33. Ellie
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
ellie
ANOTHER WEEK PASSED, LABOR Day had come and gone, and the Millennium Falcon still wasn’t finished.
But not for a lack of trying.
Some things just took a little bit longer.
We worked on it almost every day. And even though I’d originally gotten it for Sully’s benefit, it was one of the only things that had gotten me through the week.
It was nice, feeling like I could get something right for once.
And I liked being on the same team with Sully, solving something with him, following a plan that had an ending I knew we could reach.
It was so much easier putting something together than talking about the way everything fell apart.
Last night, we sat on the ground, and I studied Sully’s face while he concentrated on organizing the tiny blocks. My brain cataloged the lines that weren’t there before, evidence of the emotional exhaustion of this week.
I hoped he didn’t feel trapped here, hoped he didn’t feel like he had a responsibility to keep staying at Maple Street.
Because even in moments of levity, when his lips twitched with a smile, or he tossed out one of his usual jokes and an air of familiarity settled around us…
even then, there was a heaviness in his gaze.
And I didn’t know how not to feel guilty about it.
He tried not to let me see how this weighed on him, but I knew. In the same way that he could read me in a single glance, I knew.
“What would you like to do today?” Sully asked.
I sat at the kitchen table, cup of coffee in my hands.
It was decaf.
Still.
I wasn’t sure how to stop.
“I don’t know.”
I didn’t want to do anything. I didn’t even really want to change or shower.
That would involve going into the bathroom, and I didn’t like looking down and seeing invisible pregnancy tests scattered on the floor or the striped rug that Theo had scooped me off, the one I’d lain on for God knows how long.
It helped to use the upstairs bathroom, the one that didn’t have the rug.
But it had the same tile. And it might be ridiculous to feel as though tile was taunting me, but…
I sighed. Sully was looking at me with a familiar pained expression—the same one he’d been wearing all week.
“I might just…get some work done,” I said, taking a cautious sip of the coffee, even though I knew it wasn’t hot.
“You’re going to work?” Sully repeated. “On a Saturday?”
I shrugged. Work sounded nice. It was better than doing something I usually enjoyed and realizing that I didn’t like it as much as I remembered, and then wondering how long that feeling would last.
“Or work on the Millennium Falcon, maybe,” I said.
I didn’t mind the idea of sitting on the living room floor some more, putting together more pieces of plastic so I could feel somewhat accomplished every time I found the correct place for one.
“You don’t have to stay, you know,” I murmured and then stared at the black liquid in my mug, the tiny bubbles forming in it along the outer edges. “You can go home, Sawyer. It’s been two weeks.”
Silence followed in the wake of my comment, and when I couldn’t bear it anymore, I glanced away from my cooling coffee to peek at Sully.
He was staring at me, a muscle ticking in his jawline.
“Unless you explicitly tell me you don’t want me here, I intend to stay, Eleanor.”
Something cracked in my chest, and it felt an awful lot like relief.
Because the truth was, I didn’t want him to leave.
Even though the atmosphere that surrounded us was somber, a touch melancholic, confusing, stilted…
despite all of that, his presence was the balm I needed.
It was what was holding me together. He was holding me together, whether he knew it or not.
After years of clinging to fear, of facing the idea of pregnancy with the utmost trepidation, I honestly never expected to feel this way after experiencing a pregnancy loss.
Perhaps this was terrible to even think, perhaps this was the reason that my new reality had been ripped away from me, perhaps to some extent I’d deserved what had happened, but…
at some point in my life, I would have assumed if I were ever in the shoes I was today, that I’d feel some level of reprieve.
Reprieve from fears, from needles, from agonizing over whether I’d made the right choice.
Now, the choices were gone.
Just like that.
And the only uphill battle I faced was navigating my way through a sea of emotions—a sea that didn’t include the swell of relief I might have thought it would. Not at all.
No, I was gutted in a way I never would have expected.
And even though I knew I wasn’t at fault, especially given what my doctor had told me, I still struggled to shake the feeling of guilt. I woke every morning gutted and confused.
