to seriously consider it. But I couldn’t for long. “That’s not really our crowd. We’re bordering on high-end.”
“True,” she said. “What do these annoying food critics want from us?”
We’d gotten another average review overnight.
This time from a popular social media critic.
“We’re in Los Angeles. They want an experience with their food.
” We had spent so much time perfecting the menu: tasting and reworking and tasting and reworking and tasting and reworking.
We hadn’t put as much effort into the space itself.
By the time we’d ordered tables and had the beautiful bar built and picked out the perfect chairs, the money was all but gone.
We’d spent the last of it on generic art, figuring the food would be enough.
The food was apparently not enough. People wanted all their senses wowed.
“Let’s have a brainstorming session with our waitstaff and chef and ask for ideas.” See, Dr. Franklin, I could ask for help.
“Sounds good,” Raya said.
“Good luck with the interviews later.”
“What interviews?”
“The ones for—”
“Just kidding, Sutton. I remember. I’m doing a decent job over here. I can’t wait for you to come back, but I’m holding it together.”
“I know you are. Thank you.”
We hung up and I rejoined my mom in the living room. “We have physical therapy in a couple hours,” I said.
“Only one of us has physical therapy in a couple hours,” she responded.
“True.”
She nodded and then closed her eyes as if the nod made her dizzy.
“You okay?”
“Fine.”
“Mom,” I said, remembering yesterday’s therapy session and how it reminded me that she used to do antique shopping and thrift shopping and all the unique finds she’d made.
She had style. Maybe not so much anymore, but when she’d been interested in that.
“When you go to a restaurant, what kind of atmosphere do you like?”
“Are you upset over the review?”
How did she know I’d gotten another review? “Do you have me on Google Alerts?”
“Yes, I actually do,” she said. “This one wasn’t as bad as the last one.”
It felt just as bad because, before, we’d told ourselves it was just one opinion. We couldn’t say that anymore.
“I don’t know what kids like these days,” she said, answering my question about atmosphere.
“But what do you like? Middle-aged people visit our restaurant a lot.”
“Is the music too loud? Is it too dark?”
“I don’t think so,” I said.
“That’s what my friends always complain about.”
“But what do you like to see? You, personally.”
“I don’t know. The menu. I can’t fix all your problems for you, Sutton.”
Was she being difficult on purpose, trying to misunderstand me? Or was this just who she was?
“That’s true,” I said. “I’m going to shower before we have to leave. Do you need anything?”
“I’m fully capable,” she said.
I kept the words I guess I’m off bathroom duty then to myself and left.
I wasn’t planning on washing my hair today, I’d just washed it two days ago.
But as the hot water poured over me, I put my head down and let the spray work on the knots that still existed along my shoulders and up my neck.
I switched the spray pattern on the showerhead to the massage setting and closed my eyes as it pounded along my spine in a steady rhythm.
Soon the hair at the nape of my neck was soaked, so I gave up attempting to keep it dry.
I took out the claw clip and set it on the counter just outside the shower curtain, letting my hair fall around my shoulders and flatten with the hot water.
Steam opened my lungs, and I put my hands on the tiled wall in front of me, leaning in as the water continued to work.
Hazel eyes flashed behind my closed lids, and a memory of Elijah rubbing the knots in my neck with his strong hands immediately sprang to mind.
With it came an unexpected tightening in my stomach and lower.
How would it feel to have his hands all over me?
I turned to face the showerhead, the water grazing my nipples.
I gasped at how sensitive they felt right now.
God, it had been a long time. Even when I was with Nate, my mind had been too caught up in work and stress to let myself relax enough to have any sort of release. I’d often help him get there, only to turn over and go to sleep. Shit, he was right to break up with me, wasn’t he?
The water was hitting lower now and a little moan escaped.
I reached up to unlatch the showerhead from its cradle.
I fumbled in my attempt to thread the hose through the holder, and water sprayed the shower curtain, then straight up to the ceiling before I had a firm grip on the handle.
I was out of breath as I held the pulsing showerhead in my hand.
I stared at it for a moment, wondering if I was even still in the mood.
An image of Elijah’s head close to my stomach as I held ice to his face got me right back where I needed to be.
Picturing his hand brushing the side of my leg took me even further.
I lowered the showerhead, braced my hand against the wall, and closed my eyes.
I saw stars for a moment as the sensation sent a wave of pleasure through me.
I lifted my foot to the edge of the tub, and more waves elicited a gasping breath.
I was climbing slowly, my whole body tense with pleasure.
Then I heard the sharp rings of the bell from the living room, and my climb screeched to a halt. “No, no, no,” I muttered, keeping the showerhead right where it was. I just needed a couple more minutes.
The bell was incessant and loud, and it sounded like it was closer than the couch.
Had she fallen? Dragged herself down the hall?
Was she experiencing some kind of emergency?
I replaced the showerhead and turned off the water.
I wrapped a towel around my body, my hair still dripping wet as I opened the door.
“Mom?” I called out. “Are you okay?”
The bell kept ringing.
I walked down the hall to find her sitting, perfectly fine, on the couch. She looked at me with a blank expression.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Someone is at the door.” She pointed to the door that was literally twenty feet in front of us. I knew she couldn’t have answered it without a lot of effort, but it felt like maybe she could’ve put some in.
“Let me throw on a robe,” I said.
“They’ve been knocking for a while,” she said. “Please just tell them to stop.”
I approached the door, knowing full well who was on the other side. I had tried to forget he was coming today in case something came up again. And he’d never told me a time. I cracked it open, poked my head out, and said, “I need to get dressed. Give me a second.”
“Why is your face so flushed?” he asked.
Maybe because I thought he deserved it with a question like that, or maybe because of my thoughts in the shower, whatever the case, I swung open the door. “Just come in. I’ll be a minute.”
His eyes traveled down my body, and now it was his face that was flushed. I’d surprised him. Quite frankly, I surprised myself. But his expression made it completely worth it.
“Mom, this is Elijah. Elijah, Andrea. I’ll be back.”
I rushed down the hall and shut myself in my room, leaning my back against the door. Across the way, the mirror above my desk reflected an image of what Elijah had just seen: my body barely covered by a towel, pink cheeks and chest, and dripping wet hair, wild and messy.
What had gotten into me?