Page 56 of Holding Ground

“That’s just it. Now I have to talk to my parents. I already feel guilty enough that I can’t pursue this further without speaking to them about it. There’s a good chance this long-lost cousin, or whoever, is going to reach out to me any day now.”

I cup her face. I’ve assumed so much about this woman just because of why she came to town in the first place. I’m not too proud to admit that I’ve been wrong. “Obviously, I don’t know your parents, but from everything you’ve said, they’re loving and supportive and want the best for you. Even if this comes as a surprise to them, I imagine they’ll support you finding out more about your birth mom.”

She nods. “I know. I know that. I just don’t understand why they can’t be enough. I have no right to feel the way I do when they were so good to me.”

“You do have a right. Of course you do.”

She comes up on her knees and wraps her arms around my neck. “Thank you for listening to me.”

One of my hands splays across her back, and the other is entwined in her hair.

Having her in my arms, sharing such an intimate conversation with her—both make me realize how much I’ve missed sharing moments like this with someone.

“Anytime, really. I’m here if you want to talk about it.”

She pulls back and meets my gaze. That same tension rises from when we were at the camp, and my body automatically leans toward her. My breathing shallows, and the urge to kiss her is almost impossible to deny.

But I do deny it. Because now is not the time for me to put the moves on Emelia, even if she looks as though she wants me to. In her state, I’d be taking advantage of her emotional vulnerability. When I kiss Emelia, I want it to be because she’s fully present, not because she’s using it as a distraction.

So I break our eye contact and move back over to the other lounger. “The guy replacing the beam that was damaged in the bunkie called today and said he’ll be by later this week to take care of it.”

It’s a terrible segue, but she seems to understand my intent and doesn’t act offended that I pulled away. A sign we’re on the same page.

“That’s good.”

Our conversation moves to more mundane topics, and when Emelia excuses herself, saying she’s going to get ready for bed, I pretend I’m not as disappointed as I am.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-ONE

Emelia

Since things seem better between Elliott and me lately, I’ve taken to watching TV in the living room, rather than hiding out in my bedroom and streaming everything on my laptop. It started with Baylor asking me to watch one of her shows with her before she went down for the night. Then, a couple of days later, Elliott asked if I wanted to watch the baseball game with him, and I agreed, even though I don’t really like baseball all that much. Other than Easton Bailey from the neighboring town, Lake Starlight, who now plays for the Colts, I know nothing about the sport.

Tonight, I’m watching an episode of Grey’s Anatomy, even though I’m a decade late getting into the show, when I hear Elliott’s footsteps coming down the hall. I grab the remote, ready to turn the television off.

He returns minutes later and stops on the other side of the couch. “I’m gonna go chop some wood. It’s starting to get colder, and I’ve gotten behind on it.” He thumbs in the general direction of the backyard.

We’ve gotten into the habit of sitting on the dock together after Baylor has gone to bed. It’s not something we discuss, just one of those things I think we both expect now, so the fact that he’s breaking the pattern is disappointing.

I shouldn’t be surprised. It seems to be one step forward, two steps back with Elliott.

I want to stop him so we can talk about this, but before I can speak up, the sliding glass door in the kitchen opens and closes, and he’s gone.

He’s in his head, I can tell.

I’m not sure when I started being able to read Elliott’s body language, but I feel like a master of it now.

He’s been chopping wood for an hour, and I finally got up off the couch to take a peek. His sweatshirt is on the grass, and the T-shirt he’s wearing clings to him with sweat as he swings the axe over his head over and over. Elliott’s expression is stern, and he mumbles to himself between logs.

I get why he’s up in his head, because the truth is that I am too. Whatever is or isn’t happening between us is confusing, and I don’t know what to make of it either. Elliott may have made snap judgments about me when we first met, but I did the same after our first encounter, and he’s nothing like I thought he was. Not at all.

That ball of emotions in my chest tangles more than ever. I need to do something about it. I’ve already got so much going on in my head where my birth mother is concerned, and I don’t want to have another situation hanging over my head too. It’s time to clear the air between us, to say the thing neither of us has the guts to say.

When Elliott pauses with the axe stuck in a piece of wood to wipe his forehead with his forearm, I get an idea.

I grab a water bottle, slide on my shoes, and head outside.