Chapter 28

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Ella

Present

Returning home feels like a giant step backward.

Back at my job, I’m alone in a monotonous gray cubicle for eight hours a day. The only times my office phone rings is when there’s a new hire on-boarding that needs to be completed, or when some petty employee drama arises. When I get off work, I go to the back of a packed workout class, and leave without saying a word to any of the vaguely familiar faces. At home, it’s eerily silent.

There’s no lunch dates with my best friends. No sitting on the chair on the back porch watching the sunset. No pouncing Jude the moment he walks through the front door, or falling asleep in his arms.

Being alone has never felt as loud as it does now. It’s like Jude showed me how full life could be, and now it’s suddenly disappeared. The only highlight at the end of everyday, is when we are both off work, and have our daily video chat.

But seeing his tired face on a six-inch screen isn’t the same. My body aches to reach out and touch him. To feel his fingers combing through my hair as I fall asleep. To have his arms wrapping around me whenever he’s within reach. And to find his eyes all over me whenever we’re in the same room together.

My life had gone from a world of color, back to this depressing gray version. Where I work a thankless job and blend into a sea of faces. A day-in and day-out blur that leaves me depleted. After ninety-six hours of it, I’m itching for something more. So much fucking more.

As soon as I settle in on my couch to read, my phone chimes with an unexpected call from Madi.

“Hey, Mad. What’s up?”

“Meh, forget about me. The reason I’m calling is to see how you are doing?” she asks. Then she adds, “And no lying. I can tell when you lie, your voice gets an octave higher.”

“Okay, expert-level interrogator. I’ll admit, I’ve been better. It does feel lonelier here than I expected. I think after being in Lawson for so long, coming back has been a hard adjustment.”

“So, what’s stopping you from packing up all your shit and coming back to Lawson?”

“I…don’t know.” It’s a good question. The same one I’ve been asking myself. Why the hell do I feel like it’s necessary to stay here when it’s apparent I’d rather be back in my hometown? “To be honest, I feel like I needed to prove to myself that I could make it on my own.”

“The thing is, you’ve been on your own for most of your life. I don’t want to talk ill about the dead, but even though your parents were physically there, they weren’t emotionally there. Then when you dated Stephen for all those years, he was equally distant and cold and an all-around asshole.”

I’m silent because I know she’s right. Admitting it feels even harder however.

“Listen, it’s okay to need someone. No one is going to fault you for changing your mind and coming back here. You’ve proved throughout your entire life that you’re strong and independent. Maybe it’s time for you to depend on the people you love, that love you right back tenfold. Like Delaney and I.” She clears her throat. “And my brother.”

“Wow, what a segue,” I laugh.

“I know, real subtle. But seriously, he’s miserable without you. I legit saw him staring out the window and not paying attention like some love-sick puppy. It was a strange combination of cute and depressing.”

“He seems fine when I talk to him every night. Tired, but okay.”

“Don’t let him fool you. He’s trying to act all tough so you don’t worry about him. As your best friend, and his sister, take my word—he’s fucking miserable. And from the sound of it, you are too. Maybe that’s worth looking into.”

“I’ll think about it. ”

“You do whatever is best for you . Not for your friends, or employer, and especially not for my idiot older brother. Make yourself the priority.”

We hang up and it’s like the alarm has been set off for taking my life into action. What am I trying to prove by staying here? By trying to prove anything, I’m still making others’ opinions a priority above my own. Because what I want more than anything is to be back in Lawson. To try being my own boss in a new business venture. With my support system. And most of all, with Jude.

Lawson used to hold a giant pile of bad memories, but suddenly that has all changed. Now all I see is the potential.

In an effort to process all these far off feelings and ideas, I unzip my luggage that I have yet to unpack. If only Jude knew my expert level of procrastination, he’d cringe. But it’s time to rip the Band-Aid off, and unpacking seems like a good way to divert my train of thought before I do something wild like drive back to Lawson in the dead of night.

Flipping the hardshell lid of my suitcase open, my heart stops when I see it lying there on top of the neatly folded piles of clothes he helped me pack. It’s the Polaroid we took ten years ago, parked on the cliffside overlooking the Pacific. Me, smiling ear-to-ear in the passenger seat of his car; him, kissing me on the cheek for the first time ever. That very moment changed the entire course of our relationship. It was like the meteor that crashed into us and altered the trajectory of our future.

