Page 161 of Healing Eleanor

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Healing Eleanor

Nikolai

My heart lodges in my throat.

Eleanor is standing here in front of me, at church, looking healthier than I’ve seen her in months. If she wasn’t wearing her walking boot, I would’ve thought I was imagining her. While she’s still slim, I can see she’s making progress. Color has returned to her cheeks, and her face is filled out just enough to hint at the recovery she’s been working toward.

If I wasn’t in public, I might fall to my knees in tears of joy, thanking God for answering my prayers.

Her beautiful honey-brown eyes lift to mine, waiting.

She asked if we could talk alone.

The thought both exhilarates and rattles me.

When Lily first spotted Eleanor, she practically tried to shove me out of my seat to go to her. I knew this moment was coming, but I wasn’t ready to face the possibility that Eleanor might not feel the same as I do.

I glance up to see Lily staring at me, eyes wide, face set in a silent command. Go.

I shift my focus back to Eleanor’s wary expression. “Yeah, that’s fine,” I reply, keeping my voice steady, trying to mask the whirlwind inside me.

She gives a small nod before falling into step behind me.

I lead her outside and around the building, away from the crowd, finding a secluded spot where we can speak without interruption. Few people ever wander here, making it the perfect place to finally confront the words we’ve both been holding back.

She wraps her coat tighter around herself, and I wonder if maybe this isn’t the right spot after all.

“Do you want to go somewhere else?” I ask, my voice scraping against a knot of tension.

She shakes her head. “No, this is okay,” she says quietly.

I lean back against the brick wall, crossing my arms, unsure where to start. So I remain silent, not wanting to mess this up.

She stands just a few feet away, cheeks flushed from the cold, fidgeting with her fingers like she doesn’t know what to do with them.

Seeing her just as nervous as I am makes me feel some small relief. Maybe there’s still a spark of hope here.

She pulls air deep into her chest, letting it out with a self-conscious, quiet laugh. “I don’t even know where to start,” she murmurs, glancing up at me.

I press my lips together, not daring to speak, not wanting to interrupt a single word.

She bites her bottom lip. “Um…” She swallows visibly. “I want to start by saying how sorry I am, Nik.” Her voice is quiet but steady.

My knees threaten to buckle beneath me.

“I’m sorry for lying to you. And I’m sorry that I couldn’t perform when you needed me most,” she continues.

I want to tell her I couldn’t care less about the production, but I stay silent, gripping my arms tighter.

Her breath hitches in her throat. “I also want to thank you… for caring for me when no one else did. For being my lighthouse in a storm, I suppose.” She gives a tiny, shy laugh.

My muscles go rigid, fighting the invisible tether pulling me toward her.

“You showed me love when I didn’t deserve it,” she says softly, “and I can’t begin to tell you how much I regret betraying you.” Her lip trembles as she bites it again. “There are… other things I regret, too.”

I grit my teeth, preparing for her next words.