Chapter 6 – “Fuck it I love you” - Lana Del Rey #3
“Whatever.” She slings her purse over her shoulder, hips swaying as she disappears into the hallway. Goddamn hips. It’s infuriating that I can still remember how they feel around my face.
“You’re welcome,” I mutter under my breath, flicking off the light.
She stops in the hallway, turning around.
The building is dark now, only the faint glow of the pier filtering through the windows.
Her face is a wall of stone, unwilling to let me see behind the mask she’s wearing.
If only she hadn’t spent years teaching me how to read her eyes.
There’s emotion there, emotion she’s working really hard to hide.
“Thank you,” she says flatly. “Sorry I’m not showcasing my gratitude in a more appropriate way for you. I’m a little fucking embarrassed, if you couldn’t tell. Kind of wishing I was literally anywhere else.”
At least she’s honest.
My instinct is to comfort her, reach out and touch her, tell her it’s okay, and I’m glad she found me.
That part is true. Seeing her right now is fucking torture, and this isn’t anywhere near the kind of reunion I imagined for us, but I’m goddamn grateful she walked through those doors tonight.
That Maggie hadn’t locked them when she left.
I don’t want to think about the lengths Elena might’ve gone to keep that man from bringing her back home where her family is sleeping.
But I’ve been living in self-preservation mode since the moment I woke to an empty bed four years ago. Having her stand in front of me right now is the epitome of the kind of destruction I’ve been trying to avoid in my life.
My brain shouts Danger! Run while you can!
Meanwhile my heart screams Touch! Feel! Home!
I need to get away from her.
“I get it” is all I say.
She nods, spinning around and heading toward the back door. I follow, locking up behind us and wordlessly climbing into the driver’s side of my Bronco. Elena hoists herself in, slamming the door.
I used to think the way she did that was adorable. How such ferocity could fit inside the tiniest of people. The way she’d glare at the height of my truck like it personally wronged her, and the huff she’d make—that she still makes, apparently—when she throws herself inside.
She wobbles slightly, letting out a whoosh as she slumps against the seat. Her head droops, and she rubs her eyes before reaching for the seatbelt.
“Are you drunk?” I ask, thinking back to her bloodshot eyes.
She only shrugs.
I turn the ignition, engine roaring to life before I back out of my parking spot behind the boardwalk and take a right on Main.
Elena groans, rubbing her temple beside me. “Don’t turn so aggressively. I’m nauseous as fuck.”
“Elena, did you drink?” I ask, taking my eyes off the road to look at her briefly.
“A little.”
“It doesn’t seem like a little. Is it possible he put something in your drink? If so we need to go to the hosp—”
“No, no,” she groans, swatting her hand in my direction. “I only had two cocktails at the restaurant, and I didn’t leave the table at any point. There is no way he could’ve spiked them.”
Unless she’s been sober the past four years, she’s definitely had more than two drinks. The Elena I knew could toss them back with the best of them and didn’t often get sick until her fourth shot, at least.
“Did you have anything to drink other than the two cocktails at dinner?”
She winces when I hit a pothole. “I had a little something to calm my nerves before I left the house.” She huffs a laugh. “Meeting strangers on the internet is no joke, clearly.”
Christ.
“You were drinking at home before your date…by yourself?” I attempt to keep the judgment out of my tone, but her muttered “go fuck yourself” says I failed.
The remainder of the ride is silent. Thankfully, it only takes a few minutes before I’m pulling next to the curb out front of Everett and Dahlia’s townhouse. We sit uncomfortably for a moment. Elena simply stares at her hands and makes no move to get out.
“Do you have your keys?”
“Nope.” She drums her fingers against her thigh. “Just realized that I forgot them, and I’m waiting until I find the courage to call my brother.”
I sigh. “C’mon. I have a spare. I’ll let you in.”
We climb out of the Bronco, walking quietly up to the door, and as I slip my key into the lock, I realize that Elena’s about to walk away from me, and I have no clue when I’ll see her again.
I have a rare moment of honest vulnerability here, and for once in my goddamn life, I might have the upper hand.
Maybe it makes me an asshole, but I can’t stop myself from asking, “Why did you seek me out tonight, Elena? Why’d you come find me? You could’ve called your brothers, or your parents, or the police. Why me?”
I glance behind me. She’s chewing on her lip, rocking back and forth on her heels. “I wanted a tattoo,” she lies.
