Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Ella

Present

Entering my parents’ home to begin clearing it out feels surreal. The front door groans as it swings open, echoing the dread that twists in my stomach.

Stepping over the threshold, memories linger in every corner. The entryway instantly hits me with its familiar scent—a blend of aging wood and my mother’s favorite potpourri. The light oak floors and faded blue wallpaper in the living room spur a surge of memories about the three of us in this space—some decent, but most painful.

Within these four walls, it’s as if someone has pressed a pause button on their lives. Little shrines of their last moments lie scattered about. Breakfast dishes on the drying rack next to the sink, and the coffee pot half full. My mom’s pinwheel quilt half-constructed on the dining table. My father’s old, brown leather recliner with the footrest still popped out.

It’s the last sting of acknowledgment that this isn’t merely a bad dream. It’s reality. A very horribly depressing reality.

In fleeting moments throughout the day my mind forgets they’re gone. It feels as if they’ll stroll through the front door at any moment, and catch me in the act of sorting their clothes into piles for donations or trash.

After two solid hours, my back aches from sifting through the kitchen cabinets that were crammed full of random dishes, cups, and kitchen gadgets. Apparently, Mom thought she needed three four Dutch ovens and enough mugs for a small army to drink from.

Eventually, I call defeat and take a break for a shitty dinner consisting of instant noodles. As I eat from the styrofoam cup, I attempt to ignore that little nagging in my brain that if they were still here, they’d judge me relentlessly for eating this processed junk. I’m not sure why I still care so much what they would think when I’m acutely aware that I’ll never hear another one of their comments again. Nonetheless, it’s enough to sour my stomach and toss the half-empty container as their past words echo in my head.

In an effort to distract myself, I open the coat closet to start clearing it out. Gift bags, coats, and cleaning supplies come tumbling down like an avalanche. I don’t even try to stop the tidal wave of rubbish from crashing onto me.

From the outside, the house appears clean and tidy. A closer look, opening closets and bedroom doors, reveals the hidden chaos within however. A mirror image of how our family operated—polished to the outside world, with a copious amount of dysfunction and emotional baggage behind closed doors.

The piles of clutter I’m surrounded by causes the panic to rise in my chest like a swelling storm, gathering strength. My breathing becomes faster, skin prickling with the awareness that I’m in way over my head. I move to sit on the couch, but I jump back up as if it is scalding hot when I see it there—a beige throw blanket sprawled across the cushions, creased from whichever parent sat here last.

I begin to cry, yet again, because even though they weren’t great or even good parents, I can’t muster the courage to disrupt yet another fragment of their final moments.

Being in this house feels claustrophobic, haunted by their deaths. And when it’s coupled with an onslaught of memories I’d rather avoid, it’s downright suffocating.

It was here, in this very place, where my anxiety first took hold. Where the depression crept in like shadows at dusk, wrapping me in a darkness I struggled to shake off. And in which I cried and pleaded for help for my mental health, but instead was told to get over myself.

My phone rings, snapping me back to the present as I fish it out of my back pocket. It’s Sandra, the real-estate agent I hired to sell the house.

“Hi, Sandra?”

“Sweetie, how are you? Ready to get this thing sold?” she replies, her tone equal parts caring and down-to-business.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

She assures me that the entire process should be a quick open-and-close deal. With it being a sellers market and the property located in a highly desired area, she’s confident that staging the house and major renovations would not be needed. She estimates that selling and closing should only take a month or two at most.

As soon as we hang up, I swipe at my eyes, tighten my ponytail, and get my ass back to work. The sooner I clear out this house, the faster I can sell it. And the sooner I can distance myself from the memories I have of my emotionally frigid parents.

Luckily for me, Madi and Noah’s dual bachelor-bachelorette party is this weekend. The timing couldn’t be more perfect, because what I need at this moment is a distraction. Possibly in the form of a groomsman that I have no previous connection to.

When Madi told me that her brother wouldn’t be able to come with us this weekend, all I felt was overwhelming relief.

Not seeing him is for the best. Because seeing him would only trigger a flood of even more memories.

