Chapter 46
Elle
I’m scrolling through Cassie’s Instagram. Yes, that screenshot from Archer made me go feral FBI mode. I am deep into Cassie and Archer’s relationship at this point. The stalking is completely justified. At least that is what I’m telling myself.
She didn’t scrub her profile of their past like I assumed she would have.
I’ve passed pictures of Archer and Cassie at various parts in their relationship, high profile events, Halloween with friends, a New Years Eve Gala, Christmas in tastefully matching ensembles.
I continue to doom scroll through the ghost of their relationship.
I don’t know how long I sit there staring at it when I find it.
The engagement picture.
A picturesque beach at sunset. A familiar man on one knee.
In the photo Archer is looking up at Cassie with the intensity of a man madly in love.
The ocean in the background blurred. The lighting, exquisite.
I zoom in slightly on his face, then on the sparkle on Cassie’s left hand—a rock big enough to warrant its own zip code. He looked so happy, so utterly sure.
The caption reads: “The easiest ‘yes’ I’ve ever given. Forever with my favorite person. #engaged #soulmate.” The hashtags and emojis felt like tiny daggers, mocking me from the screen.
Anger erupts in my chest, anger and jealousy?
The anger I understand, she had this amazing man, and she couldn’t even end the relationship appropriately— no she had to go behind his back and cheat on him!
The jealousy, well that one is more complicated to sift out.
Gritting my teeth, I close out of the app when I see another landmark photo.
The sound of the movie I was watching in the living room fades into a dull ringing in my ears.
“So proud of my man! That’s my Heisman winner!”
The photo is blinding; Archer, younger, grinning that million-dollar smile, holding the bronze trophy aloft at the ceremony.
Cassie is plastered against his side in a shimmering gold dress, looking every bit the proud, supportive girlfriend.
There were photos with his family, photos with other athletes, photos of them kissing while he clutched the most prestigious award in college football.
There’s the jealousy, this is where it’s stemming from.
She got all these core memories with him, all these landmark successes, and she threw it away.
She threw it away for Doug, causing Archer unimaginable heartbreak.
He’s a better person than I am, that’s for sure.
It was easy to feel pity for her when her father died, but scrolling through her perfectly curated feed of travel photos, fashion shows, and Michelin star restaurants just awoke the green-eyed monster in me. I can’t take it anymore!
I throw my phone across the room, landing it in the chair by the Christmas tree.
Archer wouldn’t be coming home tonight, it’s the night before an away game which means his mandatory stay at a hotel, I mentally recall his evening schedule since I refuse to get up and grab my phone and the offending Instagram feed.
I look at the digital clock on the oven; he’s probably almost finished with his team meetings. He usually calls me as soon as he is settled in his room. I should probably get my phone, but I can’t bring myself to get off the couch to get the vile thing.
I’m overreacting. I need to calm down. Archer sent me a screen shot of their conversation for fuck’s sake.
It was polite, friendly, practically innocent.
So why am I feeling this way? I jump off the couch, pacing and shaking my hands trying to dispel some of the anxiety.
Fish weaves his way through my legs, trying to calm me down.
I take deep breaths willing myself to dispel the images burned into my eyes.
Archer’s beaming smile holding the Heisman, Cassie plastered against him.
Archer looking up at her on one knee in utter devotion.
I’m spiraling. I know I am. I’m drowning in the past, the ghost of their relationship pulling me deeper and deeper. I have no idea how to stop this freefall.
I press the heels of my hands into my eyes. Another image flashes in my mind. The image of Archer looking utterly defeated at the press conference after that initial loss to the Chimeras’ the first game of the season, the first game after he called off the wedding.
My phone rings, temporarily halting my freefall. I rush to the opposite side of the living room and pick up my phone from the plush chair.
I manage to answer on the second ring, my voice tight. “Hey.”
“Hey,” he responds, sounding a little loud; I could hear the background chatter of the hotel lobby bleeding through the line.
I grip the phone tightly. “How’s everything going over there?”
“Oh, the normal stuff. Pre-game press conferences, practice, fans finding their way in asking for autographs and an incredibly long team meeting. I’m exhausted and we’re almost finished with the last segment then I’m heading to bed.”
“Okay,” I whisper. Willing up my courage to admit to what is bothering me, “Archer, wait.”
The background noise suddenly muffled as he clearly walked away from the crowd. “What is it? Are you okay? You sound weird.”
“I was looking at Cassie’s Instagram,” I admit, cutting straight to the chase.
A silence stretches across the line.
“I know you told me the story,” I continue, my voice gaining volume albeit shaky, I’m pacing the length of the living room.
“The basic outline when we first met up. But I saw the pictures, Archer. The ‘soulmate’ caption. The ring. You made it sound like a mutual thing, but it was brutal, wasn’t it? ”
His exhale was loud and shaky, not the reaction of a man hiding a secret, but a man confronted with old trauma. He takes a steadying breath before speaking, “Elle, it was brutal. That’s why I glossed over the details. I didn’t want you to see me like that. I was broken.”
“But you lied to me. You didn’t tell me Doug was commenting on her posts, you didn’t tell me he was flirting with her the night you proposed!
It’s all right there on her Instagram!” I say, the tears finally starting to prick my eyes.
“And now I’m here, feeling like I’m dating a man who’s still recovering from the woman who broke his heart, while she’s texting him fucking condescending compliments about me. ”
“Elle, you’re the one I’m with. She means nothing to me, you know that.” He insists, sounding frantic. “We can talk about the messy parts when I get home. I promise. But right now, I need to go.”