“You know I wouldn’t have given you one.”
I don’t ink drunk people, but more than that, I won’t ever touch her skin again.
“Hmm. Funny.” She brushes past me, planting her hand on the door, lifting her head to give me big brown eyes, fluttering lashes, and that innocent smile that used to—nope, still does—make me rock fucking hard. “You used to love painting my skin.”
I close my eyes, breathing through my nose and willing my body to calm the fuck down.
Elena presses on the door, not realizing I haven’t unlocked it yet. Her head snaps up, and it’s fury in those eyes now. I turn to her, blocking the entrance.
“You don’t get to fucking do that. You don’t get to show up, cause chaos, and then walk away with a smirk on your face and a comment like that.” I cross my arms, leaning against the door with my shoulder. “You never sought me out before tonight.”
“You’ve never sought me out either,” she whispers.
Yes, I did. And I found you beneath the arm of another man.
“I’m not the one who left.”
Her eyes flash with something like regret, but I don’t have it in me to believe her.
I step away from the door, deciding I won’t get the answers that I need. I flick the lock, pulling my key out and slipping it into my pocket.
Elena grasps the handle, murmuring, “I was desperate. You seemed like the best option to get out of the situation. That was all.”
Well, that’s a searing knife through the center of my fucking soul.
“Figures.” I laugh roughly, backing away from her.
“That’s all I’ve ever been to you, right?
An option. A safety net. A reliable doormat to wipe your fucking feet on.
” I turn, walking back toward my truck, mind racing and heart pounding, but I only make it to the end of the driveway before I spin back to her, raking my hands through my hair.
“You don’t get to do this to me anymore, Elena! ”
I’m shouting now, but fuck it.
“It destroyed me, you know?” My voice cracks.
She doesn’t even look at me. She’s still facing the door, head down, but she makes no move to step inside.
“Losing him broke me. But you? You fucking destroyed me.” I take a step toward her, my body begging to close the gap between us and take back everything I’ve already said, and all that I’m about to.
“And I don’t want any part of whatever you’ve—”
The front door swings open, and Elena stumbles back, gasping. Everett’s hulking figure fills the frame. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of black sweats, his hair sleep-mussed as he runs a hand through it.
“What the fuck is going on?” he hisses.
He takes one look at his sister, and I know she can see the disappointment morph his features just as clearly as I can. His eyes then lift to mine, and it’s anger I see there. I wonder how much he heard, knowing he wouldn’t be able to understand it.
“She got drunk at the boardwalk and wandered into my shop. I gave her a ride home.”
I don’t give either of them a chance to say anything else as I walk to my truck. I don’t look back at the house as I start it up and drive away.
The smell of fresh bread and a hint of sweetness assault my senses as I push open the front door to Dahlia and Everett’s townhouse the next morning.
It’s honestly the last place I want to be, but the text I woke to from Everett that read: My house. Now left little room for argument.
Their kitchen is directly off the entryway, so I walk right into it, finding Everett, Leo, Dahlia, and Everett’s friend Ryan standing around the island as Dahlia slides a tray of steaming croissants across the counter.
Slipping off her oven mitt, she says, “I’m taking Lou to your mom’s this morning, and then we’re meeting Darby at Honeysuckle and getting brunch after.”
She lifts to her toes, kissing Everett’s cheek before stepping away. He doesn’t let her get far before he grabs her wrist and tugs her back into him, smashing his mouth against hers. She smiles, planting a hand on his chest and letting out a small whimper as she pulls away.
“Love you, Wildflower.” He gives her a dopey smile, the stern expression he flashed me when I walked in immediately wiped away.
“Love you,” Dahlia drawls. She calls for her daughter from the bottom of the staircase, and the strawberry-blond eleven-year-old appears a moment later.
Everett sees the girls off, cheerful and lovesick, before slamming the front door shut and turning to me, fury on his face. Pointing to Ryan in the corner of the kitchen, he growls, “Tell him everything.”
Ryan is the County Sheriff, and one of Everett’s best friends. Normally, I don’t think this kind of complaint would go through the sheriff's office, but knowing Elena, she’d be unwilling and uncooperative when it comes to the authorities. Which tells me we may be speaking off the record right now.
“Where is she?” I ask.
“Still asleep,” Leo says.
I’ve got to get the fuck out of here before she comes downstairs. When I lift my head, my gaze clashes with Everett’s across the kitchen, and he nods as if I spoke those words aloud.