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He’d started wearing his wedding ring again.
It wasn’t even on her finger, but she felt the weight of it all the same.
It was a flashing neon caution sign.
It was a punch to the solar plexus that left her struggling for breath.
It was a ball and chain.
It was the brick wall that had effectively stood between her and Elliot for the entire duration of their partnership.
He’d removed it after Kathy died.
But it was back now.
I’m not ready.
She could still feel the cold steel from her refrigerator against her spine as she backed away from him, looking for an escape.
The realness of him, the potential of them. The idea that all her hopes and dreams were now coming true—it was just too much for her to face.
And slowly, cautiously, she came to reconcile it. Came to believe that maybe, just maybe, she deserved the happiness that she wished on everyone else.
And then he started wearing his wedding ring again.
And she again began to believe that dreams were just that: Something never to be realized.
His overt flirtation only compounded the feeling. They’d fallen—far too easily—into the preexisting patterns and patter of their previous partnership.
She could no longer tell which way was up when he was in the room. It was as though it was fifteen years ago, and he was separated and she was desperately in love.
She was desperately in love.
God fucking dammit.
She.
Was.
Desperately.
In.
Love.
She reached up to toy with the necklace, the compass, only to find bare skin instead–its absence weighing even more heavily than the pendant ever did.
She missed it, regretting her spontaneous show of generosity, even if it had felt right at the time.
It had grounded her, reminded her of what was important, served as a tangible connection to him.
He’d given it to her even while wearing his wedding ring.
He’d given it to her after carrying her out of that godforsaken diner in that godforsaken town in Ohio.
He’d given it to her after telling her how much he’d missed her, missed them.
And still he wore his wedding ring.
And still he disappeared.
Out of touch.
Out of sight.
Out of reach.
Only a compass to remember him by. Not that different from the Marine Corps medallion. A touchstone of his abandonment.
But it wasn’t. He hadn’t abandoned her this time; he’d left her with a promise to return.
She reached up automatically, once again finding her neck bare. She hadn’t replaced it. Instead, preferring the reminder of its absence–of him.
He was back, and yet they’d been like ships passing in the night. A phone call here, a voicemail there, bumping like pinballs from crisis to crisis—Maddie’s kidnapping, his suspension and near crucifixion, issues with his brothers, Noah’s ongoing questions about his paternity and her history.
Still though, it had been too long.
Still though, she was left with an aching painful sense of what if.
Still though, she was in love with him. And that meant finding the time.
She reached for her phone, dialing his number, fully expecting it to go to voicemail. Instead, he answered.
“Liv . . .”
Her breath caught. “Elliot . . . Hi! It’s . . . twice in a row. It’s so good to talk to you.” She meant it, and even over the phone she found her heart speeding and her chest tightening at his voice.
Desperately in love.
“Same,” he answered. His voice lower than she was used to hearing it. Their interactions of late had been ping-ponging between flirty banter and abject sincerity, and it seemed they were back to the latter.
There was a part of her that would’ve rather that they kept it light. And yet—they had been dancing around each other for so long.
“How . . . how are you?” she asked and then stopped herself. “Nevermind. Where are you?” she asked. “I’ll come talk to you in person.”
There was a long pause, and she wondered if the phone had been disconnected, or if she’d overstepped, and then, “I’m at home . . .” He sounded almost strangled as he spoke, and she found herself clutching her phone just a little tighter.
“I’ll be right there,” she said. “Gimme half an hour.”
* * * * *
She hadn’t expected the rush of overwhelming anxiety that struck her as she stood in front of his door—on the threshold.
She reached for the necklace, and again was hit instead with its absence. Biting her lip, she pushed the buzzer.
The door opened not a split second later.
“Hi . . .” There he was, just on the other side of the door. Once again her heart rose into her throat. It was the impossible become possible.
“Hi . . .” she responded in kind. “Hi . . .” she repeated breathlessly.
He smiled with a warmth that was nearly toe-curling and stepped to the side. “Come in.”
She nodded, taking a single step forward followed by another, each move feeling impossibly consequential. After what seemed like an immeasurably long time, she was inside.
He shut the door behind her, and they stood there like that, merely looking at each other.