And more memories are the last fucking thing I need right now.

I arrive at the oceanside mansion Friday morning. Madi and her fiancé Noah made the decision earlier this year to combine their bachelor and bachelorette party. In lue of separate events, they opted for this particular ritzy oceanside rental with the intention of bonding both sides of their wedding party. While I’m disappointed I won’t get to witness Madi’s boisterous laugh while oiled up, loin-clothed strippers gyrate around her, I am looking forward to being near the ocean. This will be as close to a vacation as I’ve had in years.

I type in the code to unlock the heavy plank front door, and step into the quiet Spanish-styled mansion. I’m the first one here, since Madi convinced me that a change of scenery from the dead-parents-home to a seaside mansion would do my mental health good.

Looking around, I feel like I’ve entered into a third dimension. The place is beyond gorgeous, with breathtaking architecture throughout—arched windows and door frames, exposed dark beams against gleaming white walls, and breathtaking floor-to-ceiling windows. The entire front of the house offers a panoramic view of the swirling ocean right beside the property. The focal point of the foyer is a wrought-iron railed wooden staircase, spiraling gracefully upward like a corkscrew, connecting all three stories.

After exploring the downstairs, I ascend the wooden staircase. Every step I take produces a creak from the stairs, slicing through the stillness of the house. In each hand, I carry plastic shopping bags full of party food and bachelorette essentials. Although it’s a combined party now, I couldn’t have Madi miss out on the classy Same Penis Forever banner, and penis-shaped lollipops.

But once I’m nearly to the second floor, I freeze mid-step. I hear the faint sound of an authoritative voice emitting through speakers. It drones on and on, accompanied by the rhythmic thump of rubber soles walking across the hardwood floor.

Either I’m in the wrong house or there’s been a break-in. Madi had told me no one else would be here until after 5:00 p.m. When I pulled into the driveway, there had been no other cars beside my own.

Dropping to all fours, I crawl up the final steps to catch a glimpse of where the noise is coming from. The hard flooring bites into my knees as I lean forward to listen.

My stomach drops. That drawling voice is clearly from a TED Talk.

And there’s only one person I know who loves those damn speeches.

Jude motherfucking Beckett.

Perhaps I’ll be lucky, and it won’t turn out to be him. Maybe this particular burglar also has a fondness for motivational speeches? My brain dishes out excuse after excuse of how this possibly cannot be the one person I really hoped to not see.

Poking my head around the corner, I catch sight of the intruder’s backside. He’s a tall man with a deliberately messy, dark head of hair. Also, his ass isn’t half bad. It’s actually really fantastic.

Fucking hell. I’m 82 percent sure that’s Jude standing there. But the other 18 percent isn’t so convinced. It has been a decade since I last saw him after all.

For all I know, he could’ve shrunk five inches or gone completely bald. I’ve done everything I can to block out any news about him, to avoid even the slightest mention of his name. The reminder cuts too deep. And I think Madi, with that unspoken intuition of hers, knows better than to bring up her brother. For the most part, she’s kept him out of our conversations, and I’ve been grateful for it—until now.

There’s still time to turn back around and go downstairs. Maybe leave the house altogether. Drive the full thirty miles back home so I don’t have to come face-to-face with him for the first time since he left ten years ago.

When Madi told me her brother couldn’t get the days off of work, I thought, perhaps for the first time in my life, I did have some luck on my side. Best case scenario, I imagined her brother and I would make eye contact on their packed wedding day, never speaking, and maintaining that same distance we’ve become so good at.

This…this is the worst case scenario. There’s no buffer of anyone else. Only us. Seeing each other after ten years. After we had the best sex I’ve still ever had. After I fell for him and then woke up to him gone one morning.

“Hello?” Jude steps out from around the corner. We both jump, startling one another.

“Oh my god. You scared the hell out of me.” I breathe hard, hand on my heart, as it pounds from shock. The sight of him is like a tidal wave, nearly knocking me over with the amount of unresolved issues from our past .

He looks equally as shocked, looking me up and down with wide eyes, a hand tugging on the ends of his hair. “Holy shit. Ella. It’s you.”

