Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Ella

Present

The last thing I want to do is lead Levi on. He has been pulling out all the stops in an attempt to impress me. And I have to give him brownie points. At the very least, he’s trying. They always do in the beginning though.

After the whole Jude incident as a young adult, I serial dated. It was a blur of faces for several years. One guy after the next, chasing after that same feeling, same excitement that I had with him. I had never come close to finding it. Until the day I met my tax accountant, Stephen. He was exciting, at least as much as an accountant could be. Not in the same warm, uninhibited golden retriever way as Jude. Moreso, Stephen was mysterious and broody, and our physical attraction was instantaneous.

Foolishly, I thought I would be special. That I would peel back those bristly layers and discover a warm gooey center. Part of me always thought maybe he had a sentimental spot reserved only for me somewhere in all that aloofness. But I found out two years later, sparks and connections don’t make up for toxic qualities. And that warmness I thought was hidden under layers? Nonexistent.

It’s like someone had popped a tiny hole in our relationship. It wasn’t noticeable at first. A trickle less of warmth here, a dribble less of love there. Eventually everything our relationship had consisted of had been drained away. All that was left was me, wondering what was so wrong with myself that I had to beg for him to show a scrap of affection.

I had a slow, ongoing realization that things didn’t have to be like that. Why give my all, only to get remnants in return?

In a relationship, passion may come and go, but it’s the little things I never want to lose. I want someone to grab my ass while I’m scrambling eggs on a random Tuesday, quiet “I love you’s” whispered when I least expect them, and inside jokes that only we understand. Now I’m certain my expectations have been set astronomically too high.

Once we’ve headed back inside from the deck, Levi begins to set up the pool table that he’s so keen on using. He explains the rules, his voice droning on with an enthusiasm that probably charms most other women. I really should listen, but all I can think about are Jude’s eyes on us when Levi led me away. I know how it must have looked. And now I can’t shake the image of his expression from my head—the way he seemed both possessive and wounded.

Levi nods toward the green felt table. “Have you played before?”

“Never.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll show you the ropes. Not to brag, but my track record is pristine. Never lost a game yet.” Racking the multi-colored balls, he glances over his shoulder with a smug grin. “After a lesson from the champ, you’ll be unbeatable.”

“You are way overestimating my skills with anything related to balls.” I regret the words as soon as they’re out of my mouth. The word balls is never a wise choice when around a previous fraternity patron.

“I’m sure you’re very talented with certain types of balls,” he quips, tossing a wink in my direction. It makes my skin crawl, but I remind myself that this is exactly what I wanted—the attention of a good-looking guy to distract me from the rest of my depressing life. But looking at Levi is like staring at a perfectly wrapped present I have zero interest in unwrapping.

Willing my brain to get with the program, I force a smile. “So what’s the name of the stick thing?”

“This would be your cue stick,” he replies, handing me one. “It’s your secret weapon. Handle it right, and you might stand a chance.”

Rounding the corner of the table, he walks up behind me. “For your first lesson, I’ll help guide you.”

He grabs my hips, pushing my ass back into him as a bullshit excuse to position me to take my shot. I tense and take a small step over to create distance between us. “Thanks, but I think I got it.”

Not taking the hint, he places his hands on my shoulders and digs his thumbs into my neck. Everything about it feels wrong. His touch. The way he’s eyeing me purely as a prize to be won, assuming I’ll be swooning over him any minute now. My stomach feels queasy when I think about this going any further with him.

My shoulders remain stiff as rocks, as I come to the internal decision that Operation Getting Fucked by a Groomsman is an absolute no-go.

“Let me help you relax. You’re tense as hell,” he murmurs. The words slither over my skin, but all I can do is fixate on the green felt of the pool table, trying to figure out the right choice of words to tell him to back the hell off. I’m not built for confrontations. My body locks up, retreating inward like a tortoise in its shell.

Before I can speak, the soft thud of footsteps on the hardwood floor catches our attention. I glance up, and there’s Jude, standing in the doorway like a storm waiting to break. Levi straightens immediately, his posture stiffening as he throws an arm around my shoulders, a possessive move that feels like he’s marking his territory.

Jude strides into the game room, trying his best to act casual when he’s anything but. His shoulders are squared, eyes sharp, every step deliberate. With the way Levi and Jude are glaring at each other, it feels like they are about to start dueling for my hand in marriage.

Jude’s eyes lock straight onto mine. It’s as if he’s peeling back layers, seeing right through the mask I’m desperately trying to hold up. There’s no hiding from him. We’ve always been like this, two halves of the same whole. Even after all this time, he reads me effortlessly.

