Fuck the rain. I am making that drive.
43
EVER
The instant the bouncers see me with my hands balled at my sides and my jaw clenched, storming to the back door that’ll take me to Bobby’s office, they get out of my way.
Midnight called Gage, and Gage called me, telling me where I could find Bobby. I don’t knock. I open the door and barge inside.
Bobby’s head is down. He’s concentrating on whatever is on his tablet. “If you’re here to beat the shit out of me again, have the common decency to gag me first, yeah? It’ll keep the screaming down and not scare away my customers.”
Beat the shit out of him? Again? Oh God, my father’s men. I hurry to him.
“Bobby?”
His head snaps up. His face is black and blue. I grit my teeth. I am going to ream my dad on his next call and threaten never to visit him if he ever orders his men to lay a hand on Bobby, ever. I grab the sides of Bobby’s face in my hands and push my way between his legs. His hands go to my waist.
“Did my father’s men do this?”
He smirks. “Something like that.”
Damn him and his “something like that” line. “That’s a yes in my books.” I skim my finger over his swollen and cracked lips, the gaping skin over his non-scarred eyebrow, and his blackened eye. “Did you put up a fight at least?”
“Nah, baby. I deserved the hits for breaking your heart.”
“About that.” I let go of his face and step back. After what I tell him, Bobby could still reject me.
He’s right. Our age gap is the difference between marriage and settling down, and not putting down roots and exploring the world instead. I start with that first.
“You’re right. I could travel the world, make new friends, and fall in love many times over. I want those things.”
His jaw tightens. A storm brews in his sea-glass eyes.
“I want to travel the world with you, make new friends together, and fall in love many times over with only you, Bobby Bliss. Can we do that? Or we can settle down first.” I shrug. “We have the rest of our lives ahead of us, and I’m not in a rush to decide, as long as we’re together.”
“I saw you, Ever. I drove over to surprise you at work. Two weeks was too long not to hold you. I saw you with my fucking brother.”
“Braxton,” I say to make sure we’re speaking of the same brother.
“Yes, Braxton.”
I lift my shirt and run my fingers over the tattoo along my side. “You asked before what this said. I couldn’t tell you.” I shake my head. “That’s not true. I wasn’t ready to tell you. Telling you would mean I was letting go of Carlos and replacing my memories of him with memories of us, of you, and I wasn’t ready.”
“And now you are?”
“Yes. You’re all I think about, Bobby. You’re who I see when I think about today, tomorrow, and the next day.” I move closer so he can see the writing. “It’s in Spanish. It says ‘live for me, Ever.’ It’s what Carlos said to me in the two moments when it was a matter of life and death for me. You said the same when the medics rushed me to the waiting helicopter.”
He laughs, then winces, his hand going to his stomach. “Ironic. All of this”—he sweeps out his arm—“is fucking ironic.” He tips back in the chair and runs the back of his hand over his eyes. “The night I met you at Crimson, I was at home, intending to drown my survivor’s guilt with booze. Except, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Carlos came to me in my dream the night before for a reason.” He tents his hands in front of his mouth and stares at something over my shoulder. He’s seeing, but not really. “In my dream, he said, ‘Tell her to live for me, always.’”
I suck in a breath, remembering that moment. “You did. You said, ‘Live for me, Ever,’ and I said back?—”
“Always.” His gaze returns to my face.
It’s time I tell him about how I met Braxton.
I step back and run my palm over the scar, lowering to my haunches to remind him how far the scar stretches on my right leg. I rub my ankle. “You’ve asked about this scar. I couldn’t tell you because I was ashamed. This scar is the shame I live with for sending Braxton to prison.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t believe you. You’re the kindest person.”
