Page 53 of Do It With Me

CHAPTER 23

ELLORA

By the time I slipped into class, I was late. Again. At least I wasn’t wearing a rumpled T-shirt this time, but I was pretty sure I had some of Bree’s beef stew on my jeans.

Holden barely looked at me as I took my seat, but I could still feel it as soon as I entered the room, that awareness humming between us like static before a storm. After getting settled with my notebook and a pen, I tried to focus on the lesson, but my brain felt like wet cement.

The fact that I’d even made it here tonight was a minor miracle. Concentration probably would’ve been too much to ask.

Between my mom, the store, the new market idea, and him, I was stretched so thin I felt practically see-through. Even so, I caught tidbits of the lecture and did my best to absorb them, but I’d been overwhelmed before I’d even walked in.

It didn’t help that today’s lesson was all about the practical implications and applications of market research and some other things I lost track of almost immediately. Images of the day kept racing through my mind, of my mom, and Bree, and Holden while we were eating tacos last night.

When class finally ended, I stayed behind, packing up slowly on purpose in the hopes that the room would clear out before he said anything. No such luck.

“Coffee?” he asked when there were still a few people left.

He wore that easy half-smile that made my chest feel too small, his tie loosened around his neck and sandy hair mussed in that perfect way that made him look more academic than billionaire. I wanted to say no, but instead, I found myself nodding.

“Yeah. Coffee sounds great.”

We went to the café down the block, the same one where we’d gone when he’d laid out the business proposition that had started all this. Once again, it was quiet and mostly empty, the bitter scent of espresso lingering in the air.

After receiving our orders at the counter, we sat at a booth in the corner and Holden leveled me with a look that said he knew I wasn’t okay. “How are things going, Ella?”

I tried to brush it off at first. “I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”

The lie barely made it out of my mouth before I cracked. “It’s my mom. That’s why I didn’t invite you over last night and why I couldn’t stay the other morning.”

He didn’t say anything, just nodding with a soft and patient expression on his face. I glanced down at my coffee, wondering where to even begin. Outside of Bree and Mercedes, I hadn’t told anyone about my mom.

Josie had guessed at the truth after seeing her for the first time in a while and I’d had to give some people details, like the doctors we’d seen so many of. But not anybody I cared about.

“She has early onset dementia,” I said quietly. “And it’s… it’s taking her fast. Faster than I expected.”

Holden blinked hard, swallowing a sip of coffee but not interrupting. I inhaled a deep breath, searching for the right words. “Some days are okay, and then others, like today, are really bad. She kept asking if we were going to the beach, over and over, like we had a trip planned. Bree, our homecare nurse, tried to get her to eat something, but she refused. She needs her strength, but she’s just…”

I trailed off, shaking my head.

He reached across the table, his fingers brushing gently against mine. “I’m really sorry, Ellora. That sounds unbelievably hard.”

“It is,” I admitted. “I hate talking about it, because I never know how to make it sound less sad, but that’s my life right now. Every day feels like this tightrope walk where I’m trying to keep her safe, keep the business running, and maybe still be a person somewhere in there.”

He nodded again. “You don’t have to make it sound less sad. You’re doing everything you can. That’s more than most.”

Something about the way he said it made my throat ache. I blinked a few times. The last thing I wanted to do was cry into my cappuccino. I smiled weakly. “You really know how to kill the mood, you know that?”

He chuckled, but the sound was quiet and vaguely heart-wrenching. “I’ll try to do better next time.”

“Good,” I said, then took another sip of my coffee, pretending that my world wasn’t quietly falling apart and that I wasn’t dangerously close to letting him see just how much I needed him.

“What are the doctors saying?” he asked. “I know there’s no cure, but are there medications that are helping? Medical professionals that might have different ideas about how to treat her?”

He didn’t rush me when I didn’t respond immediately. That patience made it easier somehow, like I didn’t have to hold everything together so tightly.

“We’ve seen a bunch of doctors,” I said eventually, tracing a finger around the rim of my cup. “I’ve also gotten all kinds of second and third opinions. Everyone says the same thing. There’s nothing more they can really do.”

His brow creased in sympathy. “I’m sorry. That’s a hell of a lot to live with.”