Chapter 8
Ellie
M
y first week as a director went better than I expected. I half expected myself to fail and run away screaming, never to return again. I thought for sure the students would laugh at me, call me an imposter and revolt.
But that didn’t happen. In fact, they’ve been great. They seem really excited to start the auditioning process, and I’m excited to watch them give it their all. I know what it feels like to stand in front of a director and have to place everything else aside to focus on becoming someone else for a few moments.
Acting is one of the most vulnerable things you can do. Not only are you trying to portray someone else, but you also have to make people believe what you’re saying and doing.
You have to put yourself out there and be prepared to get rejected hundreds of times. Your entire life is on display, and you’re doing it all in front of thousands of people.
People who judge you for every move you make; what you wear, what you eat, how much you weigh, how you spend your money. I’m not a famous actress, I’m not on TV or in the movies, and stage acting is much different from film acting. I have seen both sides of things, and my stance has never changed. Being an actor is not for the weak.
It's long, gruelling rehearsals, late nights studying lines and blocking, getting to know the character you’re playing. I wouldn’t trade it for the world, though. I love that I get to do this every day. I love that I chose this path for myself, and I love that I never gave up. I didn’t exactly expect that it would bring me back to Ellington to direct, but here I am. I am proud to be where I am.
I’m at the coffee shop on campus when I get a text from Lainey, once again asking if I’ve murdered my new roommate yet. I swear she just loves the drama of it all. If she were here, she’d be having a field day. I reply with a quick ‘nope’ and shove my phone in my bag. I’m trying to study this cast list and get an idea of what each character is like so I can mentally cast some of my students. They haven’t auditioned yet, but I like to have an idea of who would be good playing who.
The café is quiet today, with only a few students scattered at the small tables in the dining space. One works on their laptop while another eats a scone, seemingly watching something on their phone. The space smells like freshly brewed coffee, one of my favorite smells in the entire world, and the lights are dim. I absolutely love spending time at a café. Whenever I go to a new city, I have to try out their local cafés to see who has the best coffee. I would say I’m kind of like a coffee connoisseur.
I’ve been avoiding the house since my conversation with Jamie the other day. He knows what he did. He knows how he left me without a word. He’d said he’s not asking me to be okay with it, but if he’s not asking for forgiveness, what does he want? Obviously, the rational part of me knows that he’s not here for me.
There’s a huge possibility that he wants absolutely nothing from me and he’s just here to do his job. He had no way of knowing that I'd be here, nor would he have cared. He’s not here for me. I know that. I don’t want him to be… at least, I think I don’t want him to be.
God, why did he have to show up here? Why him? Why me? I spent so long trying to leave him in the past, and now he’s here? Out of absolutely freaking nowhere, might I add.
Have I done something awful and this is how God is punishing me? Forcing me to share a house with the man that obliterated my heart?
A part of me still hates him for what he did to me, what he put me through. He doesn’t even know that half of it.
The sleepless nights spent curled up in a ball crying. The memories I had to erase from my mind. The time I had to spend telling myself that it wasn’t me, it was him.
At eighteen, he was my world. I saw my future, and he was in it. To have that ripped away so suddenly without a reason, that was the cruelest thing he could have done to me. To someone he claimed to love. Because it was easier for him to just leave without a trace? What about me?
Jamie was selfish and cruel. What he did was so completely out of character for him and I think that’s what shocked me the most. Looking at him now though, who knows who he is. I’d heard things throughout the years of how well he was doing in the NHL.
He was apparently a big star, which is no surprise. I always knew he would be. I never wished for him to fail, that’s just not who I am. But I hated him, and nothing could have changed that. Not him coming back, not him apologizing.
Taking a deep breath, I try to push thoughts of Jamie out of my mind. I will never let him consume my thoughts again. Although, when I saw him walk into my classroom the other day, all sweaty and dressed in sweats and his Rhode Island Storm shirt, I almost fainted.
I actually had to hold my breath, because how the hell can someone look that good while simultaneously looking like a wet dog? That should be impossible.
Yet there he was, looking all God-like and masculine. I’m sure he’s had women fawning over him for years since becoming a big hockey star. Not that I care, of course. It’s just an educated guess.
There’s no way he doesn’t have a whole line up of women waiting for him to come back to the team and give them what they desperately want from him. I bet he can’t wait to get back to them, too.
Jeez, I sound like a jealous girlfriend. Jamie can do whatever the hell he wants with whoever he wants. I don’t give a shit. He’s nothing to me but an annoying thorn in my side that I have to deal with while I’m here. Once the semester is over, I’ll be gone, and Jamie will no longer be an issue.
I’m halfway through my latte when the bell above the café door rings again. I don’t look up right away. I don’t need to. Something in my chest tightens instinctively, like my body has learned his presence before my brain can catch up.
“Ellie.”
Goddammit.
I close my eyes for a brief, traitorous second before lifting my gaze. Jamie stands a few feet away from my table, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket. He looks… mischievous. Almost as if he’s playing a game and he’s the only one that knows the rules.
“I’m busy,” I say, gesturing pointedly to the stack of papers in front of me.
“Yeah. I can see that,” he says, shifting his weight and glancing around the café like he’s suddenly aware we’re in public. “I won’t take long.”
