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.

Maybe it was the look of pure devastation he'd had on his face when he'd greeted me. Or maybe, the option that I refused to admit to myself, it was because, even if he had broken my heart and been with Tara, I had missed the man so much that it hurt to breathe and seeing him had reversed any progress I'd made in convincing myself I was getting over him.

When the door clicked shut behind him I had to shake off the feeling of being trapped. I was exposed and knew I wouldn't be able to hide my emotions from him in such close quarters, and that worried me.

After his greeting neither of us had spoken a word while he shadowed me from the door of my house to stand awkwardly by the couch so he could watch me pick up my pack of cigarettes from the coffee table.

Larry eyed him from his place in the corner but didn't move towards him, probably picking up on my uneasy mood, and wasn't sure whether or not he should greet his old friend.

The air between us stayed silent and slightly uncomfortable when he followed me out to the back porch and I put a smoke up to my lips, even when I turned and threw the pack behind me to where he was leaning up against the wall, keeping distance between the two of us.

The large part of me that was still grieving over our lost relationship wanted to scream at him and ask why he had even bothered to show up if he couldn't stand to be close to, or at least speak to, me.

I couldn't bring myself to open my mouth and ask the question, though. Truthfully, I was terrified that he would say he'd come to see me so that he could officially clear the air before we moved on with our lives.

"When did you start buying packs of cigarettes, baby?"

I refused to look away from the stars in front of me when I replied, ignoring the way that his pet name dug into an already tender wound that had been too stubborn to close. "When my clothes stopped smellin' like you."

Even though I wasn't looking directly at him, he was far enough to my right that I could see him out of the corner of my eye and I had to fight my need to apologise to him when I saw him wince, whole body flinching like he'd been shot by an invisible bullet.

During my explanation, I'd become so focused on the city lights and trying to put into words why I hadn't left that I didn't notice him move. Not until he stepped behind me so that he could reach around me and unclench my hand.

When my eyes turned down, I realised that I had been gripping the railing so hard that my fingers were ghost white. "I'm sorry, baby. If I'd known that you wanted them, I would have been leaving my shirts on your porch until you let me in."

It was a mixture of his words, the way that he was almost holding me in the same position that we had become accustomed to when we were together, and the first time we'd had skin-to-skin contact in months that brought tears to my eyes.

He hadn't dropped his hand from my own after he'd pried it away from the metal, nor had he moved back to his original position by the wall. And, pathetically, I forgot about the cigarette that I had in my left hand because he was in such close proximity to me that I could smell him.

The smell of cigarettes, leather, sunshine and cologne with a little bit of sweat to top it all off and sweeten the deal. He smelt like happy times. He smelt like home.

I choked down the sob threatening to escape my lips at the same time that I fought the urge to lean back just an inch or two so my back was pressed against his chest, the fear that he would step away from me at the forefront of my mind.

Slowly, like he was trying not to spook me, he lowered the hand that wasn't holding my own to the railing on the other side of my body.

He trapped me in between him and the railing, just like he'd done a hundred times before in what felt like another lifetime. "I heard your songs tonight."

I knew that he'd seen me on stage because I'd made eye contact throughout my heartbreak. I knew that, no matter how tough I acted, he knew what my feelings were and where my head was at.

Even though I couldn't see him because he was standing directly behind me, I could feel every single breath that passed through his perfect lips and hit my shoulder blade. I hoped that the fact he was leaning his neck down meant that he was fighting the urge to touch me, as well. "Yeah?"

It wasn't the answer he was looking for, but I couldn't say anything else with the guarantee that I wouldn't start to sob.

My eyes closed on their own accord and I felt a single tear slip down my cheek and onto the front of my dress that I hadn't had the chance to take off after my performance.

I was breaking that he was so close, yet a million miles away at the same time. More than anything, though, I was ecstatic that he had chosen to come there at all.

I wanted to say that I wished we could be so close under different circumstances. That the months we'd been apart, the worst months of my existence, had never happened and it was all just a cruel nightmare that I would wake up from and be in his arms, in our house, in our bed.

"I haven't stopped messaging or ringing. I know that your phone hasn't been off, so surely you know that?"

My head moved up and down a few times to let him know that I did know. I knew he'd been trying to reach out and speak to me.

"I've been trying to be respectful, trying to stay away because you made it clear that it's what you wanted. We both know I could've used my keys to get inside if I wanted to. But the show?" He paused for a moment, voice timid yet hopeful. "It made it seem like maybe you're not wanting space anymore."

The cigarette in my hands had burnt out and it took my ability to stay strong with it. It left me weak, vulnerable, everything I needed to not be at that moment. "I never wanted space, Jackson. I needed it or I wasn't going to survive. I've hardly survived with it."

His voice was quiet. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for messing us up, I'm sorry that you had to take the space. I'm sorry for causing you pain."

I didn't know how to answer, my every nerve ending raw and brain working in overdrive to try and make sense of the situation I'd found myself in, so I pulled out another smoke and lit it.

I knew him well enough to know that when he removed his hand from the railing it was to run a hand overtop of his head.

"Well, if you hadn't decided to fuck your ex than I wouldn't have been in any pain." I snapped harshly.

"Why didn't you let me work it out? Make it up to you?"

The air left my lungs. "Because I didn't think you could do anythin' to fix it."

"I would've done everything in my power to make it up to you." He rasped.

"I know."