Alex
October 13, 2017
It’s not a wedding ring, I think, trying to convince myself.
It’s just after four thirty p.m. when Eli sends me a text.
Eli: Hey. Just finished up at the scene. On my way home.
As if we’re dating or married. I imagine these sentences coming from his mouth, and I want to feel this feeling they give me all the time. I want to ask him about the ring, but it’s not my business. Of course my stomach dropped. Of course I want to know. Unease fills in all the dark spaces in my body. Anything that is too good will eventually come to an end. He’s too perfect. Maybe God’s playing a trick on me.
I try to type and then stop. I try to type three more times. What am I going to say to him? Then, I type:
Alex: Sounds good. Rookie and I are contemplating the cosmos. ;)
Ten minutes later, Eli walks through the door, and the first thing I notice is the note, barely visible from his chest pocket.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hi.”
He sets down his bag, untucks his uniform, walks to me, and I feel his stride between my legs, wanting so badly for him to be coming for me.
Alex, remember what happened to your heart? It died when Kyle died. Don’t you remember? Get your research done. Keep it platonic and leave. What if I can’t? You need to. Yes, he’s beautiful. Kind. Gentle. But you found a ring in his drawer. It means there’s attachment. One he’s not willing to talk about.
Maybe I should go back to my rental. Give us space. Time.
But what if what I need is sex? I’ve only slept with Kyle. Maybe that’s what I need. Just sex, and maybe that will get me over this whole my-body-is-on-fire-when-he-walks-into-the-room sort of thing. Maybe it will settle my nerves and my body, allow my mind to write what it needs to, although I think I made progress today. Wrote well. And, if strings aren’t attached, maybe my heart will stop falling for him. Because that’s what I’m doing.
But maybe the sex will only mess with my heart more. His heart more. Although I have no idea the way he feels about me.
I need space. I need to distance myself from this. That’s what he is. A distraction. He’s ruggedly handsome. He’s got many fish to choose from. So, this idea leads me back to sex. Maybe it’s sex that we need.
“Great guard dog.” He bends down and gives Rookie a rub.
I have a moose sweatshirt on, my hair tied back, and I’m chewing on an eraser. Of course he isn’t coming for me. I quickly put down my pencil and close my computer.
He stands, rising high above me. “I read your note. I do have a question.”
“What’s that?”
“Is Bryce a man or a woman?”
“Woman.”
“Good. Mind if I take a quick shower? Then we will go to your place, so you can do the same.”
He turns quickly—not expecting an answer, I guess—and takes two steps at a time up to the top.
When Eli comes back out, he’s wearing a long-sleeved white thermal shirt and denim jeans that probably are hanging just right off his hips. I turn quickly, so he doesn’t see me staring through the window. Instantly, I feel severely underdressed. Then, I hear the door open, and he places a jacket across my shoulders. I try not to look at him because, if I do, he’ll see what I want to offer. Maybe it’s just lust. It’s got to be, right? Desire, definitely. But what if it’s more? I can’t help but turn my head and look at him.
Eli is standing next to me.
“Thank you,” I say.
“Thanks for taking him to pee.” He stops. “You ready?”
“Yeah, let me gather my stuff.” I turn to him, staring at his profile, and think to myself, This kind of fall won’t be easy. The train’s coming, Alex. It’s coming, and there’s no way you’ll be able to stop it.
My past. Eli’s past. Because that’s what we do as humans. We take who we are, the situations which have made us, and try to create lives—lives that might just break us. It’s all unintentional because all we want so badly in the moment is to be all right. To feel right. To do right.
I try to push my attraction for Eli out of the way. “Warden Young, you clean up nice.”
But what if I do fall? And what if this is the story I’m supposed to write?
We’re at Angler’s, and I can feel the tension of the woman that sits next to Ryan. I need a drink, and it looks like she does, too, so I introduce myself and invite her to the bar.
Eli leans over and whispers in my ear, “I can get you a drink.”
I motion for him to come closer. “Remember, I don’t need a man to take care of me. What will you be having tonight, Warden Young?”
He drops his head with a smile. “Whatever’s on tap.”
Lydia and I make our way to the bar.