“It’s me,” I reply, awkwardly. As he takes in the sight of me, a shiver goes up my spine. But I swallow that feeling down and feign casualness. “I thought you were robbing the house. I was ready to throw my shoe at you.”

“Not sure how much damage a pink running shoe would do,” he replies, with an amused smile.

“Technicalities.”

He laughs, and I resent the flicker of pride I feel at having made him smile. I shouldn’t care. I still want to hate him, even though there’s really no reason to, considering it all happened so long ago.

I’m not sure if my heart is still hammering away due to scaring each other, or if it’s because somehow he’s gotten even more attractive over the last ten years. It doesn’t seem like it’d be possible, considering he was already the most attractive man I’d ever laid eyes on. Yet, here we are. Time has only done him well. The lines and angles of his face are more defined. The day-old scruff on his jaw contrasts the blue of his eyes. His once gym rat body is still fit, but more lean. He’s familiar and different all in the same breath.

Gripping the back of his neck, he asks, “So how’ve you been? How’s life?”

“Doing okay. Washington is beautiful. Work is good.” It’s a half-face lie. My parents I’ve never gotten along with are dead, leaving me with a wealth of complicated grief. I’m lonely as hell in a new state all by myself. And work is wildly unfulfilling . But word-vomiting all of that truth seems like a little too much to off-load on him.

“I’m glad to hear it,” he replies.

We both stand there, staring at each other with the discomfort of two socially adept teenagers.

“How are you? I heard you work at Lawson Hills Hospital now.”

“It’s great. Busy. But I love it.”

I realize that I’m not the only one giving the short, vague answers. He is too. It looks like we’ve learned our lesson. Seeing as the last time we let down our walls, we both hurt each other beyond repair.

A sense of self-consciousness washes over me as he meets my eyes in silence. If I knew I’d see him here I would have tried a little harder when I got ready this morning. My minimal makeup and bags piled full of genitalia themed decor are not how I envisioned this moment looking.

We share a tentative smile, both of us aware of the prolonged silence between us that’s heavy with our unspoken history. He’s yet another vivid reminder of the past walking back into my present.

“Here, let me help you with that.” He clears his throat and walks towards me, grabbing the bags out of my hands.

“Sure, thank you.” I follow him down the hall towards the expansive, open floor style family room. “What are you doing here so early anyways?”

“I was able to get the days off at the last minute. Thought it’d be nice to escape up here a little early to do my continuation credit work. Noah gave me the code. ”

Sweet, innocent, horrible-at-communicating Noah. It all makes sense why Madi didn’t give me a heads up that her brother would already be here. Because her fiancé has the memory of a squirrel, and most likely forgot to tell her.

“But wait, where’s your car? There were no other vehicles out front.”

“I parked it in the garage.” He pauses before adding, “That way there would be enough room for everyone else to park.”

Even though it has been years, I know him and how much of a clean freak he is, especially when it comes to his always-clean car.

Narrowing my eyes conspiratorially, I ask, “You sure it doesn’t have anything to do with door dings or bird poop?”

He looks over, clearly caught, and grinning broadly with that amused gleam on his face. “In my defense, seagull shit is the worst.”

Glancing down at the plastic bag crammed full of genitalia candy, his eyes grow wide, as he chokes out a cough, barely stifling a laugh. “Are those…dick-shaped lollipops?”

“Yep,” I reply, popping the p with exaggerated cheer. “Why? Do you want one?”

He bites back a grin. “I’m all good. I wouldn’t want to interrupt whatever interesting plans you’ve got going on with these.”

“Just wait until you see the matching sign.” I playfully nudge his arm as I pass by, but the contact wipes the smile clean off his face. Instantly, a familiar charged energy fills the air, drawing my focus to every detail of him. His hair, so dark it’s nearly black. The clean, citrusy wood scent that surrounds him. His large hands, a cruel reminder of how goddamn good it felt when he used to explore every inch of me.