The eye contact was electric. She licked her lips. “It’s . . . really good to see you.” And it was. Things had changed, he was a little bit rougher around the edges, a little bit wearier, as was she.
And yet, the impact he had on her was—if anything—stronger. She was breathless.
“Same.” He reached backward to flip his deadbolt before taking a step closer. “It’s been a bit.”
She nodded again, surprised to find tears welling in her eyes. Where had this emotion come from? “It has,” she agreed.
She reached for him, and that was when she noticed. “You’re not wearing your wedding ring anymore.”
“And you’re not wearing your compass,” he countered.
Her hand drifted up to her breastbone, once again missing his talisman. “I told you about that.”
“You did.”
He took another step closer, and she found herself stepping backward, reaching blindly for something against which she could brace herself.
“So what changed?” she asked.
He took another step in her direction, refusing her the escape she was seeking. “I didn’t need it,” he said. “I was clinging to the past.”
She bit her lip, sitting in the silence, waiting for what else he was going to say.
“Kathy was the first woman I loved,” he began, and swallowed.
“I know,” she responded, and reached out to put a hand on his forearm. “I can’t imagine how hard this is for you . . .”
He shook his head and covered her hand with his. “No . . . I don’t think you do.” His eyes met hers and she shivered at the intensity of the connection. “Kathy was the first woman I loved,” he said again and paused, ensuring that her eyes were still on his. “But not the last.”
“Elliot,” she breathed his name.
He pulled her closer. “You told me once that I was the most important person in your life . . .” He swallowed. “You’re the most important person in mine.” His thumb was drawing small circles on her hand as he continued talking.
She took another breath and it caught in her throat, but before she could speak he continued. “Kathy may have been the first woman I loved, but she’s not the last.”
Olivia nodded in understanding, words escaping her in the moment.
“Do you have any idea how much I love you?” His free hand was now tracing her lower lip, and she had long since lost the ability to stem the tears that were falling.
Elliot reached up to wipe them away. “I mean it, Liv. You may not have been the first woman I loved, but you’re going to be the last.”
She leaned into his hand. “El . . .”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered, taking her hand and gently pulling her further into his apartment. “I’m not going anywhere,” he repeated and traced the line of her cheekbone with his thumb.
Her heart was racing and she licked her lips, not taking her eyes from him.
“Stay,” he whispered, more an entreaty than a demand.
She nodded. “Yes,” she whispered, running her palm down his chest.
His hand drifted lower, to trace the line of her throat and then her collarbone. “I wish I’d gotten to see how the necklace looked like on you.”
“I only loaned it to Eileen. I’m gonna get it back.” His fingers on her skin burned, and she struggled to form words.
“Had you really not taken it off since I gave it to you?” He continued to draw absent patterns over the skin of her breastbone, occasionally dipping tantalizingly lower, only to return to their starting place.
She sighed, trying to concentrate on his words and not the feeling of his hands on her skin. “Of course not,” she finally answered, taking his hands in hers and stepping closer. “Did you really think I would?”
It was his turn to lick his lips, and his eyes darkened though never leaving hers. “I guess not,” he finally said.
She turned his hands over and carefully ran her fingers over the scars on his wrist. “I shoulda been there; I’m sorry.”
He pulled his hand back, to trace a barely visible scar at the edge of her neckline. “I wasn’t there either,” he said.
Lewis. Every conversation lately came back to him. She closed her eyes ready to push the memory aside, but then stopped. This was Elliot; he deserved to know. “Y’know . . .” she began, “It was thinking about you that helped me get through it; that helped me fight back.”
He recoiled as though she’d slapped him. “Liv. . .”
“I love you, too,” she whispered, almost afraid of the power behind those words. “I don’t know if there was ever a time I didn’t love you even when . . .”
“Even when . . .” he pushed.
The air between them crackled. “Even when you were gone,” she admitted. “You were right. It’s always been us.”
“All that wasted time,” he shook his head.
She reached up then to brush her fingers over his cheek. “Just makes the time we have now more precious,” she answered. “And no time spent learning who we are and what we want is wasted.”
He turned his head to kiss her palm before asking, “And you know that now?”
She nodded. “You.”
End