"I want to tell you why I was so angry."
Liza jolted at Elijah's sudden words, eyeing him curiously from where she was sitting on the grass with Milo, leaning against Elijah's legs, as her boyfriend was settled on the porch step just behind her. "You don't have to tell me." She reminded him gently.
He smiled sweetly, bringing up one hand slowly, carefully—like he always did, as if assessing her response to ensure he didn't startle her—to dust over her eyebrows, nose, and cheeks. "I know, gorgeous, but I want to tell you, if you feel like you're okay to hear it. I can wait."
She appreciated that he always checked with her to make sure she felt mentally stable enough before he unloaded any drama on her, and she nodded to assure him that she was. "You can tell me. I'd like to know." She was extremely curious, after all, and she thought that maybe he'd feel better after he spoke about what had upset him.
As hard as it was to talk about certain things, she knew personally that emotional topics often seemed to weigh less once they were discussed openly with another, trusted confidant.
"Okay, doll," he mused, moving his hand down her body, and then spreading his fingers wide. Recognizing the silent request, she gripped his hand in hers and squeezed gently. He returned the gesture with a soft, grateful smile on his lips. "God, you really are gorgeous, babe. Alright, here we go. You remember all the drama I told you about, when I found out that Morgan isn't my real mom?"
She nodded. "You were mad," understandably so. "And you and your dad are cordial enough, but you still don't get along well. He never forgave you, even though you apologized for what you did, and he was in the wrong, too." It was a quick summary that did not nearly encapsulate the many details of the situation, but it was the main takeaway.
"That's right," Elijah confirmed. "And I thought that maybe, when I went for this extended visit, we'd be able to hash things out."
Recalling how agitated he'd been upon his return, she knew that had most certainly not occurred.
Sure enough: "Well, that didn't happen. I showed up, and everything was pretty much normal at first. Morgan and I cleaned up around the house, I helped her with some landscaping and shit, and Dad was gone on a work trip for the first week. When he got back, he wanted to talk, so we did, and do you know what that asshole had to say?" A bitter laugh escaped him, and he shook his head with something like disbelief. "God, I can't believe that son of a bitch."
She swallowed nervously, rubbing her thumb over the back of his hand in an attempt to keep him calm. He spared her an understanding glance and took a minute to reassure her, "I'm alright, pretty girl, I promise.
"So, he gets back, tells me he wants to talk. I say, 'okay, me too,' and we head to that goddamned office of his." He chuckled without humor. "God, I hate that fucking office." Realizing he'd cursed, he passed her a wince and a, "sorry, sweets," before continuing. "He had some paperwork spread over his desk, and he told me he wanted to talk about his will." Elijah paused, sucking in a slow breath, then squeezing her hand carefully, as though asking for strength.
"He changed his will, babe, and it makes me sick." She tilted her head thoughtfully. She had never thought much about wills. Mom had told her, once, that she had left everything of importance to Liza, but Liza had only ever responded that she hoped to never see the will for many years.
God only knew how badly her mom's death would affect her fragile mental state.
"I don't want his money or shit like that," Elijah explained. "I'm not worried about that, so I couldn't care less if the old fart leaves me anything. But I am worried about Morgan. She's never worked, you know? She was pretty young when she married my dad, and then she basically dedicated herself to taking care of Zach and I. Now that we live on our own, she keeps the house up, manages the shopping, things like that. She has some hobbies to keep her busy, but she doesn't work.
"And guess what my ass of a father did with his will? If he dies, he made it so Morgan gets the house and jack-shit else. No money or anything, which is bullshit."
Liza frowned, understanding his frustration. He adored his stepmother, so it made sense that he was furious over the realization that she wouldn't be taken care of should anything happen to his father. "Where is the money going?"
Elijah barked a sharp laugh that had her jolting slightly in her seat. "Zach and I get a small portion, but he's funneling most of it into his goddamn company. If the man has a heart, Liza, then I sure as hell have never seen it." As the words left him, the bitterness faded from his expression, leaving behind nothing but sadness.
She frowned, realizing that his hatred towards his father was mostly a mask for the true disappointment and betrayal he felt for the man. Poor Elijah, who was just as scarred as she, only in different ways, with different coping mechanisms, just as Whitney had surmised.
"I'm sorry, Eli," she told him, and truly, she was, though she knew the words made little difference. "Is there anything you can do?"
He scoffed and shook his head, his fingers skittering anxiously over her hand. "Other than cuss him out till he changes his mind? Not really. Not to mention that bastard's stubborn as all hell—nothing would change his mind." He blew out a weighted breath. "I just . . . I made these plans, and I had this idea that this trip would be a turning point, you know? I thought, 'we'll fix it this time. This will be the time.' And then it all went to shit, and it pissed me off."
