Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
RAINE
T he drive home is relatively quiet other than the music playing through the speakers. It’s awkward and forced and I keep waiting for Everett to bite my head off for his run-in with my dad, but he hasn’t said a word since we left Etch ‘N’ Ink.
I don’t know what to say, though. I don’t know how to fix this or how to apologize. I glance at Everett again, but his expression is locked tight. I can’t get a read on it. Can’t get a read on him.
If I was in the car with Drake, he would’ve already bitten my head off. And if not, I would’ve at least known what to anticipate from his silence. It was always so heavy. Tense. Charged. Like it was meant to make me uncomfortable. With Everett? I’m not sure what it means, and the unknown is…triggering.
What are you thinking, Everett Taylor?
When we pull up to the cabin, he enters the garage and turns off the car but doesn’t reach for the door handle, so I don’t either. A not-so-small part of me wants to escape to the safety of my room, where I can drown in my own silence without second-guessing its meaning or waiting for the other shoe to drop. Instead I only…sit here. I wish I could read his mind. I wish I knew what he’s thinking or feeling or wanting from me.
“Thanks, uh, thanks again for the ride,” I offer.
His nod is mechanical at best.
I pick at my nails, unsure what to say or do. Why hasn’t he exploded yet?
Peeking over at him again, I realize I don’t know the outcome of tonight’s game. And, if I was still dating Drake, well, that would be a really, really big problem.
My stomach swells with unease, but I force my vocal cords to do their freaking job and ask, “So…how was the game?”
“We lost.” Everett shrugs. “It sucked.”
“Oh.” I nod. Desperate to fill the silence, I add, “Do you want me to cook dinner or anything? Or…leave you alone for the rest of the night? Or…I don’t know? Anything?”
He continues staring in front of him. “I’m good.”
His hand still rests on the steering wheel. I wait for him to open the door and climb out of the car or to pull it into a fist or…I don’t even know. “Okay, then?” My mouth feels like it’s full of cotton balls. “I mean…I guess I just…don’t really know what you want me to do right now.”
His brows crease, and for the first time since we left Etch ‘N’ Ink, he looks at me. “What?”
“I mean, if you were Drake after a hard game, you’d be pissed, and you’re acting…kind of pissed?” I hesitate and tilt my head, as if the new angle will give me a better assessment of the man behind the steering wheel. “But you said you’re not hungry, so I can’t exactly cook you dinner. And I can’t give you a blow job. I mean, I can give you a blow job, but I’m not going to because we both agreed this is…purely platonic, but?— ”
He shoots me a look. “Do you always ramble when you’re nervous?”
“Ramble or keep my mouth shut,” I offer. “There is no in-between.”
His nod is slow, but I swear I see his mouth twitch. Or maybe I imagine it because he still hasn’t reached for the door handle, and his lack of…I don't even know what…is starting to make me feel like I’m a crazy person.
“Not mad we lost the game, Raine,” he finally reveals.
“But you are mad,” I assume.
He scrubs his hand over his face. “I don’t know what I am, honestly.”
My attention moves from his chiseled profile and I look down at my hands instead. “Oh.”
“Confused, I guess,” he admits.
Confused? What does he have to be confused about? After the weird conversation I walked in on between Everett and my dad, and now this awkward silence while we’re parked in the garage, I’m pretty sure if anyone’s allowed to feel confused, it’s me.
As if he can hear my spiraling thoughts, he announces, “Your dad threatened to kill me for hurting you.”
I pull back, surprised. Not by my dad’s threat or that Everett’s sour mood has something to do with their interaction, but because of the second part. The hurting me part.
“Hurting me?” I ask.
“He isn’t stupid.” Everett drags his calloused fingertips against the black stitching along the steering wheel. Slowly. Methodically. “I know you want to hope he is so you can get away with all the lying, but it’s only gonna bite you in the ass.”
With a slow blink, I try to catch up with the topic change, but I’m only left reeling. “I-I never said he was stupid. ”
“You’re treating him like he is. Sweeping your split lip under the rug won’t fly with him.”
“I’m not sure how else you would’ve liked me to handle?—”
His scoff cuts me off as he faces me fully. “You could’ve started by defending me instead of letting him think I hit you.”
My jaw drops. “He doesn’t think?—”
“It’s exactly what he thinks.” He scrubs his face again, lets his heavy hand fall to his thigh, and rests his head against the headrest. “I’m still trying to figure out how he let you leave with me.”
