The smile I give her is sad, but I want to somehow unring the bell of my thoughtless comment. “I’m sorry, Taya.” Saying her name feels weird on my tongue. “My dad died when I was young. He wasn’t an asshole, just gone a lot.”
She nods sadly. “It’s okay. And thank you. I got over wishing he was something he wasn’t a long time ago.”
We both sip our coffee in the awkward silence.
Taya speaks first. “Jay—Julian is lucky to have you. Now that I know he’s not an asshole who bailed on me, I’m happy he found someone like you to love. I’m sure you know his life growing up was shit. His parents are shit.” One perfectly arched blonde eyebrow spikes upward as she goes silent for a second, staring into her coffee mug. I can tell she’s not done, so I stay silent as well. When she focuses back on me, her eyes brim with unshed tears. “He really is as good as you think he is. Always has been. He could’ve turned into an abusive bag of shit like his parents, but he didn’t. I’m so happy he has a beautiful life.” On the last sentence, one tear spills. She swipes it hastily and stands. “Thanks for the coffee . . . Everly. I’m gonna go.”
I nod, following her as she stands and moves out of the kitchen, my mind spinning. I’m searching for the words, the manners, and drawing a blank.
Then she turns back and adds, “And I like your T-shirt.”
I look down at my faded holey Guns N’ Roses tee.My dad’s.“Thanks. It . . . was my dad’s. It was his favorite band. My favorite band.” I fixate on my pinkie dipping through a hole in the bottom hem.
“Mine too.” She says it softly, bringing my eyes back to hers. “But I think it’s more the moody aggression than nostalgia.” She smirks, and I’m transported back to Julian stalking to the sound system that day at Fit and snapping it off. I had “Paradise” turned all the way up. I realize I’m staring at her, lost in the memory.
“Are you sure I can’t . . . call him for you?” I don’t know why I offer that.Nice Everly.“Our . . . This isn’t where we live. It’s not far though,” I finish lamely.
“No. No. It’s all good. I’m good. He . . . knows where to find me if he needs to.”
I’m nodding again. And following her as she makes her way to the front door. In a trance, I hold the door she opened as she walks through it.
Before she gets all the way out, she turns and puts her arms around me. Without releasing my grip on the door, I awkwardly pat her lower back with my free hand. “Let him be good to you. He will. Always. That’s who he is.” With that, she hurriedly turns and jogs down the stairs.
I watch her go. I stand there in the doorway long after she gets into her truck and drives out of the parking lot, reflecting on the last hour of my life.
Part of me feels stupid for not seeing the bigger picture—leaning into what I know about Julian. But even if I’ve completely misread him, Taya is still back—very much alive and . . . here. And what about me? I almost burned everything we have to the ground in less than twenty-four hours with a trip to Pismo. Proof that I am not as solid as I’d like to believe. Trauma is a funny thing. I need to admit to myself that deep down I expect the good things to go away. I was ready to believe it was gone, he wasn’t who I thought he was and what we have (had?) isn’t real. No matter how much work I’ve put in or howfixedI think I am, healing isn’t a one-and-done scenario. Triggers show up unexpectedly and sometimes at the most inconvenient times. My life up till now has taught me that it doesn’t matter how good things get. It can change in an instant. I need to know I’ll be okay if it ever does go away. I don’t want to be my mom, escaping the reminders of what used to be. I’m not sure I’ve entirely wrapped my brain around the circusof Taya being alive and what it means for us—me and Julian—but as I move through the apartment, doing laundry, thinking, planning, I decide that I’m going to stop waiting in fear for that change to come.
With that decision comes the realization of the path I need to take to ultimately get there. It’s not a complete plan, just the beginning of one. My resolve scares me, but I’ve also never been more sure it’s what I need to do. I need to see Julian, talk this through. Not only do I owe it to him to explain it, but I also owe it to myself to commit to it. Before I lose my courage to do it or talk myself out of it, I text him.
Chapter 32
Julian
Fit is almost empty, thank God. Sundays usually are. I’m not in the mood to be “on.” And it’s not lost on me that the timing is ideal. I’ve had this whole weekend off. No traveling. No content filming. And no real work. Considering how things played out, ideal is an understatement. Who could’ve seen this shit show coming? Not me. Maybe the universe threw me a bone for my birthday.You can’t escape the shit show we’ve got in store for you, but what if we give you the weekend off to deal with it?
Blasting my workout playlist through the Fit sound system because I couldn’t find my AirPods, I work out until sweat drips into my eyes and my arms and legs shake from exertion. Because the place is all but vacant, no one is bitching about it. Another gift from the gods.
