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“MOVE!” ELLIOT PUSHED Lexie aside with more force than intended.
Her hip knocked against the side of the counter, breaking her trance. The flames had been only inches away from her face.
A towel on top of the counter caught on fire. The breath caught in Elliot’s throat as his gaze bounced off the walls, searching for an extinguisher.
He saw nothing.
Stepping over to the pantry, he wrenched open the doors. The gleaming red caught his eyes first. He grabbed the small extinguisher, pulled the pin, and directed it at the kitchen counter where the towel began to catch the butcher block on fire. Seconds later, the stove and counters, the floor, and even Elliot himself were covered in a fluffy white dust.
Shaking, he turned to Lexie who stared at him, the set of her mouth soft, her eyes moving dazedly from the oven with the dead garment, back to Elliot again. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t know what came over me.”
Elliot sighed and ran a hand roughly over his face, lingering over the abrasive whiskers on his jaw. He wanted to shout, to ask, What the heck were you doing? But the answer would likely be one she may not be prepared to give.
He looked over at her, for the first time, realizing how hard he had pushed her into the counter. “Are you okay?” he asked. He grabbed her hand and tugged her forward, his gaze examining her for injuries.
“I’m fine,” she said. Then, she averted her gaze and murmured, “I want him dead, Elliot. I’ve never wanted anything more in my life than to watch him burn, watch him suffer.” She stared into the oven as she spoke, her voice flat. “Am I sick? Is it sick to want that?”
She looked back at him, her dark eyes searching his. For what, he wasn't sure. Judgment?
So he shook his head. “No. Believe me. I’d be the first in line to watch.
This was the first time they had spoken about the rape. Or around it, rather. Elliot had plenty to say, but expressing his own anger, his own desire to kill the man that hurt her would be selfish. He knew he was on fragile ground and stepping lightly was key. “After what he did to you...I can only imagine. I have no idea how you survived, or what living after something like that must be like, but I’d say you’re pretty normal for wanting him to pay. Trust me, Lexie, if there was some way, something I could to do...”
Elliot gazed up at the ceiling, asking for help from the heavens. His fingers twitched, his arms and hands tingled. He wanted to reach out to her, to hold her in the worst way, but he couldn’t. He didn’t want to push himself on her while she was vulnerable.
“Why don’t you sit down? I’ll make you a cup of coffee.”
Elliot went to the counter opposite the debris from the fire and the extinguisher, where he found the coffee pot. He opened the cupboard above and pulled out a bag of coffee. He threw several scoops in the pot, added water, and turned it on.
He leaned against the counter with his back to her, needing to collect his thoughts, kicking himself for not realizing sooner how difficult this day would be for Lexie. But when he asked to spend time with her the other day at the farm, and she invited him to help her with the move, he hadn’t given it another thought. His desire to spend time with her had been the only thing on his mind when he should’ve thought about how scary this all must be for her—trying to live alone, rebuilding her life after what happened.
His thoughts flickered to the way she looked in the pasture the other day, after she had failed at wrangling the cow. The vision of her, rumpled in jeans and a pink shirt, her belly round and soft, her hair cascading down her back, and the scent of her milky skin, was all he thought about the last two days. He couldn’t wait to spend time with her, but now he was angry and ashamed of himself for not recognizing the amount of support she needed, the amount of fear she must be harboring. Instead, he had thought only of himself.
He had no doubt the old Lexie was still there, but the new one he saw worried him. He saw the darkness that lingered in those cocoa eyes and the lines of anxiety which creased her brow.
Protecting her, although no longer his right, came second nature to him. He wanted nothing more than to hold her. He didn’t intend on reaching out to her, but it was as if his hand had been drawn to her swollen waist. Whatever provoked him, the sensation, the emotions that coursed through him when he did and the intensity of them, were stronger than anything he had ever felt. The subtle movement of the baby from within her—a tiny nudge against his palm, sent shockwaves through his heart.
The coffee pot sputtered. Grabbing two glass mugs, Elliot filled them with coffee and handed one to Lexie. He didn’t see any sugar, as she liked, so he gave it to her black.
