Chapter 45 Ella

Chapter 45

Ella

"Hey, Sunny."

That name.

That voice.

That face.

Familiar features materialize as he steps closer, hands slipping in his pockets, hair fluttering when the wind blows through.

I can't breathe. Can't speak, can't move. I'm frozen to the earth with a can of Dr Pepper squeezed inside my fist so hard, the aluminum threatens to crumple.

My eyes are playing tricks.

The dark is compromising my rational thought.

I start shaking, my knees close to buckling. It can't be him.

He's not here.

I slam my eyes shut and shake my head, my throat stinging. "Max," I croak out.

Maybe I'm still dancing. Maybe I imagined him so hard, I brought him to life.

Before I can spiral, two strong arms are around me, pulling me to a warm chest. The smell hits me first. Pine needles, woods, nature, a trace of mint.

Max .

The Dr Pepper falls from my hand and I fist the front of his coat with white-knuckled fingers and bury my face in the buttons. "Are you real?" I breathe out, tears leaking down my cheeks.

He lets out a long exhale, like he just ran a marathon and finally crossed over the finish line. "I'm real," he whispers, cupping the back of my head, his fingers gloveless as they dip under my hat to graze along my scalp. "I'm real, Sunny Girl."

"How? How…how are you here?" My head swings back and forth, my tears dissolving into the fabric of his coat. "You knew where I'd be. Did Brynn tell you? My mother? Did you—"

"You told me," he says, cradling my face and angling my eyes up to his. "You did. The night I came through your window with a concussion and you bandaged me up. You said you'd be here."

My eyes are wide and glazed as I stare up at his handsome, bristled face, flabbergasted. "You remembered that?"

A smile blooms. "I remember everything you tell me."

I still can't believe it. Nearly three years without his touch and I can't imagine how I ever survived without it.

My head tilts, eyes closing, his thumb brushing along my frozen lower lip. "Max…"

"I took a chance," he tells me, voice hoarse. "I had to. No one would tell me where you were, no matter how many times I begged and pleaded. This was my one shot to see you, even if you didn't want to see me."

"I want to see you," I say, nodding fervently. "Of course I do. I've missed you so much."

He cants my head back up to his, one finger tucked under my chin. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." My eyes dart across his face. His blue, blue eyes, perfect nose, full lips, and mess of rich brown hair. He's beautifully the same and so different, too. Even through the dark night I see a maturity in his gaze. A growth. During our time apart, his charming, boyish glow has transformed into a masculine ruggedness. Bristles line his jaw—not quite a beard, but more than stubble.

I place my fingertips to the side of his cheek, my focus dipping to his mouth before panning back up. His eyes glitter under the milky starlight.

And then he sighs again. That same contented, finish-line sigh.

Max pulls me against him, hugging me tight, holding me like he never plans to leave. I melt into him and let him warm me, let him fill every hole left empty in his absence.

"There's so much I want to tell you, Sunny," he confesses.

I let him hold me for a few more beats before pulling back, a giddiness rising inside me as the shock starts to dwindle. "God, me too. I know it's late…" I bite my lip, watching as a smile hints on his lips. "How long are you in town?"

"A few days," he says, hands sliding back in the pockets of his dark-wash jeans. "Then I'll need to get back to work. I don't want to interrupt your life. I just—"

"A few days." I nod absently, feeling like there's not enough time in the world to keep me from missing him once he's gone. "Okay. A few days."

A few days.

A few days to cherish him. To hug him. To breathe him in, hold his hand, and make new memories.

A few days to add as many check marks to my notebook as possible.

***

The fire sets his gaze aglow, sprinkling red-orange embers into the blue of his eyes. I'm immediately taken back to a senior-year bonfire over three years ago, where we sat side by side on a log bench and every inch of me burned hotter than the flames, thanks to that mere inch between us.

It's funny how you know your life is going to change. A heavy look, a careful word, a leg brush or a quick touch. An orange flower held in the hand of a little boy.

Somehow, I knew that when Max handed me that rose and then chased after my father's shiny car, he'd reach me one day. He'd find me and I'd find him, and we could finally stop running in opposite directions.

I wonder if that one day is finally here.

