Chapter 9
CHAPTER
NINE
EVEREST
“Uggghhh.” I sprawl awkwardly across the top of the front desk at Mars, head slumped forward, arms hanging off the opposite edge.
From behind the counter, Sawyer pats me on the head. “There. There.”
Without moving, I give him the middle finger. “Shut up. You have no idea what it’s like raising a kid.”
“Nope!” Sawyer agrees with way too much delight. “And I don’t plan on finding out. Not for a long while, at least. Preston and I really aren’t kids people.”
It’s been a couple weeks—or maybe three, time is meaningless—since Owen and I were left to raise Ivy on our own. I knew raising a kid wasn’t easy. Everyone warned me that it wasn’t. But no one told me it would be this fucking hard!
Ivy is an angel , a cranky, moody, stubborn angel who goes from dead tired to hyper and back in the time it takes me to do a burpee. She’s adorable, but she’s exhausting . I don’t know how the hell Eden and Jeremy managed to both hold down full-time jobs and parent at the same time.
Sawyer shoves a newly laundered towel at me. “Fold.” He grabs a second one from the pile he pulled from the dryer and shakes it out. “Is it really that bad? I mean, it could be worse, right? You could be doing it all by yourself?”
With a loud groan, I heave myself upright. Doing it all by myself sounds like both a dream and a nightmare at this point. Splitting the responsibilities with someone else is obviously better, but with Owen, of all people? Ugh. Kill me now.
“I don’t know, man. It might be easier that way. Owen’s like a fucking drill sergeant trying to get Ivy to grow up and fall in line. Like, dude, she’s six years old and she just lost her parents. Chill the fuck out.”
Sawyer looks alarmed. “What’s he doing?”
I slide my folded towel to the side and gesture for another. “Just like, stuff. Like, get up early, wear these clothes, eat this food, go to school, pick up your toys, go to bed.”
Sawyer arches an eyebrow at me. “Isn’t that what parents are supposed to do?”
“Yeah, but like, not like that!” I exclaim, throwing my hands into the air. They land with a soft thud on the fluffy towel.
“Then like what?” Sawyer looks at me like I’m delusional.
But I’m not. Sawyer doesn’t get it. He doesn’t have to go home to Owen and Ivy facing off, with tension crackling in the air. It feels like I’m stepping into a war zone every single time, but the thing is, it doesn’t have to be. Owen just needs to stop being a fucking asshole. But that’s never going to happen.
“It’s like this. Owen is like, determined to make Ivy’s life a living hell. He’s an emotional robot, you know what I mean? They’re constantly arguing over every little thing, and then she starts crying and throws a temper tantrum, and guess who has to step in to get her to stop?” I point at myself with both hands. “Me. That’s who.”
Sawyer looks skeptical, like he’s not buying what I’m selling. That irritates me even more. He’s supposed to be on my side, damn it. He’s my friend.
“Maybe he’s just grieving in his own way. Like, he needs more structure or like, forward momentum, or else he’ll fall apart.”
“Or maybe he’s just an unfeeling asshole,” I mutter.
“Who’s an unfeeling asshole?” Logan comes bouncing over from the juice bar on the other side of the front lobby. He’s the barista and he’s always coming up with the weirdest—but oddly tasty—concoctions.
“Owen,” Sawyer explains. “They’re not getting along.”
Logan’s eyes go big. “Ooo… you mean that hottie? The one you’re living with now?”
I roll my eyes and scoff. “Not even. Did you know that he hasn’t given up his apartment yet? I’ve already moved all my things into the house, but he’s still going back to his place all the fucking time.”
“Maybe he’s got too much stuff to bring over all at once?” Logan offers unhelpfully. “Or maybe he’s got a pet tarantula he needs to feed. Or maybe he’s got a sex dungeon where he takes unsuspecting victims. Or you know, maybe he’s a spy!”
Sawyer and I exchange a guilty look. A few months ago, Logan’s boyfriend was being sketchy AF and we’d made up a bunch of wild theories. It turns out he was actually a spy. Oops.
“I’m like, ninety-nine point nine percent sure Owen’s not a spy. He’s nowhere near that cool.”
“Either way, you should talk to him,” Sawyer says. “You know, ‘cause you’re both adults? And communication is good?”
“Yeah.” Logan nods enthusiastically. “Communication is the key to every healthy relationship.”
Sawyer lifts a hand and Logan slaps it in a high-five.
I glare at my two best friends. “I hate you both.”
They burst into giggles.
With a roll of my eyes, I push away from the counter. “Whatever. I have a class to teach. Later, losers.”
The fitness studio I use for my classes is next to Mars’s spin studio. Donnie, the spin instructor, is just finishing up his class as I pass by. I give him a wave and he up nods in return. Most of my regulars are already warming up when I step inside the fitness studio, spaced out from each other with skipping ropes ready and waiting at their feet.
