Chapter 46 Everett
Chapter forty-six
Everett
Itap the toe of my boot impatiently against the tiled floor of the immigration line in London.
As soon as I got off the phone with Katy, I zipped my duffel bag and threw it in the truck.
I didn’t have enough time to get on a direct flight from Austin to London, because I wouldn’t have enough time to drive to the airport, but I managed to find a domestic flight from Austin to Charlotte, and booked myself on the last flight of the day from Charlotte to London.
The flight was an Air Albia one, and when I got to the gate, I found out that Amie had got me upgraded to premium economy, with extra leg room and sparkling wine on tap.
I settled for water, though, and a cup of coffee strong enough to run both of the plane’s engines shortly before we landed.
It’s early as hell—and the middle of the night in Austin—but the arrivals hall in the airport is a hive of activity. Still, I have tunnel vision. My eyes zero in on a familiar face, one with long lashes, hazel eyes, and framed with dark curls. Amie. She starts walking the second I reach her.
“How is she?”
“Well, the lights are on.”
“I’m sorry?”
“The lights are on, but no one’s home. She’s alive. Awake. Vaguely responsive. She won’t talk to us, though. She’s still hardly said anything.”
I bite back a curse as Amie leads me through crowds of people, cutting left and dodging right like it’s a path she could take with her eyes closed.
She probably could. One short bus ride later, we reach her car.
It’s bigger than a lot of cars in the lot, but compared to the vehicles we drive in Texas, it’s tiny.
I curl myself into the passenger seat and try not to watch as she drives on what feels like the wrong side of the too-small roads.
It’s only a short drive to her house, where she quickly runs inside.
I sit in the car in the driveway for a couple of minutes, and Cam and Maisy come out to visit me.
Cam lifts Maisy to lean in through the open window.
“Unca Evvy! You come and play planes?”
“Not right now, Maisy Girl,” Cam says with a soft chuckle. “Mommy is gonna take Uncle Ev to see Aunty Roo, and you and I are going swimming. Remember?”
“Swim, Daddy! I swim!”
Cam grins at his daughter, who wriggles free from his grasp and runs back into the house.
“She’ll be okay, man. She’s tough stuff. Whatever’s going on, the girls will help her figure it out.”
“Yeah,” I say with a sigh. “I sure hope so.”
“I know so.” Cam claps me on the shoulder through the window as Amie emerges with a duffel bag in hand.
She tosses it onto the back seat before Cam grabs her by the waist and pulls her close.
They hold a quiet conversation, with Amie running her hands through Cam’s floppy hair before she kisses him, and I avert my eyes, even though I’m just seeing them through the mirror.
Then, Amie slips back into the driver’s seat, and without much conversation at all, she drives us the fifteen minutes to Ruth’s apartment.
There’s something familiar about the smell of the stairwell, even though I’ve never been here before.
The closer we climb to the fourth floor, the more my nerves begin to set in.
I’ve no idea what to expect, what I’m going to find behind that door.
My sweet, beautiful Ruth looked utterly broken for the brief moment I saw her on yesterday’s call, and that was the first time I’d seen her face or heard her voice for almost a week.
She’s been radio silent, ignoring all of my messages, and I can’t pretend it hasn’t hurt.
That I haven’t been completely terrified about why that might be.
Paloma is at the cracked open door when we reach the top of the last flight.
“Has she eaten anything?”
“Nope. Katy made breakfast and she just picked at the edge of some toast.”
“Hi Paloma.” I know I’m short with her, but I can’t help myself.
I’ve waited far too long. I push my way through the door, leaving Amie, Paloma, and my own duffel bag behind as I hurry into the room.
It smells just like Ruth: vanilla, a little caramel, a little coffee.
The scent of toast and eggs lingers; an abandoned plate still full of food on the coffee table, three empty ones stacked neatly on the counter near the sink.
I drop to my knees in front of my wife, huddled in her brother’s arms, hiding from the world.
“Baby girl…” My hand barely makes contact with the blanket wrapped around her body before her shoulders begin to shake. She twists in Jay’s arms, reaching out for me and clinging on for dear life.
She’s lost weight since I saw her a couple of weeks ago.
Through the blanket, I run my hand up and down the length of her spine, feeling the ridge of every single bone along the way.
My other hand moves around to her side, holding her ribs, feeling each one.
I can’t see her face properly; she’s already buried it in my shoulder, and her tears are soaking through my shirt, but I know she’s pale and gaunt. My beautiful, broken girl.
“What’s going on, honey?” I press my lips to her hair, inhaling her vanilla perfume mixed with the musk of days spent on the sofa without showering. Even unwashed and tear-streaked, she’s beautiful, and there’s a hard clench in my gut that doesn’t begin to relax until her arms tighten around me.
“I fucked up, Ev.”
“No, honey, you didn’t. I’ve got you, Ruth.”
“I did. I ruined everything. I’ve let everyone down.”
“What do you mean, honey? You haven’t let anyone down.
” Amie is as Ruth always describes her: a calm voice of reason.
She takes a seat on the very edge of the sofa, where Ruth is perched halfway between my arms and Jay’s.
One of her hands strokes down Ruth’s hair, while the other rests on my arm for stability.
It’s warm, even through the thick flannel of my sleeve, and her nails are glossy and a pretty shade of almost-black green.