Thumbing through the Polaroids, I also find the ones we took last week. Holding the photos of our past and present selves is like holding two sides of the same coin—one marked by excitement and possibilities, the other etched with strength and hard-won understanding. It’s a reminder that no matter how much has changed, the connection between us has always been there, enduring and unwavering.

I pace the small area of my apartment, walking back and forth between the kitchen and living room, biting my nails to the nub. I’ve made choices my entire life based on what I thought others expected of me. Now I know what I want to do, and all I need is the courage to take the leap.

Snatching my laptop from its charging cord, I rush to type out an email to my supervisor, letting her know I’m quitting and using the rest of my vacation to cover my two weeks notice. It’s a dick move, especially after coming back from bereavement leave. There will most definitely be steam coming out of her ears come tomorrow morning. But before I can second guess it, and retype it forty-two different ways, I tap send.

And just like that, the damage is done. The first trigger pulled to jumpstart the rest of my life.

My nerves are overridden with an overwhelming thrill and excitement coursing through me instead. I’m in awe that I’m going through with this. Crazy? Absolutely. Certain I’m making a good, rash, life choice? We’ll see. But I’ve got a good gut feeling.

With the apartment manager in the office for only an hour more, I sprint over to try and convince him to let me break my lease early .

I’m pissing people off left and right, but I’ve never been less worried. Apparently, I’m in my villain era, throwing around the word “no” like confetti at a parade.

I’ve got the ball rolling at record speed. There’s no official deadline for moving back to my hometown, but it feels like I’m racing against the clock. After spending so long living for others, the urgency to finally start living for myself is impossible to ignore.

Two hours later, my well-worn couch and most of the furniture is listed on a free giveaway site. A stack of moving boxes taller than myself are acquired, and reality starts to creep in that I’m doing this.

I’ve never been one for change. It’s a hardwired part of myself that resists it like it will do me harm. This change is different though. I’d be lying if I said a tiny seed of insecurity isn’t in the back of my mind. Yet none of those tiny seeds can trump the sense of peace that settles over me when I think of the possibility of what could happen. What if I move, and I’m happier than ever? Even if Jude and I don’t work out, I’ll still have my best friends, who have always been more like my family. What if I open a Pilates studio, and it flourishes? Even if it doesn’t, I can find another job and at least say I tried.

Anypossible worst case scenario is still better than the present.

I refuse to sit back and let life pass by. After being stagnant for years, I’m ready to be greedy and take what I want. And being with Jude, not hundreds of miles apart, is exactly what I want in life right now.

All that’s left is to tell him.

It’s midnight when I tape up another moving box crammed with random clothes and junk. It’s bursting at the seams, the edges of the cardboard protruding. I’ve been trying to conserve boxes by filling each one to the brim. At this rate, I should be finished in two days. I still need to find a place to live back in Lawson, but with the money left from my parents’ home after paying off their debts, I should be able to comfortably afford to purchase a small condo or house.

My arms and back are aching when I finally decide to call it a night. My mind and body feel like a bowl of jello from the amount of exertion and brain cells I’ve used in the span of the last six hours. If today has taught me anything, it’s that spontaneous life-changing decisions are not for the weak of mind or body.

Checking my phone, I see I’ve missed two calls from Jude. With my phone on silent amongst all the packing chaos, I haven’t even called him to tell him I’m moving back. I’ve toyed with the idea of keeping my arrival a surprise, imagining the look on his face when he sees me standing there.

Collapsing into a tired mess on the couch, I tap his contact to call him. It goes straight to a pre-recorded voicemail. It’s eleven o’clock and he’s a grandpa trapped in a sexy, mid-thirties body. By this hour, his History channel programming has ended, he has enjoyed his nightly cup of chamomile tea, and is now probably fast asleep on his ergonomic pillow .

With all the lights still on in the apartment, my eyelids grow heavy. I come to the conclusion that I’d rather sleep with brightness blasting in my face than have to move from this very spot. I drift off into a light sleep, until a knock rings out on the front door. My eyes fly open, and I freeze into a curled up ball.

Fuck.

I check my phone. It’s one in the morning. No one comes over at this hour—besides criminals or poltergeists. Either way there’s zero fucking chance I’m opening that door. But the knock rasps again—soft and gentle. Not at all like how someone would try to break in.

Crawling to the front door on my hands and knees to look through the peephole, I hear it—his voice.

“Ella, it’s me. Jude.”

