Page 89 of Ellie Hayes and the Himbos
My throat goes tight. “Thank you for giving me somewhere to care about.”
“And for caring about the guys. And…” He swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing.“Me.”
There’s a question in the last word, and if I had an ounce of self-preservation, I’d simply say something reassuring and leave it at that. But because I don’t, or don’t want to, I pull him down to me. I kiss his Adam’s apple first, because I don’t know that I’ve done that before, and the way it moved just now was enchanting, and then his neck, and below his ear.
I nibble his ear lobe, giving it a gentle tug. “You make it easy.”
He holds me so tightly, I can barely breathe. I hug him back just as hard, my eyes welling. Reading those testimonials was like being served with the world’s most compelling character witness statements, but instead of seeking clemency, they were selling me on the reasons why I should bind myself to this man and never return to my real life. God, I want to.
Nowisn’t enough. It was never going to be. I’m too greedy for him. It started the second his eyes softened at my sadness that first night, and it’s only gotten worse. I’m greedy for his skin, his incredible eyes, the way he makes me feel, and the rumbling laugh I can get out of him. I’m greedy for the casual moments, when he conks out on the couch here in the lobby, his head in my lap while I read, or at the Dawghouse, quoting along with Betty White’s warning not to let the puppy out because the eagles will snatch him. I’m greedy for interactions that have nothing to do with me: helping Penny release a cricket; listening to Tom break down his most recent update to the billing system; handing Babs her preferred lacrosse ball at the end of class.
This man isn’t break material.
And he doesn’t have to be.
The thought teases through me, shifting and expanding until it threatens to become the one thing I’ve refused to let myself consider: hope. Hope that I’ll be okay, that the next few months will pass without incident and the specter of my fear will go with them. There’s still the five-year window, but after the six months, the possibility of MS drops significantly. It is possible. I can remain this version of myself, keep this life and the strange, wonderful community that’s made me one of their own.
Keep him. Stayus.
I gasp at that. Ian meets my eyes, his look tinged with worry, then relaxing as I smile at him, stunned. I can hope.
“I have something for you,” I say, and step back, however reluctantly, so he has to let me go. I scramble for my gym bag, left on the couch, and rummage through it until my hand closes on the slim package I’ve left languishing for too long.
I return to Ian and hand it off. “For upstairs. For you.”
He looks from the gift to me, and back again. He slides a finger under one edge of the paper, prying it loose from the tape, and pulls the wrap away from what’s inside. The light overhead glints offThe Hammonds Do Hawaii, now behind glass.
Ian stills. “You framed it.”
“Is that okay?”
He nods. “That was weeks ago. When—”
“I picked up the frame that day. I’ve been wanting to give it to you, but I needed time. To let myself…” I shake my head, almost afraid to say it aloud, like I might scare it away.“Hope.”
“Hope?”
“For this? For you. That I could…” I don’t have the words. “Keep you.”
Ian’s arms come around me, the frame still in one hand, and I grab on to him again. “Hayes.Ellie,” he says, emotion cradling both of my names. “I—”
The double doors swing open. We pivot to face them, still clinging to one another.
Grant staggers into the semidarkness, vectoring toward us. “I’m so sorry! But we gotta do the unveiling now, or they’re going to riot.”
Ian releases one arm from me to give his brother a gesture that seems to convey “Fine,” “Are you kidding?”, and a possible threat of bodily harm, but Grant only seems to register the first one, responding with a double thumbs-up before darting out the still-open doors.
“It’s your fault,” I tell Ian, who turns to eye me. I smile. “It’s this damn community you’ve put together. They’re committed.” He laughs but cuts a glare toward the doors again. Grant returns, hitting the lights, and members begin filing in.
“Duty calls,” he says, and releases me, fingers slowly trailing down my arm.
I grab his free hand. “Will you be my partner tonight? For whatever this stealth thing Diego and Mark have put together is?” I was going to pair up with Heather, but she can deal. Right now, I can’t be anywhere but with him.
He links his fingers with mine, squeezing gently. There’s a tempest in his eyes when he says, “Hayes, I couldn’t spend a second away from you tonight if I tried.”
32
“I KNOW I GAVE YOUa hard time about the first community event being on a night I was working,” says Maggie, her attention on Diego, who’s sprawled on the hospital bed, an ice pack conforming to his forehead. “But you didn’t have to bring the party to me.”
