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***
I sat in my car, outside of The Pig's Ear, for far too long, my mind a swirling, chaotic mess. It was too early for the bar to be open, but that
wasn't why I was there anyway. I stared at the windows on second floor – the window into Eli's apartment and felt my stomach lurch. As I kept staring at the windows, I felt the knots in my stomach constrict painfully enough that I let out a soft groan. I clenched the steering wheel hard enough that my knuckles turned white and my hands started to ache. I sat there, trying to get up the courage to go inside. Or the cowardice to just drive away.
One way or the other – stay or go – I had to make a decision.
The tears had long since dried on my cheeks, and I wasn't sure if they were happy tears or sad ones. Maybe both. My emotions, like my mind, were all over the place. I was an absolute wreck and was having trouble discerning up from down at that moment.
Finally, without giving myself a chance to keep sitting there obsessing about it, I heaved open the car door and got out. I walked briskly toward the building and up the stairs to my stepbrother's studio. It was still early – he'd worked late – and I wasn't sure he'd even be up at that hour. I hesitated outside his apartment, wondering if I should text him later or...
No, I decided to go for it. Now or never. I'd made it this far, might as well see it through.
I knocked, almost too gently, on the door. It was almost like I didn't want him to hear it. Maybe I was hoping he wouldn't answer and I could go home. Go home, jump into bed, pull the covers up over my head, and pretend none of this was happening. I could figure this out without him. I didn't need him. In fact, he'd probably be more of a hinderance than anything, quite honestly.
I turned to leave, feeling the slightest wave of relief, when the door finally opened. My stomach lurched again, and I fought back a wave of nausea. Eli stood there with his hair hanging in his face, looking at me with eyes that were rimmed red and bleary. He was wearing nothing but his boxers, his chiseled chest and all of that ink on his flesh on display. I stared at the tattoos on his chest instead of meeting his eyes.
“Hannah? Hey. Come in,” he said.
Without a word, I stepped into his studio and he closed the door behind me. I turned around to face him, still unable to meet his eyes. We stood there, a couple of feet apart, though it felt like miles separated us. There was a thick tension and sense of expectation hanging in the air between us as he looked at me.
Finally, after several long moments of awkward silence, he spoke. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah. Fine. Great,” I lied, feigning a smile, “I just wanted to check on Aubree. How's she doing today?”
“Besides crying half the night, you mean?” He glanced over at the crib and scratched the stubble on his face, which made a dry, scratchy sound. “She's fine. The fever seems to be gone, and she fell asleep about half an hour ago.”
“Oh, I'm sorry to wake you,” I muttered, staring at my hands – though, it was better than staring at my half-naked stepbrother.
“You didn't wake me – and even if you had, it's okay,” he said. “What's really going on with you?”
The words were on the tip of my tongue, but they were thick in my throat and felt stuck. I needed to get them out, but somehow, they harder I tried to speak them, the harder they seemed to stick. Elijah took my hands in his, my own tiny fingers disappearing amongst his big, strong palms. It never failed to amaze me how much Eli dwarfed me. It could be intimidating at times, and at other times, it made me feel comforted. Safe.
“We never did talk about our fight awhile back –” I stammered.
“No, I figured I'd give you some space,” he said softly. “Is that really why you wanted to talk to me, now? To finish our fight?”
I nodded. “Yes, and no,” I said, biting my bottom lip. “I mean, I realize why I'm pushing you away. It's because I know what I want out of life, and this isn't it.”
I motioned around his messy studio apartment. He followed my gaze and I could see a look of something that almost looked like shame.
“And you think this is all I want?” he asked. “This shitty studio and a terrible job slinging drinks for a bunch of bikers?”
I shrugged. “How the hell should I know? It's not like you've ever told me what you wanted to do with your life,” I said. “It's not like you ever talk about your hopes and dreams.”
“Because you've never asked,” he said.
“Well tell me now, then,” I say, my voice firm. “What do you want out of your life, Eli? What are your hopes and dreams?”
I managed to meet his gaze and not cry or have any other sort of emotional breakdown. Kudos for me. His normal smirk was gone, replaced by a serious expression, along with a look of mild shock. His eyebrows were cocked, and he seemed a little confused by my question. Not that I'd blame him for being confused. This whole conversation did seemingly come out of nowhere.
He released my hands and cradled my face, stroking my cheek softly with his thumbs. Without really thinking about it, I leaned into his touch. Felt comforted by his presence.
“I know I want to be with you,” he said.
I choked on the words, but they came out anyway. “I want to be with you too, believe it or not.”
“Great,” he said, a smile forming on his handsome face.
