Chapter 12 Elijah
twelve
Elijah
I remember the fireflies had come out. Koren sat on the ground, barefoot, legs tucked under her.
“You’re really going,” I said, plopping down beside her with my favorite new sweatshirt in my hands. It was a Granite Ice one she’d bought for me a few days after we found out I was being signed. I draped it over her shoulders.
“I’m really going,” she echoed.
“I’m proud of you.”
“Yeah.” She paused. “Your parents seem proud of me too. Your mom sure has been calling me a lot.”
“They think it’s a ‘good opportunity.’”
“I hope they don’t think it’s their way of getting rid of me.”
“That could never happen,” I said immediately, turning to her. “We’re getting married tomorrow.”
She reached over and placed her hand on my arm. “You say that with such conviction now, but why didn’t you tell that to the reporters? One of them literally asked if you were single, and you changed the subject.”
My throat narrowed so much I couldn’t even speak. How could I explain that I thought it was better to keep her out of the spotlight, at least for now? That was my biggest mistake.
That had been my chance to explain everything, and I choked.
She was gone the next day.
Now, I escort her out of the room, laughter echoing behind us. I swallow hard and vow to not choke again. Every chance I get, I glance at her, but her expression is unreadable.
I’ve got to hand it to the wedding couple for selecting such a breathtaking resort for a wedding reception.
The beach stretches beyond the back of the property with white sand glowing almost iridescent under the setting sun.
I couldn’t have planned a better setting to have this talk.
We walk in silence as though hypnotized.
When we get to the water’s edge, she drops to the sand, kicks off her shoes, and pushes her toes into the water.
I sit beside her, taking in the sound of the waves and her sweet scent wafting on the breeze.
My stomach sinks as I relive all the memories with her so close to me.
All I really want is to hold her. Rolling in my lips, I pause.
I’ve had this conversation so many times in my head.
Even with all that practice, I’ve never found a perfect way to begin.
After several failed attempts, my mouth opening and closing many times, I finally manage, “I didn’t know. ”
She busies herself fidgeting with my jacket sleeve. “What didn’t you know?”
“I still don’t know exactly what happened, but I know something was off.
Last night before the bon fire, I found some evidence of things my parents did.
” My voice catches. I love them dearly but there’s no other possible explanation to explain how we fell apart so neatly just like it was orchestrated.
“I found a receipt showing they paid your internship director to offer you that spot. And there were also receipts to social media people. I’m assuming they paid all those social media people to post the rumors of me with other women.
They clearly wanted you to forget about me. ”
Her head snaps back as she turns toward me.
“I literally just found them, or I would have told you about it sooner. I’m upset, but in a way it’s a relief because it’s giving me clarity I never had before.
I remember last summer overhearing my mom talking to someone on the phone, saying they were helping you to get ‘perspective.’ At the time, I didn’t know what that meant, but with the receipts, that has a different meaning now. ”
Her mouth parts in shock, but I go on.
“I knew my parents weren’t perfect. But I never thought for a moment they would destroy my happiness.
And when you left, they were right there for me, acting like they were the ones picking up the pieces.
” I run a hand through my hair, trying to clear the frustration.
So much of this still doesn’t make sense.
“They said you were using me, that once you got what you needed, you were done. I didn’t want to believe them. ”
“You did believe them.” Her voice is flat.
“At first, I did with my head, but my heart never fell for any of their lies.”
She blinks, and I press on, “It doesn’t matter,” I say fiercely. “They don’t matter. It took me a long time to realize it, but the only thing that should have mattered was you. And I failed.”
She turns away, blinking rapidly, as her lips press into a line.
“I’m not proud of how long it took me to realize the truth,” I add, softer now.
“Truthfully, we were just kids who loved each other, and we both got played by the people who should’ve loved and supported us the most. You have to believe me.
I trusted my parents, who I thought loved me.
I know better now. They’ve always thought I should marry someone who has more social status.
They have never said it directly, but they resent that you’re not from a wealthy family.
I always shut that part out, assuming they’d get used to it, but apparently, they didn’t. ”
Finally, she speaks, voice shaking, “They called me after we got engaged. A lot. I thought it was nice at first. Like your mom was making an effort to get to know me. She even told me personal things, like how you were struggling. That you weren’t sleeping.
That you were dealing with anxiety and had to go to the doctor. They said you weren’t happy anymore.”
I flinch so hard it feels like I’ve been slapped. “What?”
“I thought, I thought maybe you regretted proposing.”
I lean toward her until I’m directly in front of her.
“No. Don’t—no. I loved you. I will always love you.
” My voice cracks, possibly as much as my heart, but I push through.
“I wasn’t sleeping because I was under a massive amount of stress, walking onto a team as an underdog.
