Page 100 of Ellie Hayes and the Himbos
“You fired me! I didn’t want to overstep. But I am questioning my approach.” I take his still-extended hand to tow myself toward the window ledge. I let go to brace myself when my rear settles onto the alcove but maintain a death grip on the rope with my other hand and feet.
“Get in here.” He grabs me around the waist, and I release the rope to wrap my hands around his shoulders as he hauls me through the window. I’m still holding on to him as I find my footing inside.
Arms around me, he leans his head out the window. “You are a terrible influence!”
“Whatever, man,” Alistair fires back. “You know that wassick.”
“You good, Ellie?” Heather asks. There’s an edge of concern to her voice.
“A few rope splinters, but I’m cool,” I assure her, even though that wasn’t what she’d been asking. “Thank you for everything, folks. You’re dismissed.”
Diego claps his hands, commandeering the attention of the group. “Okay, friends! Let’s make the most of this and get inanother mile! Tom, are you joining—” A door slams. “Okay! No Tom! Everybody else, say good luck to Ellie!”
“Good luck, Ellie!” they call, and I’m reminded of my first haggard morning at Firehouse. We’ve come so far from the army of the dead.
Heather, Mark, Helen, and Babs linger, and I bid them farewell, promising to call. Mark and Heather send their love, Helen blows me a kiss, and Babs—
“Ian Hammond, you get your mopey head out of your ass and listen to that girl. And Ellie?” A hot-pink talon pierces the night. “You better grovelgood.”
“You meanwell!” I holler back, and then they’re off, too.
Locked in our awkward semi-embrace, Ian and I watch the figures vanish into the darkness. His attention is still out the window when I look up at him. Now that the grand gesture portion of the evening has concluded, it’s on to the soul-baring, emotionally vulnerable main event. The prospect should be terrifying—itisterrifying—but I’m more than willing to take the risk.
Ian meets my eyes, and in the moment before his expression shutters, he’s all softness and hurt and so painfullyhim, my chest aches. His hands leave my sides slowly, and I interpret it as reluctance. “You could have called,” he says.
I don’t know if he’s referring to tonight or the past three days, but in either case, my answer is the same. “I didn’t want to.” His mouth presses into a flat line, and I lift my chin. “I needed to get yelled at by Alistair, apparently.” I keep my eyes on his when I say, “I’m sorry.”
Ian doesn’t move, nor does he appear moved. “Sorry for what?”
The dull tone cuts a bit, but fair’s fair. “A lot.” I take in a long breath. “I was unkind to you, and that wasn’t okay. I said terriblethings,untruethings, out of fear and…I don’t know. Old habits? And I hate that I did that. It hurt you.Ihurt you, and that is unacceptable to me.”
His face is still stony as he gives me a tight nod. “Thank—”
“And I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you about my eye.” I say it quickly, the words tripping over one another. “You’re right, it could have been a liability, and it was inconsiderate of me not to acknowledge that. But I don’t know that I need to apologize about keeping the MS stuff to myself. At least, not initially. But when we started seeing one another… maybe I should have told you? I don’t think it was fair of me.”
Ian’s eyes soften, and a cruel ember of hope flickers to life where my heart should be. “I don’t know that I get to be upset that you didn’t,” he says. The hope burns brighter. “If it is just a possibility. But Ellie, I don’t want to be left in the dark about something that serious. Not if we’re going to be…” His face closes off again, but thetogetherresonates in the silence as clearly as if he’d said it aloud, right beside the days-old echo of my insistence that we were not.
“Is that all?” His voice is as stony as his expression.
I shake my head. “What I said about who I am, or who IthinkI am; that wasn’t fair, either. Who I am with the guys and at the gym and with you, it’s who Iwantto be. For so long, I’ve seen myself in a specific way. I’ve defined myself by certain traits, but I think it was more how those traits had always been received, or the shitty reasons they developed. And I don’t think it’s a good metric.
“And you, Ian. Jesus.” I huff out a laugh, but I barely have the breath for it. “When we caved, I told myself it wasn’t serious. That it couldn’t be. You’re not real—”
He leans back at this, bringing a hand to his chest like he’s testing for tangibility.
“You’re too good to be true,” I clarify, before the man tumbles down an existential spiral. “You are a monument to physical perfection. You’re kind and thoughtful andsogood at your job. Do you know how hot that is? You are both master of your body and how to achieve that mastery! And you use it to enhance the lives of others! And you care about everyone who comes in. Sure, it’s your business, but there’s something altruistic about it that’s arousing to me.
“I want you so much. The way I feel with you? I’ve never felt more whole. Or seen. Or cared for or challenged. And I don’t want to lose that.”
I grip the back of my neck with both hands and tug. “I’m not doing this right. It’s just…you. Not that you’re ‘just’ anything. You’re everything wonderful I didn’t know could be in one person. And I love you.”
Ian just stares at me.
I stare back. I said that out loud. I was saving myI love youfor him, but I hadn’t expected it to come out like that, at the end of a belligerent rant.
Seconds pass. And we’re still just… staring at one another. Staring at one another in an increasingly uncomfortable silence.
My pulse thunders in my ears. I may pass out. I just told him that I love him. And he’s given me zero reaction. Maybe he’s keeping it in? Like how I’m containing the screaming in my head right now because I’ve ripped open my rib cage to bare my heart to this man and he’s standing here as though I’ve said nothing.