“Okay,” I say, my voice quiet now, the anger receding into a dull ache.
“Thank you,” he breathes, sounding genuinely relieved. “I love you, Elle. We’ll talk about this more when I get home. I promise.”
I hear a muffled call for Archer; he must have walked far enough away they had to shout for him. “Elle, I need to go, I promise, we’ll talk about everything. I love you.”
“Goodnight,” I reply, hanging up without saying “I love you” back. The ache in my chest is now intense. The feeling like I’m being cracked in two. I haven’t cried like this over a man, ever.
I need to scream, I need to cry. I need… I need Sadie.
My hands shake and I pick up the phone again, barely seeing through the tears threatening to spill over, I mash the call button on my best friend’s number. It rings once, twice.
“Hello?” Sadie’s voice is bright, a little breathless, like she’s walking somewhere.
The sound of it is enough to make the tears flow but this time, they are tears of relief.
“S-Sadie,” I choke out, covering my mouth to try and stop the noise.
Her bright tone instantly evaporates. “Ellie? What’s wrong? What happened?”
I wipe my nose with the back of my sleeve. “It’s me. It’s me and I’m being stupid. I just... I just hung up on Archer, Sadie. I saw her Instagram, and I can’t breathe, and I feel like I’m going to ruin my relationship.”
“I’m on my way,” she says, her voice now calm, the tone she uses when it’s code for, I’m in crisis mode and you need me. “Don’t move. Don’t look at anything. Just take five deep breaths. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” Her voice is commanding, comforting.
She’s coming.
I sink down onto the edge of the couch, hugging myself as if I could keep the pieces from falling apart until she arrives.
The anxiety is still a lead weight in my stomach, but a tiny pinprick of light has appeared.
Now, I just have to wait for my best friend to arrive and tell me how to apologize to the man I desperately love.
I just stare at the forgotten phone. The tears have slowed to a miserable, quiet drip, but the hyperventilating panic hasn’t subsided. I feel sick, hollowed out by my own self-sabotage.
Then, I hear it: the jangling of keys followed by the familiar, slightly hurried click of the door swinging open. I have never been more thankful I gave her a spare key to feed Fish.
“Ellie?” Sadie takes one look at me slumped on the couch, face blotchy, tear-stained mascara smeared under my eyes, wearing one of Archer’s ridiculously oversized team hoodies and her expression melts from fear to mama bear.
“Oh, sweetheart,” she murmurs. She crosses the room in three strides and doesn’t ask a single question. She doesn’t launch into a lecture or a defense of Archer. She just wraps her arms around me and pulls me into a tight embrace. Her massive boobs are a comforting cushion.
I collapse against her, burying my face in the soft cotton of her sweatshirt. The fresh scent of her perfume, something clean and comforting, is a welcome sensory anchor. All the dammed-up misery comes rushing out again in a fresh torrent of desperate sobs.
“I’m so stupid,” I gasp against her shoulder, the words muffled. “I ruined everything.”
Sadie strokes my hair firmly. “You didn’t ruin anything. You’re having a panic attack, and you’re letting some miserable woman get inside your head. Breathe, Ellie. I’ve got you.”
She holds me until the shaking starts to subside, then pulls back just enough to look me in the eye. She uses the back of her hand to gently wipe a streak of black liner off my cheek.
“Okay. Code Red” she announces, her voice calm and business-like. “I need facts. Did you call him back?” I shake my head miserably. “No. I can’t. I can’t talk to him like this; he’s going to think the worst.”
“He’s going to think his girlfriend is upset, which she is. But we won’t deal with that right now,” she says, glancing pointedly at the phone. “We’re going to get you calmed down.”
She turns, handing me the nearest tissue box, and then walks straight to the bathroom. “Don’t move. I’m getting makeup wipes and a glass of water.”
When she returns, she doesn’t just hand them to me; she sits down, right next to me and holds the wipe up. “Let’s clean this mess up. Then you’re going to tell me exactly what Cassie said in that text that made you forget you’re the most incredible person Archer has ever dated.”
I lean into her, letting her gently scrub the dried salt and mascara from my skin. The simple, nurturing sending fresh tears to my eyes.
“She said...” I start, my voice still shaky. “She texted him about the picture he posted of me on Instagram. And she said I was... ‘pretty’.”
Sadie pauses, the makeup wipe hovering over my eyebrow. She blinks slowly, absorbing the absurdity of my breakdown.
“She said... you were pretty?” Sadie repeats flatly, her eyebrows raised. “And this sent you into a three-hour deep dive that ended with you hanging up on a man who tells you daily that he loves you?”
I nod, fresh tears welling up in shame. “It felt like a condescending approval. Like I passed a test she set. Like she’s the end all be all, passing judgment on the peasant girl who took her place.
I just... I saw all their old photos, Sadie.
All the memories. The engagement photo, the Heisman…
” I trail off before a fresh set of tears can start.
Sadie tosses the used wipe onto the end table. She reaches out, gripping both of my hands firmly in hers, forcing me to look at her.
“Elle, listen to me. Archer loves you. He picked you. Cassie, who knows what her motivation was,” she says quickly.
“But she doesn’t matter. Yes, Archer went to her father’s funeral but that was for him, not her.
He deserved that goodbye, Cassie is in the past, you are his future; should that be the choice you make. ”
She pauses, her expression softening into fierce loyalty.
“Now, we are going to get you a huge glass of wine, order entirely too much Mexican food, and you are going to let me remind you exactly why Archer is crazy about you.” She squeezes my hands as she heads to the kitchen to work in her best love language—food.