Claws In Deep (The Stars Align Series Book 2), page 1
Claws In Deep
JB Sharp
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2023 by JB Sharp
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form on by an electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.
First paperback edition July 2023
Cover designed by Kate Farlow of Ya'll That Graphic
Contents
Dedication
Playlist
1. Ella
2. Darren
3. Ella
4. Darren
5. Ella
6. Darren
7. Ella
8. Darren
9. Ella
10. Darren
11. Ella
12. Darren
13. Ella
14. Darren
15. Ella
16. Darren
17. Ella
18. Darren
19. Ella
20. Darren
21. Ella
22. Ella
23. Darren
24. Ella
25. Darren
26. Ella
27. Darren
28. Ella
29. Darren
31. Next In The Stars Align Series
32. Acknowledgments
34. About Author
To all the guys out there…
don't fuck a writer if you don't want to be written about.
And definitely don't fuck her friend and be a jerk…
because we will tell everyone and pretend it's fiction.
While You're At It by Jessie Murph
Too Much by Carly Rae Jepsen
Holiday From Real by Jack's Mannequin
Satellite by Dave Matthews Band
Banana by Conkarah & Shaggy
Issues by Julia Michaels
Happier Than Ever by Billie Eilish
Leave The Pieces by The Wreckers
Could've Just Left Me Alone by Alexa Cappelli
Diamonds by Ballyhoo!
All Over You by The Spill Canvas
Healing by Fletcher
Come Clean by Hilary Duff
"You're just too serious about love, Ella."
Most people struggle to look someone in the eye as they shatter their heart onto the kitchen floor. Not Joel. He is leaning against the door frame in his kitchen, and not in the sexy way book boyfriends do it. But rather in the disappointed dad way. The look on his face says I should have known this was coming, that it's my consequence for caring too much about him.
I bet there isn't a divorce lawyer on the planet who has filled out papers with the reason being they loved each other too much.
I don't love him in a crazy toxic way, because we could easily get to Joe Goldberg territory with the whole 'too much love' thing. I know it's not like that. I give him space and respect his rigid work schedule. I have also never watched him through his window while I stood across the street in all-black attire. See, nothing like Joe.
I do, however, expect a certain amount of time investment from my partner and it's something he can never compromise on.
"Never realized loving who you're with was a red flag. Was I supposed to act like I cared less about you? Are we back on the kindergarten playground where you pretend you hate them but really you have a crush?" I can't help but laugh at how ridiculous it sounds. I readjust how I am sitting, tucking my legs under myself. It's terrible for your circulation but I don't care, it's comfortable.
"Don't overreact. You're being dramatic." I can already feel my blood starting to boil at the way he dismisses my concern.
"How long?" I ask. I feel blindsided and I'm sure most girls who are told they are 'too much' - which apparently I am for Joel - feel the same way when confronted.
"How long what?" He shifts his feet and crosses his arms, the universal sign of blocking someone out.
"How long have you been thinking about this? I mean, it's not fresh news that I give a shit about you. Hell, I have been asking to move in together for over a month and you keep giving me the runaround. Was that it?" The straw that broke the camel's back. As much as I wish I could process this internally, I can't help but ask the questions I don't want to hear the answers to.
"I was hoping by pumping the brakes it would slow things down. Instead, it made you more determined to prove it was the next step for us. Don't get me wrong, a home-cooked meal on the table when I got home from work was nice. But when I come home from a busy day, I want my own space that isn't all excitement and bright colors. You being here all the time is … a lot."
One thing I have been used to my whole life is being told I am too much, and that I should dial myself back into what makes other people comfortable. No one has ever asked me what it is like being that person, always trying to fit the box everyone else wants me in.
If I could care less, love less, or smile less, I would have done it. Because while I have the joy of being extra in all of those things, I am burdened with feeling more of others.
I hurt more, cry more, and feel every emotion attached to it all.
At this moment, I wish I didn't. The last thing I want is for him to see how this breaks me. The warm saline running down my cheek hides nothing, nor do the labored breaths I know he can hear.
"We haven't been seeing each other for that long, El. I don't get why you are crying over this."
That makes two of us, Joel. The whole time we have been together, a whopping eight months, I have wondered why I was always the one making moves and proving my love. I guess it wasn't love for him. Or maybe even me, I don't know anymore. It sure as hell felt like love, and judging by the way my chest aches right now, my heart thought it was, too. I wanted to make him happy and up until now, I thought I was.
The most frustrating part is he has never once told me it was too much until right now when the dam has overflowed and there's no going back. If he had told me sooner, I could have tried to save this. Instead, I am stuck trying to repair the pieces of my heart all over the floor, my hands imprinted with scrapes and scars from the rough edges.
It's no use. His mind is made up. Another failed relationship to add to the refrigerator like a report card covered in red Fs. Ella Kane, the valedictorian of heartbreak.
