The Forever of Ella and Micha (The Secret 2)

He looks at the tattoo on my arm, the piercing in my lip, and my black shirt and jeans. “Umm… I don’t know.”

Forcing back an eye roll, I leave the couch and meet up with my mom in the kitchen. “Okay, so I don’t get it.”

She’s unloading a sack of groceries into the fridge and peeks up of over the fridge door. “Don’t get what?”

I motion my thumb over my shoulder at the living room where Thomas is channel surfing. “He seems like an idiot.”

“He’s really nice, Micha.” She rummages around in a plastic bag on the counter and takes out a few cans of pumpkin. “And he makes me happy.”

I eye her white button-down shirt that’s tied at the waist and her jeans with diamond studs on them. “He’s making you dress weird.”

“So I’m dressing younger.” She lifts her chin up with confidence. “I lost a lot of my youth and if I want to have fun now then I can.”

“Because you had me?” I steal a bag of chips from her hand. “Or because of dad?”

She shakes her head as I pop the bag open. “No, you were the best thing that ever happened to me. I lost my youth because of my choices, but now I’d like to make the choice to get some of it back and enjoy life a little.”

I cast a glance back at Thomas, who’s laughing at something on the television. “With him?”

She closes the cupboard. “With him.”

I grab a handful of chips, making a mess on the floor. “Fine, if that’s what you want right now then I’ll back down.” I pop my knuckles. “But if he hurts you, I’m punching him in the face.”

She ruffles the top of my head tolerantly like I’m still a kid, then takes out two beers from the fridge and heads for the living room. “And if you’re wanting to make up with Ella, you should know that I just saw her climb inside the window to her house.”

I pick up the chips I dropped on the ground. “How did you know we were fighting?”

She laughs. “Honey, when you two fight the whole world knows.”

I have no idea what she means, but I slip my jacket on and step outside into the freezing cold. Snow drifts down from the sky and coats the ground as I hike over to the chain-link fence. The metal freezes the palms of my hands as I hop over it and knock on the back door.

After two knocks, Lila answers. She has on pink boots with fur on top, a coat, a hat, and a scarf. “Yes.”

“Cold?” I joke, trying to lighten the mood, but all she does is frown. “Sorry, not the best time for jokes, huh?”

She crosses her arms, her blue eyes very unwelcoming. “You know how much I encouraged her to let you in—that you loved her so much and would never hurt her? You’ve basically crushed her and I look like a liar.”

“I’m going to make it better,” I insist, stepping toward the threshold, hoping she’ll move over and let me through.

She stays still, blocking the doorway. “Before I let you in, you have to promise no more drinking when you’re upset and no more hurting her. I swear to God if you continue to hurt her, I’ll rip out your lip ring.”

I put a hand over my mouth to protect my lips. “I promise, never again.”

She moves back to let me in and then shuts the door behind us. “She’s upstairs in her room.”

I head for the stairway. “You know, Lila, you’re pretty hard core. Not many people would dare threaten the lip ring.”

“Well, I’m not most people,” she calls out. “Ella’s my best friend and she needs protecting. Something you usually do, only this time you were the cause of her needing it.”

I leave her in the kitchen and climb the stairs. The house is freezing and the sound of music flows through the air: “One Thing” by Finger Eleven. The door to the bathroom where her mom died is wide open and there’s something colorful all over the tile.

“Ella,” I say, walking toward the door. “Are you up here?”

She walks out of her room with a handful of markers and her eyes widen when she sees me. “How did you get in here?”

“Lila, let me in,” I explain, my breath fogging out in front of me. “Didn’t you turn the heat on?”

She shakes her head and dismisses me, heading to the bathroom. She has her leather jacket and fingerless gloves on. When she reaches the bathroom, she crouches down and scribbles something on the floor.

I approach the scene with caution, knowing it has to mean something important. “Pretty girl, what are you doing?”

She sketches a black line along the tile. “I’m making a shrine… And don’t call me pretty girl, please.”

I squat down behind her and hold my breath as I set my hands on her shoulders. She doesn’t shrug them off, but tenses under my touch. “You have no idea how sorry I am.”

She traces a circle around a woman with wings and a cupcake in her hand. “You don’t need to be sorry. I’m not mad at you.”

My brow knits with perplexity. “Then what’s wrong?”

She shades in the eyes of the angel and then fills in the flame of the candle in the cupcake. “That I was right—about everything.”

I brush her hair to the side as she writes I love you below the angel’s feet. “Right about what?”

She writes, I love you, Mom, and happy belated birthday. Clicking the cap back on the marker, she stands up and turns to face me. “That I ruin you.”

