I try to ignore the voice that never fucking shuts up, but it’s impossible. He’s been locked in this room with me for ten days, and no matter what I do, he won’t go away. I’ve sat here with my back pressed to the door, listening to Shelby read those letters I wrote, refusing to go away, refusing to stop trying, and I just can’t make that fucking voice shut up.
Every time I’m tempted to open that door, crawl across the floor and into her arms, he says something else and it reminds me how screwed up I am.
My hand has been pressed against the door since Shelby first started reading and I still kept it pressed there long after she quieted and I assumed she fell asleep. As much as I hated hearing her on the other side of the door and knowing I couldn’t go to her, her voice is the only thing that quiets the one in my head. When she’s reading those letters, when I close my eyes and just listen to the soft cadence of her voice, Rylan disappears. He doesn’t speak, he doesn’t flop down on my bed, he doesn’t bitch at me, he just goes away. As soon as Shelby stops talking, he’s right back in this room again, dragging me through hell and splitting my mind in two.
“Will you just open the fucking door already?” he shouts in frustration and I hear the bed creak.
My hand slides down the wood and I keep my head pressed against the door, refusing to look across the room. Part of me wants to look and see him standing there, so real and so alive because then it wouldn’t hurt so much. But then I remember he’s not real or alive, and if I’m still seeing him in this room, I’m still fucked.
“You’re not real, you’re not real, you’re not real,” I chant quietly to myself with my eyes still closed.
“No shit, Sherlock!” Rylan shouts. “I’m not real, so let me fucking go!”
With a growl, I scramble to my feet and stomp across the room, so fed up with this bullshit and feeling like I’m going crazy and just wanting it to stop.
“Don’t you think I’m trying?” I argue back. “I don’t want you in my head! I don’t want to see you standing here when I know it’s not real!”
He scoffs at me and rolls his eyes. “You’re not trying. You’re giving up. Everything you need is on the other side of that door and you refuse to open it.”
I shake my head and take a step back from him.
“I can’t do that to her. I can’t hurt her or put her through this. She has enough problems in her life right now, she doesn’t need another one.”
Rylan advances on me and gets right in my face.
“You think this isn’t already hurting her? You think pushing her away and not giving her a chance to help you doesn’t kill her?” Rylan fires back angrily. “She went through hell for you. She gave up her entire life for you. She let people dictate her every move for fucking years to keep you safe. After everything she sacrificed, you’re just going to let her go? She gave up her life and her happiness to save you, and she doesn’t even get you in the end? What kind of bullshit is that?”
I don’t understand what he’s saying, none of it makes sense, and I wonder if it’s possible to go even crazier than I already am.
“She’s been sleeping on the fucking floor for you. Reading those letters for you. She deserves a fucking light at the end of that tunnel, man, and for whatever reason, you’re that light for her. You’re going to deny her that after everything she’s done for you, after everything she was forced to do for you, just because you can’t wake the fuck up?” he yells angrily.
“What the hell are you talking about?” I whisper in disbelief.
“Don’t tick me off by pissing away the second chance you were given.”
He pokes his finger into my chest, getting in my face again.
“Just let. Me. Go.”
“I DON’T KNOW HOW!” I roar at him, wrapping my arms around my waist and dropping to my knees. “It was my fault, all my fault. I should have protected you, I should have stopped them. I tried to stop them but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t save you. Oh, God, I couldn’t save you!”
I rock myself back and forth, choking on my tears and the pain that threatens to rip my chest wide open.
Rylan squats down in front of me and pats me on the back.
“You couldn’t save me and I never expected you to, brother. It wasn’t your job to save me,” he tells me in a low voice. “We were thirty seconds away from both of us dying in that shithole, but it didn’t work out that way. You couldn’t save me, but you can still save her. She gave everything up to protect you. Just let me go.”
I force myself to look at him, clenching my teeth and lifting my head.
“What are you talking about? What does that mean?”
He smirks at me and shakes his head. “I’m not gonna to give you all the answers. Tell her to take off that watch she’s always wearing.”
I open my mouth to start losing my shit on him all over again, quickly snapping it closed when I realize he’s not just talking nonsense to make me crazy.
The only reason I even noticed the watch that Shelby always wears is because of the number of times I’d seen her run her fingers over the inside band. It was like a nervous tick whenever she was upset or scared or nervous. She did it the night we first saw each other again in the stables, she did it a bunch of times the night of the charity dinner, she did it when she first let me have it in her studio that same night, the first time I touched her leg, when she told me she kept my dog tags, and the entire time her mother unloaded all of that bullshit on her.
I think about all the times I’ve kissed her, all the times I’ve touched her, all the times I’ve held her in my arms, all the times I was chained to a wall and had nothing but memories of all those times to keep me going. I remember how it felt to see her again when I never thought I would get the chance. I remember how good it felt when she let down her walls and let me back in. I remember how good it felt to build her back up again, make her stronger, make her a fighter, remind her what it was like to be happy and loved. I remember how good it felt to let her heal me, let her distract me, and let me remember how to live again. All of it was good, every single second, every single moment, it was all good because of her. Because she was there making it all better. It was always Shelby. Only Shelby.