"I'm fine, honestly. I'm just being dramatic, remember? I will get over it." I belittle myself to make him feel big about his choice, throwing his hurtful words back at him. I fucking hate this.
"I think I found all of the stuff you left at my place, I will drop it off to you."
Gee, thanks. The way he says it sounds like he has already packed them up, confining our relationship to a cardboard box. I know he will have at least a box of stuff that is mine, especially in his kitchen. I would bring over my gadgets and pans to ensure I could make the meals I planned for us. The meals he loved more than he loved me.
"Wait, what are we supposed to do about our trip? We leave in less than a week and if we cancel now, we won't get refunded."
He pauses for a minute, working through the solution in his mind. He looks towards his feet as if they are hiding the answer.
"I know you already took the time off and were looking forward to visiting that pirate place. Go. Get away for a bit. I have some work stuff I need to stick around for anyways."
What he is truly saying is he had no intention of taking time off work or going on the trip in the first place. We have had it planned for two months now and he probably never told his boss.
"Okay cool, thanks I guess," I mumble, trying my best to not sound caddy or rude in this stupid scenario and failing miserably.
"I did care about you at the beginning, El. It just never crossed into love territory for me. I'm sorry, I hope we can talk when you get back," he finishes before ending the call, the video closing and his face disappearing from the screen.
The worst part about cell phones is you can't slam them closed and chuck them across the room when you're pissed at the person on the other end. All you can do is aggressively tap the red 'END' on the screen. That's exactly what Joel did. He aggressively tapped end on our relationship and I hate that I am crying over it. And I hate how my nickname sounded on his tongue, forever ruined by him.
My suitcase is packed to the brim and then some. Warm-climate clothes are smaller so in theory they should take up less space, right? Not so much because somehow I have managed to overdo it. I had already planned some outfits for candlelit dinners on the beach and relaxing afternoons by the pool. I don't know what I will do there alone, the daydreams of Costa Rica tainted by couples massages and romantic walks in the waves. My flight leaves soon and my Uber driver will be here any minute so there's no time to rearrange anything, it will have to do.
The zipper whines as I squish and prod the stuffing to stay inside. Miraculously, it zips as the notification on my phone alerts me that my ride is here. If it's not in the bag at this point, I don't need it that badly.
The ride to the airport takes less than a half hour, and the traffic is minimal for a weekday afternoon. I can't remember if Joel planned it with that in mind or not. Thinking about him has me annoyed and I am desp
Our brain never considers our heart when we are hurting. It keeps playing things on repeat that used to make us happy, acting like it never got the memo those things are now heartbreaking. For being the smartest part of our bodies, it sure is behind the times.
The struggle to get my suitcase from the trunk is heightened with the collection of people saying their goodbyes on the curb outside. It finally releases from the tight fit, and the momentum has me stumbling back a few steps. Not enough to fall, just enough for me to trip over my own feet.
Oh no.
My eyes cast down to find my most obnoxious knee-high socks barely hidden by my Birkenstocks. In my rush to finish packing, I made sure to grab my sneakers. Did I think to change into them instead? Nope, the thought never crossed my mind until right now.
See? I told you brains are dumb.
I keep my head held high as I walk through the lobby, looking like a poster child for chaos, inviting wandering eyes and confused glances.
Do I want to try and unpile everything from my suitcase in the middle of the airport to change my shoes?
Considering how hard I worked to get that thing to close earlier, I don't want to take the risk I can't get it shut again. Crazy socks Ella will have to do for now. Thankfully, the odds of seeing any of these people again are minimal.
The airline worker who takes my checked bag has a hell of a time getting it up on the scale but surprisingly, it meets the weight restriction. Her raised eyebrows tell me she wasn't expecting it either. With my boarding pass in hand, I make my way to everyone's favorite part of traveling: security.
No matter how many times you fly, there is always someone in line that has no clue what they are doing. My hands start to sweat, my internal panic that somehow I packed a large weapon into my bag rearing its illogical head. I don't own anything of the sort, gotta love irrational fears!
I place my small backpack onto the conveyor, pull off my shoes and place them in a bin with my phone. If it was up to me, I would never wear shoes again. Thankfully, sandals are close to letting it all hang loose. My toes stretch within my socks, wiggling against the low-ply carpet that is worn almost threadbare.
The TSA agent flashes me a less-than-professional smirk as he waves me forward into the scanner. I'm too much for you dude, don't bother barking up this tree. I hold my arms up, allowing the machine to spin around me before exiting.
I wonder if he knows he is about as smooth as a washed-out road in Vermont with his advances. His eyes run up and down my body and when they come back to meet mine, they shine with disappointment that he doesn't get to frisk me. I nod politely in thanks and work to gather my things.
