Page 4 of Elijah’s Whim

“That was uncalled for, and you know it,” Grant said in a quiet, eerily calm voice. “Maybe lashing out is how you guard yourself from dealing with the past, Elijah, but I hope you don’t lose people who truly care about you before you pull your head out of your ass.”

With the same peaceful composure, he put his hands in the pockets of his slacks, turned, and walked toward the elevator. He never looked back before getting in the waiting car and presumably heading toward his office to finish his workday.

“Oh my God, I’m an asshole. Seriously. What’s wrong with me? How do I let this woman still get to me like this? That man is one of the best things in my fucked-up life, and I just spoke to him like trash.” I felt that awful feeling I usually did when all things Hensley were dragged up. That potentially panic-inducing sensation that started deep in my stomach and eventually—no matter what tricks I employed—managed to cut off my air supply completely.

But Bas was there to intercept the emotional deluge before it crested.

“Look, man…” He paused for a few beats longer than I would’ve liked. I ended up having to meet his agonized gaze too. “I think we all have a lot of balls in the air right now with personal shit. Then you add in this other bullshit.” He sliced his hands back and forth aggressively, at once redirecting my concern solely on him.

“I’m so sorry, Sebastian.”

“Why the hell are you apologizing to me?” he growled.

“Because,” I answered, as if it were as obvious as the chances of it being another sunny day in SoCal. Once the June gloom burned off, at least.

“Because this conversation started with you looking for advice on how to handle your fatherly frustrations, and it turned into another episode of the Hensley halftime show.” I scrubbed my hand down my face and then yelled, “Fuck me! How I’d wish that woman would just get out of my head! My history!” Finally, having gotten that out of my system, I sucked in a cleansing breath through my nose, during which time, thank all things that were holy, Sebastian said nothing.

Then I quietly muttered, “My heart.”

With equally calm patience, my buddy asked, “Is she really still there? Your heart, I mean? How can that be? I just don’t get it. After all the drama and all the anguish. How do you still have room inside you for that poisonous bitch?”

I just shook my head. I knew why Bas and Grant felt the way they did. And I loved them for every bit of it. Their loyalty was more than I could ever dream of deserving from another person, let alone two. But in my darkest hours, I was ashamed to accept that kind of allegiance from anyone. Because it was passion I didn’t earn.

Grant and Sebastian didn’t know the whole story and likely never would. They didn’t know the whole truth behind my history with Hensley Pritchett and why the gash she cut into my heart—and, frankly, my entire world—ran so deep. After her betrayal, I never trusted anyone with my truth, not even them. If my two best friends knew that little tidbit, they would probably be cut to the bone with hurt and anger. Because we always had each other’s backs, and our friendship had always had a resounding foundation of family deep trust. If the three of us had nothing else, we always had each other.

But I had let a woman in closer than them, and I always feared they would consider this a sort of unfaithfulness to them. I wasn’t bullshitting when I told them they were the only people in this entire world I cared about and probably ever would. So how did I explain letting her in on the darkest parts of my life when not even they knew about those times? I knew the reasons why I never weighed them down with my full history, but trying to explain that kind of shit to two of the most complicated men who ever existed outside myself? Yeah, well, we were a therapist’s dream for sure.

Fuck me.

The list of reasons to loathe myself grew by the day, so I stuffed it all down and tried not to think about any of it. Until someone brought up that woman’s name, and then my house of cards came tumbling down around me and I’d lash out like I just had.

They had no idea the danger the woman still was to every breath of air I breathed as a free man and why she would continue to be as long as I lived. I’d made the mistake of baring myself to her in the afterglow of sex—sex I foolishly mistook for love. And then she walked out on me. After that, I swore I’d never make the same mistake again. I’d never let another woman get close to my heart, to my very soul, like she had. No woman would ever have this kind of power over me again.

No one would.