No Ordinary Love (A Modern Vintage Romance #5)

Chapter 2

Elika

W hen he left the room, finally , I sank onto the bathroom floor, feeling everything inside me shake. I'd seen Dean Archer and even though I felt like I'd been flayed inside, I'd survived it. But then the past two years had put me through so much that Dean was the least of my worries—or rather, he should've been the least of my worries, and yet he'd managed to sneak up and take the top spot.

The year that I met Dean, my life changed, partly because of him and mostly because of the accident. He'd crushed my confidence—but my dreams were gone when my father died in a car crash, and my sister needed round-the-clock care.

I'd had no choice but to take care of Noe. I'd spent my entire savings, which I used to call my college fund, because my parents hadn't had one for me. Since Daddy was driving drunk and Noe had been no better, there had been no insurance payout—nothing to offset the mountain of bills that came our way, as well as the care facility that Noe now needed to live in because of her condition.

She'd suffered a severe spinal cord injury, leaving her partially paralyzed and with limited mobility. In the year following the accident, her condition worsened, leading to chronic pain, muscle atrophy, and secondary complications such as difficulty with motor function and coordination. However, her doctors believe that with intensive physical therapy, advanced treatments, and a controlled climate like Kauai's, Noe could see improvements in her mobility and quality of life.

This was why we'd moved here, as the Ka Pono Rehabilitation Center specialized in cutting-edge neurorehabilitation techniques, using a combination of physical therapy, aquatic therapy, and emerging technologies designed to stimulate nerve regeneration and muscle recovery. Noe had been enrolled in a long-term rehabilitation program that offers hope for partial recovery of movement or at least better management of her symptoms. The island's warm weather is also therapeutic, helping with the chronic pain and stiffness she experiences.

While her condition was still serious and required round-the-clock care, there was a possibility that with time, dedication, and the right treatments, Noe could regain some independence. However, the process was slow and painstaking, and Noe's emotional response to her injury—her frustration, anger, and depression—didn't help with her recovery. But suppose there was even a small chance that Noe could have the life she deserved. In that case, I'd do whatever it took, and if that meant working overtime cleaning the bathrooms of rich people and giving up my dreams of being an art gallery manager, then so be it.

I got up from the bathroom floor, feeling old.

I'd been working full-time to save money to finish university and get my degree in art history at the University of Hawaii when I met Dean. God, I'd been so na?ve, I thought sadly as I looked at the toilet bowl I had to clean—so full of dreams that were never ever going to be realized.

I scrubbed the toilet bowl with mechanical precision, letting the motions distract me from the sinking weight in my chest.

The bungalows I cleaned were luxurious, far beyond anything I could have ever afforded. Yet, here I was—cleaning up after the people who lived in a world I never dreamed about—but I'd also not thought this would be my life. I hadn't wanted much.

I wiped the counters, swept the floor, and straightened the towels with an efficiency I'd mastered over the past years.

Every part of me ached, but the routine was familiar, almost comforting in its mindlessness. My dreams of finishing my art history degree, of maybe curating galleries or traveling the world, felt like someone else's now—some other girl's ambitions, lost in the wash of obligations and bills. I moved to the windows, polishing the glass, staring out at the endless horizon of the ocean, wondering when I had stopped looking ahead and started just trying to survive.

None of that happened, Elika. No point in being bitter. Focus on why you're doing this. Keep your heart clean, babe. Don't make life harder than it is. Now, tits out, chin up, and put a smile on your face .

I put on my earbuds and listened to Taylor Swift asking me to Shake It Off as I walked out of Dean's bungalow. Not just Dean's but his and Felicity's. My freaking cousin. The universe had a sick sense of humor.

My father had been Felicity's father's half-brother. Saying we were not close was an understatement. They knew I existed, and I knew they did as well. My father had been bitter as hell with Uncle Samuel and had refused to share any of his inheritance with us—I had no problem with it. The money was my grandfather's, and if he decided that everything would go to Uncle Samuel and not my mother's family, then that was that.

Our mother had died when I was eleven—when my life first changed and remained irrevocably so. Noe had been thirteen then and had become as bitter as Daddy that we wouldn't have what our relatives did. The Thatcher family lived in mansions while we had a middle-class existence. It was not bad at all. We lived in Honolulu, in a modest house just outside of Waikiki, nestled in a quiet neighborhood where you could still hear the ocean if you listened hard enough. Our place was small but comfortable—until Mom died. After that, everything shifted. Dad started drinking, and the warmth of our home slowly evaporated, replaced by the tension of unpaid bills and Noe's growing resentment that we would never live like the Thatchers did. Our house, once a haven, had become just another reminder of what we'd lost.

I stepped out of the bungalow, the door clicking shut behind me, and my phone beeped. I glanced down at the screen and saw the message from my boss, Leilani.

Leilani: All good? You did with Bungalow 10?

Me: Yes. Yes.

I sighed, leaning back against the railing for a moment, feeling the ocean breeze cool the sweat on my neck. She knew I'd been nervous about cleaning Dean's bungalow. I'd told her everything when I'd learned that my cousin was engaged to Dean Archer. I knew who he was. I hadn't when I'd been sleeping with him for two weeks, but I'd figured it out later: he was the Dean Archer of the Archer Arts who knew? A part of me had wanted to throw that money in his face. But two days after he left, Daddy crashed the car, and since I was in no position to throw money away—my needs were bigger than my pride. In fact, when your life skids off into a ditch, the first thing to go is pride because that doesn't pay the bills or feed you.

During weak moments, I'd seek information about Dean. Google had told me he had a PhD in Asian Art History and was an expert in classical Chinese ink paintings and Japanese Edo-period woodblock prints. He specialized in rare, historic pieces that only the wealthiest collectors could afford.

Leilani: And?

I quickly typed a response.

Me: Didn't expect to actually see him, though.

The dots appeared almost immediately, and then Leilani's reply came through.

Leilani: OMG! Want to talk?

I hesitated, staring out at the waves beyond the bungalow. I could already feel the tension building in my chest, the familiar knot that had formed the second I laid eyes on him again. After four years, Dean was suddenly back in my world—and I wasn't sure if I was ready to handle it.

Well, Elika, fake it till you make it. If you keep pretending you're over him, then you will be over him.

Me: No need. I'm fine. I just need to finish my shift.

I could imagine Leilani frowning at her phone, probably already figuring out how to corner me later with coffee and questions.

Leilani: Drinks tonight. And don't even think about saying you've got a headache.

I laughed.

Me: I thought that was the excuse you married women used to not fuck your husbands.

Leilani: Girl, you've seen my hubs. I'll fuck him ALL the time. But we have to work.

Me: LOL . Still can't. I have a shift at Ke Kai.

Thinking about it made me sigh. Three days a week, I worked at the restaurant in the resort from six to midnight. Those were my long days. But with Noe's costs going beyond what her insurance would cover, I was carrying the extra burdens because she couldn't. Thankfully, my health insurance was paid for by the resort, so I didn't have that added expense, but I had to shoulder all of Noe's premiums. Granted, I had a small place I rented at the edge of the resort, part of a set of cottages built for employees. But they were bare bones—one bedroom, a tiny kitchen with barely enough room to turn around, and furniture that had probably been in there since the place was built. It wasn't much, but it was close to work, and I could pay for it without dipping into what I needed for Noe.

There were nights when the walls felt like they were closing in, especially after a long shift, so I'd sit on the beach, go for a swim in the warm waters, and let the Pacific Ocean take my worries away.

I loved living in Hawaii. I couldn't live anywhere else. My soul belonged to these beautiful islands.