I continue to expertly hide my feelings about all of it. “Oh, I know I am.”
I manage to balance the plate of food and a cup of coffee in one hand while I open the door to me and Elle’s room with the other. Nudging it closed with my foot, I see that Elle is still wrapped up in the sheets like an adorable, little human burrito, and I cross the room to set the plate and coffee on the nightstand. One brief glance at her face, and I see that she’s watching me with sleepy, lidded eyes.
I can’t help smiling at her, and she apparently takes it the wrong way.
“Don’t be weird about it,” she mumbles through a sleep-rasped voice, “and I won’t either.”
I feel my smile morph into a smirk. “I’m not being weird. I’m bringing you coffee and food.”
Elle’s gaze slides to the nightstand and then back to my face. “Thank you. I feel like shit.”
“Here.” I pick up the plate with one hand and offer my other to her. “Sit up. Joaquin said this is a good hangover cure.”
She pulls her arm out of the sheet and takes my hand without protest. She’s still wearing my shirt. It reminds me that I held back her hair while she washed her face last night, and then found her toothbrush, and then helped her change out of her dress. All of that reminds me of the naïve hope I’m infected with that’s going to be one more thing about my life that sucks.
Elle props her back against the pillow, and I set the plate in her hands. She dips her head and sniffs.
“What is this?”
I reach for the coffee cup and slide it across the nightstand so she can reach it. “Chilaquiles. It’s deep-fried tortillas sautéed in tomatillo sauce and topped with eggs and queso fresco. It’s a traditional Mexican breakfast dish, and it’s pretty delicious.”
She’s still sniffing it. “It smells amazing.”
I reach into my pocket to retrieve a bundle of silverware wrapped in a cloth napkin and set it next to her. “It is amazing. And it apparently cures hangovers.”
Elle unwraps the silverware, lifting the plate to slide the napkin underneath it, then scoops a bite of tortilla with egg into her mouth. “Holycrap,” she mumbles through a full mouth. “Thatisamazing.”
I fold my arms across my chest. “Yeah, it’s pretty good.”
She eyes me as she chews and then gestures at the bed next to her. “You can sit down. You don’t have to just stand there.”
I opt to sit at the foot of the bed facing her. “I have good news.”
Elle continues to look at me while scooping and chewing. “I hope it’s what I think it is.”
I nod. “Ernesto’s back this morning, and I had a minute to chat with him. He’s going to sign the contract to commission the fleet later this evening after the party.”
She stops chewing and blinks. “Just like that?”
I lift my shoulders for a second. “Just like that.” I wink at her even though I probably shouldn’t. “I told you I could sell a ketchup—”
Elle drops the fork with a clatter against the plate and clasps her hands over her mouth. Andthen, a tiny sob bursts out of her. “Oh my God.” She slides the plate and fork off her lap to set them on the nightstand, and then pulls her knees to her chest as she begins to cry in quiet, stifled sniffles. It elicits an obnoxious ache in my chest that only contributes to the hope I know will ultimately knock me down at the knees.
“Elle—”
“Sorry,” she sputters, face hidden behind her sheet-covered knees. “I’m really hungover, and I think it makes me extra sensitive. I just—” Her breath hitches, and she sniffles again. “I’ve been drowning for years, and this will…” Her words fade to nothing as she shakes her head.
“I get it, Elle,” I say quietly, fighting the urge to reach for her, stroke her hair, or draw her into a hug. Despite what happened last night, it’s not my place to do things like that. “I really do.”
“Everything’s so hard, Colin,” she wails, more sobs unleashing from her throat and shaking her shoulders. “It’s always been so hard. I thought going to college would fix it, but it only made everything harder because of all the debt. And I know the only reason I’m here is because you needed a deterrent… You didn’t do this for me, but…”
It’s true. I did it for me and ultimately Archer, but I suddenly wish I could go back in time and change a hell of a lot of things so that doing it for Elle was the main reason. If I hadactuallydone this for her, it’s possible that I could’ve made up for all my shitty treatment of her, and then maybe the hope I’m infected with wouldn’t be so naïve.
“But…” Elle peeks at me above hands that hide her nose and mouth from me. Her seafoam green eyes are tinged red and spilling over, and she wipes her nose with the back of her wrist. “You made my life better. You made it better than I was ever going to be able to make it on my own. And I’m just really, really grateful.”
My shoulders sink.
I’ve never madeanyone’slife better. The person whose life I’ve beentryingto make better my entire adult life sabotages all my efforts and sure as hell isn’tgrateful. Not in a meaningful way. Not in a sobbing-uncontrollably kind of way.