As wood crackles and smoke rises, our knees touch on the small bench near the firepit, just a few yards from Natine's house, following our return from the park.

I glance up at Max staring down at me. He looks the same way I feel—mesmerized.

"I don't even know what to say," I confess, studying his face, relearning every crease and divot. "God…I feel like I'm dreaming."

He smiles softly. "Feels that way, doesn't it?"

"How are you? I mean…jeez, that sounds so casual, considering our history. But I want to know everything about you. Where you're living, how your dad is doing, your career…"

Do you still love me?

Are we passing ships, or am I anchored in your heart?

Max spins his own Dr Pepper can in his hands as he glances down between his knees with a long sigh. "I'm doing good. Really good," he says. "Chevy and I started up a business after you left. I helped him flip this huge house outside of town and we sold it for a big profit. Then I finally finished the reno on our old house and sold that, too. It kind of snowballed after that. Chevy and I have become close. He's really been a lifeline for me." A smile lifts when he looks my way. "Dad is doing okay. He's in an assisted living center. He has moments of clarity, but…"

I move my hand to his lap and squeeze his knee. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. He's doing better and the facility takes good care of him. I try to visit him as much as I can. A few times a week, usually. Sometimes he recognizes me, sometimes he doesn't. I've accepted it. Nothing else I can really do." His attention lands on my hand still cupping his knee. "The money you left me… It changed our lives, Ella. I can't thank you enough for that."

Tears blur my vision as I nod. "Of course. I'm so glad I could help," I whisper. "It was the easiest decision I ever had to make. And it came right along with the hardest."

Our gazes hold for a long beat before he glances into the orange flames. "I never resented you for leaving. I hope you know that." The tendons in his neck stretch, his jaw clenching tight through the bevy of emotions funneling between us. "And look at the life you've built for yourself. I'm so proud of you. You're living your dream, riding horses, looking as free as I've ever seen you."

"I've never been free of you," I tell him, needing him to know. It's imperative he knows. "Never. You've been here. I've carried you with me this whole time."

He blinks back at me, his eyes dimming. "You never reached out."

"I know. I wanted to." My bottom lip wobbles as I pull my hand away, wrapping my arms around myself to counter the chill of that truth. "I didn't know if I could, if you wanted me to," I admit, exhaling a frayed breath. "I thought you moved on by now. I figured you created a new life, met someone else…"

"What? No," he says. "There's been nobody else."

This has my chin popping up, eyes flaring. "Really?"

"There's no one else, Ella. It never crossed my mind. Not once."

"Not even…" I swallow hard, grit forming in my throat. "Not even something casual? It's been a long time. I get it if you—"

"No," he answers quickly, frowning. "Not even that."

I'm taken aback.

I never would have guessed he's been celibate, untethered to female companionship. He's a twenty-one-year-old man, after all. Gorgeous. Kindhearted and noble. Perfect in every way.

A tear slips out and I swipe it away, his unwavering devotion filling my chest with something heavy. "But…I left you," I whisper raggedly, my gaze held tightly to his. "We broke up."

Max turns and fully faces me, shaking his head as he lets out a hard breath. Raising his hand, he cups my cheek with a featherlight touch, his thumb stroking away my falling tears. "We didn't break up, Sunny," he murmurs back. "We just broke."

My breath hitches.

An avalanche of heartache rains down on me, burying me alive.

"I wasn't sure if we were fixable," I admit through the knot in my throat. "Everything that happened…with Jonah…"

He looks away, down at the ground, and my chest contracts with grief and sorrow.

I still think about my brother…every day. It's impossible not to.

But it doesn't hurt as much as it once did. In the original case against him, there was always a measure of second-guessing. He never admitted guilt. The evidence had been devastating, but when you love somebody that much—when your whole life is woven and braided with theirs—it's hard to believe they are capable of committing such a grisly crime. I still don't know the truth. I'll probably never know what happened the night Erin Kingston and Tyler Mack lost their lives.

After his original conviction for the double homicide was overturned, Jonah found himself in a legally precarious position. The principle of double jeopardy meant he couldn't be retried for those particular murders. So when faced with the new charge in the death of McKay, Jonah and his counsel decided it was best to avoid another uncertain legal battle.

