Chapter Thirty-One

Today

I didn't bother him at dinner. I didn't bother him when we sat by the fire or when he asked if anyone else wanted a boat ride. I didn't mention sleeping arrangements or try to push myself onto him. Now it's dark and I can't lay in this bed alone, thinking about it any longer.

I hear him swimming out there. For him, gliding through the water and pushing it away might be the equivalent of my love for grand allegros in ballet. It's my favorite thing to do. I love the push of my body, the rush, the way my legs kick out and I'm suspended for a moment. I stretched so much as a kid because I wanted that perfect saut de chat. I wanted to fly.

I'm not a good swimmer. I get too fatigued.

He's out there, moving his body, and all I want is for him to be in here , moving mine. Even after so many years, I've never wanted anyone to touch me more than I want him. I've wanted it since that first kiss. But now, it's different.

Tucker's foreign to me. Yet, he's not. He has a life in Savannah with people I don't know, but I know every other important thing about him. There's something so safe about knowing someone your whole life. I know his motives, I know how he would treat me.

I climb out of bed and walk through the quiet, dark kitchen in my tank top and shorts.

I'm dying to know what we would be like together, now. It feels like we're half in the middle of it. The last time we almost had sex he tore himself from me and we never had a resolution. We weren't seventeen and kissing on a vacation. There's nothing innocent or hormonal about what we did on my hotel bed after the wedding.

He doesn't look up when I walk out of the sliding glass doors. He can't hear me. I stand at the edge of the pool, my hands on my hips. He reaches my side and pops his head out of the water.

"What are you doing?" he breathes, brushing his wet hair from his face.

"What are you doing?" I counter.

"What time is it?"

"Late."

"Why aren't you in bed?"

"Because you're not. And you're avoiding me." I stare at him and listen to the rhythmic waves he created. "Tucker, we've got to have it out."

He bites his lip. "I don't know what you mean."

"We talked about the accident. We didn't talk about…the wedding."

"I don't need to talk about the wedding." He runs his closed mouth through the water line.

"I do."

Tucker's eyes tip up. He looks at me from under his eyebrows and asks, "You think about that night?"

"It was the last night we were together. For me . It was the last memory I have you from seven years ago. You had your face in my crotch and then you just left!"

He groans and pushes off the wall. " Ella . Just -"

I sit on the edge of the pool, waiting for him to explain, but he doesn't. He just stops. And dunks his head back under the water. And swims away. I peel off my heavy knit shorts and drop into the water.

He lifts his head back up on the other side of the pool. "What are you doing now ?"

"Three laps," I say. "If I beat you, then you have to talk to me."

"My body is way longer than yours."

"I'm pretty fast."

He exhales. "You're a bad swimmer. You're just going to tire yourself out and probably drown."

"Good." I flick water at him. "I'm very frustrated and can't get to sleep so that sounds great."

"Ella -"

"Three laps." I doggy paddle over to him. "You win, you don't have to say a word to me."

He snorts. "You don't even know how to swim except to keep you alive."

"I can do the mermaid." I dive down and flick my glued legs into the sky. When I come back up, Tucker's shaking his head.

"You're a little weirdo," he says gently.

I swim over to the side. I catch myself on the edge and repeat, "Three laps. There and back, three times."

After a moment of hesitation, Tucker swims over to me. He mutters, "Why would you bet something you know you're going to lose?"

"Because I want to get your attention."

He bobs in front of me, the warm twinkly lights of the yard and the cold moonlight fighting to illuminate his gorgeous, wet face. He's so handsome like this. I'm not going to make it to the next part if he doesn't go away.

I back up. "Ready?"

He rolls his eyes. "Fine." He gets to the edge beside me and whispers, "Go."

I push off and swim to the other edge, trying to keep my eyes closed as much as possible so I don't burn them in the chlorine. He pops his head out of the water, our hands touching the wall at the same time. I'm already panting, he's taking this in stride. I dive in for another lap and my eyes open to see his dark body gliding beside me.

"That's two," I wheeze.

"Ella -" he starts, but I've already gone under again. I don't know if he swims this last lap with me, but I finish with my arms and legs already exhausted, coughing and spurting water in the air.

Tucker grabs my waist. "How are you so out of shape for a professional dancer?"

"I'm not out of shape," I argue. "I just don't do a ton of upper body workouts." I relax into his grip. "Did I win?"

He cocks a smile. "No. Not yet ."

Yet.

"You know what I want, Tucker." I put one arm around his shoulder.

He sighs, "If you just want sex, you can get it from Ritchie. Hell, you can probably get it from Wyatt, too."

"I don't just want sex."

"Could have fooled me."

"You're the one holding me." At some point, he moved his hold to my butt and my legs floated around his waist.

Tucker breathes, staring at my heaving chest and my wet mouth. He mutters, "I can't do this, Ella."

I wrap my other arm around him and press our torsos together. If even this is all I get, it's enough. I just want to feel him close to me. "I'm not trying to pressure you into anything."