Now that he mentions it, it’s a good question. One I don’t fully understand, either. Why did my dad let me go with him? I mean, I’m an adult, so it’s not like he can physically keep me locked up at Etch ‘N’ Ink, but still. If he really believes Everett’s the one who hit me, I’m surprised Everett isn’t in a body bag.
Nibbling on the edge of my thumb, I murmur the only plausible possibility. “He’s probably scared I’ll ghost him again. I’m not exactly proud of it, but…it’s what I’ve been doing for months now.”
As my words hang in the air, Everett pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “Did your dad know about Drake?”
Staring down at my hands in my lap, I try to ignore the shame accompanying his question. “Yes and no. It was one of the things I argued with my dad about most. I mentioned I was dating someone, my dad asked to meet him, Drake said he wanted nothing to do with my family, and round and round we went.”
“I introduced myself as Everett.” He sounds so…detached. Unable to hide my curiosity, I peek up at him only to find him looking as defeated as before. “Not sure if it’s gonna mess with your lie,” he adds, “but… ”
Shit.
“It’s fine,” I whisper. “I’ll figure it out.”
“Whatever you say, Raine.” Running his tongue between his upper teeth and top lip, he finally reaches for the door handle and heads inside without a backward glance. But the relief I was expecting? Yeah, it’s absent. Instead, all I’m left with is silence, which kills me. The way it burrows under my skin and leaves me itchy and uncomfortable. He’s hurt or frustrated or…something, and I don’t like it.
Without giving myself time to overthink things, I rush after him, desperate to fix this. Whatever’s bothering him. Whatever I did to reinforce his need to shut me out and keep his distance from me.
“I’m sorry,” I call out.
He slips his shoes off in the mudroom but doesn’t answer me. The door to the house closes behind him, leaving me alone in the dark garage.
With a twist of my wrist, I push the door open again and continue. “I really am. I’m sorry.”
“And what are you sorry for, Raine?” he demands.
Wiping my sweaty palms against my jeans, I try not to cower from his penetrating gaze and the accusation in it. “I didn’t defend you. I was so blindsided by you being in the shop I kind of…froze. And I know it’s no excuse, but I promise I’ll talk with my dad at my next shift. Make sure he knows you had nothing to do with”—I wave my hand around my face, motioning to my swollen lip—“this.”
A dry, gruff laugh escapes him. “Yeah, I’m sure he’ll believe you, too.”
“Seriously, Ev,” I grab his shirt sleeve to keep him from escaping down the hall despite it being my own game plan until he brought up his conversation with my dad. “I’m sorry. I really am. I know how shitty it must feel to be looked at like you’d hit me when I know you’d never cross that line, but?— ”
“Do you know I’d never hit you?” he challenges. His attention falls to where I’m touching him.
Shit. I would’ve never touched Drake like this. Not when we’re in the thick of an argument. Not that I’m arguing with Everett or anything, but still.
“Answer the question, Storm,” he pushes.
I hesitate and let him go. “What?”
“I want to know.” He turns those icy blue eyes on me. “You said you know I’d never cross that line. Do you?”
Looking down at his sock-clad feet, I whisper, “Honestly?”
He moves closer and nudges my chin up with his knuckle, silently calling me out for being too much of a coward to look him in the eye as I consider his question and all it entails.
When I meet his gaze again, my abdomen tightens with anticipation.
“Yeah, honestly ,” he repeats, throwing my own word back at me. “I think I’m over the lies for today. Aren’t you?”
“Yes.” My voice is hushed as I try to combat the swell of butterflies in my stomach. I always knew Everett was attractive, but when he looks like this? All stubborn and direct and prickly, it kind of makes me want to push him more. The realization is startling and only confirms my slip of the tongue from thirty seconds ago. My chin lifts an inch higher, and I whisper, “I know you would never hit me.”
A long pause follows. His eyes bounce around my face as if he’s a genuine lie detector or something. And even though it makes me want to run in the opposite direction, I keep my feet planted where they are and look up at him. Noting how his eyes are more navy around the outside of his iris and melt into a lighter, sky blue near his pupil. The way his lips are full and soft. My fingers itch to reach up and touch his scruff to see if it’s as prickly as it looks. If his jaw is as hard as it appears. I don’t know how he does it. How he can seem so genuine yet guarded at the same time. It’s confusing, and so is my body’s response. But fear? Fear is the last thing I feel. It’s so nonexistent I should seriously second-guess my sanity at this point, especially if he keeps looking at me like this. Like he might?—
“Then it’s enough.” His gaze falls to my mouth for the briefest of seconds before he drops his hand from my chin but doesn’t pull away. “You don’t need to make your life messier by defending me. We’re good.”