It looks nice against my green plaid. But then Ruth mumbles something into my shoulder, and I’m immediately reminded of why I’m here, why I packed so hurriedly and pushed my truck faster than it should be able to drive, why I rushed from Austin to London without even remembering to pack a toothbrush.
“Please, baby girl,” I plead. My throat feels thick, raw; my own voice is distant and hoarse and fighting to be heard over the pounding of my own heartbeat in my ears. “Please, talk to us. Let us help you.”
“I’m a failure,” she whispers between sobs. She lifts her head from my shoulder and looks me dead in the eyes. In front of me, Jay snorts. Katy whacks him lightly in the chest. “I’ve let everyone down. I’m so sorry.”
“You keep saying this, Roo, but you haven’t told us why.” Paloma sits with her legs crisscrossed beside me. She reaches one long, tattooed arm up to Ruth, resting a hand on her lower back. Ruth’s eyes harden slightly as she swings her brown gaze to meet Paloma’s blue one.
“Everything. I’ve failed at everything.”
“Because…” Jay stands from the sofa, swinging his right leg back and forth slowly, stretching it out. I remember Ruth telling me that’s the one he injured before he left the army. Katy looks up at him with concern, until he curls his lips into a tight smile. Paloma glares up at him and he shrugs.
“Because I’m useless and selfish and a terrible person and—”
“You stop that right now, Ruth Patricia Bevan, I won’t hear another fucking word.
” Jay’s voice is a low, rumbling warning, and from the look of surprise in all three of the girls’ eyes, it’s unexpected.
“You have never failed at anything in your life. You’re a fucking brat sometimes, but you’re not a terrible person. ”
I hold my tongue when Jay calls Ruth a fucking brat.
He’s her big brother, and I’m sure he looks at Ruth the way I look at Ashton—and Ashton is definitely a brat from time to time.
But Ruth is my wife, my heart, my soul, my sun and my moon, and all of the goddamn stars.
No one gets to call her a brat except me.
“Roo…” Katy says quietly. She hasn’t said a word since I arrived, only sat in the corner of the sectional with her feet tucked beneath her and eyes red and slightly puffy from tears. “Roo, we love you. Always. No matter what you do or where you are.”
“Even when you try to sing,” Amie mutters from somewhere behind me. Paloma snickers quietly. I bite back a smile. I’ve been unlucky enough to hear Ruth singing a few times now. She’s absolutely atrocious, but damn, I love the sound of her voice regardless.
“I quit my job.”
There’s a beat or two of silence, before everyone registers Ruth’s words and responds all at once.
“Excuse me?”
“You did what?”
“Why, Roo? What’s going on?”
“This conversation needs tequila.” Amie’s voice grows more distant and cupboard doors open and close quietly, before a stack of shot glasses and a glass bottle appear in my periphery. Paloma takes a glass and the bottle immediately.
“I hated it,” Ruth whispers quietly. It’s so quiet that, for a moment, I wonder if she even said it at all.
Or if anyone else heard it but me. But she has everyone’s attention, even Jay, who had been stretching both legs in turn whilst using the wall for stability.
He returns to his seat on the sofa, resting one large hand on Ruth’s shoulder.
“You never said anything, Rooey. Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I didn’t want you to hate me.”
The fissure in my heart grows, becoming more a canyon than a creek, until eventually, it breaks. It only took seven words.
“We could never hate you, Roo,” Katy says with a sniffle.
She leans forward, tipping onto her knees and crawling along the sofa until she’s pressed against Ruth.
I catch her eye over Ruth’s shoulder and she shakes her head slightly, tears streaming down her cheeks, leaving dark mascara stripes in their wake.
“I’ve let you down. I’ve let everyone down. I’ve wasted all of it, I’ve ruined everything.” Ruth sniffs loudly before more tears soak through my shirt. Katy cries against Ruth’s back, holding on to her friend, and Jay embraces them both.
“What have you wasted, exactly?” Paloma twists the cap off the tequila bottle and I wince as the potent aroma tickles at my nose.
“Everything. Time. Money. Everyone’s support. My potential.” The last word elicits a sardonic snort as Ruth curls into herself.
“We didn’t support you just to be a lawyer, Roo,” Amie says soothingly. It sounds like this might be her mom voice. It sounds like the kind of tone my mom used to use whenever Ashton or I had bad dreams and needed some comfort. “We supported you because we love you. Lawyer or not.”
“And we’d do it all again,” Paloma adds. “Here.” She nudges Ruth’s hand behind my back. It’s only when Ruth shifts, pulls her hand towards herself that I realise Paloma has pushed a shot glass filled with tequila into it.
“Lo, it’s ten in the morning,” Katy laughs through her own tears.
“Five o’ clock somewhere, babes. Bottoms up.”
Ruth brings the glass to her lips and downs the shot with a shudder and a heavy exhale.
Immediately, I take the chance to grab her chin between my thumb and forefinger, angle her face towards mine, and dip my head to crush my mouth to hers.
Nothing has ever tasted so good as expensive tequila on my wife’s lips at ten in the morning after a sleepless night of travel and three weeks with only the memory of her kiss.
“Ev,” she whispers, breaking away. Her eyes are dark, pupils blown wide.
The familiar pang of smug satisfaction ripples through me as I see the kiss affected her just as much as it did me.
I adjust my position, shifting my weight as I kneel on the rug and trying to pretend that one kiss didn’t make me almost painfully hard. “What are you doing here?”
The sudden clarity in her eyes says she’s only just realised I’m here.
“You, baby girl. I’m here for you.”