“So, are the rumors that have been floating around Granite Harbor true?” she asks.
First, I think my past with Kyle has caught up with me, but I quickly dismiss the thought. I play dumb. “I’m sorry?”
“That you’re Alex Fisher, the author?”
I sigh in relief. “So they say.” My confidence quickly falls by the wayside.
She squeals and stamps her foot. “I knew it! I have so many questions for you.” She bites her thumbnail. “Can I ask you?”
“Glass of your house red, please,” I say to Felix. I look at Lydia. “Do you like red?”
“Yes.”
“Make that two glasses of your house red, please.”
“How did you feel when you got the call that Making Me was going to the big screen? That book. Oh my … that book just about killed me.” Lydia looks around and cautiously whispers, “To be honest? The only reason I took the date with Ryan, knowing who he really is, is because I thought I’d get a chance to meet you. I own the bookstore Rain All Day Books. I can’t believe I’m freaking talking to you right now.” She pauses. “Besides, even us newbies to GH know his heart will always be with Merit.”
“Merit? Eli’s older sister?”
“Yeah. She’s been in California now for quite some time. Only comes back occasionally to visit Eli and Brand.”
Brand must be Eli’s father.
“Does Eli know?”
Lydia shrugs. “Your guess is as good as mine. I’ve only been in Granite Harbor almost a year. I’m originally from New Hampshire.”
Lydia, in this light, has ashen-purple hair. It looks like she’d be more of a hairdresser than a bookstore owner. I like this about her. She’s shorter than me but not by much. Her skin is perfect, and her makeup seems to fit her face just right—again, more hairdresser than bookstore owner.
“Something tells me you had a different career before you became a bookstore owner.”
“Hairdresser,” she says, scrolling through her phone quickly.
Yes.
World: 0
Alex: 1
“Can we take a selfie? I’d love for you to come to the bookstore.”
“I stopped by the other day, but it wasn’t you who was at the counter.”
“That was Sage. She’s my part-time help. Good kid.” Lydia holds her phone up at an angle. “Ready? Smile!”
We pose, and she snaps a few pictures.
“Mind if I post this on my page?”
“All yours.”
She stops and lightly touches my arm. “Would it be weird if I asked for your number?”
Almost immediately, I say, “No, it wouldn’t be weird.” I’m in need of a friend. With Bryce all the way on the West Coast, I could use a girlfriend.
She giggles. “I’m friends with Alex Fisher. Holy fucking shit,” she whispers under her breath.
We walk back over to the table and join Aaron, Ethan, Ryan, Clay, Randall, and Eli.
“Manhattan didn’t suit you the other night?” Clay asks.
“Too strong.” I hold my glass of wine to my lips.
Shannon, the name tag on her work shirt says, comes to the table. She is a blonde with a body that comes only with lots of hard work. “Any refills before the game starts?” She winks at Eli.
“Keep them coming, Shannon. Keep them coming.” Ryan flashes his smile, probably the same one he uses in his best attempt to get girls in the sack.
“I wasn’t talking to you, douche,” Shannon blows.
“Ouch.” Aaron laughs. “Another unsatisfied customer?”
“I don’t remember, honestly.” Ryan puts the bottle to his lips again.
“Not like Eli. He’s got the nice guy image and the look,” Aaron says. “How do you do it, Young?” Aaron takes another drink of his beer. “Everywhere we go, every single damn last woman wants you.” Aaron looks to me. “Do you know, Alex, that we can’t even order food without women hanging at his feet, begging to take his order? Here we are, two single twins, and when Young is around, even with a beautiful woman sitting next to him, women still can’t get enough.”
Eli’s face is lit up like a Christmas tree.
“Warden Young, I do believe you’re blushing,” I say.
At halftime, everyone seems to disappear, except for Eli.
GSW is down by two at the half, but I’m not worried. It’s the wine that I’m worried about; it’s lowered my inhibitions.
“You know, if Curry had hit that three, you’d be up by one,” Eli says, putting his lips to the bottle. His playful smile curls upward.
I don’t dare laugh or miss a beat. “We’re a second-half team, Young. We will pull out the W. Besides, when’s the last time Boston won a game on the road?”
