Page 172 of The Home Grown
Well, shit the actual bed.
“Mike?” she says.
Her voice echoes through the line, and I take a full second to reboot.
Then I burst out laughing.
“Good one, Kitch.”
“I’m serious,” she says.
“But—but that stuff kicked off before you and I?—”
“I know,” she says.
“But you were?—”
“I know.”
“So, you?—”
“I couldn’t stand sitting back and watching everyone latch on to the crap Rochelle was saying. It wasn’t right.”
I try to piece it all together because this?—
“Wow.”
That’s all I can manage.
She was out there defending me in secret. Quietly. Fiercely.
My chest aches, but differently now. Like there’s a big Ellie-shaped hug wrapped around me from the outside in.
“Mike? Say something, please? You’re not angry … are you?”
But as I try to comprehend my feelings, I realise I’ve never beenlessangry about anything … ever.
“Ilove you,” I say.
“I love you too,” she replies.
“No, you don’t understand,” I say. “Like, Ireallylove you.”
“Mike—”
“I do.”
I let out a shaky breath—and it’s only then I realise I’m crying. A hot tear sliding down my cheek.
She’s quiet for a moment before she clears her throat.
“I know you do,” she says. “Which is why I know you’re going to tell me what’s going on. It’s your turn to start talking.”
ELLIE
One single buzzon the double doors at the back of the rink. That’s all it takes for the door to swing open and for Mike to tug me inside so fast I nearly lose my balance.
It’s been four whole days since I’ve seen Mike. I sink into him, letting his arms wrap around me as I breathe him in.