Pulling back to create distance between us, I remind myself of the boundary we can’t breach. I can’t allow myself to touch him, innocently or otherwise. Not after we crossed a line all those years ago. Not after he said he cared about me and then left without a damn word.

“I’m going to find a bedroom to put these down in. It was nice to see you.” I grab the bags back, leaving him standing in the middle of the room in my hurried escape. Though I’m too nervous to risk glancing back, I can feel the weight of his stare burning a trail along my skin as I make my way up the final set of stairs to the third floor. I have absolutely no clue if there are even any bedrooms up here. What I do know is I need to get the hell away from him. And fuck it, I’ll live off penis-shaped lollipops and tap water, and camp out up here for the remainder of the weekend if need be. If I can’t figure out how to function like a normal person around him, and can’t stop the sound of my own pulse in my ears every time I look at him.

I don’t see any other way around surviving this weekend in close proximity to the ghost of my past.

The first night of the Bach Bash is officially underway. Six groomsmen, six bridesmaids, and several other family and friends fill the entire upper half of the house. On the back deck, two barbecues are fired up in the outdoor patio kitchen, with two groomsmen holding beers nearby. Everyone makes small talk over mixed drinks and appetizers that are so tiny I could easily swallow them whole. The house is bustling as the conversations grow louder, entirely fueled by fancy carbs and booze.

Madi bounces from person to person, talking animatedly with a social energy I could never fathom. Her fiancé, Noah, is right by her side, looking at her like she’s a steak dinner and hanging on every word she says. They seem to be completely in tune to the other’s needs. If I ever find something even closely related to that, I’d feel lucky. But at this point, after countless failed relationships, I’ve given up on dating. Stephen was my final straw when it came to boyfriends, and now that he’s gone, too, I’ve officially sworn off all men.

For the rest of the afternoon, Jude and I maintained our distance, each staying on our respective floors of the house. It’s as if we can still read each other’s every thought—both of us upholding an unspoken agreement to avoid crossing paths until others arrived. At least now, we have the presence of about twenty or so people to act as buffers.

Currently, he’s stationed outside, talking to some of the guys as they grill kabobs. When I walk into the main room, our eyes meet through the glass of the sliding door. It takes every ounce of my control to keep my gaze from drifting to him time and time again. It’s a natural reaction we’ve always had around each other. An acute awareness of the other’s presence that’s entirely impossible to ignore. Ten years hasn’t done a thing to fade that automatic response. My body demands to make him the center of my attention, even if my brain is screaming at me to stay far away.

Delaney, suddenly pops up behind me. “So, who’s on your mind for a potential bang? Should we rank them and see who makes the cut as the most acceptable suitor?”

She doesn’t make eye contact as she discreetly presses a napkin-wrapped spicy sausage roll into my palm, as if she is passing me a top secret national security document.

“I love drunk Delaney,” I tease.

“I know. You love me all the time though. Also, you still never answered my question. Who do you have your eye on? I’ve had at least three guys ask me if you’re single.”

“You’re lying. And the answer is absolutely no one.”

She rolls her eyes. “Not lying. Do you want me to take a public roll call right now of how many guys here want to fuck you? Because I swear on this delicious ass spicy sausage roll that I’ll do it.”

As she starts to raise her arm to signal for everyone’s attention, I swiftly intercept, pulling it down with the speed of a torpedo.

“Okay, okay, I believe you. Where’s Cole anyways? I need him to come get you before I die of embarrassment from your mission to get me laid.”

“Him and Ava are having a daddy-daughter date tonight. He’ll be here tomorrow afternoon. ”

“Wow, I’m impressed. How much did you have to bribe him to get him to come to a multiple day social event?”

“I asked him post-orgasm. It’s like he’s physically incapable of saying no after he comes.” She wiggles her eyebrows proudly, as if she’s discovered the key to saving mankind.

“Can’t say I’m surprised,” I laugh.

My heart swells with happiness for my two best friends. I’ve never seen them so happy, and I suspect their significant others have an awful lot to do with that. Cole and Noah are good men that accept my friends exactly as they are, and love them insurmountably for it.

