Giggling, she drags her thumb across my lips to remove the stain.
When I suck her thumb into my mouth, her eyes go dark, hungry, but just as quickly shutter and go blank. “C’mon. The car will be waiting.” Her smile is sweet, her hand on my cheek soft, caressing.
If I didn’t know her so well, I’d think everything is fine. But I do and she’s compartmentalizing—like the pro she is. It puts a pit in my stomach that I tuck away because we have an event and people expect us to show up smiling. Turning, I place my palm on the exposed skin of her lower back and guide her out the front door.
As charity events go, this one didn’t suck. More casual than most formal events, I actually enjoyed myself. Ever’s new boss is so cool, such a nice guy, and seems to genuinely care about the overall health of his players. I’m impressed with the organization—and him. I’m thrilled she’s a part of the program. I hope it snaps her out of her funk. And I think it will. Head coach, Jason Ross, seems genuinely interested in her new endeavor, said that his assistant discovered her (them) on socials and thought their program would align perfectly with his plans for the ongoing mental health support of his athletes. He spent most of his free time this evening with our group, picking our brains—all of us—about ASH, the McKay Method and our lives in general. Truly one of the best nights I’ve spent “working” in...maybe ever.
Now back at home, Ever is back in the mirror, removing her earrings and slipping off her high heels. The heavy sigh that escapes her lips as her bare foot hits the fuzzy rug beneath her has me pausing my own stripping down routine. “Hey, pretty girl, how ya doin’?”
“Good, Julie. Just tired.” She doesn’t meet my eyes in the mirror or turn to face me when she answers. “Gonna go wash off my makeup.” She briefly smiles at me as she moves past me into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. Within minutes she pads barefooted into the kitchen, sans makeup, wearing one of my T-shirts, and pulls a mug down from the cabinet. “Want some hot tea?”
“No, baby. I’m good. How about a foot massage?” She squints her eyes at me. “You, I mean. You stood in heels all night. Thought maybe...”
“I mean, I wouldn’t say no.” She smiles sweetly and proceeds to make herself some tea. With her steaming mug, she shuffles to the couch and settles into the cushions as I’m coming down the short hallway with her favorite lotion. Tucking in next to her, I lift her legs, drape them over my thighs and begin rubbing them. Turning sideways to give me better access, she drapes her elbow along the back of the couch and rests her cheek on her arm, watching me. “Mmm, that feels divine.” Her eyes roll back and drift closed as another moan escapes her lips.
“Tired?”
Her mug of tea is all but forgotten, steaming on a coaster on the edge of the coffee table.
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Talk to me, Ever. You know the drill. You study this. Don’t stuff it all down. Tell me what’s going on in there.” I toss my chin toward her. She sighs heavily and opens her mouth to speak, then closes it again. “You know you can say whatever you want to me.”
“Do I? Can I?” Her eyes take on that haunted saucer look I’ve only seen a few times.
“Absolutely. I don’t want sugar-coated or watered down Ever. I want you. Whatever it is. Just say it.”
“I want you, too. I miss you. Us. But I’m scared.” I didn’t expect that.
“I don’t understand. I’m right here.” I stop rubbing her feet to drag her onto my lap. She curls her legs and pushes her feet between mythighs and tucks them under one of my legs. “Break this down for me, babe. What do you mean, you miss me? Not trying to be dense here, but what are you scared of? Help me understand.” I rub my hands up and down her arm while she tucks her head into my neck and draws lazy circles over my shirt where she knows my tattoo is.
“It’s been four weeks,” she huffs.
I wait but she doesn’t elaborate.
“I’m well aware.” I chuckle and so does she.
“So...I miss you.” She nuzzles her nose into my ear, her warm breath sending mini shockwaves through my system.
“Again, I’m right here. All yours. All in. You don’t even have to ask.”
She stops tracing my chest. “I’m scared of...getting pregnant. Of it happening again.”
“Ever girl.” It’s my turn to sigh. “Do you know only like one to two percent of pregnancies are ectopic? There’s very little chance of it happening in the first place, let alone happening again, especially on the pill.”
She nods her head against my neck. “You researched?” She pets my cheek.
“I did.” I don’t look at her, just lean into her touch.
“I guess I’m just psyching myself out.” She shakes her head a little, like she’s trying to shake it off—her feelings—tuck it away.
“That’s fair. It was fucking scary. For me, too. Finding you on the beach out cold is one of those things that lives rent-free in my head.” I squeeze my arms around her unconsciously. “But, baby, nothing is going to happen to you. I promise.”
“You can’t promise that.” She’s tracing my tattoo again.
“Idopromise. I will it to be true. I can’t lose you, Ever. I won’t lose you.” I lean my head back from hers enough to kiss her forehead. “C’mon. Let’s go to bed. I need to feel every inch of your body against every inch of mine. I hate picturing you the way I found you that day.” She opens her mouth to speak, but I cut her off. “But I’m glad we talked about it. I want you to always talk to me. Whatever it is.”
“I know. Thank you, Julie. Will you . . . can we . . . She lowers her lashes.
