Chapter Eighteen
Marcee rarely drank coffee. It was sacrilegious to Alex, but the caffeine made her too jittery. Today, however, she was glad for the jolt to her system after a restless night tossing and turning.
Sitting at a cafe a few blocks from her parents’ apartment, she took another sip, her feet bouncing beneath the table against the wooden floor. They should’ve picked a different place to meet. The music playing over the speakers gave her a headache.
Goosebumps trailed up and down her arms as the front door opened, sending in a wave of bitterly cold air.
Eli.
The legs of Marcee’s chair dragged across the floor as she lurched to her feet, bumping the table in the process.
“Here, let me.” She covered the feet between her table and the entryway, grabbing at the door.
“I got it,” Eli replied, shoving the door far enough open to maneuver across the threshold. “Do it all day, every day.”
“Of course,” she replied, stepping out of the way. A chipped nail caught on her hair as she ran a hand through it, grimacing at how she was shaking.
Deep breath, Marcee. This is Eli, not a blind date.
“Marcee?”
His voice jolted her from her thoughts, and she hurried to the table, moving aside the chair across from her own, because of course, she didn’t think about it.
“Sorry,” she mumbled, face flushed as she sat.
“No problem,” Eli replied, taking the spot across from her and locking his brakes.
He was different—a bit more detached, more put together.
His black sweater fit him like a dream, the color contrasting beautifully with his fair skin.
She was staring, but she couldn’t make herself stop.
He was always cute, even when most kids were awkward.
As an adult, though, with his chiseled cheeks and full lips, he was stunning.
His blue eyes slid to the door and back.
“Table closest to the door,” he remarked. “Guess that makes sense, considering how much you like to run away.”
His words hit her like a boot to the stomach, knocking the air out of her and pushing her back into her chair.
“Fuck.” It came out on a heavy exhale, and to her absolute horror, tears sprang to her eyes. She blinked furiously, ordering her tear ducts to shut down. She’d said so much worse to herself over the years—it should mean nothing. And hell, it was the truth.
“Sorry, was that harsh?” He flagged down the waitress, turning a smile in her direction.
“Cappuccino, please.” As she left, he folded his hands together on the table.
“I’ve thought about this all night. Honestly, I’ve thought about this conversation for years.
What would I say to you face-to-face? What words would hurt you the most—make you feel what I’ve felt every day since I woke up and you were gone? ”
“Eli—” she started, but his gaze, as sharp as glass, stopped her.
“I never expected to see you last night. For a moment, all I felt was joy.”
The waitress stopped by with his drink and refilled her cup, ignoring the heavy silence between them. Could she hear Marcee’s heartbeat, echoing so loudly in her own ears it was like sitting next to a war drum?
Eli took a drink, licking foam off his upper lip before continuing.
“Then I got home, and the more I thought about you, the more that joy turned into anger. No word from you for six years. Six years, Marcee.” He slapped his hand on the table, forcing her to look at him.
“You were my best friend. More than anyone, you were the person I relied on the most. Don’t give me some bullshit response about being upset about finding out I told the counselor about your eating disorder, either.
I know you were there for six days when I was in a coma. My parents told me.”
“I was an asshole,” she whispered, wanting desperately to look anywhere but at the man across from her.
“I deserve better than that.” He cleared his throat, grip tightening around his mug. “You were always selfish, but with the parents you have, you had to be. I never faulted you for that. I never thought you were shallow, though. Was that it, Marcee? I wasn’t good enough any more?”
“No!” she exclaimed, leaning forward to reach for him then pulling back at the last second. He wasn’t hers to comfort. “God, no. That wasn’t it.”
“Then why?” His voice cracked and he squeezed his eyes shut, gripping the edge of the table as if it was a lifeline. Slowly, he reopened them, irises turned into a watery blue. “Why did you leave?”
Marcee’s skin felt like it was going to explode from the pressure—the desire to bolt out the front door and run back to Belle Cliff. Air rushed into her lungs as she inhaled shakily, the words quivering on the tip of her tongue, ready to be let loose.
“Because it was my fault. The longer I sat in that hospital room, the more I realized I would never, ever be able to fix what I had done. I could’ve spent my whole life trying to make it up to you and still failed.
The best thing I could do was save you having to look at my face every day and be reminded of why you wouldn’t walk again or play soccer ever again. ”
Eli gave her an incredulous look. “What the hell are you talking about?”
She pressed her palms to her chest. “I ran away from the prom. I ran across the street through traffic. If I had just listened to you, stopped being a drama queen for five seconds, none of it would’ve happened.
You never would’ve chased me outside and that stupid, stupid driver wouldn’t have hit you.
” Her throat closed and she was barely able to get out the words.
“Five seconds, Eli. That’s all it would’ve taken for everything to be different.
I ruined everything and all it took was five seconds. ”
“I don’t blame you for what happened to me, Marcee.”
“Why not? It’s my fault.”
“Were you driving the car that night? Did you decide to run a red light and speed through a crosswalk?” Eli shook his head.
“Shit happens—terrible shit, all the time. Like you said, five seconds sooner or later and nothing would’ve happened.
You can play the ‘what if’ game for the rest of your life, letting it eat you alive, but you shouldn’t. There’s no point.”
She’d been playing it for six years and it had consumed her. Even when it wasn’t at the forefront of her mind, it was always there, poisoning everything.
“I do blame you for running the second time.”