“It wasn’t your fault. Just let me go,” Rylan tells me again.
“I don’t know how,” I whisper back.
“Yes you do. She’s right on the other side of that door. Tell her to take off the watch. Just let me go.”
My head drops as I close my eyes.
I think about her laugh, I think about her smell, I think about dancing with her in the studio. I think about how fucking afraid I am that I’m not good enough for her. That my screwed-up head will ruin everything.
“Just let me go.”
Rolling over onto my hands and knees, I push myself up and reach for the door, knowing I have to stop living in fear. Knowing I have to do this if I want any chance at a future with her.
I think about her smile, I think about that little gasp she makes when I kiss her, I think about the silky feel of her hair when I run my fingers through it, and I think about how nothing in my life makes sense when I’m not thinking about her.
“You don’t need me anymore.”
My hand wraps around the doorknob and I reach my other hand up to turn the lock, knowing he’s right. Knowing Shelby is all I need.
“I don’t need you anymore,” I whisper back to him.
“Just let me go, just let me go, just let me go…”
His voice trails off until there’s nothing but silence in the room as I open the door and step out into the hallway.
Chapter 33
Shelby
I rush up the steps to Eli’s house, feeling guilty that I left, even if it was just for fifteen minutes. At three o’clock in the morning, something jerked me awake from my bed on the floor outside his room. I could have sworn I’d heard Eli shout, but after sitting perfectly still and listening quietly for a few seconds and not hearing another sound, I reali
zed I must have been dreaming.
With my butt feeling numb and a stiff neck from falling asleep in such a bad position, still sitting up with my head pressed against the door, I had been too on edge and too sore to go back to sleep. I quietly slipped on my shoes and let myself out of the house to take a walk around the block.
Letting myself back into the house, I turn and close the door as gently as possible, closing my eyes and leaning my forehead against it after I engage the deadbolt. I breathe slow and deep, trying to calm my thoughts and come up with a new plan. Reading the letters obviously didn’t work. I got through every last one of them before I passed out. Reading them again, out loud, made me feel every emotion I did the first time I read them. Sad that we’d been torn apart and heartbroken that it took so long for me to finally have them in my hands and know what he’d been feeling. But most of all, and more important than anything else—loved. So incredibly loved and cared for, even when he was thousands of miles away and had no idea if I was reading his words or would ever forgive him. That love swallowed up the feelings of sadness and hurt, it made butterflies flap in my stomach, it made me happy, and it made me smile.
I just wanted him to feel the same. I wanted him to hear those words he wrote to me so many years ago and feel the love. Remember it and let it consume his own sadness and heartbreak, but it didn’t. I’m out of my element and I don’t know what I’m doing. I have no other plan and I have no other ideas short of kicking down the door and dragging him out of that room.
With a defeated sigh, I pull my head back from the door and slowly turn. A short, terrified scream rips from my throat when I get all the way around and see Eli standing silently a foot away from me.
“Oh, my God. You scared the hell out of me,” I tell him in between rapid breaths, pressing my hand against my chest to slow my heart down.
Even while I’m trying to calm myself down from the surprise of seeing someone standing behind me and the shock that it’s Eli and he’s out of his room, I can’t stop looking at him. I haven’t seen his face in ten days and it’s the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen. His eyes are red-rimmed and bloodshot, his cheeks and jaw are covered in stubble, and he’s still wearing the same clothes from when he left the hospital, but he’s still the best thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.
It’s impossible to believe I made it through six years without looking at his face when after only ten days I was climbing the walls and ready to kick down his door.
“Are you hungry?”
It’s the dumbest question in the world but the only thing I can come up with to say to him right now. I’ve told him I was sorry, I’ve asked him what he needed and what I could do, I’ve begged him to stay with me and pleaded with him to let me help him. I’ve already said everything I could that was important. All that’s left is something stupid and trivial.
“Take off your watch,” he tells me softly.
I’m momentarily thrown from hearing the sound of his voice again, so deep and raspy and like music to my ears, that I didn’t even hear the words he said.
“Huh?”
His eyes hold mine for a few minutes until he looks away and down.
“Take off your watch,” he repeats, just as softly.
I finally process what he’s saying and realize he’s looking down at my hand, which I hold pressed against my stomach to calm my nerves. I swallow nervously, the fingers of my right hand automatically going to my inside left wrist.
“What?” I ask again lamely, pretending like I didn’t hear him just to buy myself some time.
With his eyes still down at my wrist, he closes the distance between us until we’re toe to toe. I can feel the heat from his body and I shiver, realizing just how cold I’ve been lately without it.
I stare up at his face in a daze until I feel his hand wrap around my fingers. He pulls them away and I realize I was just toying with my watchband without being aware of I was doing it.
