“So your maiden name was Lefevre?” I ask, piecing it together.
“Yup. Glad I didn’t become Mrs. Todd Devlin. But yes, my maiden name was Lefevre.”
“But you took my last name. You’re Everly Adams?”
“Not out of lack of respect for my grandfather and great-grandfather, but my father is...how do I put this? An incredibly difficult person.”
“How so?”
“Cold. Distant. Controlling. He arranged the marriage with Todd because his connections in the industry would put him back at number one in the world. I agreed to it to appease him. Because I thought it might work out and we could have a happy family.” She stares at her hands. “Turns out Todd didn’t want one.”
“No kids?”
Still not looking up at me, she shakes her head.
There is nepotism and shady dealings in football, but Everly’s own father treating her like a commodity to be traded for financial gain is horrendous.
“He’s so ruthless, people call him the Ice King and he wears it like a badge of honor.”
“But I don’t understand. How’d you do anything wrong?”
“I don’t have much family. It was silly, but I was willing to do whatever I could to please him, so I went along with his proposal to marry Todd. I didn’t want to disappoint him.”
“What would’ve happened if you had?”
“I’m a peacekeeper and never dared to upset the equilibrium because I’ve seen what happens when people do. He routinely ruined careers and lives.” Everly tips her head back with a harrumph. “The ironic thing is, I went along with theengagement and ended up exactly where I’d be had I just saidno, to begin with.”
I absentmindedly run my thumb across the ring on her finger. “Are you sure about that?”
“Maybe not exactly, but he’s practically disowned me. I’ve made bad decisions. That’s what I did wrong.”
“Everly, he didn’t own you to begin with. But don’t beat yourself up about it.”
“Says the guy who’s been beating himself up aboutsomething.”
I grunt.
We descend into silence. All this talk about fathers reminds me that I am one and my son is about to become a much bigger part of my life.
Which means I have to find a way to tell Everly, and fast.
22
EVERLY
For hours now, I’ve been breathing in Grey’s woodsy air fragrance, reminding me of fresh split cedar or cypress. I think it, or the long day of travel so far, has me thinking sideways or upside down.
I don’t know why I told him about my personal life and past. Smoothing a fresh page in the Cookie Dough Diary, I write an entry about the last twenty-four hours, pouring out my confusion, but also that I’m grateful Grey stepped in when Todd threatened me because I don’t know what he planned to do or how I would’ve gotten out of it.
“Did I say too much?” Grey’s voice floats to me.
“Are you over there overthinking? That’s my gig.”
“You’re an overthinker?”
“Over analyzer. Over feeler. Over everything. Over and over. Probably used to be an over spender, but I don’t have that problem anymore. Though when I got my first paycheck from Blancbourg, I did buy an adult-style pair of pants, shorts, and a couple of tops because I’d started to consider fashioning a frock out of the drapes in my suite a la the film Gone with the Wind.”
The corners of Grey’s lips tease a lopsided smile, which is a step up from the ghost of a grin I usually see.