Marcee flinched, biting the inside of her cheek so hard that she tasted blood.
He stared at her, unyielding. “You didn’t even stay long enough to make sure I woke up.
Do you know what that felt like? You were the first face I expected to see in the hospital room.
” He shook his head, eyebrows knit together.
“I just knew you would be beside my bed, waiting. But you weren’t.
And you never were. Day after day after day and you never showed up. You never called.”
Each word was a punch, knocking her inch by inch into a corner.
“I couldn’t. Looking your parents in the eye, wondering if and when they would hate me when they heard the whole story? I couldn’t do it.” She ran a hand through her hair and exhaled. “You were the best soccer player in the state. Watching you play was… inspiring.”
She thought back on all the games away, cheering him on from the sidelines, impatient to see him dominate in college. But she never got to. Her lower lip started to tremble. Across from her, Eli’s hands were balled into fists on the table.
“I am the reason you didn’t play college soccer.
I am the reason you never got the chance to go pro.
I snuffed out your dreams, Eli.” A tear slipped out, plopping heavily onto her shirt.
Her heart ached like it was breaking all over again, just like it did that final night at the hospital, when she realized she was the worst thing that ever happened to him.
Shakily, she pressed her palm over her chest, trying to hold the pain inside.
“And then I went and did what we always said we would. How could I ever apologize after that? There are no words that will ever make that right. It will never be okay.”
“Marcee.”
It would never be okay.
“Marcee, look at me.”
She couldn’t.
“Damn it, Marcee, look at me.” His voice cracked like a whip across the table. Hastily, she looked at him, vision blurry.
“Do I look like I’m hurting?”
Mutely, she shook her head.
He nodded, unclenching his fists and resting them gently on the table.
“Because I’m not. Was I upset that all my big plans were shot?
Of course. But I got new ones, Marcee, ones that were more likely, anyway.
This coaching gig? It’s a dream. And I get to live it every day.
I get to live every day. I’m happy and healthy and there is nothing wrong with me. ”
And there really wasn’t. If she’d ever taken the time to reach out or check in on him—really check in on him—she would’ve seen what she saw at that table: a vibrant, beautiful, happy man who had his entire life in front of him.
She’d spent so long catering to her guilt and weakness that she’d denied any future where Eli was thriving, all so she could wallow in her own self-pity.
It was despicable and Marcee didn’t want to do it any more, not when there was an opportunity to move past it.
“Well,” she replied, pointing to his drink, “you have abysmal taste in beverages, so there’s a little something wrong with you.”
He barked out a laugh and took an exaggerated drink. “Don’t hate on the ’cino just because your taste buds haven’t evolved.”
“When”—she cut off, nerves stilling her tongue before she pushed them down—“when did you start drinking coffee?” He’d hated it in high school. Hadn’t even liked the smell.
“That first year after the accident,” he answered, shrugging. “There were a lot of appointments, a lot of medications, a lot of therapy. It was hard not to pick it up after spending so much time at different hospitals.”
Marcee nodded, wanting to ask more but unsure if it was okay. “Hospitals? As in plural?”
“Yup,” Eli replied. “We got a lot of opinions and had just about every test run under the sun to see if there was a chance I could walk again.” He winced. “Tried a few procedures, but it was pointless. There was too much damage done by the car.”
“Sounds exhausting,” Marcee remarked quietly, imagining his frustration.
“It was,” he agreed, “but I met a lot of amazing people who helped me adjust. I realized I’m still the same person I’ve always been. I just move a little differently.”
“I’m sorry, Eli.” Marcee reached out and hesitantly touched his hand. “I know it’s six years late and I am the biggest asshole in the world, but I am truly, truly sorry.”
She thought he was going to yank his hand away, but he kept it beneath hers.
“Truly,” he said, eyes flickering across her face, “madly, deeply?”
And as inappropriate as it seemed, she burst out laughing, her whole body shaking from the force of it.
“Savage Garden,” she wheezed. “Our—”
“—eighth grade dance,” he finished, grinning. “Cody Rogers never saw that bony knee coming.”
Marcee wiped the tears off her face. “He deserved it, trying to grope me right on the dance floor.”
The waitress came by their table and Eli ordered two cappuccinos. When she brought them back a moment later, Eli held up the mug.
“You’re different, too, ya know.”
Marcee cocked her head to the side. “I am?”
“Sure.” He took a drink and leaned back, eyes raking over her. “You’re… settled? I’m not sure I can describe it, but when we were kids, you always had this restless energy, especially in places like this.” He motioned to the cafe. “You seem content.”
She snorted. “My therapist might disagree.” Although, in ways, she did feel a bit content. She had her dream job, an awesome best friend, and an amazing boyfriend. “It took me a long time to get to a healthy place, all jokes aside. It’s day-to-day and some are better than others.”
“I get it,” Eli said, nodding along. “Hell, do I ever.”
Marcee’s eyes locked with his. “I wish you didn’t. I wish more than anything you didn’t understand.”
“I know that now. Listen, apology accepted, princess. We’ve got too much life to live to continue holding grudges.” Smiling, he tipped his cup her way. “To Cody and the hopefully fruitful life he has enjoyed.”
Chuckling, she picked up her mug and tapped it against his. “To old friends and new dreams.”
“Now,” Eli said, “tell me about Duke. Tell me about your job now. Tell me everything I missed, Marcee. I want to know it all.”