"And made you sad," she mused.
There was a beat of silence, before he nodded. "Yeah, babe, it made me sad." His voice cracked, and he was forced to clear his throat before speaking again. "It made me so sad that I wanted to cry, and then, because I'm made of too much testosterone or some shit, my sad turned into mad, and then I yelled at you, and . . ." he didn't finish, his shoulders slumping with something like exhaustion or defeat—she wasn't sure which. "I'm not proud of how I handled it," he finished. "It's still in here," he used his free hand to gesture at his chest, where his heart rested, "but I won't ever take it on you. Not again, never again."
Tilting his head down, Elijah dusted a kiss against her forehead, before tilting his nose to her scalp and simply sitting still, breathing her in, she supposed. "I don't think I'll ever be able to apologize enough," he murmured, so quietly she barely heard him.
"You've apologized enough," she assured him, her voice just as soft as his. She knew he was sorry. She didn't want him to continue drowning in his guilt.
She felt his lips curl into a smile against her brow. "You're too nice, doll. I might keep apologizing, just for my own sake, okay?"
Shaking her head at his persistence, she conceded nonetheless: "Okay, Elijah."
"Great."
After another pause, she asked, "Is Morgan okay?"
His chest rumbled with his deep sigh. "My mom is a damn angel, babe, I swear. She witnessed the documents, can you believe it? I asked her how she was alright with this shit, and she told me that she wasn't with my dad for his money." He snorted derisively. "Can't imagine why else she's with him; he's clearly not all that charming."
Thinking on her mom's own volatile relationship with her estranged father, and how long her mother had stayed with the man, Liza shrugged. "Sometimes, love doesn't seem to make much sense."
"Damn straight, babe," Elijah agreed. "Damn straight." He stared at her for a long moment, appearing thoughtful, before he added, "But, sometimes, it really does."
She wasn't sure exactly why he said it like that, but she didn't disagree. "Yeah, I guess. Still, I'm sorry that your visit went so poorly," she told him.
"Me too," he murmured. "Maybe I'll have better luck next time, but it's going to be a while before I go back. I don't think I'll be able to tolerate my dad's face for a while, and I doubt he'll be able to tolerate mine."
"Does your mom ever come and visit you?"
He hummed against her head. "Yeah, she does, though it's not often. That's not a bad idea, though, babe. Maybe she'll be able to stop by soon." He hesitated, as though he wanted to say something else, but stopped himself.
"Are you okay?" she asked, worried that he was still holding something back for fear of scaring her.
"Yeah, I'm good now, I think," he assured her. "Just some other stuff I'm thinking about, but it's not bad, doll, I promise. Let me think it over some more, and then I'll let you in if it seems like a good plan."
"Okay." She could live with that. She had plenty of her own thoughts to keep her occupied, anyway, so it wasn't a big deal. "Does Zach know what your dad did?"
Elijah laughed, and—this time—it was thankfully a bit lighter. "That was the highlight of the trip, I'd say; I had the immense pleasure of hearing Zach ream him out over the phone. Normally, Zach is pretty chill, so it was nice to know that I wasn't the only one pissed about Dad's decision. Made me feel a little better, even though that makes me an ass, too, kind of."
"It just means you're a person," she assured him, knowing that she would be beyond upset too, if she'd been in Elijah's position.
"Thanks, babe."
"You're welcome."
"I missed you while I was gone," he said suddenly. "You're the sane one in this relationship, I hope you know."
She chuckled. "I don't know about that." She wasn't sure that most sane people would have reacted the way she had to his (understandable) outburst.
"Well, I know," he argued. "Seriously. You may be a nosy Nancy, but you're a reasonable version of a nosy Nancy."
Recognizing his teasing, she turned to him with her mouth agape. "Excuse me?"
"You're excused," he replied blithely, before he broke into laughter.
Liza attempted to untangle herself from his arms, if only to continue maintaining a façade of offense, but he didn't let her get very far. "Sorry, sorry," he said, even as he continued laughing lightly. "Babe, wait, come here, let me apologize in the only way I know how." And then he was attempting to kiss her skin, wherever he could reach, she was squealing at his ticklish touches, Milo was sitting by, disgruntled, and the planets within their shared universe were aligned once more.
*****
A/N:
Why do I write stories that make me feel so single? It seems cruel, yet I keep doing it . . .
Ah, well. Hang in there, single folks--we'll find our person eventually!
Peace,
A.R.