“Talk to me, Ever. What’s going on in there?”
“I don’t know, okay? I’m pissed. And I’m pissed that I’m pissed. And I don’t wanna talk about it—especially with you.”
His eyebrows disappear into the hair spilling onto his forehead on my last words. He lifts his head off my shoulder like I smacked him. “Okay.” He steps back but doesn’t stop watching me in the mirror. Lifting his hands off the dresser, holding them out low at his sides, he asks, “What can I do?”
“I don’t know, Julian. Okay?” I blow a breath through my puffed cheeks and add, “Fire Callie?”
His smirk at my Callie remark sends a grudging smile to my own lips.
“There she is,” he says, his smirk going full-blown, closed-lipped smile, crinkling the outer corners of his eyes.
He turns me from the mirror and wraps his arms around me so tight I work to inhale a full breath. My arms hang at my sides at first, but his heavy sigh has me hanging them loosely around his hips. I never want to hurt this man. Ever. The tug of war inside me has my head spinning so I can’t form coherent thoughts. Then a traitorous tear slips from my eye. I brush my cheek on his shirt to hide it, but another one takes its place. I sniff to keep my nose from running, which I know alerts him to the tears—if he didn’t already know.
“Ever . . .” He drags out the end of my name on a sigh like it hurts him to say it.
I know he doesn’t like to see me upset. And therein lies my struggle. I want to stamp down my emotions so he’s okay.When do I get to feel my feelings?I ignore myself. “I’m fine. I just wanna go home.” As soon as the words come out, my old room flashes through my mind. Not Blue Lake. My childhood bedroom in Oak Valley. I don’t really want to go back there.Do I?I love my life in Blue Lake. With Julian. But right now, it doesn’t feel like my life. It feels like his life. In Blue Lake, I feel like his equal. His partner. Here, I feel like some tagalong with no life of her own. But is my life in Blue Lake even mine or ours? Or is it his with just more lines for me as a supporting character? It began as a fresh start, a way to escape, get away from all the bullshit in Oak Valley, but meeting Julian and working at Fit changed that. Now I want it to be my life. I want to be a contributing part of the life I havewithhim. And that means it’s on me to decide what that looks like. At some point I have to be able to say what it is I want, what I envision. I also have to know what that is before I can say it.
Quiet, agreeable Everly is going to have to speak up for the life I hope to have. And while that isn’t my MO, I am coming around to it—speaking my mind more. The reason for that, I know, has everything to do with the breathtakingly beautiful blue-eyed man before me and the way he makes me feel seen and understood. That my outer self is slowly reflecting my inner self is a testament to that. A small part of me worries that’s proof it’s all about him, but he’s never made me feel that way. The opposite in fact.
“About that . . .” The timber of his voice rumbling against my ear wants to soothe me, but his words trip my heartbeat.
Chapter 7
Julian
My arms tighten around her as I say it, even when she tries to pull back to look at me. I hold on a few seconds more before I loosen my arms enough for her to tilt her head back and pin me with her storm-cloud eyes. That she waits for me to continue reminds me yet again how good this young woman is at compartmentalizing. And why her losing her shit resonates deeper. She doesn’t throw fits and welcome the drama like most young women her age. That she did lose her shit tells me her nervous system is overloaded with a bunch of shit she’s not saying. I want to do nothing more than whisk her back to Blue Lake where her smile meets her eyes, her laugh is infectious, and her body is fluid. Not rigid like it is now. What I have to say isn’t going to help that. And being the fucking reason for that is making the tattooed spot on my chest ache.
“Ashley wants some personal content for the brand. He’s . . . sending Callie and Auz home with us for a couple days.”
After a short beat, she nods against my chest. She releases her loose hold on my waist to drag a fist down her cheek, and I know she’stucking it all away.Fuck!I hate myself a little right now. Like this is my fault somehow. I want to tell her that I’m doing all of this for us. Instinctively she knows this. I’m pretty sure she knows this.
“Okay, I’m . . . gonna grab a drink . . . some water from the kitchen and then finish packing. Want something?” She says all this without looking at me as she turns toward the door.
“No, thanks. I’m good.” When she opens the door, I add, “Ever?” She stops midway through the opening but doesn’t turn around. “It’s only a couple days. Okay?”
“Yep, I know. We’ll show them Blue Lake. It’ll be great for the brand.” She continues toward the stairs on the last part, not waiting for a reply.
