Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
EVERLEIGH
“I didn’t care about me.” His words feel like they are tormented. “After I lost you, I wanted to die. I begged to die.” I gasp at this information. Never, and I mean never, would I have thought that my big, strong, protector of a man would go down to that. “I couldn’t even look myself in the mirror. I knew you would be pissed at me, but I never thought you would leave me. I guess I had hoped that it would all work out. I took the risk, and it was bigger than I thought it would be.” I watch him go through the emotions that he should have gone through all those years ago, but now, sitting in front of him, I can see I wasn’t the only one who suffered from this. He did too; he suffered along with me. I may have blocked it out because it was easier for me to hate him, thinking he did it because he didn’t care about me. “It will forever be the biggest regret of my life.” His words feel like they are ripped from his soul.
“Thank you”—I feel my body shaking—“for finally being honest with me.” I can see the hurt on his face, and I hold up my hand. “I don’t mean it like that. I mean it…” I look up at the ceiling and use the back of my hand to wipe away the tears from my cheeks. “I thought it was easy for you.” It’s my turn to give him my side of it. “I thought you did all that, and you didn’t care that you were doing it.” He shakes his head furiously back and forth. His elbows go on his knees as he looks down at his shoes and then looks back up at me, and I can see his own tears in his eyes.
“Fuck, Everleigh.” He uses my name instead of baby, and it hurts. “It ate me up inside.”
“You should have told me, Brock,” I whisper. “You should have been honest with me.”
“I didn’t want it to touch you.” He runs one hand through his hair. “I didn’t want their hands on you. I wanted you as far away from them as I could get you.”
“But don’t you see,” I say, “they had you, and in return, they had me, and I had no idea.” I wait for it to sink in, wait for him to see it. “I needed to know what I was up against, and you took it away from me.”
“I’m sorry.” His voice is so soft. “I’m so fucking sorry. I wish things were fucking different.”
“I do too,” I admit. “I do too.” He looks like he wants to say something else, but the oven beeps. He gets up and walks over to the kitchen, and I take a look around, seeing the home he created for him and his daughter. Little picture frames are scattered around the house. There are pieces of Saige everywhere. One of her sweaters is folded on the end of the couch, a couple of her notepads are in the middle of the coffee table. I suddenly wonder what kind of father he is. I suddenly want to know more, but I’m not sure my heart can take it.
“Did you still want to stay for dinner?” he asks, and my head turns from the notepads on the table to him standing in the middle of the kitchen, taking off an oven mitt.
“I do,” I confirm, getting up. “If that is okay with you, that is.” I walk over to the island and stand with it between us. “I could also leave if you don’t want me here.”
I wait with almost bated breath for him to answer me. “I would like nothing more than to have dinner with you.” He stares into my eyes as he says the words.
“Good.” I try not to smile, but it fills my face anyway. “What can I do to help?”
“Sit down”—he motions with his head to one of the stools—“and relax.”
“That I think I can do.” I turn back and walk to the table to grab our beers before heading over to the kitchen. I walk around the island to hand him his beer. He reaches up for it and gives me a soft smile.
“Thank you,” he says, and I can feel the electricity in the room between us. It’s always been there. My question is, will it always be there? He stares at me longer than he should, yet not long enough for my liking.
I pull out the stool and sit on it. “Tell me what you’ve been up to.”
He walks over to the fridge, grabbing the meat. “Not much. You left.” The words sting. “Dad died soon after. I was stupid and drunk and got Karla pregnant after one night with her.” He takes a deep inhale, and the words hurt. “Had Saige, and she’s been the second best thing that ever happened to me.” He tosses down the package of meat before grabbing his beer, extending one hand to the side of the counter. “You being the first thing.”
I pick up my own bottle of beer, bringing it to my lips. “She’s pretty amazing.” I take a pull. “Your daughter, not Karla.”
He chuckles. “I would agree with you on that one.” He puts his beer down and grabs a bowl. “So tell me,” he says as he walks around his kitchen, grabbing things, “what have you been up to since you left?”
“Well, I live in Chicago,” I say, and he nods. “Which you probably know anyway.”
“I don’t,” he admits. “I know nothing about you. I know you left, but I refused to hear anything that had to do with you.”
“Well, same,” I confess to him with a chuckle. “I knew you had a daughter.” I bring the beer to my lips to keep my hands busy. “But I stopped Mom from telling me anything else.”
“What do you do in Chicago?” He veers away from the conversation about him having a child with someone else, someone who was always all over him.
“I work for a company that does marketing for all different companies,” I say. “If you need marketing for whatever, you come to the company and they outsource it.”
“Do you like what you do?” he asks as he prepares the steak, and I shrug.
“It’s work, so sometimes I love it, sometimes I don’t.” He nods. “What about you? Why didn’t you ever go back to architecture?”
“I wanted nothing to do with it. I didn’t want to look at another drawing. I wanted none of that,” he explains. “I’m happy running the shop. I make my own hours. I’m there to take Saige to school and pick her up. I provide a decent house for her.”
“It’s beautiful.” The words slip out of my mouth before I can stop them. “You created a beautiful home.”
