ELLA
Ikeep expecting him to cry. I did. Tears spilled helplessly once we were back in the car. If anything were to bring him to the brink, it would be the tombstones to the left of us.
“She’s buried over there.” He motions as we sit at the red light. His knuckles rap on the window although his focus is on the street.
“We could go, if you want?” I offer Zander, who shifts in his seat. Staring out of the window at the rows of headstones.
“No,” he says and his answer is gentle, more composed than he’s been. I learned today he’s short when he’s emotional. He’s also quick to check on me once he realizes he’s been blunt.
All I can do is to keep holding his hand.
I don’t think souls stay in cemeteries. There’s nothing here but stone, dying flowers and grass that needs to be trimmed but with the chill in the air and fall turning colder in the mountains, it’ll probably stay like this until spring.
“Are you all right?” he asks me yet again. The ache in my chest is the most vulnerable I’ve felt in so long and it’s directly linked to the way he looks at me. And the question I keep wanting to ask him, but my heart refuses. Did you love her?
Instead I nod, saying that I’m all right, and question, “Did you come this way because you knew she was buried over there?”
“Yes … Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine. I haven’t gone to where James is buried. I just don’t think he’s there. Have you been … since she’s been gone?”
“To the cemetery?” he questions, slowly hitting the gas and putting it in our rearview. “I used to. In the beginning.”
I debate on whether or not to tell him something I haven’t confided in anyone yet, but I settle on the truth, on speaking what’s on my mind. I’ll feel it, whatever the memory brings, and then let it go. “I would go to the bar a lot. When James first died.”
“The bar?” he asks for clarification, and he peeks at me a moment before returning his attention to the road.
“There’s this bar down by the trolley in the city we lived in; it’s the first floor of Monet’s. It’s where we first met.” I smile at the memory as the car moves and the world blurs around us in a beautiful hue of greens and blues. The trees are only just starting to turn to auburn shades. Licking my lower lip, I continue, staring out of the window. “I knew of him, of James,” I say, correcting myself. “I knew he slept around. I’m sure he knew I did the same.”
I can feel Zander’s eyes on me, but I don’t look back at him. Instead I remember the din of the bar and the way James smiled at me, like I would jump at the chance to fuck him. I’m certain I roll my eyes now just like I did back then. “He was cocky, came from money but invested in a few companies at the right time.
“Rich Prick is what we used to call him.”
“Sounds like Prince Charming,” Z jokes and I finally turn to him, letting him see how happy that comment made me. His strong hand lands on my thigh and I place mine on top of his, not wanting him to let go as I remember the first time I spoke to James, years ago.
“He wanted my number when I turned him down.”
Z looks back at me, curious without an ounce of jealousy. His thumb travels over my hand as I tell him our story.
“He said he’d change my mind.” My heart does a painful flip in my chest remembering the timbre of his voice. “There wasn’t a chance in hell I was going to sleep with him. I was getting over a different guy. So …” I take in a deep breath and huff it out as I lay my head back on the seat. “So when he asked for my number,” I say and smirk when Z’s eyes meet mine, “I gave him my ex’s number. To piss two men off at the same time.”
The low, deep rumble of Zander’s laugh spreads a much-needed warmth through me. “That’s one way to make an impression.”
My smile is dull, but it’s there. It lingers along with the grief that comes with the past.
“So you were always a smart-ass, stubborn woman?”
“You mean a bitch?” I question and Zander’s quick to say, “I’d never call you that.”
“Well, I would. I could be a bitch when I wanted to be one.”
“I don’t want you to call yourself that.” His admonishment is a simple statement and as he turns the wheel, he has to remove his hand and along with it goes the warmth. Dom Z has returned it seems.
“Yes, Sir,” I murmur sarcastically.
“Don’t make me pull this car over and spank your ass because of your mouth.” The warning on his lips changes the atmosphere of the car instantly.
His tone heats every nerve ending in my body at once. I wonder if he knows how much power he has over me.