Chapter 8 #2
My mom never talks about Ellison with me. No one does. I told them all not to. Mom’s scheming makes me wonder if there’s something I’ve been missing all these years but was too stubborn to see. Has my stubbornness and my pain from losing her caused me to see things through tinted glasses?
“What is she trying to tell me?” I ask, not expecting an answer. I know the answer. My mom is forcing me to face Ellison, our past, and my heart.
“Not sure, but you should ask her,” Macklin says.
“You told us all not to mention her. Maybe Momma James knows something, and she’s trying to find a way to tell you?” Dixon suggests.
“Tell him what?” Bowen asks, joining us again.
Macklin fills him in, and Bowen chuckles. “Sounds like your mom is trying to play matchmaker.”
“Too much time has passed.” I say the words, but my heart tells me not to believe them. Sure, there are many years between who we were then and who we are now, but it’s still always been Ellison for me.
“Has it?” Bowen asks.
I tear my gaze from Ellison to meet his stare. There’s an expression on his face that I can’t name. Just another reminder that I’ve been gone far too long. “Something you need to tell me, Bo?” I ask.
“Nah, just saying.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to defend myself. To tell them what I saw and why I stayed away. I want to scream at them and tell them how I never heard a word from her after I left. Nothing. But I bite my words, swallowing them back. This isn’t the time or the place.
Instead, I turn my gaze back to Ellison. I try to, anyway. I have to scan the crowd and find her and Kinzie on the dance floor, with two guys dancing with them.
“Who are they?” I ask, my voice gravelly.
All three of the guys follow the stare. “Not sure,” Bowen answers. “I’ve seen them in here a time or two, but I don’t know them.”
“This is your bar.”
He huffs out a laugh. “You think I know everyone who walks through those doors?”
“You should,” I grumble, settling back in my seat.
“You’re just jealous because he’s dancing with your girl,” Macklin teases.
I don’t tell him she’s not mine, because fuck me, to hear someone else say those words after all these years, it sends a warmth followed by a heavy dose of longing through my veins.
When asshole number one—we’ll call him—steps up behind Ellison, I sit up straighter.
My heart pounds in my chest. She takes a step forward, as if trying to put distance between them, but the guy doesn’t take the hint.
He moves with her, placing his hands on her hips and pulling her back into his chest. Her movement slows.
I can’t see her face, and it’s been years, but I know her, and she’s uncomfortable. I stand, keeping my eyes on them.
“Cope.” It’s a warning from Bowen.
I get it. This is his bar, but she’s my—she’s Ellison, and I’ll be damned if I sit here and let some jackass get handsy with her when she clearly doesn’t want him to.
It’s more than that. Seeing his hands on her, even knowing it’s not what she wants, covers the longing with a burning inferno of flames.
Ellison tries to step forward again, but his hold is tight.
No one who’s not watching them closely would even notice.
I notice.
Stepping around the table, I move toward them.
I hear the guys calling out for me, but I couldn’t give a single fuck.
I’m a big guy. At six foot three, I stand taller than most people in this room.
I’ve got a good four inches and about forty pounds of muscle on this guy.
When I reach them, I place a hand on the guy’s shoulder, squeezing hard.
“Fuck!” He grimaces as she turns toward me. “Fuck off,” he says. His eyes are glassy, and it’s obvious he’s had far too much to drink.
“Hands off the lady,” I tell him.
“I saw this filly first,” he says. “Go find your own.”
“Cope.” It’s Bowen. He places his hand on my shoulder.
Sure, he doesn’t want a fight in his bar, but he’s about to have one anyway. My eyes find Ellison’s, and she’s standing with her mouth hanging open, looking between the three of us. Her cheeks are flushed, and damn, she’s sexy.
“Ellison.” I breathe her name like a caress.
“I was handling it.” She latches her hands on to her hips and glares at me.
“Like hell you were,” I fire back, taking a step toward her. I don’t want her anger, but at the same time, I’ll take any ounce of her that she’s willing to give me.
“Fuck you, Copeland,” she seethes.
“That can be arranged, sweetheart.” Another step, and we’re so close, I can see the pulse in her neck.