“Hey, hey, hey!” I call out, as much for myself as for them. My classes are upbeat and intense and I need to get myself into the right headspace before they start. Owen is a problem for future me. Present me needs to deliver the best fucking class I can. “You guys ready to get your skip on?!”
“Yeah!” They shout back, their enthusiasm helping to get my blood pumping.
“Hell, yeah!” I grab my own rope and pull out my phone to sync it up with the sound system. I take my hat off to loop the mic headset over my ears, then settle my cap on backward again. When it’s time to start the class, the room is at capacity.
“We’re gonna show the rope who’s boss!” I shout as I crank up the music and bop my head to the beat. “Let’s gooooo!”
This is one of my favorite classes. It’s almost like dancing, but with a skipping rope, which makes me feel like a kid again. I can get fancy with the footwork, do some neat tricks, put it all together into a routine. The music reverberates through my body, almost therapeutic. And it’s just so much damn fun. We’re all smiling and laughing and the hour flies by.
“Woooo!!!” I holler as we run through the routine I taught them one last time. “Good job, guys! Y’all did amazing!”
They’ll all feel it tomorrow—in their calves, thighs, abs, arms. It might not seem like it in the middle of class but skipping is a full-body workout.
I drop my rope to the side and hop over to the sound system to switch to the cooldown playlist. Except, when I wake the screen of my phone, a dozen notifications are waiting for me. What the fuck?
I scan them quickly as my stomach drops. They’re from Ivy’s school. Missed calls and voicemail messages and text messages—half a dozen of them. From Owen too, same thing. They’ve all been trying to get a hold of me while I was teaching.
“Everest, you okay?” one of the regulars in the class asks me.
“Uh…” I stare at my phone, paralyzed with indecision. There are only a few minutes left of class and cool down is an important part of any workout. I should stay and finish out the hour.
But Ivy. Something’s happened. Probably something bad. I’ve already missed so many messages, I shouldn’t waste any more time, right?
“Hey, you alright?” The regular—Willis, I think his name is—comes up to ask quietly.
“It’s my niece.” I show him my phone, as if the notifications will mean anything to him. “I think something’s happened.”
“You want to call them back?”
“I should, shouldn’t I?”
Willis nods with a sympathetic smile. “Yeah, you should.”
“But what about…” I glance at the other students milling around waiting for me.
“Don’t worry about us. I can do the cool down,” Willis says, already backing away.
“Are you sure?” I ask with my heart in my throat. Owen may think I’m a kid, but I take my job seriously. I don’t want to leave my class before it’s finished.
“Yeah.” He laughs. “I’ve done it a million times. We’re good. You go.”
“Thank you.” Gratitude sweeps through me as I rip off the mic and my hat goes tumbling to the floor. Someone swipes it up and hands it to me. “Thank you!”
I hit redial on my phone and hold it to my ear as I sprint to the staff locker room to grab my things. The call rings and rings before someone finally fucking picks up.
“Hello! Hi! I’m Everest Wheeler. Ivy’s uncle. You called me? What happened? Is she okay?” I squeeze the phone between my ear and shoulder while throwing all my things into my duffel bag.
“Mr. Wheeler, thank you for returning our call.” The woman on the other end of the line sounds way too calm.
I don’t need her to be calm. I need her to tell me why the fuck they called me in the middle of the school day. Slamming my locker door shut, I grab my duffel and race back toward the gym’s main entrance.
“There was an incident?—”
“Incident? What the fu—uh, what does that mean? Is she okay? Is she hurt? Do we need to take her to the hospital?”
“No, Ivy’s not injured. But there was an altercation with another student. When we couldn’t get a hold of you, we called Mr. Lambert.”
I screech to a halt in the middle of the front lobby. My heart is pounding, fueled by the high from my class and worry about Ivy. But at the mention of Owen’s name, it stops. My stomach twists into a giant knot. “You called Owen?” That must be why I had all those notifications from him too.
“Yes, she was quite distraught, so we thought it best to send her home.”
“He picked her up already?” Please say no, please say no.
“Yes. About ten minutes ago.”
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, shit, fuck. I was supposed to pick Ivy up from school today because Owen has a shift at that animal hospital of his. If he picked her up, it means he had to leave work, which means he’ll lord it over me and I’ll never hear the fucking end of it.
“I suggest you get in touch with Mr. Lambert.”
I shove down the urge to scream. “Yeah, yeah, right. Okay. Thanks.”
“Everything alright?” Logan asks from behind his juice bar.
I shake my head. “No, something happened with Ivy. I need to go.”
Logan’s expression of concern would be comical if I wasn’t so amped up on adrenaline and worry and dread. He makes a shooing motion with his hands. “Go. Go. I’ll tell Beau.”
I race out onto the street, my stomach threatening to empty its contents. I don’t know what I’m going to find when I get home, but it’s not going to be anything good.