Flinging the door open, the sight of him is like seeing the sun after being locked up for years. He stands under the dim light of the porch sconce, a black duffel in one hand and a wide smile on his face. I jump into his arms, in ecstatic relief to see him here, in the flesh, on my front mat.

Realizing we’re probably waking up all my surrounding neighbors, I place my feet back onto solid ground and grab his wrist, pulling him into the entryway and clicking the door shut.

I thought I would be the one to surprise him. I even had a whole elegant speech planned in my head. But here he is first—tall, broad, and standing in my apartment. With one arm around my waist, hugging me close to his chest, he inspects the mess around him. His blood pressure probably spiking as he takes in this disaster zone, which is a harsh contrast to the cleanliness of his own home.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, my voice muffled by the muscle of his chest.

“I’m sorry for showing up like this,” he replies. “But I decided something.”

“And what’s that?” I turn my head to take in what he’s currently seeing. A half empty living room, with a scattering of boxes and packing material strewn about. Clothes, toiletries, and knickknacks separated into piles on the floor. My hair, messy and thrown up into a bun, not a lick of makeup on my face.

Cradling my jaw in his hands, he turns my face to look at him. “That we’re not going to live apart. I’ve waited to be with you for ten years. There’s no chance in hell I’m going to fuck it up now. I know we could do this long-distance. But I really don’t want to. We’ve missed enough days together as it is. All I want, every single day for the rest of my life, is to hold you like this every morning and every night. To feel your lips on mine as often as I can. I don’t want to talk to some screen while we’re both half asleep every evening. I want this. I want you.”

My mouth pops open to respond, but his thumb brushes over my lips, gently silencing me. “You don’t have to give up your life here for me, El. I’ll quit my job and move to Washington. I’ll do anything. As long as I’m with you, I’ll be happy. You’re my home. Wherever you are is where I belong too. ”

My eyes well with tears as I take a shaky inhale. He’s willing to give up everything for me.

“That’s all I want too.” I lift my arm to the side, motioning it toward the living room full of boxes. “It’s why I’m moving—back to Lawson. To be with you.”

Slamming me into the muscle of his chest, his hand runs up my back and into my hair, bunching the strands into his fingers. As he pulls back, both of us stare at each other with watery smiles. Leaning down, he kisses me, as we pour all our feelings into that single moment. His lips move against mine with a relieved eagerness.

Pulling back, I wrap my arms around his neck. “I’m glad you’re here. But I really hope you didn’t quit your job because I already did…through an email.” I grimace, not proud of quitting like a major asshole, but he laughs, and high-fives me, looking at me like he’s never been more proud.

“I hadn’t quit yet. I was going to fly back after the weekend and put in my two weeks.”

“Obviously, you’re a much better employee than me for not quitting on a whim.”

“You know, I hope you’re proud of yourself, for going for what you want. Because I know I’m insanely proud.”

“I’m getting there,” I reply. “And thank goodness, you’re here so I’ve got some muscle to help me move now.”

“For you, I’ll move a thousand boxes.”

I give him a devilish smile. “You might just get lucky for that later.”

As he grins, his eyes lingers on the necklace around my neck—the one I swore over the last decade that I’d never wear again. While packing up my old jewelry box tonight I found it tucked away in one of the compartments. Now it’s back where it belongs.

His thumb reaches out, gently tracing the delicate ocean waves that rest right beneath my collarbone. “You kept it?”

“It felt wrong getting rid of it. I never could let it go.” My hand drifts to the cool metal. “I think maybe, because in the back of my head I knew—I knew it has always been you.”

His hands curl into my hair and lift my face, his thumb caressing my cheekbone. “Do you have any idea how much I love you?”

A smile spreads across my face. Those words I had dreamt of for months and years, not feeling real when they’re said aloud. “I love you, too, Jude. A lot.”

We stare at each other, smiling like a couple of fools in a messy apartment. Soaking in those words and this feeling that we’ve waited far too long to say and hear. It feels like we’re finally landing after a long journey.

When his mouth lands on mine, he exhales a sigh of relief. Our touches grow greedier, the distance of nearly five days feeling like so much more.

Suddenly, his tongue is in my mouth, my teeth nipping at his bottom lip. He moves his head down, lips kissing a trail down my neck, claiming me, mouth brushing against my collarbone. I feel him press into my stomach, thick and hard and desperate.