This time he accepted the plea bargain offered: a reduction of his second-degree murder charge to voluntary manslaughter. In exchange, he was sentenced to fifteen years with the possibility of parole after seven, along with a commitment to attend an anger management therapy program during his incarceration. Given his history and past accusations, many found the sentence lenient.

Even me.

But with the previous trial's complications and its evidence deemed inadmissible, the prosecution felt this was the most strategic way to ensure Jonah faced some measure of justice. And in the end, Mom didn't have to suffer through the heartache of another trial, which was a small silver lining.

Max peers back up at me when the silence lingers, setting down his can. "Have you visited him at all?" he wonders.

I shake my head stiffly. Jonah is at a medium-security correctional complex in Pikeville, roughly an hour and a half east of Tellico Plains. "No, but Mom does. She visits him once a month."

"How do you feel about that?"

I shrug. "I don't blame her. That's her son."

"He's your brother," Max says, tone softening. "He was protecting you."

"He was avenging me," I correct. "There's a difference. And I never asked him to do that. God, that's the last thing I wanted…" More tears threaten when our eyes catch. "How are you doing, Max? With everything?"

His eyes dip to the wood chips beneath our boots. "I'm managing. It's a strange position to be in…grieving someone you loved, while also resenting them for doing something terrible. I know you get it." He swallows. "Some days are better than others."

I do get it. I'm in the exact same position.

The ironic parallel would be funny if it weren't so tragic. And I worried, at first, that if I ever saw Max again, I'd still see his brother's face shining back at me with malice. I'd see dark eyes, instead of crystal blue. Callousness instead of comfort.

But I don't.

All I see is Max.

"I'm so sorry," I breathe out.

And I am sorry.

For everything.

I stand from the bench, holding in a cry. A cry of longing, of despair. Of things we can't change and things we still can. Of unknowns and well-knowns and tragedy and fate.

My legs carry me over to the stretch of woods that border a small creek.

I hear him follow.

I hear his familiar footfalls. Heavy boots against rugged earth.

The water is near-frozen as my feet stall at the edge of the creek, my tears like tiny icicles glued to my cheeks. "I made a list," I murmur softly as Max steps beside me and we're shoulder to shoulder. "I made a list of all the things you wanted me to do. I've kept a running tally." Bending over, I pick up a small stone with my gloved fingers and brush my thumb along the ridges. "But I still haven't figured out how to skip a stone."

Max watches as I arch my arm and toss the stone across the water. It bounces off an ice formation, then disappears into the black abyss.

I sigh, turning toward him with a defeated shrug. "You became my unskipped stone. Forever out of reach."

He stares at me with glazed eyes, the collar of his dark-brown coat tickling his jawline. Then he plucks his own stone from the ground, swings his arm out, and gives it a graceful toss.

Skip, skip, skip.

Plunk.

"Have you found a bridge to toss sticks into?" he wonders, searching for another stone.

"Yes. There's a small bridge a few miles away. I'll drive over there every once in a while."

"Watch the sunrise and sunset?"

"I do. As many as I can."

"Horses are a given," he notes, glancing back at the stables. "Do you dance?"

Max tosses another stone with perfect rhythm.

"Yes. Every Friday at a local bar."

"Do you dance alone?"

The underlying question is evident. I nod again, slowly, watching another pebble leave his hand and dance its way across the newly rippling surface. "There hasn't been anyone else for me, either."

Pausing, he glances at me, relief filling his eyes. Then he takes my hand in his, outstretches my fingers, and places a grayish rock in my palm. "Try again."

I sigh. "It's pointless."

"It's not. You'll get it."

Shaking off my jitters, I try to concentrate as I sweep my arm out and whip it forward.

Plop.

I try two more times to no avail.

On the third attempt, Max moves in behind me, until the front of his coat is pressed up against my back. I go still. My breathing feels unsteady, my heart jumping like the stones that refuse to skip. I feel him falter for a moment, his nose dipping to my hair as he inhales a shuddered breath. My eyes close. I lean back on instinct, my balance teetering, my stomach in ropes.