Rubbing my chest, I tell myself that her feeling comfortable enough to throw a fit is probably a good thing. But when it came to facing me and owning it, she backed down. Became agreeable and retreated into herself. I want to be her safe place. I want her to show me all her sides and know that I’m not going anywhere. The timing of this content trip is not ideal. And Callie could dial down the focused attention. I mean, I know it’s her job and the brand is essentially me, but if someone—anyone—were showing that kind of attention to Ever, putting their hands on her all day long, I’d probably want to rip their head off. No, not probably. I know I would. And maybe it really is her job and she’s not trying to be flirty. It certainly didn’t feel like the same kind of obvious attention that Sylvie and her Fit flock give me.
By the time I packed my clothes and flopped down onto the bed, Ever still hadn’t returned from getting herself a drink. The anxious thud in my chest hadn’t quite diminished, so I started counting mybreaths. Deep inhale for a count of four. Hold for a count of four. Exhale for a count of four. I visualize my happiest place with each breath. It lulls me.
We’re at the cliffs. It’s Ever and me. Noah and Lilly. The midday sun is toasty and we’re about to jump. The water is sure to stop the sizzle on our skin. The rush of the leap. The splash breaking the glass surface. The plunge of the silky coolness enveloping me. Popping up into the light, I reach for her. She floats just out of my reach. I swim toward her and stretch my arm out to catch her, but she dips under the surface again, so I wait for her to reemerge. When she doesn’t, I turn in circles searching . . . looking for bubbles, ripples. Nothing. I slip under, looking for her in the murky water. Nothing. My chest aches with my held breath. When I can no longer hold it, I propel myself to the surface again, heaving air into my lungs.
My eyes bolt open. I’m clutching my chest, sucking air into my lungs. The room is dark. The hand clutching my chest flies to the side and finds her, and my brain rushes out of the dream and into reality. I’m here in bed, and Ever is next to me, sound asleep. I regulate my breathing quietly, hoping I don’t wake her. The last thing I remember is doing a relaxation technique, waiting for Ever to return. I guess it worked because I must’ve fallen asleep. The day was exhausting and long. It’s no surprise I crashed so hard. I gently rise from the bed to get water and see a full glass on my nightstand. I take quiet gulps and settle back onto the mattress. I don’t want to wake her, but the pit in my stomach won’t go away, so I roll onto my side and pull her into my chest. I inhale deeply with my nose pressed to the nape of her neck. Always warm sunshine.
Her hand reaches for mine and pulls it to her chest. She doesn’t stir beyond that.
I count my inhales and exhales until her scent pulls me under again.
***
Ever is the epitome of a composed, gracious guest as we say our goodbyes to Ashley and Allie. She’s mostly herself, if not quieter and more reserved. I don’t push and instead mirror her energy. It’s a default setting of mine—a survival instinct, my therapist told me once.
Ever doesn’t know much about where I come from or how I grew up, except that I used to live in Southy, where her closest friend, Lilly, grew up. Lilly is three years younger than me and the oldest of her siblings. That she doesn’t know me is not a stretch, despite the size of that shitty little town, and frankly, a relief. Besides, Julian McKay didn’t grow up in South Point. Jayce Keller did—mostly unseen. Like most everyone else in the mobile park. Unless they warranted a visit from the sheriff’s deputies, which my parents did on more than a few occasions. But that was my parents. No one paid attention to the quiet kid stuck in a shitty situation. And as I got older, I stayed gone as much as possible—a proven technique for staying off their radar and out of their codependent dysfunction-disguised-as-love shit show.
When I crashed into Allie, literally, over three years ago, and she asked my name, I wanted to disappear so completely that I choked giving her my real one. I spit out my middle name instead, along with my mother’s maiden name, McKay. My grandfather, my mom’s dad, is one of the few bright things I remember about my childhood. He came around a few times before he and my grandmother moved toFlorida. I was ten the last time I remember seeing him. He always asked if I was okay, happy. And I always said yes because I knew that’s what my mom wanted me to say. It’s twisted to me that little kids just want to make their parents happy—even shitty parents. Kids who want to please their parents above all learn to mask their trauma and perhaps set themselves up for the kind of meltdowns my girl encounters when faced with a storm of emotions. Anyhow, I couldn’t say for sure why, but Jayce Keller disappeared that day. Aided by the loss of Taya and threats from Russell Bennick, her father. I didn’t want to exist without her anyway. She gave me something in my miserable life to look forward to. Without her, I didn’t care to be Jayce anymore. I didn’t want to be anyone anymore. Allie changed that.
She’s one of less than a handful of adults to ever show me kindness. Teachers didn’t notice me, and I liked it that way. I much preferred they looked through me, like I wasn’t even there, to their sad sorry looks. Or worse, the concern that could warrant a visit from Child Protective Services, which would just get my ass kicked once they left. I could tell from a young age when they did see me, they looked at me differently than the other kids, pitying, although I didn’t know it at the time. I just knew I didn’t like it.