He picks up on the discomfort between Levi and I like it’s a frequency only he’s attuned to. If there’s one thing our history has taught me, it’s that Jude isn’t the kind of man to idly stand by when he senses I’m uncomfortable.

“You okay, Ella?” His voice is calm, but laced with intent, as he strides across the room, closing the distance between us. It’s a moment of déjà vu, yanking me back to the first time we met on my failed date ten years ago. The memory flickers through my head—his unwavering focus, the way he seems to zero in on me, as if no one else in the room matters. Then and now, both the same.

“Just learning how to play pool,” I reply, attempting to sound convincing, though the words feel flimsy even to my own ears.

Levi quickly steps in. “Want to join us?” His tone is casual, but his eyes flash with a competitive edge as he sizes Jude up, clearly irritated by the interruption, yet trying to keep it cool.

Jude steps forward and takes a cue stick from the rack on the wall. “I’d love to. It’s been awhile, so I might be a bit rusty though.”

He is, in fact, not at all rusty.

By the end of the game, Levi is practically vibrating with frustration, his jaw clenched tight as Jude wipes the floor with him. What started as an overly flirty lesson on pool quickly escalated into a full-blown showdown, and Jude didn’t just win—he made it look effortless. He ripped Levi’s game to shreds, all while maintaining his typical easy going demeanor. Acting as if this was simply another uneventful weekday night for him.

Sauntering over, with his pride barely masking the sting of defeat, Levi slings a burly arm around my shoulders. “Time to finally get back to our game.”

Jude glances over at us as he hangs his cue back on the wall. I can read him as easily as he reads me, and I catch the flash of protectiveness tinged with jealousy. It’s a feeling I’m almost ashamed to admit I enjoy.

Levi rubs chalk on the point of the stick, scowling at Jude as he strides toward me.

“Want to grab a drink?” Jude asks, tipping his head toward the kitchen.

A flicker of pride ignites in my chest, warming me from the inside out. Because somewhere beneath all the layers of our complicated past, he still cares about me in some form or another. Out of all the people in this house, he’s choosing to be here, near me. Either offering me an out, or because he actually wants to spend time with me. It’s hard to decipher which.

More than anything, I want to slip my hand into his, feel his fingers close around mine, and let him pull me away to wherever the hell he wants. To step back in time as if the years haven’t rushed by.

But I don’t. What overrides every other feeling, is the vengeful, broken piece of myself that is pissed off that he’s acting like he cares now .

All these years have passed and there has been zero communication. No explanation or apology. Nothing. And now, all of a sudden, he wants me to go stroll off with him.

Taking his hand would come with the risk of opening that door all over again. And I need to keep that door firmly shut. Nailed down. With a cement wall built in front of it.

“I’m sorry, I can’t,” I reply, holding strong.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Levi’s barely hidden smirk. He fully believes he’s the winner in this little made up pissing contest.

The whole situation is like throwing a match into kindling, igniting a fire of anger that burns hot in my chest.

I don’t need to choose between them, or leave with anyone at all. Maybe Jude was trying to shield me from feeling uncomfortable with Levi. But it felt like more than that. Like he’s jealous and trying to stop me from being with someone else. I understand in a sense. I’d hate to see him with another woman here too. But I wouldn’t do a damn thing to prevent it, even if it shredded me apart inside. The problem lies in the fact that he doesn’t want to be a witness to anyone being with me, and yet he doesn’t want me for himself either.

I realize I can leave on my own terms—by myself, and without the pressure of balancing their fragile egos. Without another word, I step back from the pool table, the noise of the music fading as I make my way toward the exit.

“Ella, wait up,” Levi yells to my back as I walk away .

I throw up a hand to wave. “I’m done here, goodnight you two.”

I can feel their eyes on me but I don’t look back. I need space, air, anything to clear the suffocating whirlwind of commotion that’s creeping up. The cool night air hits me as I push open a side door leading to a secluded portion of the deck round the back.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. Leaving the two of them there felt like the only choice that made sense, the only way to keep from being pulled under by the waves of whatever frat boy showdown shit they were trying to pull.

I close my eyes and breathe in the salty water. What I could use right now is a stiff drink and quick little cry session. Instead I opt for deep breathing and being thankful I no longer have to pretend to care about striped balls going into holes.

At two in the morning, I decide that I’ve had enough tossing and turning with no sign of sleep in the near future. Though my body exhibits all the signs of exhaustion, my mind races along ten different tracks, each fighting for attention. Not only am I recalling every single situation tonight where I didn’t do my finest conversational work, I’m also replaying the way Levi tried to make a move on me, and how Jude’s face fell when he realized I wasn’t going with him.