"It's all about the rhythm and the glide," he murmurs against my ear. Max's fingers trail down the length of my arm until his hand is clasped around mine.

I want my gloves to incinerate, to turn to dust. I want no layers between us, no barriers.

Swallowing, I let his fingers tangle with mine briefly before he slowly swings my arm back and forth, assisting with the rhythm. Forward, back, repeat.

It's almost like we're dancing.

"The last time we did this…I think I fell a little bit in love with you," I confess.

A warm plume of his breath hits the shell of my ear. I'm not sure if it's a sigh of relief or a groan, but it sets my insides ablaze. His scent overpowers me, unravels me, as I tremble on two shaky legs. It's freezing outside, but I've never felt more warmth.

"Me too," he says softly. Max's other arm snakes around my middle and holds me tight, while his right hand still sways with mine. "Toss the stone, Sunny."

I close my eyes.

I envision us three years ago at Tellico Lake, the sunset staining the sky in an apricot blush, all of my worries and fears setting with the sun. I recall myself looking forward to dawn, to a new day, to a new beginning. With him. There was a golden glow around my heart, the feeling as unpredictable as the ever-changing weather in our story.

My arm rears back a final time, his fingers still cradling my hand, and I let go of the stone.

A few tiny plunking sounds travel to my ears.

Max hesitates, inhales a quick breath.

Then he leans in to me and whispers gently, "You did it."

A smile pulls at my frozen cheeks. My lashes flutter, my eyes opening, and I stare out at the dark water as I lean against Max, letting him hold me upright. His other arm falls away from my hand to join the one that's circled around my middle. He squeezes me tight, his face dropping to the crook of my neck. I feel his lips graze my skin, followed by a light kiss. Then another.

I shiver.

"You skipped your first stone," he murmurs, sprinkling more kisses along my throat, my ear, his hands skimming the front of my puffy coat.

"I skipped my first stone," I repeat breathily. "And…you're here."

"I'm here."

Spinning in his arms, I reach up and clasp my hands around his neck and lower his face to mine. My lips part when our noses kiss. Max drags his hands up my body in slow motion, then cups my face between his palms.

The feeling never left.

The glow, the shimmer ringed around my heart.

I lift up on my tiptoes and press my lips to his.

His lips are cold, but his tongue is warm when it slips inside. A moan falls out as my hands squeeze the nape of his neck, my eyes hesitant to close as I fully drink him in. Heat blooms everywhere, from my chest to my toes. It's a reunion, a coming home, a feeling of completion.

"You can close your eyes," he whispers, pulling back briefly. "You don't have to look at me if it hurts too much."

I falter, my breath catching. "What?"

Max swallows as our noses brush together. "I just mean…if you still see him."

My heart cracks. Tears pool, and I shake my head back and forth, emotion clogging my words. "No, Max…no," I tell him, holding him tighter. "I only see you."

It's true.

With the weight of our past hanging between us, I see Max —the man standing before me now, offering comfort and understanding. The specter of his twin brother's actions may linger in my memory, but in Max's arms, I find a safe space where the wounds of the past can heal, and where the promise of a shared future begins to take shape.

He is not his brother.

Just as I am not mine.

Max lets out a sigh of relief, and I pull him closer, the kiss gaining wings as we soar across a midnight sky, his hair between my fingers, our chests and hearts flush together.

When he pulls back for a breath, his forehead drops to mine. "We're fixable," he says huskily, pushing my hair back and kissing the top of my head. "I never doubted that. Not once. It's always been you, Ella. Since the day I saw you in the schoolyard reading Winnie the Pooh , I knew I'd found my best friend."

A small cry leaves me as I yank him back for another kiss.

We stumble, walking backward through the tree line, a clumsy trek toward the property. My hat slides off my head, my boots catch on sticks and branches, but our mouths hardly unlock. Max reaches down to scoop me up, his forearms linking underneath my thighs. I hang on to him as our lips and tongues tangle, our bodies drawing closer to my RV.

He presses me up against the siding, a breath leaving me as my legs circle tighter around him. His eyes pan up briefly, drinking in my decked-out RV that's softly illuminated by an under glow and string lights from the adjacent property. "Wow," he mutters, glancing back at me with a smile. "I'm impressed."