I continue looking up at his face when he gives up waiting for me to do what he said, pulls my hand away from my stomach, and flips it over until my palm is facing up. My eyes fill with tears when he gently presses his thumb and forefinger against the clasp and the band loosens. My hand shakes when he slowly slides the watch dangling from my wrist down over my hand, shoving it into the front pocket of his jeans.
He lets out a shaky breath and a soft groan, his fingers tracing over the tattoo on the inside of my wrist. Even though I pissed off the tattoo artist by asking for it to be done the wrong way, facing me instead of facing out, it’s still obvious what it says even if he’s reading it upside down.
“‘For Eli,’” he whispers quietly, saying the words as his fingers continue running over the cursive lettering.
He finally brings his head up and I have to bite down on my lower lip to stop it from quivering, but nothing can stop the tears from spilling out of my eyes when I see the softness and love in his when he looks at me.
“You tattooed my name on your wrist,” he states.
“Yes.”
He pulls my arm toward him, resting my hand against his chest and flattening my palm over his heart by pressing his hand on top of mine and holding it there.
“Why?” he asks, sliding his thumb back and forth over the top of my hand.
“To remind me,” I whisper.
The corner of his mouth tips up into a half smile and I can see one of his dimples, even through the stubble on his cheeks. I want to reach up and run my hand over his face, trace the tips of my fingers over his lips just to make sure he really is smiling at me and I’m not imagining it.
“I’m gonna need more than that,” he tells me, the other corner of his mouth tipping up to match the first side.
I know it’s way past time for me to tell him about this and I know he deserves to know everything, but I’m so afraid of taking that smile off his face and making him feel guilty again. I just got him back, I just got him out of his room, talking to me and touching me, and I don’t want him to disappear again. I don’t want to do anything to upset him, but I can’t keep this from him any longer.
I sigh and force myself to look away from his face so I don’t have to witness the loss of his smile, staring at his hand still pressing against the top of mine instead. I focus on the feel of his heart beating against my palm instead of the words that come out of my mouth and what they might do to him.
“To remind myself that everything I did was for you. So that every time I had to agree to something I hated, every time I had to say yes to another request that chipped away at another piece of me, I could look down at those words and know I was doing it for a reason. To know none of it mattered as long as you were okay.”
His chest rises and falls with a deep breath under our hands and I still refuse to look up at him.
“When the news hit that we’d been killed, they speculated that I was a traitor and responsible for it. But that theory was squashed not long after it came out. You?” he asks.
“I agreed to go out with Landry,” I admit in the smallest voice possible.
“My sister almost lost her business and Daniel almost lost his job because of some tax fraud bullshit, but that went away within a few days and they were told it was a mistake. You?” he questions.
“I agreed to stay in Charleston and work for my mother,” I whisper, squeezing my eyes closed.
“And when I was first rescued, they tried to pin that shit on me again, but it went away quickly. Too quickly. You?” he asks.
“I agreed to get more serious with Landry and take on more job duties for my mother,” I confess.
Silence fills the room and all I can hear is the ticking of the clock above the fireplace mantle. Eli is quiet for so long that I’m afraid he’s taking this time to fill himself with anger and guilt and I brace myself for him to drop his hand still holding mine next to his heart, walk away, and lock himself back inside his room.
“Shelby, look at me. Please,” he begs gently.
I slowly o
pen my eyes and lift my chin, holding my breath until his free hand comes up and cups my cheek.
“You saved my life, and I ruined yours,” he whispers, repeating the words he said to me at the cemetery.
“Never,” I reply back, leaning forward until I’m pressed against him, trapping our hands against his chest between us. “I would do it all over again in a minute. I would make all those same choices again as long as I knew it was for you and that you’d come back to me.”
He leans his head down and presses his forehead against mine and I continue before he can even think about moving away or believing the words he just said.
“You saved me, too. I gave up and I was lost. You gave me back the music, you gave me back my strength, you gave me back my hope…you put all the pieces back together, and you made me whole again.”
Eli lifts his chin and presses his lips to my forehead, holding them there and sliding his hand out from between us to cup my other cheek.
“I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to really dance again, but you made me want to try. You brought me back to life. I don’t care if we’re a couple of broken pieces and we’re making a huge fucking mess,” I tell him, throwing his words back at him as gently as I can, but firm enough so he knows I’m serious and I truly believe what I’m saying. “I’d rather be a complete mess with you than spend another day shattered all over the floor alone.”
Pulling my head back so I can see his face, I move my hand from his chest and slide both of my arms around his waist.
“Please, don’t leave me. Let me help you. Let me fix this,” I beg.
The smile finally comes back to his face and he wraps his arms around me, pulling me tightly against him. I turn my head to the side and rest my cheek against his heart so I can hear it thumping in my ear.
“You already did,” he finally says quietly, resting his chin on top of my head. “You already did.”
Epilogue
Eli
Six months later…