No matter how hard I go, Everly stands center stage in my thoughts throughout my exercises. I know she loves me. Her body tells me she loves me. Every time I touch her. Even if she can’t say it right now. I spin into a roundhouse kick, striking the bag to drown out the old self-talk that tries to invade my thoughts.She loves me. I deserve her.Do you?Another kick.Yes!Back kick.She loves me.Side kick.I deserve her.Reverse turning kick.
Panting, I flatten my palms on the bag to catch my breath.What if I lose her?The thought slams into my brain with a force that threatens to drop me to my knees. I bend at the waist and brace my hands on my knees and take some slow, deep breaths.I’ll be okay. I’ll be okay.Taya thought I abandoned her, thought I took a payout from her dad to stay away from her, and she dealt with it.But you didn’t love each other like this.That thought sobers me. We didn’t love each other the way I love Everly. The way I think she loves me.
Eminem’s iconic intro beat to “Lose Yourself” pulses through the speakers. I move out of the kickboxing room and into the main area and step onto a treadmill. Cardio isn’t my favorite, but this is my favorite song to run to. I keep pace with the beat—it’s almost a perfect five-minute cooldown run. Just as it’s coming to an end, a few of my clients walk in—the cougar club as some like to call them, sans Sylvie. Thank God for little mercies. Except I’m missing my AirPods, so I hop off the treadmill and kill my playlist. I smile and greet the ladies as I swing into the office and cue the gym playlist. I wave on my way to the door, hoping they won’t stop me. They don’t. Again, maybe the universe is on my side.
Even after the grueling workout, I’m restless—and fixating on my missing earbuds. I storm into the house and begin rummaging through the tray on the entryway table. Nothing. I search the kitchen counters and the junk drawer. Not there. I already inspected my Jeep thoroughly. I take the stairs two at a time, moving into our room.Our room.I freeze in the doorway for a second, taking in the tangled sheets,half-open drawers—a reminder of her, in my arms, telling me with her body (if not her words) that she loves me.
She loves me. Right?
Not sure who I’m trying to convince anymore, I storm into the room and begin thrashing through backpacks and drawers. My top nightstand drawer holds lube and condoms, which we haven’t used since our first night together. No earbuds. I slam it shut along with the reminder of our first time—her first time. Stalking to her nightstand, I yank it open so hard it falls to the floor, spilling the contents: lip balm, hand lotion, hair ties, pencils, pens . . . her journal. I stare at it like a pendulum. My name at the top of the page might as well be a neon sign. In a trance, I reach for it. I grip it till my knuckles turn white. If the universe decided I’m worth a damn, I’m about to prove it wrong, because instead of closing it, I begin to read. The very first line has me faltering.This isn’t for me.The second line swells my heart. I want to close it. I know I should. I stop reading, wrestling with my conscience. My desperation wins. Maybe I’m not a good guy and don’t deserve her. I continue reading, heart racing in my throat, pulse pounding in my wrists.
Dear Julian,
You’re never going to read this, so here it goes.
I want you! I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you. I’ve never wanted anyone—period! That’s not to say I haven’t had attention from boys before, but they were clumsy and dumb and painfully transparent. They didn’t want me. They wanted someone or the experience. I could’ve been any girl. That didn’t exactly make me want to rip my clothes off and have all the sex. Or even kiss. I began to wonder if there was something wrong with me that I didn’t want to be with a guy. Now Iknow it was the guy. Because with you, I want . . . everything. I want you to touch me. I want to touch you. When I’m with you, it’s like they describe it in the books. Everything else fades away and all I see is you. All I think about is you. All I feel is you. The loneliness, anger, pain . . . all goes away when I’m with you.
Sometimes, I wish we could stay in this Blue Lake bubble forever and not have to face the world and all the stupid, senseless bullshit that comes with it. Sometimes, I wonder if I’ve built all of this up in my mind and it’s not as earth-shattering as it seems. You make me feel seen for the first time in my life. You make me feel beautiful and sexy and like I could deserve a man as beautiful as you. I know fairy tales don’t exist. My sister has always told me I set myself up for disappointment because I expect guys to act like the ones in my books. Maybe that’s true. I don’t know. I just know that I’ve never wanted to experience all the things I want to experience with you. No one has ever made me crave being kissed or touched the way I do with you.
Maybe the gods are rewarding me for enduring all the bullying and lies in my hometown, for being ostracized and forced to leave the only life I’ve ever known. Maybe I’m being given a gift for being the perfect daughter all these years that never made waves and always did what was expected of her. I don’t know! Maybe it’s that I never took any of those fumbling guys up on their offers and waited patiently for you. All I know is I’m yours, all of me. If you want me, and I think you do. I don’t even care if it’s not forever. Although I’m sure it would break me if it wasn’t, because I’m convinced no one will ever make me feel the way you make me feel. No one will ever smell the way you smell. Kiss me the way you kiss me. Touch me the way you touch me. Make my body come alive the way it does for you.
