So I sit here, listening to Bishop and Tacker talking game strategies while trying to pay attention, but my mind slips back to my argument with Ella today. I push my food around on my plate, deciding I don’t want any more as my stomach feels like there’s a lead ball in it.
“Okay, dude,” Tacker says, and my gaze moves from my phone to him. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“What do you mean?” I reply casually, taking a sip of my beer. I look down at my carne asada, only half-finished, and push it away from me.
“You should be riding high on what a great time we had on the ice this afternoon,” Tacker replies with a pointed look. “That was an amazing session, and we all know it… With you on our line, we’re going to kill the Cold Fury on Wednesday.”
The smile I manage is halfhearted. “You bet.”
“Is something wrong with you and Ella?” Bishop asks, motioning to a passing waitress for another beer by holding up his empty.
She stops at our table. “Anyone else want another?”
Tacker and I both nod.
When she leaves, I purposely don’t answer Bishop’s question, but he won’t let it go. “Again, I repeat, is anything wrong with you and Ella?”
I raise an eyebrow, being purposely obtuse. “Why do you ask?”
“Because I know what it’s like when things go to shit in a relationship, and I can recognize it,” Bishop replies smoothly. “So spill it, dude. What’s the problem because, last I could tell, things were going good with you and Ella?”
“They were,” I admit a little too glumly, which means I’m not committed to telling these two guys that my marriage is in the pits again. If I say it out loud, it must be true.
But my eye catches on something across the room, and I stare in shock at Ella winding her way through tables. Her eyes are pinned on me, and she’s walking like a woman on a mission.
Inherently, I know nothing good is going to come of this. I straighten on my stool, bracing for the bad news.
Bishop and Tacker notice my attention, and both turn to see Ella.
“Uh-oh,” Tacker mutters sympathetically.
Ella reaches the table and despite the churning within me, I still have to take that one moment I always do when I first see her to appreciate how beautiful she is. She has on a pair of skinny jeans and an off-the-shoulder shirt. Her hair is up in a messy knot on top of her head, and her face is devoid of makeup. Not sure if anyone else notices, but there are red rings under her eyes, which tells me she’s been crying. I resist the urge to hop off the stool and pull her into my arms, especially since, at this point, I’m not sure if I’d get a return hug or a knee to the nuts.
Ella inclines her head at Bishop and Tacker, giving a curt. “Hi, guys. Sorry to intrude.”
“No problem,” Bishop replies easily.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, causing her attention to swing my way. Might as well just cut to the chase.
“Stalking you, of course,” she replies in a flat tone. “It cuts both ways, right?”
I can’t decide if she’s mad I once stalked her on a date with David, or if she’s being funny, but there doesn’t seem to be any humor in her eyes.
“Why?” I press. If she’s going to give me bad news, she just needs to get the fuck on with it.
Her eyes flash with ire, hands going to her hips, and she practically snarls. “Because I’ve been sitting on your front porch for two hours, and my ass is hurting. I got tired of waiting for you to come home, so I stalked you here.”
“And, that’s our cue to go,” Tacker says, starting to rise from his stool.
Ella whips toward him. “Don’t. You guys stay. Jim is coming with me.”
“I am?” I query, just to be a smart ass.
Her eyes snap to mine, she growls, and I pop up off the stool. She faces Bishop and Tacker once more. “My apologies for stealing him away. If you don’t mind covering his bill, we’ll catch you next time.”
“Got it covered, Ella,” Bishop assures her. By his grin—and a matching one by Tacker—I can tell they are highly amused.
Makes me want to punch both because this is my future here—or lack thereof—and they don’t seem to understand the potential peril