My eyes snap wide as she squeezes by me and rushes into her bedroom. That was not what I expected at all.

I catch up with her right as she’s about to shut the door and brace my hand against, shoving it back open. “You don’t ruin me, Ella May. How could you ever think that?”

“I think it because it’s true.” She chucks the markers onto her dresser. “My problems do anyway.”

I bite at my lip, working to maintain a steady voice. “You know as well as I do that when people are drunk they say hurtful things they don’t mean.”

She swallows hard. “But sometimes they mean them.”

“I didn’t mean it. I promise. God, I wish I could have, like, a redo or something, because I’d slap myself for even thinking those words.”

“Redo’s don’t exist,” she breathes softly. “And I don’t think I should do this anymore—I wasn’t even supposed to be doing this to begin with. I was supposed to stay out of relationships until I got my shit together, but every time I’m around you, it’s impossible. All you do is look at me and I feel like I’m drowning.”

“I’m not sure what you mean,” I say with caution. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

She puffs out a frustrated breath, collapses onto her bed, and buries her face in her arms. “It could be a good thing, if I wasn’t so messed up… When I’m with you, every part of me is consumed by you.”

I climb onto the bed with her and place a hand gently on her back. “You know that’s the most honest thing you’ve said to me.”

She peeks up at me through her veil of auburn hair. “I know.”

I brush her hair out of her eyes. “Ethan suggested a weird thing to me today. That maybe you and I need to be more honest with each other, instead of always trying to protect each other.”

“I think you were pretty honest in the garage,” she replies coldly. “Micha, if you want to walk away, then do it now because if things get any deeper, I swear it’s going to kill me next time.”

“You have no idea how important you are to me.” I get off the bed and hold my hand out to her, knowing it’s time to pour our hearts out to each other. “Will you come somewhere with me?”

She eyes my offered hand suspiciously. “Where?”

“That’s a secret.” I wink at her, acting calm, even though I’m terrified she won’t go with me—that I’ve ruined everything I’ve worked so hard at with her. “But I promise, it’ll be good.”

She sets her hand in mine, trusting me, and I can breathe again. I make a silent vow that I will never hurt her again.

Chapter 17

Ella

“Okay, so sometimes I really don’t get you.” My gaze scans the park full of bent and broken bars and empty dreams. It’s the playground we grew up going to, but there were more drug dealings going on than children playing. The merry-go-round is crooked and the teeter-totter is missing a seat. The chains of the swing are rusted and the slide is buried in snow.

He tugs me toward the swing set with a big grin on his face. “I can’t believe you don’t remember.” He dusts off the snow from the seat and sits down. “It’s like one of the best memories of my childhood.”

I brush the snow off the swing beside his and drop down in it, wrapping my fingers around the cold metal chains. “You mean when we made the pact? I remember that.”

He runs backward and picks up his feet, soaring up toward the sky. “Yeah, but do you remember what we were doing before the pact was made?”

I twist back and forth as snow falls from the links. “We were playing truth.”

Braking with his shoes, he halts the swing and twirls to face me. “So you do remember.”

“Of course I remember.” I roll my eyes and spin around once with my legs stretched out in front of me. “It was the day you made me admit that I had never kissed anyone before.”

His grin broadens. “And the day I took your first kiss.”

I clamp my jaw shut to keep from grinning. “Only because I was too naïve to see that you were totally playing me.”

“I was fourteen,” he says. “I wasn’t playing you. I was just curious what it would be like to kiss my best friend, because all the other girls I’d made out with just weren’t doing much for me.”

I nudge his foot with my toe. “You are such a liar.”

He crosses his heart with his finger. “I’m totally being truthful here. Ethan kept yammering about all his awesome make-out sessions and I just didn’t get it. Every time I was with a girl, it felt like there should be more.”

I suppress a laugh. “And did the kiss fulfill all of your wildest dreams?”

“Oh yeah.” He grins haughtily. “I couldn’t stop thinking about how soft your lips were for, like, days.” His eyes shadow over. “But what I really think added fuel to my developing obsession with you was that, like, a year and half later I saw you walking around nak*d in your room.”

I prod him in the shin with my foot. “You did not.”

He smiles proudly and motions a finger at the swings we’re sitting in. “Oh no, I’m not. These swings are a no-lying area, remember?”

I let the swing sway back and forth. “Well, while we’re telling the truth, I once had a naughty dream about you.”

In a faint glow of the lamppost, his eyes sparkle like the snow. “What exactly happened in this naughty dream?”

I pump my legs, taking the swing higher as I lean back freely. “That’s a secret I’ll never tell.”