But Sullivan London would always be my rock, my steadiness in an ocean full of storms. And I hadn’t realized just how unmoored I’d felt for the last few years until I came home, anchored myself in his harbors again.
Now I needed to make sure we could get through this without dragging us both down to the bottom, to new kinds of depths.
“I want you here,” I whispered, and Sully took an audible breath. “But only if it’s where you want to be, too.”
“It’s where I want to be,” he said without hesitation. Then his voice softened. “In fact, I have a lot of plans for you and this house, Eleanor.”
I lifted a brow as I looked at him. An unbidden smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. “You do?”
“Yes.” He said it so matter-of-factly, so seriously, that my lips continued to stretch. “And if you think I could tug you away from your Saturday work, I’d love to get your opinion on some paint samples.”
My brows inched higher. “Paint samples?”
He nodded and then turned to gesture around the kitchen. “When my mother was here the other day, she pointed out that the house could use some, um, freshening up.”
I blinked at him, surprised. No, shocked. “Anne London said that.”
Sully was still looking around the kitchen, as though assessing it. “She sure did.”
I wondered if perhaps Anne had decided to give her son a project, something he could focus his energy on—a similar strategy to me. But then Sully added, “She said she’s only kept the house the way it is because it has unfinished business.”
“What does—” My words stuck in my throat as soon as he turned to look at me, his blue eyes looking greener today, likely a reflection of the wall color. Which was, admittedly, looking a little worse for wear.
Sully’s gaze bored into mine, communicating words he didn’t seem quite ready to say aloud.
But he did say, “I think this house deserves a fresh start. What do you think?”
I had to swallow past a ball of emotion before I was able to reply.
“I think a fresh start sounds nice.”
Bud’s Hardware was a locally owned shop with bright red awning that Sully and I used to go to when we needed supplies for school projects or extra parts to try to keep his dad’s old truck alive once he passed it down to Sully.
The store sat across from the Pontoon Patio, and when we parked in front of it, I hesitated on the sidewalk, looking for my mom’s car on the other side of the road.
“Have you talked to her?” Sully asked after a second, when I remained frozen in my spot.
“Not since…” Before. “I stopped by to see her one day, but I didn’t tell her about…”
Sully nodded, not needing me to finish my sentence. “Do you want to tell her?” he asked gently.
I shook my head. “I don’t know. Maybe eventually.”
“Okay.” I turned, and Sully put a hand on my lower back, a steadying guidance as we walked toward the hardware store instead.
He’d been patient with me today as I got ready and told me more than once that he could bring the samples back home if I didn’t want to leave.
But I knew he wanted me to come, wanted to see me get out of the house, so I pushed myself to get in the car.
And the fresh air did feel nice. “Just let me know if I can help.”
“I will,” I agreed, and then the chime on the door rang out as we stepped back in time.
Bud’s hadn’t changed. It looked precisely the way it did back in high school, including the graying, stout man who stood behind the counter just inside the door.
“Haven’t seen you two kids around in a while,” Bud said, flashing us a jovial smile that sent a wave of nostalgia coursing through me.
“Probably because we’re not kids anymore, ya old man,” Sully said, flashing his signature lopsided grin as he walked ahead of me to handle the interaction.
Bud gave a hearty chuckle and shook his head. “What can I help you with today?”
“Grabbing some paint samples.”
“Ah, new project?”
Sully gave a shrug. “Just a long-overdue one.”
His hand slipped into mine then, and even though it was the simplest touch, I felt my body respond. Warmth slithered up my arm, going straight to my chest. He pulled me toward the far wall, covered with a rainbow of samples.
“Just let me know if y’all need anything!” Bud called after us, and Sully gave him a salute.
“Thanks, boss. Will do.”
When we were parked in front of our endless options, I tilted my head to look up at Sully. “So what are you thinking?”
He looked taken aback by the question. “Oh, Eleanor,” he tsked. “Why do you think I brought you along? You know this isn’t my forte.”
“Um, it’s not mine, either,” I argued, giving him a funny stare. “Sullivan, we have nearly identical fortes. We are essentially the same person in different fonts.”
My throat closed at the end of my sentence as I thought about what Chloe said on the phone, how commonalities were the glue of relationships.