Life in November

by Haley Warren

“November?” he asks, the bottle pulled back just before his lips. “The tenth month?”

“Don’t really have the fucking faintest what that means, Ten.” “Ten? What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I ask, eyes narrowing in on him. “Ten. November. The Tenth Month, yeah?”

“I’ll bring it back over tomorrow, and we can take it out for another spin. Stay in the bay this time so you don’t get swept out to sea.” I tilt my head, lips tugging upward, and my heart unsnags from my rib cage. “You want to go paddleboarding with me? The girl who lost her paddle and almost died in a storm?” Ethan leans forward, lips pulling up into a grin. “Yeah, I think I do.”

I see it in his eyes, and I feel it in my heart. Neither of us want to be alone.

“You’re beautiful.” Ethan drops his voice, and his lips turn down.

“Happy sunrise, Ten.” Ethan’s voice is low, bordering on soft. I look over at him, and my breath catches because he’s not looking at the sunrise, he’s looking at me.

“I can’t believe that monkey stole my fucking chocolate bar,” Ethan mutters, lips pulled into a thin line as he shakes his head.

They’re small gestures he makes. Just tiny little things he does to show me that he sees me. Small, little things. Miniscule in the grand scheme of the universe, but they feel infinite.

I feel that tiny flicker of something in my chest, too. Just me and him. I think I like the sound of that.

“She loved me when no one else did! When I didn’t love myself! When I was weird, when I was—” “Why was she always telling you that you were weird? You’re not weird. Stop fucking saying that!” He’s still shouting, not a care in the world that it’s echoing against the water.

It would be comical: the former professional athlete, endless stacks of muscle, and too good-looking for his own good throwing a fit on the top of a boat in the middle of Southeast Asia. It would be comical if it wasn’t breaking my heart.

“Not what I mean. You look at me, Ten. You look at me, and you don’t see all that shit. You cock your head to the side, and you study me with that bloody fucking brilliant brain of yours, and those eyes see right through me. You tell me when I’m being a right fucking prat, and you make me laugh, and I think I make you laugh. No one knows—

“Whenever you’re ready, November. I want you. I want you, yeah? In all the ways you can want a person.”

Ethan made a noise, a disagreement from the back of his throat, before he grabbed my suitcase from me, lifting it up the steps to the deck. “Just don’t see how anyone couldn’t love you.”

He turns his head, and he’s only looking at me now, tattooed fingers twitching against the bottle. “You didn’t hurt my feelings. Already got a new dream, Ten.”

I’m someone’s dream. I’m his dream.

“I meant what I said. Got a new dream. Feels like it might just be within reach right now. But before I lay you down, show you how perfect you are and how dumb whoever that loser was that slept with someone over you, you need to promise me. You’re coming with me. You’re moving forward with me. We can stay on this dumb quest, we can try the food, I don’t care, but she doesn’t run your life anymore.”

“I’m going to kiss you again. All over. That okay with you?”

“I’d rather be with you than anyone, Ten.”

“I think you’re quite fascinating.” Ethan drops his voice, and he leans across the worn table.

“Ah, not to worry mate, fucked the memory of you away a long time ago.” He doesn’t even bother looking at Jake when he says it. He’s looking at me.

“I’d be honored for you to waste my time.”

“No one wants to date me. I wouldn’t want to date me. You want to date me?” “Every day for the rest of my life. If you’ll have me.”

“Nov. November. Look at me.” Both those eyes are on me now. “Talk to me, yeah? I can’t fix it if you don’t talk to me.” “It’s the top bun,” I whisper uselessly, tears gathering in the creases of my eyes.

“The top bun,” Ethan repeats, my favorite tattooed hand grabbing my own and squeezing it. “It’s still a burger without the top bun. Let’s just get rid of it.”

Ethan’s already flung the top bun off and thrown it onto the ground, like he doesn’t care if someone has to clean that up because he only cares about me.

In my life, there are a million and one things I could have, should have, would have done differently. But sitting on the floor, clutching letters to my chest while grief spilled from me, entirely unfettered, in horrific, wet rasps, while Ethan Barclay packs to leave me, will forever be my number one regret.

I sit here while they move, and he speaks against my skin for the last time. “Maybe in another life, yeah?”

But Ethan has a new tattoo. And it’s for me.

“I was coming down there to you,” I tell him, and I can taste the salt from my tears on my lips. “No fucking way was I letting you take all those steps alone.” Ethan’s voice is low and strained, and my heart hurts a bit as his eyes trace my face, like he’s checking if I’m real.

“I was wrong. I chose wrong. I didn’t read the rest of the letters, except for the last one. To say goodbye. I gave them back to Sebastian. I’d choose differently this time, if you let me.”

“Got a new dream, Ten. I told you.” “I’ve never been anyone’s dream,” I answer.

“You’re mine, yeah?” “I love you,” I say, and I think I can see his cracked up, broken heart sew itself back together behind his eyes. “Love of my life, sweetheart.”