The ocean is calling me instead, a relentless pull that I can’t ignore—the need to hear the waves gently lapping at the shore, to breathe in the crisp ocean air again. Careful not to disturb anyone, I tiptoe down the long, dimly lit halls. When I reach the door to the deck, I slide it open carefully, the soft creak of the track almost drowned out by the distant sound of the surf.

My breath catches in my throat when I see him. There, near a crackling fire pit, stands Jude. The fire’s orange glow dances across his features as he stares into the flames, lost in thought. The light accentuates the strong lines of his face, the straight bridge of his nose, the chiseled jaw that somehow makes him look both rugged and refined. No one’s ever come close to matching him in attractiveness and personality. He’s effortlessly magnetic. But what’s always struck me more is that he knows the effect he has on people, and yet, it hasn’t turned him conceited.

I wonder what’s going through his mind as he stands alone staring into the flickering flames. What heaviness he’s carrying beneath that calm exterior, and whether he’s ever felt as lost as I do right now.

He looks over, no hint of surprise in his expression, as if he’d been waiting for me, expecting me to come out at any moment of the dead of night.

“I see you also enjoy cold as shit ocean breezes at two in the morning?” I say, in an effort to keep things light.

He tries to laugh, but it’s as if it falls short, getting caught in his throat. He tilts his head once to the side. “Couldn’t sleep. Also I thought maybe that night seagull you saw earlier would make a reappearance. ”

I want to be embarrassed, but little bubbles of happiness and exhilaration take hold of me with the knowledge that he was eavesdropping on me earlier.

“Hm, you know, I heard he likes to break into garages and poop on fancy cars in there.” I walk to the fire pit, curling up in an Adirondack chair beside him.

“Fucking seagulls.” He palms the back of his neck. “Hey, I’m sorry for whatever the hell I was trying to pull with you and Levi earlier.”

“I know you meant well.” I don’t want to get into it out here. Knowing Jude, he did mean well. Even if he did overstep, I don’t believe he’d ever purposely do harm to anyone.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he looks straight at me. “Also, I heard about your parents passing. I never mentioned it earlier, but I’m so damn sorry.”

I stare into the bright red flames, trying not to let the grief swallow me whole. “It’s been the hardest thing I’ve ever been through, while simultaneously being the biggest relief.” Clapping a hand over my mouth, I huff out a laugh. “Oh, shit. I can’t believe I said that out loud. I sound like a horrible person.”

“You’re not a horrible person. Grief is a weird thing. And I remember your relationship with them was…rocky.”

He’s familiar with the extended version of my upbringing and family. He’s among the select few who are acquainted with the complete narrative—the icy remarks, the absence of warmth or affection, the constant feeling of being a burden. It’s the accumulation of countless small incidents that coalesced into one significant experience.

Attempting to shift the conversation away from the sudden heaviness, I ask, “So, how’s the doctor’s life treating you?”

“Fulfilling,” he says. “Also, simultaneously soul-sucking.”

“Wow, I have to admit, I didn’t see that last part coming.”

“Yeah, me either,” he replies with a sigh. “But it is what it is.” He tries to sound convincing, but there’s a hint of doubt in his tone as he adds, “I love ninety-nine percent of my job. It’s just that one percent that is really fucking stressful.”

“What exactly are these soul-sucking parts?”

“The endless paperwork, the stress that never seems to let up, not being able to detach from certain cases. The hellish hours. Oh, and the whole death part, of course.”

“You almost sound like one of those medication advertisements listing all the possible side effects,” I tease.

That catches him off guard, and the deep, booming laugh that escapes him is so infectious that I can’t help but start laughing too.

Our laughter fades and silence falls between us. He looks over at me, and the intensity of his gaze feels like I’m standing on the edge of something deep and uncharted. I bite my lip, and his eyes track the motion. The expression on his face is completely mesmerized, as if I’ve cast a spell over him .

This is too risky. To feel this level of elation when he does something as simple as look at me.

“I should head back to bed. It was nice talking with you.” I stand to head back to the safety of my room, where I can’t become sucked into this constant pull I have with him. A feeling I suspect will never go away, no matter how many years have passed.

He looks disappointed, but not surprised. “Sweet dreams, El.”

“Thanks,” I reply, though I know my dreams have been anything but sweet for years. “Good night, Jude.”

The flames in the fire pit are dwindling, almost entirely snuffed out by the cool, misty sea breeze, leaving behind only a few bright embers that flicker in the darkness. It feels like a metaphor for us—something that once blazed fiercely, now simmering quietly, yet still undeniably alive.

I try to ignore it, to pretend it doesn’t exist. It’s safer that way.

But deep down, I know that a single spark could reignite the flame.

And starting over would be a dangerous game—one I’m not willing to risk.