Chapter Seventeen #3
It had been the worst summer of her life, the hardest summer of her life. Was she grateful that she was in recovery? Absolutely. Was it necessary? Yes. Did that make his betrayal feel any better? No.
“Marcee, I did it because I care about you. You were hurting yourself. What would I do if I lost you? What then?”
She shoved him against the wall, music from the hotel ballroom pulsing in the background. Betrayal was like a thousand little cuts exposing her.
“You don’t turn on someone you love, Eli! I would never do that to you. Never!” She picked up the ends of her prom dress and ran, shouting over her shoulder. “Don’t you dare follow me!”
Tears blurred her vision as she raced into the night air. She could barely see a thing as she sprinted from the sidewalk and aimed for the other side of the street. Away. She had to get away and process.
“Stop, Marcee! Don’t go! I love you!”
She made it across and paused to look over her shoulder, hair sticking to her cheek as she gasped for breath. The world smelled like exhaust fumes and takeout food.
The car never even slowed down. She flinched as it crashed into Eli’s body, and the dull thud was louder than a scream, filtering down her ear canal a second and third time as Eli hit the window, then the roof. Bile rose in the back of her throat when his lifeless body hit the pavement and rolled.
Marcee thought she couldn’t hear anything over the blood pounding in her ears and the wail of sirens. When someone hoisted her off the street, she realized it wasn’t sirens after all.
It was her.
“Marcee?”
She’d sat in the hospital room as he was intubated, assaulted minute after minute by the sound of the heart monitor, the drip of saline, the air pushing through the vents at full force.
Every little detail was her own trauma, each second like a vicious time loop that wouldn’t end.
His parents urged her to leave—to go home and rest and eat.
Eli would be there waiting for her, they said.
His mom’s tired, puffy eyes were nothing but kind and appreciative, but she had no idea how much Marcee was to blame.
So, with that and the heavy realization that his whole future they’d envisioned was gone, she ran.
Marcee ran away and never looked back. The guilt of knowing she would go on to play collegiate soccer and he would never even walk, let alone kick a ball, was like a cruel twist of fate.
Why had she survived her disorder and still got to do what she loved?
She had done it to herself, but Eli was innocent, a victim of chance.
Why should he pay a price she never had to? None of it made any sense.
She was a selfish, damaged coward. Worse, she was a shitty friend.
“Marcee?”
His voice struck her like a pin directly through her skin. She flinched, breathing raggedly before turning to face him. She’d done everything in her power not to imagine that moment, so she was ill-prepared.
“Eli.” She hadn’t said his name aloud in years—the last time being in a drunken confessional to Alex in college. Despite her avoidance, he haunted her dreams and every step she took on the field.
He leaned forward in his chair, one arm hesitantly reaching out. “I can’t believe you’re here. I’ve missed you, princess.”
It took Marcee’s brain precious seconds to comprehend. A hug. He wanted a hug, from her. As if she wasn’t the reason he’d never walk again.
“Marcee,” her dad muttered.
Fighting back a gasp, she met Eli halfway and wrapped her arms around his neck.
Even after all the years and upper body mass he’d put on since being in the wheelchair, he still smelled and felt like the Eli she’d always known.
His dark blond hair was shorter and stylish, the gelled strands tickling her nose as she enveloped herself around him.
In her nightmares, he’d always been that seventeen-year-old boy, beautiful and perfect like a picture stuck in a memory box.
It never occurred to her that as she became a woman, he would grow into a man.
Guilt was funny like that. It could trap you—ensnare you in memories, time and place frozen so that you’re unable to move on.
“I can’t believe it’s you,” he said, pulling away to look at her. “I always knew you would become even more beautiful as you got older. Social media doesn’t do you justice.”
Her heart skipped a beat, and she fought back a strangled sob.
She didn’t deserve kind words, most especially from him.
What’s worse is that he meant them, because that’s the sort of boy he’d always been and the man he’d become, despite the unfair turn of events.
“You’ve been internet stalking me?” she joked, trying desperately for some degree of normalcy in what had to be one of the most abnormal situations she’d ever been in.
His blue eyes sparkled. “Of course. Haven’t you been checking in on me?”
“Here and there,” she replied, too embarrassed to admit she had been recently. The half-truth sat like a frog in her throat. “Uh, how are you?”
“Paralyzed,” he deadpanned. It was so quiet at their table you could whisper-fart and everyone would hear it. She opened her mouth once, then twice, trying to say anything.
His laughter was like a frozen tree snapping in a snowy wood. Her mom flinched, covering it with a smooth smile before nudging Marcee’s foot under the table.
“Oh, man, I’m sorry.” Eli reached out and patted her hand where it was balled in a fist in her lap. “I had to break the ice somehow. I forget not everyone is used to the chair. It’s okay to talk about it, or hell, even notice it.”
“I’m sorry,” Marcee replied, smiling shakily. “I wasn’t sure… after everything…”
He waved her away. “No worries. I’m good. Really good. I’m an assistant coach at Cross Academy now. Living the dream, right?”
“No way!” she exclaimed, heart swelling with pride. “That’s a great school!”
“And you’re the head coach for an elite prep school.” Eli held out a fist. “What we always said we’d do, huh, Ackerman?”
She bumped it, an old, familiar grin setting in. “Damn right, Matthews. Or should I say, Coach Matthews?”
“You can and you should,” he replied with a wink.
“Eli, it’s wonderful to see you,” her mom said, interjecting herself into the conversation.
“Yes, very nice,” her dad added.
Insipid words from two people who had nothing to do with them in high school. They knew nothing about her life—her real life—and exchanging pleasantries with Eli did zero to change that.
“Same to you,” Eli returned, giving her a secret smile she could still read after six years.
“I need to get back to my parents, but I’m so glad we got a chance to catch up, Marcee.
Here, let me get your number. Let’s get coffee tomorrow, yeah?
” He pulled out his phone and she gave him her cell, almost in a daze.
“Yes, coffee. I’d like that,” she told him as he backed away. “Please say hi to your parents for me.”
“I will.” He spun his chair around, pausing. “You look great, Marcee. I’m proud of you.”
She nodded, smiling tightly. It was too much. Far too much.
I’m proud of you, too.
As he left, she fought back a surge of nausea and pushed her plate away.
She needed to get out of there. She needed the night air whipping against her cheeks and the steady tap of her feet against the pavement, bringing her back to herself—the Marcee she’d grown into and not the seventeen-year-old scared girl.
She needed control.
“I’ll see you both back at the house.”
It was hard to shake off years of habit. It was instinct to fall back into the toxic mindset that’d kept her unattached and aloof. Therapy had helped her identify the triggers and the warning signs, and she’d been doing so good, until that night.
She desperately wanted to text Remy, or hear his voice, but it was the wee hours of the morning in London.
The freezing wind chafed at her cheeks as she burst out of the restaurant and power-walked down the sidewalk, ignoring the curious glances of the people out braving the winter chill.
Marcee wasn’t an impulsive teenager any more.
She wasn’t a know-it-all twenty-year-old with stars in her eyes and a chip on her shoulder.
At some point, she had to accept responsibility for what she’d done in the past and stop letting it dictate her future.
She was healthy. She was happy. She had a promising career ahead.
She’d also hurt people she cared about deeply.
She’d acted like a coward. All of those things could be true at the same time.
Marcee could have everything she wanted, if she was brave enough to take it.
And she could be brave.