When his minty breath hits my cheeks, I realize how close we’re standing. And even without his shoes on and mine firmly on my feet, he still towers over me. It’s a reminder of how little power I actually have at this moment. The old me would’ve been afraid. I embarrassed him. Painted him in a bad light. He has every right to be frustrated with me, and if he was Drake, I’d be terrified of standing in front of him. Admitting my mistake. Yet here he is, calling me out for my shit without yelling or throwing things. Without making me want to run and hide and tuck my tail between my legs. The contrast with Drake is staggering. Even when Drake wasn’t physical, he always knew how to throw a verbal punch. Sometimes, those were even worse.
But Everett? Everett makes me feel…safe. And I honestly didn’t know if I’d ever be able to feel this way again. But what’s even crazier is how he doesn’t need my dad’s approval. Everett only needed me to confirm I know him better than to put him in the same category as Drake.
He has no idea.
I slowly step back, convinced that maybe if I have enough breathing room, my lungs will finally start working, and I won’t feel so lightheaded. “You’re a good guy, Ev,” I confide. “I guess I assumed you must be so used to hearing it you wouldn’t need any validation from me or my dad. Even if this is fake,” I clarify, though I’m not entirely sure who I’m trying to remind. “But just so we’re clear, you are. You’re a good guy. I mean it.”
It’s still dark inside. Nothing but the moon shining through the windows. I wish the lights were on now, though. Wish they could shine a light on how stupid it is for me to say something like this. Everything I've said is the truth, but we have our rules in place to keep any of this from becoming too real. And I’m afraid my little…rambling session hits too close to home. The last thing he needs is for his project—aka me—to catch feelings.
“Can you…get the lights?” I breathe out.
He nods slowly and leaves me near the door next to the garage to flick the kitchen light on. I slip my sneakers off, unsure where to go from here after I kind of, sort of peeled away some of the protective barriers I had in place until now. Until I stupidly started to wonder what it would be like to kiss Everett Taylor. To let him kiss me.
“Anything from Drake?” Everett asks as he tosses his keys onto the corner of the kitchen counter.
It’s the same question he’s asked at least twice a day since we moved in together. Since the first night we made lasagna, my answer has always been the same.
With a slow shake of my head, I reply, “Not a peep.”
He nods and opens the fridge, searching for a late-night dinner, but his absent gaze makes me feel like he’s somewhere else. It’s strange. How easily he can control his emotions. Locking each and every one of them into a small little container deep inside of him until only a stranger stands in front of me. As if he can feel my assessment, he clears his throat and turns to me. “I forgot to tell you I talked with Reeves the other day.”
Reeves. Right.
“Oh?” I offer weakly .
“Yeah. He asked if we want to keep laying low like we have been or if we want to lure Drake out.”
The name alone causes a ripple of wariness to crawl down my spine. Locking up my own freak-out over his name, I pull one of the leather barstools at the kitchen island out and sit down across from Everett. “And how would we do that?”
“Throw another party. See if Drake comes.”
“And if he does?” I ask. “What then?”
“Then we get the ball rolling and push him off a cliff.”
I snort. “Sounds like a solid plan.”
“Thought you’d like it.” A smile toys at the edge of his full lips before he sobers slightly. “What do you say? Keep laying low or throw a party?”
I play out all the potential outcomes as well as the consequences of either option. Not going to lie. It's been nice. Really nice. Lying low and pretending like my past with Drake is where it should be…in the past. I haven’t been lying when I told Everett Drake hasn’t called since his conversation with Everett the first night. While it should make me feel better, it’s only left me with more anxiety. I feel like I could walk into a trap any moment, and I’d never see it coming. I doubt it’s been easy for Everett, either. Being my chauffeur. My chef. My freaking butler half the time. And it’s all because he made his friend a promise. To protect someone in need. Someone like me.
With a deep breath, I decide, “Let’s lure the bastard out.”
“All right,” he answers. “I’ll get the ball rolling.”