And the press was all over me, trying to make me choke.
I was also hiding secrets from my parents about my car.
Everything seemed to spiral at night, and I couldn’t rest, I was never unhappy until I lost you. ”
The air between us thickens, charged with magnetism. Her lips part as if to speak, but I don’t wait.
I kiss her, pouring every truth I’ve ever felt into it. Her hands curl into my shirt, holding on like she’s scared I’ll let go. When we finally break apart, neither of us utters a word.
It’s as though we know exactly what the other thinks.
No apologies are needed.
The waves kept rolling.
The sun kept sinking.
And we lean closer, just watching it set.
Everything unsaid finally starting to come to the light.
The moment we step back into the hotel lobby, the AC hits us like a cold slap. Koren is beside me, one hand gripping the top of her dress like it might betray her at any second. “Don’t laugh at me,” she mutters while looking at me.
I reach around her back and adjust my jacket for her, tucking it tighter around her shoulders for extra coverage. “I didn’t say anything.”
“I know that grin.” She wags a finger at me. “You’re thinking something.”
I was.
And it is hard not to with her one-strap bridesmaid dress hanging on for dear life.
“There she is.” Koren points to the wedding coordinator standing outside the ballroom. We make a beeline toward her. Koren speaks before we even get her attention. “Hi—sorry—I, ah, don’t know your name, but do you by chance have a sewing kit? My dress had an accident.”
The woman barely blinks. “Of course.” She pulls a zippered pouch from her bag like she’s in the middle of a military operation. “I’ve got thread, needles, pins, tape, bandages, bug spray, Motrin, sunscreen. What do you need?”
“Just a needle and thread are fine.” Koren accepts the kit and turns to me. “Do you mind helping?”
“Me?” My eyebrows shoot up. “I don’t know the first thing about sewing, but I can go find your mom.”
She didn’t flinch. “Everything you’ve helped with today has worked out. You will be fine.”
“I don’t exactly like needles.” I pretend to back away.
She smirks. “Just don’t think about it too much.”
The wedding planner walks away, probably to save someone else’s wedding emergency.
Koren and I duck into a quiet hallway. She slips off my jacket, still gripping the front of her dress, and extends the broken strap toward me.
I stare at her smooth skin and struggle not to hold my breath. “This feels like a weird trust test.”
“It’s not a test.” She’s laughing as she speaks. “Just don’t poke me, and I’ll let you live.”
“Phew. Maybe I should mention I’ve never sewed anything in my life.” I blow out a breath. “No pressure or anything.”
The needle is tiny, and the satin slippery. And the area I have to work with? Perilously close to dangerous territory.
“I’m glad we made up before you forced me to do this, because this feels extremely intimate,” I mutter, squinting as I thread the needle.
“It’s not intimate.” She chuckles again. “It’s my shoulder, and you’re making it weird.”
“Trust me, I’m trying to be cool.” I blow out another breath. “Okay, can you stop shaking and hold steady.”
“I’m trying not to laugh. Your face is doing that scrunch thing.”
It’s my turn to chuckle because I know exactly what she’s talking about. I can’t help it, but it’s what I do when I’m nervous. “Unless you want me to sew this to your hair, hold still.”
I pinch the strap to the dress. The air shifts between us, easing out of the awkwardness. Somehow this feels easy. I lean closer and push the needle through the edge of the strap, doing my best to keep everything lined up.
“You always used to fix everything for me,” she says softly.
I freeze, wondering how much I want to push this. She has to know how sorry I am. “I always wanted to.”
“You still do.” She glances over her shoulder, eyes serious and sensual.
Or maybe I’m just imagining the sensual part.
Sweat beads on my lower back as I struggle to keep my cool.
I pull the needle through the dress one final time before knotting the thread.
I thank my lucky Boy Scout days for teaching me knots, then tug the thread until it breaks.
The knot holds.
The dress stays up.
She shakes her shoulder, testing the strap. “Well, you pass.” Then she looks at me, and I swear time hiccups. That smile that used to undo me and still does fill her face. “Thank you.”
I don’t answer. Instead, I reach up and brush a tendril from her cheek. My hand lingers against her cheek, like it remembers her shape.
“You’re welcome,” I breathe. Before I can stop myself, I lean in, slowly aiming for her lips. She doesn’t move. I take that as an invitation to kiss her again. This time more intentionally.
The kind of kiss that says I missed you.
Her hand presses against my chest. Not to push me away, but to anchor herself. Like kissing me feels like falling. Because that’s exactly how it feels to me.
When we finally part, her smile glows. “Okay,” she says, “now you definitely pass.”
I grin and point to the ballroom. “Should we go back in?”
She reaches her hand out to me, causing my heart to stutter. “Lead the way.”
I take her hand like I’ll never let it go again.