“It’s not Starbucks, but it’ll do,” she said, and the effort she forced into her smile nearly sleighed him.
The Starbucks crack was an old joke between them, due to the fact there wasn’t a Starbucks in over a thirty miles radius of Andover. Their only option in town for coffee was McDonald’s, so while the rest of the world drank premium coffee, they joked that they preferred the home-brewed variety best. Suddenly, Elliot wondered how often Lexie had drunk specialty coffee in the past ten years she lived in the city. Once a week? Every day? He supposed it didn’t matter. What did matter was that he didn’t know the answer. But he wanted to.
He took a sip from his mug, waiting for Lexie to say something, letting her take the reins on the conversation, to return to where they left off, or change the subject.
She gripped her untouched cup of coffee and despite the suggestion that they sit down, both remained standing. “I just want it all to go away,” Lexie said.
Her face contorted in the oddest of expressions, torn between anger and desperation. Her lips pressed into a hard line and trembled slightly, while her eyes glistened.
“At first I thought my life was over; I wanted it to be. I wanted to die. Part of me still does. But now, I know I need to make a life for myself. I still think my life is over, but know that time, life, still goes on, whether I’m grieving the fall of mine or not. Even though I recognize this, how do I move on after what happened?”
Elliot reached a hand toward her, then awkwardly pulled it away, pressing it into his side, reminding himself she wasn’t his to hold. “I don’t think you ever really get over it. You just find a way to cope. You find things that make you happy again. You live, whether living feels worth doing or not. You let yourself be angry, be sad, grieve what happened, but then you also force a smile on your face, even when it seems like there’s not much worth smiling for. You breathe, even when your lungs burn and tremble from the effort. Then one day, I think you look up, and, yes, time has moved on, but so have you. And you realize that you’re happy again, that you’ve found a way to live your life. Maybe it won’t be exactly like before, but it is still good somehow, just different.”
Lexie bit her lip. “Do you believe I can do it? What if I’m not that strong?”
“I know you can do it. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met. It’s part of what I love about you.” The words escaped his mouth before he could bite them back, and he couldn’t help but wonder if Lexie noticed the way he used the word “love” in the present tense.
With her eyes locked on his, she stepped forward, reaching out for his hand, pressing their palms together, her skin soft, her hand and tiny against his own. Her tender touch, the way her fingers lingered and twined in his, surprised him. Elliot closed his eyes, letting the heat of her skin soak through him.
When she spoke, her voice was soft, merely a whisper. “I can’t believe that after everything, you still believe in me.”
His lids flicked open and he gazed at the woman before him. She had changed in the years they spent apart, and tragedy had touched her fragile life. That was fact, but she was still the same woman. She was still his Lexie, no matter how he cut it. And she always would be.
He was probably a fool for being here. He tried to tell himself he wanted to spend time with her to gain closure, but he had been lying to himself, and not very well either. There was a very good chance Lexie would leave again, this time taking the rest of his heart with her until she carried the whole thing inside of her, beating next to her own, leaving him hollow and empty. But Elliot had changed in the past ten years, too. Heartache had wizened him. He knew she loved him, of that he had no doubt. And the second she reached her hand to his, the decision to fight for her had been cast. This time, he wouldn’t let her run away. He’d make her talk, to tell him what she wanted out of life, out of love.
He gripped her hand, taking whatever pieces of herself she could offer. “I’ll always believe in you, Lex. I’ll believe enough for the both of us until you’re ready and can believe in yourself.”
He took a step toward her, closing the gap between them before he encapsulated her in his arms, laying his cheek against the silk of her hair, breathing in the scent of her shampoo.
He heard a sigh, unsure of whether it was hers or his own, because all he could think about was how right she felt in the circle of his arms. He had waited ten long years to hold her again. Every nerve ending in his body tingled with life as if during the years she was away, his flesh was not his own.
He wanted so badly to brush his lips over the top of her head like he used to, until she turned and tipped her face up to his for a kiss. But he held back, his jaw throbbing with restraint. He would move slowly because that’s what she needed. But for the first time since she arrived home, he felt it—that flutter in his chest, the floating of his spirit, the deep seated notion that maybe the impossible was possible. He felt hope.