At this point in my life, I’ve come to terms with the fact that love isn’t in the cards for me. I’m not like them. I’m not sunshine and rainbows and easy to get along with. I’m more like a winter night—cold, quiet, and hard to warm up to.

Right then, Madi stands on a chair, cupping her hands to her mouth, as she announces, “Everyone meet up on the back patio. It’s officially ice breaker time!”

Ice breakers. The bane of my existence. My extroverted friends have no idea the torture these things cause for an anxiety-riddled introvert like myself. But it’s not my party, and I’d do anything for my friends. Even if that entails speaking in front of a large group of near strangers.

Stepping into the cool night air, Jude and I make eye contact as soon as I step over the threshold of the back door. Our gazes flit away instantly like we’ve been caught red-handed.

A bubbly, auburn-haired woman stands by his side, chatting with him. I recognize her as Madi’s friend and coworker from the hospital. What I don’t know is who she is to him.

A flicker of jealousy lights me up, and I attempt to stomp it out. He isn’t mine. And as much as it felt like he was mine that summer, I quickly learned that wasn’t the case. It was purely a dream that faded as fast as it all began.

Noah corrals everyone onto the spacious deck. An elegant glass barrier lines the entire yard while offering an open view of the ocean. It’s currently pitch dark, but the rush of the roaring waves below is still audible, filling the night with its sound. The cedar deck is large enough to fit everyone, as we all gather around the crackling natural stone fire pit.

As Noah thanks everyone for coming out, a warmth envelops me from behind. I don’t need to glance back to know it’s him—Jude. He’s always been my sixth sense. Whenever he’s near, my body instinctively responds, aware of him without needing visual confirmation. Standing stock still, I pretend not to take notice of our proximity. It’s safer to pretend like he doesn’t exist.

Madi suggests that each person share their name along with an interesting fact about themselves. As people begin to make their introductions, my mind draws blank, as I scramble to come up with anything remotely interesting about myself. Interesting is not a word I would ever use to describe myself in the first place.

Hi, I’m Ella. My parents recently died. Too depressing .

Hi, I’m Ella. And I’ve been infatuated with the man behind me for over ten years. Too thirsty.

Hi, I’m Ella. I like… shit, what do I even like?

“I fucking hate these things.” His deep voice rumbles close to my ear, sending a shiver down my spine as his words float around me.

I glance toward him and whisper, “Hate isn’t a strong enough word.”

He tilts his head motioning towards the sliding door, before leaning into me, creating an intimate bubble so that no one can overhear us. “What do you say? Should we make a run for it?”

“Stop tempting me. Pretty sure this is an official bridesmaid duty.” That, and I don’t trust myself around him.

The solid wall of his chest makes brief contact with my shoulder. “Well, I’m here if you change your mind.”

“Ella? Jude? Which one of y’all is going next?” Noah yells over.

Apparently, we failed to notice that the introductions had circled around to us. Now we have twenty sets of eyes staring, awaiting a response. I panic, taking a sip of my water to buy me time to come up with something that’s not generic or depressing as hell.

Jude must sense my hesitation, as he speaks up right away. “Hey everyone. I’m Jude, Madi’s brother. And I hate seagull shit on my car.”

A hush falls over the room, besides a confused laugh or two, as the joke sails over everyone’s heads.

But his comment has me barely containing my laughter, knowing full well the context from our earlier conversation. From behind, I feel his body nudge against my shoulders, a silent acknowledgment that he made that remark purely for my amusement.

“Hi, I’m Ella. And I have a bag of dick shaped lollipops in my suitcase upstairs.”

There’s only the sound of more confused chuckles, and Jude’s deep amused laugh. The next person jumps in with their much more sensible introduction, as the attention shifts off of us.

Leaning over me again, he whispers, “I see what you did there. Still have that impeccable sense of humor, I see.”

If he means it, he’s literally the only person on the planet that would ever think it.

It’s also right then that I know I’m in trouble. Because it doesn’t feel like we haven’t seen each other in years. It’s more like we’re seamlessly slipping back into our old dynamic. And that’s the most dangerous place of all to be.