"Bullshit!" he laughs quietly.

"I'm just letting you know what I want."

"And if you don't want sex, then what do you want?"

"Well, yes, I wouldn't say no to sex but that's not all I want from you, that's not why I'm here." I run my fingers through his wet hair. His eyes close. "I want to feel loved. I want to love you back. I only ever felt that way with you."

"I can't love you," he whines. He squeezes his eyes tight. "I can't lose you."

"You won't."

"I almost did." He opens his eyes and pulls me closer. "It hurts too much to have something so perfect and lose it. I'm better off being indifferent to you."

"That's stupid," I spit.

"Don't tell me how to feel."

"I'm not perfect, Eli, I've never been perfect. Thank God I never took you seriously or else I could have developed a real ego about it." I pause. "It took me a long time to realize I wanted you. I'm sorry it took so long. But I would rather have the chance to make up for lost time now than worry about not having you at some future point that doesn't exist. I just want here. Right now. You don't have to be in love with me. I just want you to love me like you used to. Even if it's pretend."

"Pretend?"

"Yeah." I tighten my arms. "Pretend like every time you said, I love you Ella, that you meant it."

He grumbles, "You're so stupid."

"Don't be an asshole."

"I'm not. I'm really not. I just can't believe a girl as smart as you…" He trails off. Tucker takes a sharp inhale. He licks his lips and touches them to mine. Then he does it again. And again. He groans, "Oh fuck."

"Yeah," I whisper. "That's the point."

"Shut up."

He kisses me again, harder and deeper, and I whine against his mouth. He orders, "We have to be quiet."

He lifts me to the edge of the pool and falls back into me with another kiss. I wrap my arms around his head, pushing my hips into his. When his lips move down my face, my head tilts back, his mouth opening on my neck, and I feel the pressure relieved between my legs. He touches me, and I move against his hand as the pleasure builds. He presses where I'm sensitive.

"Let go, Ella," Tucker whispers in my ear. "Let go and I'll get you there again."

"And again, and again?" I whimper, pleading.

"We don't have to stop."

The thought of this never ending, of never being separated from him again, sets me off. I tighten against him, groaning, "Please don't leave again."

He releases me and I lay back, breathing, against the concrete, my feet in the water. He brushes them when pushes off the edge and sits beside me. Suddenly, he's standing and I'm in his arms. My legs hook against his waist, and he has one hand on my butt, holding me in place, the other on the back of my neck, pulling my mouth to his. We stumble into the dark kitchen. I don't open my eyes until he drops me.

Tucker closes the door to our bedroom. He locks it.

My heartbeat skips.

I pant, cold and wet, standing in the dark room. Silently, he peels off my wet top and it slaps to the ground. His fingers catch the sides of my underwear, and he pulls them down, bending to help me step out of them. My muscles clench with need and he licks his lips, touching my stomach where it's tight.

"Eli," I whisper. He's running a light finger over my belly button and staring at my body like he wants to memorize it. "Please." My body shivers.

"Hold on," he says. He stays quiet walking to the bathroom and returns with a towel. He wraps it around my back - as if that's what I'm craving - and rubs it down my arms. He dries every part of me with the towel, my hair and my collarbone and my breasts, until he gets between my legs and I shudder. When my feet are dry and he's standing, I reach for Tucker's shorts, pulling them down fast.

He's setting the tempo, and I want this to speed up.

But, when I see him in front of me, I realize how much there is to savor. I've missed out on so many nights like this, moments I could have had if I realized sooner how much I loved him. He might have loved me like that, too. He sure acted like it.

I take the towel from his hands, and he stands still while I reach on my toes and rub it over his hair. I pat it on his shoulders. His chest. I sweep it along his hipbone, my heart fluttering at the sight, and cover his length. I stroke him once with the towel. He lets out a moan and his eyes close. I stroke him again, watching his face relax. I let the towel fall and wrap my hands around him, at which he sighs, "Dammit, Ella."

I try not to laugh. "I'm glad I never broke this."

"Me, too." He scoops me up immediately and tosses me on the bed.

Tucker grabs my legs and parts them, kissing my center and I scream. My hands fly to my face. I'm still bucking against his mouth when he flips me onto my stomach.

"Quiet," he whines.

I'm cold and alone, rubbing myself into the sheets, and I hear him rummaging through his bag. He returns with the sound of ripping foil.

My face presses into the mattress and his tongue returns. My butt hikes into the air and I feel him holding it higher, gripping my cheeks. He licks my seam and nips at my glutes and then he's inside. His hand covers my mouth this time, holding back my squeal. He pushes once more and pulls me to a kneel, gluing his front to my back.

My head tips and Tucker pulls my hair back, kissing my neck and finding my mouth.

"I've thought about this for so long," he whispers, grinding, groaning. His tongue in my mouth matches the movements of his thrusts.

"About us?" I want to know exactly what he feels.