“Ouch.” He grabs at his chest.
I playfully push his leg. No more wine, Alex. No more.
When I go to remove my hand, Eli catches it just in time and gives it a squeeze. His eyes slowly meet mine.
You are cut off. Bartender, no more wine for the lady, I say to myself.
I search for the right words, and I can’t find them. They’re stuck somewhere between here and California, attached to a man I loved with all my heart.
“I swore, I’d never fall for a man in uniform again, Eli.” I struggle. “This can’t work. I don’t think my heart can handle it.” I want him to understand. I want him to know it’s not him; it’s me.
Ryan returns to the table, and our hands go to their rightful places.
“Well, that was quick.” Ryan sits. “Said she wasn’t feeling well.” He takes a sip of his beer. “Oh, did I interrupt something?”
“Absolutely not,” I say.
“Yes,” Eli says.
Ryan eyes both of us. “Game’s back on. Where’d Clay and Randall go?”
“They’re visiting with the Bravermans.” Eli points with his beer to a quiet corner.
Aaron and Ethan return from the bar and have a seat at the table with us for the second half.
It’s the wine.
It’s Eli.
It’s my own expectations.
Again, the wine.
Eli reaches down under the table and slides his hand across my leg that’s been bouncing up and down. My breath hitches. A storm of butterflies penetrates my stomach and takes flight. But my heart slows and finds a pace that’s rhythmic, livable, calming. I rest my cheek on my fist and stare at Eli.
He doesn’t question why I’m staring.
He doesn’t question why I haven’t asked him to remove his hand or to give me more. Because the touch isn’t sexual; it’s a gesture from the only place he knows to give love.
I look back at the game just in time to see the four-point play. “Did you guys see that? That was greatness at its finest! What a game!” I blurt out. “Come on, that was a beautiful four-point play!” I distract myself from Eli by taking another sip of wine. “Besides, who fouls Curry on the three-point line with a minute to go on the clock?”
“Did you play basketball, Alex?” Aaron asks.
I take another sip of wine, hoping to push down the feelings Eli gives me. “I did. Four years at California State University Northridge. Shooting guard.”
Shannon approaches the table again and gives Eli a long once-over before she says, “Any more drinks?”
Ryan goes to say something but bites his lower lip instead.
“If you breathe a word, kumquat, I will spit in your face. Got me?”
Ryan holds his hands up in a surrender position.
“And the Warriors win by a hair!” the commentator announces.
And I’m the only one who stands to cheer.
Clay walks up and kisses me on the cheek on their way out the door. “See you tomorrow morning?” Clay rests his hand on my shoulder. “Bye, boys!”
“See you.” I reach up and touch his hand.
Aaron and Ethan stand. “We’re out. Early morning.”
“Later, Caseys.” Ryan stands up. “Me, too. Going to go find Sadie.”
Eli shakes his head. “You ready?” Eli takes his hand and barely skims my leg.
“Yes.”
I take my sweater and hang it in the closet of the spare bedroom. Still, the residual effects of the wine are allowing me to think thoughts that I shouldn’t, not unless I want to allow my heart to be broken again. I shimmy Eli’s warden academy T-shirt over my head, and it’s huge but comfortable.
What if it’s just sex we need to calm the energy between us?
Does Eli need this? Us? Is he distracted with this thing we have between us?
I’ve been around plenty of handsome men since Kyle died. And nobody has had this effect on me quite like Eli has.
But what if sex takes care of this? Cleanses both our minds? Gets rid of the energy that sits between us?
I want to see him one last time before bed. Biting my lip, I think of all the things I want to say to Eli.
I’m guarded because my heart’s been broken before.
I lied in the letter I wrote you. I have written since Kyle. It’s just been really shitty writing.
I write because it’s the only thing that brings me comfort.
Sometimes, heartbreak doesn’t allow us to see the light for a long time. I’m struggling with that right now.
I like being here, and I like spending time with you.
I look down at my purse and see the edge of the postcards.
He’s got to be able to make sense of them.
Before I know it, I’m standing at his door. Eli’s shirt dangles off my shoulders like an ill-fitting dress.
