Not the same. He’s not going to hurt me, isn’t mad at me. More rational than people give him credit for; he can be reasoned with.
Taking a steadying breath, I step to the side, trying to get a better look in the room from the doorway since Everett hasn’t moved. “You know, if you didn’t pick up any fun stories for me while you were out, I’m not going to lose any sleep over it.”
Silence meets me, which is a blessing and a curse. No instant retorts like I hoped or buying into the lighthearted air he tries to keep in my company. He isn’t currently destroying anything though, and by the way Everett suddenly cocks his head, he wasn’t expecting him to calm down that quickly either.
His hand blocks my line of sight in the next instant as he snatches the knife out of the air that I never even saw Grave throw. My breath hitches in my chest as a thin line of blood trickles down his arm, his hand fisted around the blade. I don’t even swallow, can’t inhale. A few more inches, and it would have embedded itself between my eyes.
He was right, I have no idea what I’m doing. Pride before the fall; I was too caught up in thinking things were different between Grave and I, that me simply being here would help. But when in my life have I ever been able to help anybody?
No. No pity parties, this isn’t about me.
With my next breath, I step completely out from behind Everett. And on the next?
The knife in my hand whips blade over hilt until it hits its mark in his shoulder. It doesn’t sink all that deeply, slashing into his skin before clattering to the ground, but it does the trick and makes him pause. Grave is being irrational? Then fine; I will be too.
He’s shirtless, down to a pair of dark jeans that have seen better days, and the blood trickling down his chest is a sharp contrast in the harsh lighting. He blinks a few times before swiping a finger through the blood, leaving a broad streak of red over his skin. Bringing it to his face, his tongue flicks over the pad of his finger, like he needs to confirm that it’s actually real, unable to trust his senses.
Everett is already dragging me out of the room, slamming it behind us and whirling on me. “What in the actual fuck were you thinking?” He keeps a tight grip on the handle, the only shield standing between us and a stabby psychopath.
“He threw one at me first,” I defend, to which he simply gapes for a moment before a sharp, stunned laugh bursts from his lips.
Once he starts, he can’t seem to stop, too overtired and slap-happy. “Fuck, Elyse, no wonder he brought you back. You’re the same goddamn person.”
His laughter drains away as he glances back at the door. “Go back to your room,” he commands, pivoting for a better angle to dig his heels in, like he’s expecting it to be wrenched open in the next moment.
“Nope.”
His responding growl of annoyance doesn’t send me running from the hills like he thinks it will. I’ve been here long enough to know that Everett looks more intimidating that he actually is, his bark worse than his bite. I trust him as much as I do the man on the other side of that door.
“He isn’t some rabid dog, Ev. Let go of the door.”
Pinning me with a look that I’m sure is meant to measure my sanity, he stands up straighter, the first sign he’s about to cave. “For someone that doesn’t want to die, you’re too suicidal for your own good.”
Shrugging a single shoulder, I try to answer as honestly as I can. “There’s a huge difference between choosing to die and someone deciding to kill you.”
Holding my gaze, he releases the handle. “Let’s hope Maverick’s taught you enough to hold your own, then.”
Everett steps away from the door, but it doesn’t immediately fly open. It remains an ominous presence, both of us staring at it like we’re waiting for a bomb to go off, sending it flying from the hinges.
“This is ridiculous,” I mutter, striding right up to the door, banging my fist on it. “Unless you want me to shoot you next time, open the damn door and tell me what the problem is so I can stab that instead.”
Only silence meets me and my blood pressure rises, the adrenaline from the confrontation pushing me into recklessness. Cracking open the door, I stay partially tucked behind it in case another knife goes sailing in my direction, but after a few seconds, I finish shoving it open.
“God damn it, Elyse,” Ev grumbles, following me into the room and on edge. “Just let the guy cool down without pushing him.”
But as I see him still rooted to the same spot we left him, staring at his bloody fingers, I know that I’m doing the right thing. Rather than try to touch him, I stay where I am, not wanting to startle him.
“What set him off in the first place?” I whisper to Everett without turning away.
A heavy sigh escapes him that has me mentally bracing myself for a second wave of bad news. “Our lawyer is spinning an angle to keep all of us out of jail, and it means you going to stay with Julian for a while. And he wants you to stay away from Grave permanently.”
If I thought that I’d blanched when he delivered the blow about my father, it’s nothing compared to now. The breakfast incident with Julian replays in my head, and that was while the house was full of people. If he’s that confident with others nearby, what does that mean if we’re alone? Things might be going well recently, but as Maverick brought up, that might actually be worse. If he hates me, I stay as an employee trying to fly under the radar. If he actually has an interest? When it’s just the two of us in his house, playing whatever part their lawyer’s concocted?
Maybe getting knifed in the face tonight isn’t such a bad choice.
Before I can second guess myself, I grab Ev’s hand and drag him with me as I stride across the room, giving Grave a wide berth. My mind is whirling, so I can only imagine theirs. And as much as I’m worried about Grave, Everett can’t be handling the news much better, just internalizing it rather than destroying a room. It’s easy for Grave to steal the spotlight, but if I want whatever’s going on between the three of us to work, I can’t brush one of them aside in favor of constantly worrying about the other.
Just because someone doesn’t speak up, doesn’t mean they aren’t suffering.