"You." He stops moving and his mouth lands on my shoulder. He shifts us so that we're lying on our sides. Spooned together, he twitches inside of me while his hand tucks under my head, moving to my lips.

I'm licking, biting, gasping, wanting him and forgetting that I have him. His other hand tightens against my breast. He drags it down my torso to where we are joined.

"Please don't stop." I press his hand harder into me and then grip my knee, holding my leg up, giving him room to work inside.

"Ella, this is all it can be."

I groan, "This is more than enough - you're more than enough."

He resumes, slowly. "I just want it to last as long as possible."

"It's lasted our whole lives," I sigh. "It can last the rest. I've never wanted anyone but you."

His fingers move in circles on my mound, his strokes become more rapid. He's wrapping his arms around me. My knee falls to the side, snug into my chest, squeezing him, and I emit a silent scream. Tucker grunts, holding me to him, and relaxes as I fall back to Earth.

He was right. I do it again, we do it again, and now I sit beside his reclined body, dragging my hands over the chest I thought I knew so well. I've laid my hands on his chest dozens of times, pushing him away from me, holding on to him in a game.

Seeing him this way is like finding a new compartment in your ten-year-old car or learning some feature on your phone. Something other people know and enjoy, and you think, God I wish I knew about it. I could have used it. Really used it.

I say, "I wish we'd been huggers growing up."

His eyes are closed, contented on the pillow, and he makes a sound. "You could have hugged me."

"I wanted to, sometimes. It just felt weird."

"I made you feel weird?"

"Not at all. It just was an awkward thought, putting my arms around you."

He blinks his eyes open. "Because we weren't friends?"

I shrug. I slide my palm along his chest hair, wanting to feel every curve of his body. A smile creeps into my mouth. "You're kind of rough in bed."

Tucker's eyebrows tighten. "Did I hurt you?"

"No." I lean forward and kiss him. "I like it." I swing my leg across his lap and fold my chest over his, and his hands run softly up and down my back. He breathes, I breathe, and our bodies rise and fall together, completely in sync. I scoot my arms around his head, a halo of fingers running through his dark, soft hair. I comment, "You have really nice hair."

"Ditto." He lifts his head for a quick kiss.

"I've never touched your hair before."

"Not true."

I think about that. I can't remember a time when I would have run my hands through -

"Oh." I remember now. "The wedding."

His fingers dance across my shoulders and he kisses the arm by his ears. Tucker laughs. "Have you seen those pictures?"

I pinch my lips together. "No."

"Why not?"

"Because they came in after the accident."

"And Gracie never showed them to you?"

"My mom has one of the family framed, but I haven't seen the rest of them."

He touches my cheek. "Why?" He swallows. "Was it because of that night?"

I melt into his touch. "Because I didn't want to look at you ."

Tucker stiffens, not sure of what that means, and I hurriedly kiss him for comfort. I don't want to go back there and rehash all of the old things, I want to create new things with him.

"I just missed you, that's all," I say, beside his ear.

My hands pull in beside me, my cheek running along his, and his arms wrap my shoulder blades, tightly. I'm rolled onto my back. Tucker presses his arm straight beside my head, leaning over me and staring into my eyes.

Caressing my forehead, he says, "I wanted you that night, Ella, you know I did. But I wanted more than one night. More than sex. And you just didn't see me like that, and it ruined me."

When I don't respond, he lays his mouth all over my neck and chest, finally settling beside me. My stomach is hot under his palm.

I stare at the ceiling, scratching my nails on his forearm, and replay what I recall of that night. It's true: I thought we could just sleep together, and it would be over. We'd move on, like the first time. But, to be honest, I don't think I ever moved on from him.

Throughout my life, he showed up for me, time and time again, leaving a part of him uncovered, shedding a layer I didn't know existed. I collected pieces of Elijah Tucker like a puzzle: a game he played, lifting the armrest, holding me when I felt scared.

That's not part of the joke.

Just once.

I'm always nice to you.

I'd always rather be with you.

God, you're perfect.

I listen to Tucker nestle in beside me, breathing behind my ear, his hold on me both soft and stable. He's relaxed, and my eyes flutter shut.

It's scary, but thrilling, to know him for thirty years and see him anew. His image shifted in my mind so many times that he was a new person with every gentle, loving thing he did, but he hadn't transformed. That was Tucker all along. The entire time. He unfurled bits of truth as he learned it for himself. He has always been this kind, this loving, this warm. Had he not been in my life, I would be different. He lit fires and calmed fears and rescued me.

Would he be different without me?

I open my eyes. He's almost asleep now. His breath is rhythmic. With his closed mouth and strong nose and disheveled hair, he's so Tucker and so Elijah. Part of him exists in the world, but the rest of it belongs to me.

Did it start in college, did it start at puberty, or did it begin in the hospital room, held side by side in our mothers' arms?

I whisper, "I love you, Eli."

Not quite asleep, the side of his mouth smiles.

He thinks it's part of the game.