The Ever After of Ella and Micha (The Secret 4)

“Thanks,” I say, shutting the box. “I’m sure she’ll like it and I’m sure she’ll be glad that you gave it to her.”

Mr. Daniels nods, and then without saying anymore we leave the garage. My mom and he chat at the back door for a little while about nothing major as I stare at the sky noting that it’s turning gray and wondering if Ella came home while we were in the garage. I decide to go check and say thanks again to Mr. Daniels before I head back over to my house. When I walk in, Lila and Ethan tell me that she’s not there and that they’re getting ready to go visit his parents for a while, even though he doesn’t want to. They head out and I go into my room and hide the necklace. Then, trying to distract myself, I read some of her mom’s journal. Page after page of dark thoughts:

I can’t do this. Be a mother and a wife. I thought I could but now I feel like I need to run, flee, escape the fear of commitment on foot. Because it’s either escape or wait until Raymond decides he’s had enough of me and abandons me. It’s inevitable. I can feel it. He’ll leave me because really I’m not good enough and sometimes I don’t want to be good enough. It’s too much work and takes too much strength and I’m so tired.

Maybe I should just run away and leave it all behind.

I really should.

Her words pierce at my chest because if I didn’t know any better, I’d swear Ella had written them. But I don’t believe that Ella will run away again. She loves me and I know that, even if she has a hard time expressing her feelings. I know she wants to be with me. She moved the ring to her engagement finger and moved in with me. She won’t run.

She can’t.

I keep reading through and my mom sticks her head into my room to tell me she’s heading out with Thomas to get some dinner.

“Do you want anything?” she asks me.

I shake my head. “No, thanks.”

“Well, there are some leftovers in the fridge if you get hungry,” she says.

“Thanks,” I say and she smiles and then starts to shut the door.

“And Mom?”

She pauses. “Yeah.”

“Thanks for going over to the Daniels’s and doing that,” I say.

She smiles. “No problem. I’m just glad we found you something good to give her.”

“Me too,” I tell her.

When she leaves, I glance at the clock and decide to give Ella fifteen more minutes before I go searching for her. I continue reading the journal, periodically checking the clock. The next several pages are equally depressing and my heart starts to feel heavy in my chest. It’s like I’m reading about a downward spiral, but fortunately I’m the one reading it, not Ella. It was her choice not to, which makes her so much stronger than all this darkness, because she knew it would probably bring her down and she chose not to let it—she chose to be happy.

I’m about to put the journal away when I realize there’s only one more page left and I decide to read it so I can be done with it. But then I’ll have to go and break the news to Ella that I couldn’t find anything happy inside the journal. Hopefully it won’t crush her heart.

But as I read over the last page the heaviness dissipates and the words kind of make me smile. After I finish reading it, I get up to go look for Ella because I’m worried about her being gone for so long and because she needs to read this. I put my jacket on and head to the back door where I left my boots, but as I’m crossing the kitchen, the door opens and a breeze gusts inside. Ella enters looking as frozen as a Popsicle, her lips blue, her cheeks kissed pink, and she’s shivering.

She offers me a small smile as she shuts the back door behind her. “Were you going somewhere?” she asks, eyeing my coat as she hugs her sketchbook to her chest.

“Yeah, to look for you.” I stop zipping up my jacket and place my hands on her cheeks, which are ice cold. “God, you’re freezing. How long were you out there?”

She looks over at the clock on the microwave. “A couple of hours.”

“Jesus, Ella.” I take the sketchbook and set it aside on the counter. Then I tug off her gloves, gather her hands in mine, and breathe on them while I try to rub warmth back into her.

She smiles up at me. “How was your day tux shopping?”

“As good as any other day shopping. Although we didn’t get tuxes.”

“Good,” she says. “I’ve never been a fan of them. You’ll look much better in your jeans and a button-down shirt.”

“As long as you think so then I’m okay with it,” I tell her, then pause, choosing my next words carefully as my fingers wrap around her wrist. “When I came home I read some more of your mother’s journal.”

“Oh yeah?” She pretends to be only slightly interested but I feel her pulse accelerate in her wrist. “Find anything good?”

“I did. Do you want to read it?”

Her throat bobs up and down as she swallows hard, and then she looks at the sketchbook on the counter. “Can I wait just a little bit longer? I’m in good mood and I want to stay in one.”

“But what I found is good,” I promise her. “Trust me.”

“I know, but it’ll still be hard to read, whether it’s good or bad. It still has to do with her and she’s gone and it always makes me sad.”

How can I argue with that? “If that’s what you want, but I promise it’s not bad and I really think you need to read it before we get married.” I massage her right hand and she winces. “Does your hand hurt?”