I sigh, irritation flaring hot and fast. “What do you want, Jamie?”
He pauses, his jaw tightening.
“Dean Ashby called,” he says. “About the housing.”
My stomach flips. Against my will, hope sparks.
“And?” I ask carefully.
“And there’s nothing available. Yet,” he grimaces like he knows exactly how that’ll land. “He said maybe mid-semester.”
The hope fizzles out, leaving behind something bitter and sharp.
“So, we’re stuck,” I say flatly. Jamie winces a bit, like my reaction was expected but disappointing.
“For now.” He nods once. “Yeah.”
I stare at him for a long moment, then look back down at my notes. “Okay.”
“That’s it?” he asks, clearly thrown.
“That’s it,” I repeat. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I have to get back to work.”
He huffs out a quiet laugh. “You always do that.”
I look up sharply. “Do what?”
“Avoid having a conversation,” he shrugs and my blood boils.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means that even back then you avoided talking to me whenever we had to talk about something serious. Like when I told you I wasn’t going to Ellington because I wanted to focus on hockey. You completely skirted around that entire conversation for weeks.”
My eyes water, and I hate myself for being so emotional. He’s right. I did avoid that conversation for as long as I could because I knew it was only going to end one way. And it did.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie, packing up my papers in hurry. I want to get the hell out of here before I start crying. He doesn’t get to see me cry.
Something flashes across his face. Regret, maybe. Or guilt. Or both. He pulls out the chair across from me and sits before I can stop him.
“I’m not here to fight,” he says. “Or… whatever this is.”
“Then why are you here?” I demand, keeping my voice low.
“I just… I wanted to let you know that Ashby called. We’re living together, Ellie. Pretending the other doesn’t exist isn’t exactly working.”
“It works great for me.”
“Bull,” he quips.
My grip tightens around my coffee cup. “You don’t get to tell me how I feel.”
“I know,” he says. “I’m sorry.”
The word hangs between us, fragile and thin. I don’t know if I even believe him.
I scoff. “You already said that.”
“I know,” he says quietly, leaning forward slightly. “I just… I meant it. Then and now.”
I study his face, searching for the boy I loved, the man I lost, seeing a stranger in front of me. He looks tired. Older. The cocky edge is still there, but dulled, like it’s been worn down by pain and disappointment and a knee that quit on him.
“You disappeared,” I say quietly. “Do you know what that does to someone?”
His throat bobs. “Yeah. I do.”
“Then why?” my voice cracks despite my best efforts to keep my freaking emotions under control.
He looks down at the table, fingers curling into fists. He looks like he’s at war with himself, and damn me, I feel bad for him.
“Because I was scared,” he admits. “Because if I stayed, I would’ve chosen you. And I didn’t trust myself not to.”
The unexpected confession hits me square in the chest. The thought of him choosing me over something he’d worked for his entire life makes me both happy and devastated.
“That doesn’t make it better,” I whisper.
“I know,” he looks up again, eyes steady. “But it’s the truth.”
Silence settles between us, heavy with emotion. Like neither of us knows what to do or how to feel, and we’re just… lost.
I shake my head, pushing my chair back. “I can’t do this. Not right now.”
“Ellie, come on.”
I stand, slinging my bag over my shoulder. “Just leave me alone, okay?”
“Ellie,” he says as I turn away.
I hesitate, just for a moment.
“When are you going to admit to yourself that you’re kind of glad I’m here?”
Is he for real? Did he actually just ask me that? Right when I was starting to feel like he was human again?
“Never.”
With that, I walk out of the café before he can say anything else.
That night, the house is quiet in a way that feels intentional. I cook pasta for one and eat it standing at the counter, scrolling mindlessly through my phone. Jamie doesn’t come into the kitchen. I would think I was home alone if it weren’t for his car in the driveway. When I finally head upstairs, his door is closed.
Good.
I shower, change into pajamas, and crawl into bed, staring at the ceiling as the events of the day replay in my mind.
‘If I stayed, I would’ve chosen you.’
The words refuse to leave me alone. I squeeze my eyes shut. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change what happened. Love doesn’t excuse abandonment, and apologies don’t erase years of healing I had to do on my own. Still… my chest aches. Why am I like this? Why can’t I be more like Lainey? Or Gwen even. They would tell him to fuck right off, I know they would. Why is that so hard for me to do?
As I’m finally drifting toward sleep, a soft knock sounds at my door. My heart jumps straight into my throat.
I sit up quickly, every muscle tense. “What?”
“It’s me,” Jamie says quietly through the door. “I uh… I just wanted to let you know that I’m heading out early tomorrow. Away game. I won’t be back until late.”
Relief washes over me, swift and undeniable.
“Okay,” I say.
There’s a pause and I think he’s gone, but a moment later he says, “goodnight, Ellie.”
I don’t reply, I just wait until I hear his footsteps retreat down the hall and listen as his door latches shut.
I lie back down, staring into the darkness, trying to convince myself that the quiet doesn’t feel lonely.
Trying, and failing to ignore the truth settling deep in my chest. Jamie isn’t going anywhere. We’re stuck together and I’m going to need to get used to it or this is going to be a miserable fifteen weeks.