“Everett,” I pant. “You’re drunk and not thinking clearly and I’m?—”
Old Summer is desperate to lean into this delicious feeling. New Summer knows this is a bad idea. When his lips fuse to my neck, I finally get a gulp of air. A grip on reality. He might not actually want this—me. The heightened emotions and high blood-alcohol level pumping through his veins could be to blame.
I could sleep with him. Shove aside every reason why we shouldn’t do this. Remove every piece of clothing that stands between us and get lost in him. But we could both wake up tomorrow and regret it. I want this with Everett, not angry Rhett Dawson.
“I think we should stop,” I get out.
As if my words are a bucket of ice water, he rips his lips from my body and stalks away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and leaving me plastered against the wall. I gulp down more air. It’s not enough to fill my starved lungs.
“What do you want from me, Summer? Why are you here?” he shouts.
“I came to see?—”
“If I’m okay. Yeah, you said that already. I mean why are youhere?” He points to his own head. “Fucking with my head. The only sound I hear.” He collapses on the couch again, his breathing ragged for several minutes before sleep takes him.
I retrieve the baby monitor, run inside for a blanket, and come back out to cover him up. He doesn’t even stir at the sweep of a broom or snap of the garbage can lid. It’s not a deepclean but I make sure there’s nothing he can step or fall on that could puncture skin. Then I go back into the house. I plug in the baby monitor by the kitchen sink and lie down on the couch. I google APD and soak up every article the internet has to offer on the subject before I finally close my eyes. I want to be rested if Everett or Quinn need me.
One thing’s for sure… there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for him and his little girl.
19
EVERETT
Iwake sometime in the middle of the night drenched in sweat. My studio looks very different from how I left it before passing out. I know without having to think about it who is responsible for that. Fractured moments from earlier drift in and out of focus. Some of the things I said have bile creeping up my throat. Or maybe that’s the empty bottle of alcohol eating at my insides.
It’s long past ten o’clock, and the image of Quinn sleeping in the house alone has me bolting from the couch. A weight in my pocket bats against my thigh. I forgot I stuffed my phone in there. My head swims as I bound down the stairs two steps at a time and then across the driveway. I slow when I see Summer’s car. Guilt coils through my stomach. No matter how upset I was, I should have never started drinking. Minus the cocktail I shared with her last week, it’s been months since I’ve touched alcohol and for good reason. I have a responsibility that shouldn’t be up to the woman who… is asleep on my couch?
She’s curled up in the fetal position and—mostly—covered with a blanket. One bare leg has slipped from the fabric andhangs limply over the edge of the sofa. Even sleeping, Summer takes my breath away.
Her skin is still warm minus the exposed limb. She sighs when I slip it beneath the blanket.
She stayed. That’s all I can think about when I look at her. Physically, emotionally, in every way, I’ve been relying on her. I promised myself a long time ago I’d never need anyone. I don’t know how not to need Summer.
I check on Quinn next, kneeling by the side of her bed. A soft hum exits her parted lips as I brush a thumb across her cheek.
She asked for you.
Summer’s declaration swims in my mind as I look at Quinn. I’ve never taken the time to sit and marvel at the beautiful little person El and I created together. Marvel and mourn too.
I clutch her hand and whisper against her cheek, “I’m sorry.” What I wouldn’t give for Quinn to have every part of her mom. Not just her dark eyelashes, wild hair, and heart-stopping smile. “I’m so sorry.”
I kiss her cheek just like Summer said I would, making grand promises my heart is desperate to trust. “You’re going to be okay.We’regoing to be okay. I won’t let you go through this alone.”
I choose to believe the twitch of her hand in mine means she heard me. A confirmation that she knows I’ll stay as long as she needs. And that’s exactly what I do.
The next time I wake it’s to the smell of bacon. A groan leaves my lips. Every part of my body aches. I know I can only blame a fraction of that on Quinn’s floor. I should shower, but the growl in my stomach leads me to the kitchen instead.
Summer is flitting around in an apron with Emma’s handprints on the front pockets. She’s bathed in golden light from the window over the sink, and I can’t takemy eyes off her.
“You’re still here.”
She startles. “Oh! You’re awake. Good morning! How are you feeling? Would you like some coffee?” She volleys at least a half dozen more questions in my direction.
All I manage to get out is, “With a side of Advil, please.”
“That good, huh?” She chuckles softly to herself.
Steam curls from the top of the mug she hands me.
