Peeking out the window, I watch Chance shuffle backward and look up at him, too shocked to say anything. Seeing them side by side, I wonder what I ever saw in Chance.
“You’re Sophie’s ex?” Ever asks.
Chance looks him up and down. “Chance. And you are?” he asks, condescendingly, as his usual overinflated bravado returns.
“Her present. And future.” He tilts his head. I can’t see his face, but I know by the tone of his voice what it looks like because I saw it directed at Ben in Tulsa. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve been texting, but she didn’t answer, so I thought I’d stop by.” Here we go. Chance has always loved an argument.
Ever takes a step forward, forcing Chance off the porch. “The silencewasher answer.”
Chance shakes his head rapidly in irritation. “Listen, buddy, I don’t know who you think you are, but?—”
Ever’s nose is an inch away from Chance’s when he says through gritted teeth, “I’m the guy who’s asking you to respect Soph’s wishes and leave her alone, but who will not hesitate to kick your ass if you don’t.”
Chance huffs but shows the grace to look scared shitless and takes a few steps toward his car before he turns around and says, “You know you two won’t last. You’re not Sophie’s type.”
I can see Ever’s face now, and he smiles. “Keep telling yourself that if it helps you sleep tonight. But I will say the way she screams my name makes me think maybe I am.” He winks and then says, still smiling, “Now fuck off.”
Lola pokes her head out the door and yells, “Soph’s on her way up. I guess she finally met someone who could match her fired-up energy, huh, motherfucker!”
Chance flips her off as he gets in his car.
Lola’s clapping when Ever steps back in.
When he takes a seat next to me, he pats my leg. “Sorry, I probably should’ve let you handle that.”
I smile and shake my head while my heart trips over itself in my chest. “No complaints here.” Ever is, without a doubt, my one and only type.
Everyone is scattered around the room: Jesse and Benji on the barstools at the island, Lola and Mabel at the dining table. The floor plan is open, and the room is small, so we can talk freely and be heard.
I jump back into the conversation that began before we were interrupted. “So, the Treachery’s Riot bomb changes everything. We can all agree on that, right?” I ask, and everyone nods. “Not only do you need to decide what’s next for Thicker Than Water,” I look at Jesse and Ever, “but we need some backstory so we know how we can support you going forward. No one in this room can wrap their head around what your life’s been like or comprehend what might be coming.”
Ever takes the last bite of pizza, wipes his mouth with a napkin, and sets it and the empty paper plate in his hand on the small table next to him. “I guess I should start at the beginning.”
“Please do. I’m lost,” says Mabel, before adding, “But I’m here for you, honey.”
Ever settles back into the corner of the sofa and casually crosses his legs, resting one foot on the opposite knee. He’s more or less facing me but has a view of everyone. “I’ve always loved music, whether it was listening to my favorite bands, learning to play a new instrument, or writing songs. Music was a touchstone, a refuge, and an escape in a childhood that was unpredictable and unstable.”
When he pauses and looks at his brother, Jesse nods and says, “Mom tried so fucking hard, but life knocked us down. A lot.”
“Can I ask questions?” Lola asks. “I feel like this is a good time for all of us to get to know each other. The more we know, the more we can relate and help.”
“I agree,” I say.
Ever looks at Jesse, and after a second, they say, “Yeah,” and “Sure.” I know they’re both guarded in their own ways. We all are. Well, except for Lola, she’s an open book.
Lola clasps her hands on the table and leans forward in her chair. “Define ‘life knocked us down.’”
Jesse reaches for his fifth or sixth slice of pizza and says, “Mom got pregnant with me at sixteen, married my dad, he beat the shit out of her, and she left with me before I turned one. She was a high school dropout whose parents disowned her and whose brother was too young to help. She had nowhere to go.”
Ever picks up the thread. “She made her way northeast and met my dad. He was older, a seemingly respectable dentist. He treated her ‘like a queen,’” he puts the phrase in finger quotes, “until she told him she was pregnant and found out he was married and already had three kids. She left. She didn’t want to put his wife and kids through outing him when they hadn’t done anything wrong.”
“Do you know your dad?” I ask.
He shakes his head, but he doesn’t look upset. “Never met him.”
“Do you want to?” I ask.