My hands move quickly, the urgent feeling of airport security pushing me along. I struggle harder than I should to get my slide sandals on, the guy behind me looking concerned as I hop around on one foot trying to get the straps to cooperate. This is why you shouldn't wear socks with sandals, they impede the slide factor with the friction of the fabric.
I grab the last of my belongings and direct myself toward the gate number listed on my boarding pass.
I didn't expect to have extra time after getting through security, but somehow it went faster than normal. An Ovis magazine catches my eye and I can't help but wonder if the cover was captured by my brother.
The soft, glossy pages flip in my hand, my thumb doing most of the work. I will be radio silent for the next two weeks, so any excuse to talk to him about something before I leave is welcome. Starry skies on the page stop me.
Before Joel, I found horoscopes to be interesting, most of the time aligning with things happening in my life that I needed clarity on. He didn't believe in them and, looking back, often ridiculed me for even reading them. I know there are a lot of people who think listening to the stars is a load of bullshit, but who are we to tell anyone how they should guide their life choices? There is a whole religion out there that worships a flying spaghetti monster, following the stars is less wild when you put it in perspective.
Knowing Joel hated it makes me feel empowered to read mine like I am sticking it to the man or something. My eyes drop to where a crab outlined in stars sits.
You may not understand what all the fuss is about today, Cancer. Suddenly, there's a fire burning all around and you may be left questioning the motivations behind the actions of others. You may not be able to make heads or tails of the situation, so don't waste your time trying to figure it all out. Let it be. Take a hint from others that you may need to add a bit of spark to your life to spice things up a bit.
Well, it's good to see the stars kept their accuracy about my life when I wasn't looking. There's a fire burning but it's mostly me wanting to burn down Joel's house. Or light his favorite suit on fire. Not really, I wouldn't do it, but I can think about it without getting into trouble. And if I am being honest with myself, better he tells me now than further down the road when I expected more from him.
Doesn't make it hurt any less knowing it was the best way to end things. Even when you know cake is bad for you, it makes you happy and excited. I would be lying if I said Joel didn't have the same effect on me. You know what they say about eating too much cake, it can lead to a sugar crash. And that's what I am in right now. My heart was full of sugar and frosting and now it is all empty cupcake liners and regrets.
At least it was sweet while it lasted.
What kind of adult wears socks that don't match in public?
The petite brunette in front of me wiggles her mismatched toes against the worn carpet before stepping towards the metal detector. Her leggings leave little to the imagination, perfectly outlining the curve of her ass. I try my damndest not to stare, but there's not a panty-line in sight. My tongue brushes against my lips, looking for any stray drool that may be dripping down my chin.
The security guy waves her forward, instructing her how to stand as the machine whooshes around to scan her. She flashes him a smile as she steps out and even though I was looking her up and down, I hate that he fucking does it too.
I follow her example, my eyes burning into his as I step in, a silent warning not to eye-fuck Miss Wonky Socks again. He can't handle the eye contact, breaking the stare and looking down at his computer screen, avoiding my angry gaze.
He doesn't dare try and search me, waving me through and over to my belongings. She is hopping around, attempting to put her shoe back on. Birkenstock sandals. Socks and fucking sandals, This chick is a whole barrel of monkeys, and I can't look away.
A cropped hoodie lets the smallest sliver of her midriff tease me, her skin a deep olive tan. A nest of chocolate-colored, tangled hair is swirled on top of her head like a summer ice cream cone. I bet she tastes just as sweet.
I check my boarding pass one more time for the gate number, grab the rest of my stuff and hurry up to wait.
Airlines tell you to arrive at least two hours before your flight, only to then say your flight has been delayed. I'm not sure which is worse: doctor's offices or airlines when it comes to never being on schedule. So far, it looks like everything is on time today, but shit could still hit the fan between now and takeoff.
I am searching for the seat with the closest outlet when my phone vibrates against my thigh. I pull it out to see my sister's name across the screen.
"Hey Dee, I just got through security. Waiting in the terminal now," I explain without giving her a chance to ask.
"You're such a lifesaver, Dare. Seriously, you're saving my ass with this one. Next time I hire someone, remind me to check they have a valid passport," she says, and I bet she is rubbing her forehead in frustration right now.
"Not sure how much help I will be, but an extra body to carry stuff can't hurt. I will let you know when I land but it will be late. Should we plan to meet for breakfast in the morning and you can start ordering me around?"
"Ha! Let's save the jokes for when you make it here and I can breathe normally, alright? And I will pick you up, the front desk said the shuttle from the airport will be full tonight."
We hang up and I plug my phone into the outlet next to the chair I finally decided on. It's going to be a long flight and I want to make sure I have entertainment. I'm not much for reading, but give me a true crime show and I will watch that shit for hours. I made sure my iPad was full battery, but I want to have my phone fully charged as a backup.