Max stares at my little life on wheels, newly repainted in bright orange with a glossy finish. Large, vibrant decals cover its sides, showcasing iconic book spines that seem to stack upon one another. The title "Sunny's Book Voyage" is emblazoned across the top in whimsical, flowing script. The vehicle has exterior under-glow lights in a soft gold, making it shine.

"The title is lame," I admit. "I couldn't think of anything clever."

He shakes his head, eyes still sparkling and aimed at me. "It suits you."

My heart squeezes as the words wash over me like dawn's first blush. I nibble my lip and nod at the vehicle, an invitation for entry. "I can show you the inside," I offer. "So we can warm up."

He bites his lower lip. "All right."

Max follows me inside and I try not to clam up, knowing what might come next. Max Manning is in Michigan. Standing in my RV. Inches away from me.

His tongue was in my mouth.

And I want it everywhere.

A familiar feeling races down my back as I feel him close in on me in the cramped quarters, and it's the same feeling I had at the bar. That knowing, prickling feeling that revved my pulse and heated my blood. "How long have you been in town?" I wonder, moving to allow him more space.

His focus skips around the interior furnishings. "Not long."

I walk farther inside, my gaze settling on the rumpled bed down the little hallway, spotlighted with a plethora of flickering electric candles and wax warmers. My cheeks burn. The accommodations aren't exactly primed for guests, and there's nowhere else to sit. Just the super romantic-looking bed.

This is terrifying. And magical. And wonderful and scary and surreal. I have no idea what I'm doing.

I wring my hands together and peer up at him through timid lashes.

He's fully lit now, free of shadows and nightfall. The sight of him steals my breath and strangles my lungs.

Max steps toward me with a similar expression, brows bent, eyes full of wonderment. He reaches for me and grabs hold of my coat zipper, sliding it all the way down until the fabric pops open.

I stare at him and wait.

He takes both hands and dips them inside the coat, up to my shoulders, then pushes it off me. It falls down my arms and lands at our feet.

My eyes close and my fingers curl into fists as I wait for more. I hear his own jacket zipper pull down, the rustling of his coat falling away. Warm body heat zaps me when he steps closer, his hands lightly gripping my hips, fingers dipping beneath my rust-colored sweater to graze my skin.

Then he leans forward and whispers, "We don't have to take this any further tonight, Ella. I'm happy just holding you. Kissing you. Watching the sun rise in your arms."

A tear slips out and slides down my cheek.

I think of all the times I made him leave before the sun came up.

The sun was harsh, unforgiving, too bright. It shone light on all of our shattered pieces that I couldn't put back together, so I hid them away in the dark.

Guilt gnaws at me, knowing how much he craved waking up beside me in my bed. How much he yearned to watch that golden light spill in through my open window and bring us a little bit of warmth.

"Max," I choke out, my arms drawing up to link around his shoulder. "Stay."

He smiles as he guides me to the bed, scattering kisses along my hairline as we kick off our boots. I pull him down with me, flipping off the lamp until we're only illuminated by the candles' low light, and I reach for the white stone sitting on my bedside table.

We snuggle up, side by side, his hand resting on the small of my back, under my sweater, and my face pressed to his chest. I inhale deeply, my soul filling with pine needles and fresh mint, with another life and a new life flickering on the horizon in every hue of orange.

Our legs tangle beneath the blankets as my eyes drift closed. Before peace carries me away, I whisper into the silence, "Max?"

He holds me tighter. "Hmm?"

A playful smile hints as I lift my arm slightly and flex my bicep. "We never did have that arm-wrestling match."

I feel his chest rumble against me, a soft laugh teasing the quiet. Max finds my lips for a lingering kiss before he breathes out, "That's because I was never bored when I was with you."

He stays until morning.

He's there when the sun crests and a new day dawns.

We sleep past sunrise, but when my drowsy, dream-kissed eyes flutter open in the glimmering daylight, his face is the first thing I see as I come back to life, wrapped up in his strong arms, while my precious white stone is fisted in my hand.

And it's just as good as every golden sunrise.

It's better.