18 • Hitler and the Devil

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Chapter Eighteen:

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Chapter Eighteen:

When I finished the song, I took a deep breath to silence the deafening applause that had met my last chord, turned my head to the roof and closed my eyes.

Gemma shocked me and made me jump when she appeared beside me to give my shoulder a squeeze. "Give it up one more time for Ellie Squires!"

The applause hadn't stopped, so I waved to the audience one more time before I walked off stage with Gemma by my side, guitar still in hand.

"That song was beautiful, baby." She said timidly. "See, I told you that you could do it. And it wasn't so bad."

I stared at her like she'd grown a second head then deadpanned. "I heard neither was Hitler or the Devil."

She gave me a sad smile and brushed her fingertips over my arm. "I'm going to stick around and make sure the band packs down properly, why don't you go home and have a shower? It will make you feel better. I'll come by after."

It was like she'd reached into my brain and knew exactly what I wanted to do, so I leant forward and kissed her cheek. "Enjoy the rest of the night for me. I'm going to have a shower, drink a bottle of whiskey, smoke a pack of cigarettes and then cry myself to sleep."

She knew I was only half joking, but she didn't follow me when I started to walk away. I think that she knew I needed some alone time after the overwhelming emotional turmoil I'd found myself in.

I'd sat in silence for a long time, and just opened the bottle when she knocked on the door to my house and I dragged my shoes let her in, dead on my feet and emotionally drained while I cursed her for not having her key handy so I could keep wallowing in my whiskey.

I turned the handle and pulled the door open, planting a fake smile on so that she wouldn't worry about me when I felt my heart stop. "Oh."

Jax turned his eyes from the porch and took a deep breath. "Hey, Ellie."

Gemma and I had spent time preparing me for when I saw him again. I would be cool, calm and collected. I would look him in the face, make polite conversation and show him that I was okay.

But, when I opened the door to see him standing out on my porch, all I'd wanted to do was slam the door in his stupidly perfect face and scream like a damned banshee to leave me the hell alone, my panic rising by the second.

I wasn't ready to see him, and no amount of preparation could have helped me when I took in his black jeans, black button down shirt and his favourite sneakers.

Instead of playing it cool or screaming, I'd crumbled at the sight of him and held the door open for him, inviting him in while I died on the inside.

Maybe it was because I was the definition of exhausted and I knew that he would stay on the porch all night if need be, because he was just too stubborn and that I wouldn't get any sleep with the knowledge that he was outside plaguing my mind.

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