My eyes stare at the space that exposes his skin between his white T-shirt and his pajama pants. The tight confines of his shirt tell me he needs to stick to this size shirt purely for my own needs.
Snap out of it, Alex.
I make it to his face. “I didn’t know you wore glasses.”
Eli takes them off. “Just for reading.”
You need to wear them more often.
“I lied. With the note I gave you, I lied.”
He beckons me with his hand, tapping the spot next to him.
I take a seat on the edge of the bed to create some space between us, a gap of emptiness that will keep us on our own sides of the world. “I have written since Kyle died but nothing good—until now. I owe that to you.” I stall because I don’t want the next line to come out sounding cheesy or rehearsed. “I guess I just wanted to come say thank you.” I laugh. “Who would have thought I’d be in Granite Harbor, Maine, writing again, doing book research with a game warden, who unexpectedly lifted my spirits? Thank you for treating me normal.”
“What are those?”
“I need to ask you a question.” I slide closer, though I’m careful to keep a two-foot buffer between us. “I received these about ten days before I came out to Granite Harbor. Well, one came to my house, and the other went to my parents’ house.”
Eli looks at the postcards, but there’s no reaction on his face. “Alex, I didn’t write these.”
“I figured you didn’t,” I say, “but the weird thing is, they’re written in Kyle’s handwriting.”
“May I?” he asks.
I hand them over and watch as he looks at them.
“My mom and Bryce are convinced that it’s fate that I’m here.” I laugh, feeling the nervous tension in my bones.
“The postmark is in Brooklyn. If it came from Granite Harbor, it should say Granite Harbor.”
“Why would they both be written in Kyle’s writing? And why use your name? As if the writer of these postcards knew I’d come? Knew I’d meet you?”
“I’m not sure,” Eli says, taking a closer look at one postcard. “But you’re here now.”
“You know I can’t stay here forever, right?”
“You’re right,” he says, still holding the postcards with my name on them. “You’re a grown woman. I can’t keep you here. But it’s also my duty as a sworn law officer to protect the public.”
I follow the imaginary line that outlines his lips, nose, and forehead.
Why couldn’t I find an ugly game warden? One that had a potbelly, some age, maybe retirement coming. Why did Eli walk into my life, making everything mushy, gray, and hard to navigate? What if it doesn’t matter who wrote them? What if the most important part is, I’m here because of the postcards?
I turn on to my back because of his stare. If he didn’t have eyes, this would make things a whole lot easier.
“So, you’re telling me that you’d bring any community member back to your house to protect them?”
He laughs.
I really like the sound of his laugh and the grin he’s giving me right now.
“Just you,” he whispers.
After he says this, my body is on fire, but I also grow cold, all at the same time, feeling the ache in places I shouldn’t. My body breaks into chills.
“Are you cold?” he asks.
“Opposite.” My breathing staggers, and I try to allow my lungs to move, but my heart is in the way. “Now what?” I pant.
Eli scoots closer, his look hooded. “Get under the covers.”
I obey. I know what he needs because I feel the same carnal need. Maybe we should just have sex, and all this would go away. I want him to slide on top of me, and I want to feel him between my legs.
Hesitantly, with the blanket between us, he carefully brushes the strands of my hair out of my face and then slides his hand down my neck. My body is fully aware of his presence, and I want nothing more than to feel him.
My breathing quickens.
With a layer of feathers between his hand and my body, his hand grazes over my breasts, my nipples knowing full well the seriousness of this situation as they tingle and expand, creating an ache.
His hand slides down across my stomach, and his eyes ask if this is all right.
I know this is not Kyle but Eli. Someone new. The only other man I’ve allowed to touch me like this. The feathers provide the buffer that I think we both need.
My lips part, and I lick them because they, too, desperately need attention. My legs fall to the sides, providing Eli with space that he needs and me with more want.
I need to resist him.
I need not to want him.
I need to gain clarity in my mind of what this looks like, this situation we’re both agreeing to, but I can’t. Because all I see is his face, which is full of concern, but I think it’s also something he can’t stop.
Eli’s hand stops right before he reaches the center of my body, the part that has only been claimed by Kyle. It isn’t because Eli wants to; it’s because he has to.
“I can’t do this with you, Alex.”