She nods, wincing again. “It’s the one I punched Mikey in the face with. My knuckles collided with his jaw.”

Thinking about Mikey hitting her still gets under my skin, but I force myself to shove it aside because I promised her I wouldn’t do anything about it and I refuse to break my promises to her no matter what. “How many times have I told you to hit here?” I free her hand and pound my fist flat against my palm. “Don’t use your knuckles.”

“I know, but I was drunk and he’s a scary guy. I got a little nervous and screwed up the punch,” she says and the anger inside me flickers. I was never one for fighting. Sure, I’ve gotten into a couple of fights but the only major one was with Grantford Davis, who deserved to get his ass kicked.

“What do you want to do for the rest of the night?” I tuck a strand of her auburn hair behind her ear.

She looks around at the empty kitchen. “Where is everyone?”

“Caroline went to your house with Dean. My mom went to dinner and Thomas went out with his friend.” I place my hands on her hips. “And Lila and Ethan went out to get something to eat.”

“So we have the entire house to ourselves?” she asks with a naughty grin on her face.

I tap my finger on my lip. “Whatever shall we do?”

“Hmmm…” Her eyes sparkle as she collects the sketchpad off the counter. “I have no idea.”

I return my hand to her waist and glide my palm around to her ass, cupping it roughly. Her body arches toward me. “Oh, I have a few ideas, starting with you getting nak*d.”

She laughs and then suddenly takes off running toward the hallway, chucking her sketchpad onto the couch as she passes it. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll get nak*d when you can find me.” She smiles at me then spins around and disappears down the hallway.

“Oh, pretty girl,” I call out, winding around the table and chasing after her. The house is silent as I walk through the living room and past the sofa, getting a glimpse of a piece she’s been working on in the open sketchpad. It’s a drawing of me holding my guitar with music notes around me. Below it she wrote, His mouth warmed my soul.

My heart does this stupid, very unmanly pitter-patter thing inside my chest, but I smile and take off jogging to my room. I check the closet, under my bed, and then, giving up on my room, I head for my mom’s room. I search high and low, but can’t find her anywhere, so I look in the bathroom. When I still can’t find her, I backtrack to the living room. I’m about ready to step through the doorway and into the kitchen when she jumps out from behind the wall and into the doorway right in front of me, scaring the shit out of me. I press my hand to my chest as I catch my breath and she laughs as she wraps her legs around me and throws all her weight into me, sending us to the ground. I manage to not smack my head on the floor, but my back does hit it hard.

She lands on top of me, her body falling on mine, and then she quickly pushes up so she’s sitting on me with one leg on each side. Her hands come down beside my head as she stares down at me, her hair veiling around our faces.

“That is for all the times you wrestled me to the ground,” she says, seeming very pleased with herself as she pants for air.

I shake my head as I sneak my hands to her hips. “Have I taught you nothing?” With one swift movement, I flip us over so she’s on the ground and I’m lying on top of her. “I always win at wrestling.”

Then I kiss her.

* * *

Hours later we’re lying in my bed, our bodies tangled together as she lies nak*d on her side. She hasn’t read the journal page yet and I’m not going to push her. Instead she has her sketchbook out and she’s scribbling lines down on a fresh sheet of paper, attempting to recapture a photo of her mom sitting on her bed, looking sad. On the other side of the sketchbook there’s a picture of what looks like me with the words My everything written on the bottom.

“What exactly are you working on?” I ask her as I trace a path up and down her spine, and with each stroke she shivers. “I know this one’s your mom”—I tap my finger on the drawing of me—“but what’s this one about?”

The pencil briefly stops moving across the paper. “Can I explain it to you later?” She peers over her shoulder and wisps of her hair fall into her face. “I want to finish it first and then tell you everything.”

Everything. What does she mean by “everything”? “Can I have a hint?”

She studies me, chewing on her lip, and then she directs her attention back down at the drawing, covered with angled lines and dark shades. “It’s about our past… and our future.”

Our future. I’m surprised by her honesty and feel guilty because she’s been so honest with me lately and I’ve been keeping a huge secret from her. Well, not exactly a secret, but I’ve been withholding information, concerned about how she’ll react, fearing she’ll say she’ll go even though she doesn’t want to. Or she’ll say she won’t go and that will be the end of my music dream. But it’s time to stop avoiding the decision, especially when she’s being so straightforward.

I let my finger trail up her back a few more times and then I drape my arm over her side and press my face against the back of her neck, folding my arms around her. “I have to tell you something,” I say, and her body goes as rigid as a board. “Calm down. It’s not bad. It’s just news… a decision we need to make.”