R. Griffin - Seamless

“No,” George answered. That was a good idea, though, he should call Frank next. “What happened?” George really wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

Millie let out a long breath. “Well, El and I had drinks and were watching a movie; she was going to spend the night since the boys were out of town. Then we heard something at the front, and you know how paranoid she is, so we were on alert. Then, all of a sudden, Jamie busted in through the back door. He tried to talk her into coming with him. She was so fierce, George. She told him no.” Millie was silent for a beat too long.

“What?”

“Then he picked her up and slammed her down so hard on the coffee table that it busted.” Millie took a deep breath. “She hit him in the face with the wine bottle. He punched her in the face… so hard. And I didn’t do anything. I just watched him. I was frozen. I couldn’t even move. I feel so guilty. I just stood there. I couldn’t do anything.” Her voice cracked. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Millie, it’s not your fault.”

“Then he picked her up and started dragging her toward the front door. She was kicking and screaming, and then there was this explosion. I ducked so I didn’t see anything else, but someone shot Jamie as he was trying to force El out the front door. His face exploded all over her, George. It was horrible. She kept saying that Jamie was all over her. She had to take off all her clothes and leave them with the police. Agent Harris inter—”

“Agent Harris?” he interrupted.

“Yeah, El was surprised too. He said he was in the area and because it was a federal agent that had been killed it was his jurisdiction. He dropped us off at your place last night. I fell asleep in the guest room and she was gone when I woke up. She left me a note. She’s coming back.”

“What did your note say?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“What did it say, Millie?” he implored.

“That she loved me. That she treasured my friendship, but she had to get away for a while. She told me to take care of Patrick and you; to make sure you were all right.”

George felt his world shift beneath him. “I gotta go.”

“George?”

“Yeah, Millie?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Bye.” George could barely say the words. He disconnected the phone and took a deep breath. He turned and faced what he didn’t want to and picked up the paper he knew would leave him changed. He’d lost her again; this was the fourth time. He wondered if it would be the last time. He couldn’t for the life of him remember the last thing he’d said to her. George hoped it was that he loved her.

George, you’re one of the good ones. I’ve always told you that because it’s true. I feel so lucky that I was able to have you in my life for so long, but you’re too good for me. I fear if I stay you’ll be hurt. You already have been hurt and I’m sorry for that. I’m not in a place where I can look past my own ugliness. I promise I’ll always love you and hope you can appreciate us and move on. You’re going to make some lucky girl very happy. Please don’t hate me. I just had a guy’s face explode on me. I don’t want to hurt you anymore. I’ve had all these things happen to me and you’ve been hurt in the process. I just want you to be happy. Please be happy. Love someone that is just as good as you. Don’t worry about me and Coop. We’ll be fine. I’ll make it. I just have to regroup once again. It seems I’m always doing that. This time I’ll keep you out of the fray. Whatever happens, know that everything I’m doing is for you. I’m sorry I couldn’t keep my promise, but know that you are the only one for me. That’s my forever.

Love,

Your El

He crumpled the letter and threw it on the floor, then he pulled glass after glass down from his cabinets and threw each and every one of them against the wall. He didn’t feel better.

He’d never feel better.

* * *

Waking in the random roadside motel didn’t allow Stella to block out the events from the night before. She refused to shower. She didn’t even turn the light on in the bathroom when she peed. Stella needed to get back on the road; she just wanted to make it to the beach. She called her dad as soon as she and Cooper got back on the road.

“Holy shit, Stella. Are you okay?” he asked frantically when he answered the phone. “You’ve been all over the news.”

“Don’t you get tired of asking me that, Dad?”

“I...I guess.” His voice faltered. “I’m serious, we’re really worried about you and George got back to his house this morning and you were gone. He’s going crazy and says you won’t answer your phone.”

“Dad, I want to stay at the house at the beach for a while. Can you arrange it for me?” Stella inquired, no emotion in her voice. “I’ll be there in a couple hours.”

“Stella? Answer my fucking questions.” He raised his voice. “I’m not doing shit until you tell me you’re okay.”

“I’m not, Dad. I’m so not okay. Jamie’s brains were on my face last night—on my shirt, in my hair—I’m not okay. I just left George, the only man that will ever love me, and I’m not okay. I don’t think I can ever be okay.”

Silence.

“I need this, Dad, please,” she begged. “Cooper and I are headed to the beach now. I just need to know that I can stay there for a few days to cry my eyes out by myself.”

“I don’t know...” he started, “your mom is—”

“Don’t tell Mom where I am. Please,” she pleaded. “Just tell her you talked to me and I’m okay, just taking a moment.” Stella finally looked in the mirror and cringed. Her face was stained red with blood. She’d washed her face a bunch of times, but she guessed she didn’t get all the blood off; she was stained.

“Stella, if I don’t hear from you every single day, I will come and get you. I’m not kidding,” he choked. “You’re breaking my heart.”

“I’m sorry, Dad, I really am, but I’m so tired. I’m so fucking tired of pretending to be okay. I need to fall apart for a while.” Stella was honest; she’d let herself fall apart when Jamie “died,” so maybe she needed to release the pieces of her she’d been holding together for so long in order to heal.