“Bowen, it’s me or him,” I tell my friend without tearing my eyes away from Ellison.
“He didn’t do anything wrong,” Bowen counters.
Technically, he’s right. But that’s because I stopped him before it could get too far.
Fine. If Bowen’s not kicking him out, then I’ll take matters into my own hands.
Bending, I lift Ellison over my shoulder and turn to stalk out of the bar.
I hear our names being shouted, along with some hooting and hollering, and a few “It’s about time,” but I ignore it all.
Instead, I focus on Ellison. After all these years, she’s finally in my arms where she belongs.
Sure, she’s kicking and screaming and pounding her fists on my back, but she’s with me. She’s safe, and to me, that’s all that matters.
With one hand on the back of her thighs, holding her tightly, I use the other to push open the door and step outside. Ellison stops screaming, but she continues to slap at my back. I don’t stop until I reach my truck, where I gently let her slide down my body to her feet.
She instantly smacks my chest. “What are you doing? You can’t just toss me over your damn shoulder and carry me out of the bar. I was dancing,” she says, punching at my chest again.
I barely feel it.
“You have no right,” she says, stomping her foot into the gravel parking lot.
“You can’t just waltz back into my life and think you have control.
It’s been seventeen years, Copeland. Seventeen years!
” she screams. She smacks my chest again.
This time, her touch is even lighter; she’s losing the fight.
I step closer, staring down at her, as her floral scent wraps around me. “He was touching you,” I say, surprised at the calm in my voice. I’ve never yelled at her.
“We were dancing!” she says, exasperated.
I take another step closer, our chests are now touching, and she sucks in a breath. Her hands move to my chest, but this time, instead of hitting me or trying to push me away, they remain there, close to my heart.
“Yes, you were dancing. Ells, I saw you. I saw you tense. I saw your movements slow. I watched as you tried to step away from him more than once. You didn’t want his touch.” I almost say, You wanted mine, hence your hands on my chest, but I keep that thought to myself.
“You don’t know me,” she says, with absolutely no heat in her tone.
“I know you, Ellison Moran. I know your body. I know he was making you uncomfortable.” She licks her lips, and I move in close. There’s barely a breath between us. All I would have to do is move a fraction of an inch, and my lips would be pressed against hers.
Fuck, I miss kissing her.
Instead, I rest my forehead against hers. “I know I hated every minute of watching another man touch you,” I confess, letting the words fall freely between us.
She fists my shirt. “You don’t get a say,” she whispers.
I move my hands to her hips. I want to pull her closer, but I don’t push my luck. “I know,” I whisper back. I don’t bother to hide the pain in my words. I need her to hear it. I need her to understand that even after all this time, I still miss her.
I still love her.
The door crashes open, and then we hear “Ellie, you out here?” It’s Kinzie.
Fuck. I know that means my time with her is over. I want to beg her to take a drive with me or sit in my truck and talk to me. Just five more minutes of us being this close, of hearing her voice, of feeling her hands gripping my shirt.
“Y-Yeah,” she says, clearing her throat. “Yeah!” she says again, this time louder. Then, softer, she says, “I should go.”
No.
Don’t go.
Stay.
“You need a ride?” I ask her instead.
“I’m good. I’m not drinking.” She releases her hold on me. Unable to stop myself, I press my lips to her forehead. I hold them there for several long heartbeats before stepping back and letting her go.
She doesn’t look back as she rushes through the parking lot to meet Kinzie at her car. I watch them drive away before climbing into my truck. I shoot a quick text off to the guys.
Me: Heading home.
Dixon: All good?
Me: Nope.
Macklin: Where are you?
Me: In my truck. Only had one. I’m good to drive.
Bowen: Ellison?
Me: Just left with Kinzie.
Me: She’s okay.
Me: I’ll talk to you later.
Tossing my phone in the cupholder, I point the truck toward Mom’s.
I don’t care if I have to sleep on the couch tonight.
I can’t go back to the Manor. I’m too raw.
It’s bad enough that the properties are next to each other.
Knowing she’s just a short walk away from where my room is at the Manor, I’m not sure I’m strong enough to stay away.
Not tonight.