His hands plunge under my shirt, trying to feel every square inch of my skin, one hand splaying wide across my back, coasting up and down like he can’t get enough, while his other thumb brushes across the sensitive skin of my nipple. I make a grab for his dick that’s pressed against my abdomen. When I touch him, he groans into my mouth, and I devour it like I could never get enough. When I give, he takes, and when he gives, I take. It’s a back and forth, so natural and effortless that my brain shuts off.

All I have the ability to concentrate on is the way he carries me to the kitchen counter, brushing off the top with a swipe of his arm. Rolls of tape, keys, and papers go flying as he sets me down, undoing his zipper with one hand as he stares at me like a man that’s on a very specific mission. Shoving my shorts down, he thrusts into me in one fell swoop, bottoming out, as our heads both fall back.

“How do you always feel so fucking perfect?” he rasps.

I’m beyond words, reduced to nothing but a raw unguarded version of myself as he drives into me. My hands brace against the cheap laminate counters, my knuckles white from the effort. His eyes stay fixed on me like I’m the most stunning sight he’s ever seen.

His hands grip my waist, lifting me on and off the counter with ease, before flipping me over to standing and pressing my chest flat against the cool surface. My breath catches as he wraps my hair around his fist, pulling it just enough to arch my back, exposing my throat to his lips. He leans in, his mouth searing against my skin as he positions me exactly where he wants me.

When he thrusts into me again, I can’t stifle the moan that rips from my throat. Every inch of me is filled with him as he relentlessly takes me.

“Jude…” His hand comes down on my ass with a sharp smack, the sting electrifying every inch of me. “Oh my god,” I cry out, so close to coming undone. “Yes, just like that. Don’t stop.”

His hand slides down, rubbing circles into my clit with the perfect pressure. “You’re so damn beautiful when you take my cock like this.”

Those words, the unhinged shake in his voice, are all I need. My body tightens, and I shatter, feeling so full, so utterly content that I can’t hold back anymore. He thrusts deep inside me, his pace frantic, and with a groan, he lets go, the two of us tumbling over the edge together. His body collapses on top of mine, both of us breathless and completely spent, emotionally and physically.

Somewhere in the pant of his breath, I hear him say he loves me. And it dawns on me that sometimes it’s worth the struggle, and worth the wait, to end up exactly where you are. Because the thing about where I currently am is that it feels right. Like every mistake, every regret, every missed chance somehow led me here, to this moment with him, with these versions of ourselves. And maybe that’s how it was always meant to be.

He helps me pack up the rest of my apartment until the sun begins to appear over the shadowy outline of the mountainscape outside my window. The half of the boxes that I packed are haphazardly thrown together, while his are neatly organized. Throughout the process, we catch each other’s eye, exchanging sly looks like we both know this is finally the beginning of what we’ve always wanted.

When the last box is packed and taped, we collapse onto my bed together. A tired heap of limbs, tangled in the blankets as we doze off.

There’s no longer a countdown, or that heavy drop in my stomach, when I think of it ending. Being here, with him, isn’t on any more deadlines. I get to do this every day, for hopefully the rest of my life. I get to feel the thump of his heart, and the rumble of his laugh through his chest. I get to soak in the way he kisses my head every evening, telling me this is all he’s ever wanted. I get to feel the inhale and exhale as he falls into a deep sleep, completely happy holding me like this.

“You ready for today?” he asks, an arm thrown over his eyes shielding the sunlight from his face.

“Never been more ready.”

“Are you nervous at all? About the move?”

“Surprisingly not. I’m taking it as a good indicator that it’s the right decision.”

He glances at me from beneath his arm, and smiles. “Well, I may be biased, but I definitely think it’s the right decision.”

He kisses me and nods towards the tornado of boxes scattered around the living room right outside the bedroom. “Ready to get home, love?”

Home . The word pierces me. Even as a child, I never felt like I fit into my family’s home—I was always the outsider, searching desperately for a place where I could be wanted, where I felt like I belonged. Eventually, I gave up, accepting that belonging wasn’t in the cards for me. Surviving another day seemed like enough of an accomplishment.

But then one day, Jude walked into my life, and suddenly, that elusive sense of home began to bloom inside me.

My home isn’t a place—it’s a life built around my own happiness. It’s being with Jude, and surrounded by friends who feel like family. It’s a potential career that may not pay as much, but fulfills me in ways that matter. It’s the cold ocean tide lapping at my feet and the warmth of his hand in mine.

Some days you merely survive, and others you flourish.

Finally, I’m home.