Page 9 of The Quiet After The Fall

I move to a closer spot along the street and watch her cross the lot holding some paperwork. Her hips sway with each step, and there’s a slight change in her posture from before. Like she’s forcing confidence into her stance.

She takes a turn and heads into the admissions building.

I turn the volume down on the radio and sit there in the quiet.

Is she registering for classes? Moving forward, rebuilding, doing the thing I’ve never been able to do. Is she starting over without me?

I’ve spent weeks sending unanswered messages and stalking her across town like a lost soul.

I try to remember the last time I did something that was purely for myself. Something that had nothing to do with my father or the company or the performance of being an Aldrich in Ashford. I sit with that question for the full twenty minutes she’s inside and the only answer I can come up with is her. Being with Sawyer, for the brief amount of time I was given. That was for me. Purely. Wholly.

And now even that’s been taken away.

When she crosses the parking lot, she’s still holding the papers, but this time there’s a slight smile pulling at the corner of her lips.

Good, I think. It’s a gut reaction to be happy that she’s happy. Then my stomach sinks when I remember she’s happy because whatever she did in there is pulling her further away from me.

I put the car in drive before she can spot me and pull back onto the street, turning the volume up. Thom Yorke fills the silence again and I let him.

Ella’s awake when I get back home. She’s at the kitchen table in one of my T-shirts, dark hair loose, eating burned toast and scrolling her phone with her knees pulled up on the chair. She looks up when I come in and smiles. I bet she smiled at my brother like that. Did she wear his shirt too?

“Hey. I made coffee.”

“Thanks.” I pour a cup and keep my back to her a beat longer than I need to.

“Where’d you go?”

“Out. Needed some air.”

She nods, not pushing for more. That’s Ella. She gives me room with a patience I haven’t earned and don’t deserve, and honestly it makes me feel worse than if she gave me shit.

“My stepmom called,” she says. “She wants to do an engagement dinner with the extended family. Sometime next month.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

When I turn around, she’s watching me with a brow raised. Probably trying to get a read on me and my sour mood. Ella is sharper than I give her credit for. “That’s all I get?”

I make myself hold her gaze. Is she hitting her breaking point? As much as I don’t want to, I adjust my tone. “It sounds good, Ella. Whatever you guys want.”

Her expression softens. She nods and looks back at her phone.

“Okay,” she says, quietly. “I’ll tell her.”

I take my coffee to the window. The streaks of sun coming out through the clouds earlier are covered now. It’s gray and thick, matching my mood. Out there somewhere, Sawyer’s going on with her day. Maybe she’s getting ready for work. Or stopping at the grocery store to pick up a few things. Has she been eating? I know when her stress levels are high, she barely eats.

Fuck.

I sip my coffee and internally groan. It’s somehow watery and burned all at the same time.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Ella sets her phone down and reaches for her mug. “I have lunch plans today.”

I hold back the eye roll. Why the hell should I care?

“With Sawyer.”

My hand stops halfway to my mouth.