“I can’t say I understand, Stella, but I’ll try,” he conceded. “At least promise to text me every day.”

“I promise.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Dad. Thank you.” She hung up, turned her phone back off, and cried the remaining miles to her sanctuary.

When she pulled into the driveway, her lips almost turned up into a smile. Almost. When she opened her door, Cooper forced his way out her side of the car and ran to the beach. She just stared at the house; she couldn’t decide what to do or if coming here was the best choice after all. She walked to the mailbox and pulled out an envelope with the key. There was a note in it from her dad’s friend.

Please stay as long as you need. Let me know if you need anything else.

She sighed and walked around the house to the beach to sit on the stairs and look out at the water. It was warmer than she expected for December. Cooper was running up and down the shoreline, jumping the waves and barking at the birds. She clapped her hands for him and he came running, clambering up the steps to the back door. She opened it and memories flashed back of her and George. She could swear she felt herself breaking into a million pieces. Why keep putting yourself back together if you’re just going to keep breaking apart?

Cooper ran all around house, smelling every corner, and then followed her to the bedroom she’d shared with George. She climbed on the bed and got into the fetal position, but all of a sudden felt sick and ran into the bathroom where she threw up bile. Stella hoped that her concussion would hurry up and release her from all the vomiting. She hadn’t eaten in a while. Shit. She’d stopped and bought liquor, but no food, and there wasn’t any food at the house. Instead of being smart and going to get food, she climbed back in bed. Cooper put his head on her stomach and they slept.

She woke with a start, hearing steps on the stairs, and jumped out of the bed, her heart racing. Cooper bounded down and thundered to the door, hair raised. Stella’s stomach clenched as the steps got closer.

“I thought you might be here,” Patrick said, pushing the door open. “You okay?”

Stella slumped on the bed in relief. Patrick. She should’ve known he’d find her. “No,” she said very softly, shaking her head.

He walked over and sat next to her. He put his arm over her shoulders and pulled her close to him, not saying a word. After a while, he moved her back toward the pillow and they lay in the bed together, her head propped on his chest. Cooper jumped on the bed and laid on her side, getting as close as possible to Stella.

“So what’s the plan?” Patrick asked.

“I have no fucking idea,” she answered honestly. She relaxed into him and let him comfort her.

* * *

George sat at the end of the bar with Emanuel and let Owen pour him his fifth Jameson. His slumped shoulders conveyed his lack of sleep and complete weariness. He hadn’t heard one fucking word from Stella. She’d broken up with him via a note and left without another fucking word. She promised she wouldn’t run. She lied. Again.

“She broke her promise,” he muttered, putting his head on the bar.

“What?” Emanuel asked, leaning closer to George.

George sat up quickly, too quickly, and almost fell from his barstool. Emanuel and Owen both grabbed him. “She broke her fucking promise.”

“I’m sorry, Will.” Emanuel shook his head. “Have you heard from her?”

“No.” He slammed the glass down after he guzzled its contents. Stella’s whereabouts were media fodder and reporters yelled at him every time he left his house. George got up and walked to the office. He needed a minute.

He slammed the door and gazed around the room. He could clearly see his first kiss with Stella. He’d pushed her against the wall and attacked her like he was a fifteen-year-old boy. What do I do now? How could this be happening to me again? He paced the length of the small office, trying to figure out his next step. Could he let her go? Should he let her go? They’d been doing well, or at least they’d been making a go of it, until this. They were going to get married. She said yes.

It always lead back to fucking Jamie. George was glad Jamie was dead, but pissed that he was still hurting her from the grave. A knock sounded on the door.

“What?” he barked.

“Will?” The door opened hesitantly and Hazel peered around the side.

He sighed. “Yes?”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fucking great. A big bundle of fucking awesome,” he answered sarcastically.

Hazel stepped tentatively into the office and shut the door. George stalked over to the desk and sat on the edge.

“What can I do for you? You know Owen runs everything now. I’m just up here…drinking.”

“I saw on the news she’s gone,” Hazel started.

He blinked.

“She left you? After everything, she just left?”

“Yep,” George admitted. “It appears she just left.”

Hazel walked toward him, closing the gap between them. She had her red hair up in a messy bun and a V-neck Finnegan’s shirt on, the neckline dipped low enough to bring in good tips behind the bar. George gazed past her, wondering why she’d closed the door.

“You know, I could help you get over her. No strings attached.” She licked her lips, watching his eyes follow her tongue across her lower lip. “It worked before.” She kept moving until her body was between his legs, pressing into him.

George looked at her and nodded. Maybe he should just do it; it would help him get over Stella and he did love redheads… But he saw the look in her eyes and knew it wouldn’t just be strings attached, it would be super glue. Hazel leaned in and took his lower lip in her mouth gently. George stood up quickly, putting much-needed space between them.

“Bad idea,” he said, walking past her and out the door, through the bar and out into the night.

* * *

They’d been at the house for two days, side-stepping anything related to Jamie and what happened. Stella had been throwing up constantly and Patrick was afraid to press her. She’d actually gotten in the water while Patrick was gone buying food—whatever the air temperature, the water was fucking freezing, even colder than she expected, and she had to pull Patrick’s hoodie on over her bathing suit and sit under a blanket until she’d warmed up.