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Not that I believe he does that on purpose. Eli is impulsive. He always has been. And he believes I’ll support his every decision no matter what because I love him, which is true.
I felt the same way about him, and look where that got me.
Despite my moving to San Diego and going to college, making new friends and having different experiences from everyone else back home, I made time for Eli. Always. Always, always, always.
And this is my reward. I make one choice just for me, one very temporary decision that’s going to last all of three months, and he demands I stay home. Tells me I don’t care about him or our relationship. And then gives me the ultimatum—if I study abroad, it’s over between us.
Who does that?
Eli motherfuckin’ Bennett, that’s who.
“You are still going to S
pain, right?” Ellie asks, pulling me from my thoughts. “Don’t let him control your decisions. Do something for you. Just you, Ava. When you come home and you realize you still want to be with him, then go to Eli and tell him that. I’m sure you two could work it out.”
I hate the idea of crawling back to him, begging him to be my boyfriend again. Talk about humiliating. That is so not my style.
“Or maybe you’ll come home and realize you don’t miss him as much as you thought you would,” Ellie continues, her voice hesitant. “And that’s okay too. High school sweethearts don’t always last forever.”
“You and Jackson are pretty happy,” I point out.
“We didn’t get together in high school,” Ellie says.
“College. Close enough,” I say, rolling my eyes.
Ellie jabs me in the ribs with her elbow. “Getting sassy, I see. A good sign. Look, you’re leaving soon. I don’t want you all mopey before you fly off to Europe.”
Too late. Eli totally ruined my mood.
“Thank you for coming here to see me,” I murmur. “It means a lot, that you dropped everything to be my support.”
“Aw, Ava. I would do anything for you. You’re my best friend.” She wraps me up in another big hug, and it takes us a long, long time to let each other go.
After Ellie leaves, I take a shower, then make my way downstairs to face the music—aka my parents. I find them in the kitchen along with Beck, who’s sitting at the counter eating something.
When is he not eating? He’s growing into this giant hulk of a human, broader than Jake was at his age. As tall as Jake and our dad, maybe even taller. He’s huge.
“There you are,” Mom says, her voice light when she spots me. She’s trying to act like I’m not completely heartbroken, and I appreciate her need to keep things positive before I leave the country for the next few months, but she’s wasting her time.
Nothing is going to change the fact that I’m most definitely heartbroken. Not even the excitement of going to Spain for the first time in my life can fix it. I’m just trying to cope as best as I can.
“Hey,” I say, as I go to the kitchen counter and sit on the stool next to Beck’s. I can feel Mom’s gaze on me, searching, looking for signs. And the signs are all over me, despite the long shower. Swollen eyes from crying. Splotchy skin on my face. Giant zit on my chin, thanks to stress and being hormonal.
I look terrible. I feel worse.
“You want some dinner? Your father is barbecuing tonight.” She gestures toward the double French doors that lead out to the back yard, where my father is currently standing in front of his giant, fancy barbecue.
“I’m not that hungry,” I say.
I think of the times Eli would come over and he would help my dad. Or he would throw a football with Beck outside, sending me hot, suggestive looks every chance he could. He’d take his shirt off to drive me crazy and I’d quietly admire his flexing biceps and flat stomach. Knowing I could explore all that smooth, hard skin later as much as I wanted to. When it was just the two of us against the world.
Now I’ll never get the chance to do it again.
Pushing all thoughts of Eli aside, I focus on my mother, who’s watching me with her worried, knowing gaze. We’ve talked some about Eli and what he’s done, but not enough for her satisfaction, I’m sure. She has such a soft spot for him. She would never admit it, but damaged boys appeal to her. I think it’s because they remind her of my dad when they first met.
She’s never told me that, but I’ve heard enough stories over the years to put a few things together. Dad wasn’t in the best shape when he met Mom, and neither was she. They helped each other. Fixed each other. And found love in the process.
I thought that’s what Eli and I were destined to have—enduring love, but I was wrong.