He doesn’t say anything, but instead, he nods at me. “I’m going to go and do the grill.” He motions with his head toward the door. “Can you set the table?”
“Yeah, I can do that.” I push away. “Do you want to eat at the island or?—”
“You decide, baby,” he says softly, walking out of the room, making me watch his back. Trying not to let the way he said my nickname get to me, I walk behind the island and open a couple of cabinets before I find the plates. I grab two plates and then walk over to the dining table off the kitchen, and I’m wondering if we should eat at the island. I’m in the middle of looking from one to the other when the back door opens, and he comes in and looks at me. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m thinking I don’t know if you eat at the table or the island.”
“Breakfast is at the island,” he says. “Dinner, we sit at the table.”
I nod at him, the tears stinging my eyes.
“Are you okay?”
“I don’t know,” I say because I may not have seen him in nine years, but I am not that different of a person that he doesn’t know me.
“Well, what did I say that you got that look on your face?”
“The fact you eat breakfast at the island and then dinner at the table,” I say, putting down the one plate. “That you have this routine you never had with me.”
“We had a routine.” He doesn’t move from his spot by the back door. “We would always have coffee sitting out on the deck,” he reminds me, “no matter what time it was, and dinner was always with us sitting next to each other. Whether it was on the couch, side by side, or standing, you were always beside me.” I nod. “I wanted Saige to have a routine.”
I smile at him, and I don’t plan to have the sob rip out from me, but it does, and it takes him five steps to take me in his arms. “I’m sorry.” I close my eyes. “It’s…” I shake my head. “I have to get over it.” I step out of his arms. “You should check on the steaks,” I say. “Is there a bathroom where I could freshen up?” I ask, and he looks at me.
“There is one in my bedroom.” He points at one side of the house. “The guest bathroom is right there.” He points at the other side of the house. “You can use either.”
“Thank you,” I reply, and even though my feet want to go to his bedroom, I walk to the other side of the room, into the guest bathroom. Once the door is closed behind me, I see that it’s really Saige’s bathroom. Her towels are hanging on the hooks, and her hairbrush is by the sink with a couple of hair ties. A laundry basket on the side is halfway full, and her toothbrush is in the holder with a tube beside it.
“He had a life after you,” I remind myself. “You need to move on.” I wet my hands and dab my cheeks before wiping my hands on a towel hanging on the rack and stepping out.
Brock is in the kitchen. The steak is on the table, along with a plate of potatoes next to a bowl of salad. “Are you okay?” he asks, and I shrug.
“I’ll get used to it.” I smile at him. “Now, where do you sit?”
He pulls out the chair he sits at, and I look at him. “Where does Saige sit?” I ask, not wanting to sit in her seat, and he motions to where I put the empty plate down before. I smile and walk over to the opposite side of the table next to him.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he says, and I sit down and smile up at him.
“It’s her spot, and no one should take it.” He nods as he sits down in the chair beside me. “It smells good.”
I grab the salad bowl and put some on my plate before offering it to him. “Stop making this weird.”
He chuckles as he grabs the bowl from me. “This is fucking weird,” he finally admits as he puts some on his own plate. “Never thought I’d be sitting at a table with you.”
I grab the plate of potatoes. “Well, to be honest, I never thought I’d be sitting at a table with you either.” The two of us just laugh as he takes his bottle of beer and brings it to his lips. “So now that all the heavy stuff is sort of behind us”— I cut into the steak he put on my plate—“Charlie and Autumn?” I question, and he nods.
“Did you hear about Brady and Winston’s wife?” he asks, cutting his own steak. “Well, ex-wife now, but it was so?—”
“I know, Autumn told me a little bit about it.” I shake my head. “Crazy, right? Like holy shit.”
“It’s good for Wyatt,” he says, of Harmony’s little boy, who Brady has taken under his wing and treats him exactly like he’s his. “He had a sorry excuse for a father, and now he has a real father.”
“I mean, Waylon wasn’t much of a prize, and I don’t want to talk ill of the dead.” I cut another piece of steak. “Actually, fuck that, I don’t care. I hope he’s rotting in fucking hell where he belongs. He ruined all of our lives. And like the coward he was, he’s not even here to face it.”
Brock leans back in his chair. “Even if he was, you think he would have answered for any of it?” I look at him, thinking, I was hoping with the time that went by, looking at him wouldn’t make my heart speed up. Hoping with the time that went by, that looking at him I would forget how much I loved him. Hoping with the time that went by, I would be able to sit at this very table, or any table, and not long for him. To be in his arms. To be kissed by his lips. To be loved by him.
“You’re right,” I agree with him, blinking away the tears. “As always,” I joke, and he puts his head back and laughs so loud I can’t help but join him in the laughing.
We finish eating the meal not really saying much, not sure what to say. When I push away from the table, I start to help him clean up. “Where do you want to have dessert?” I ask when I wipe the water from my hands. I can see the twinkle in his eye, and then he looks away as he smirks. “For my donuts,” I stress, and his eyebrows just shoot up at me. “That didn’t sound better either.” I toss the dishrag at him, and he catches it with one hand as I stand in front of him.
“We can have it outside, sitting on the porch,” he suggests. “Do you want coffee?”
“No, I have to be up at three,” I explain to him. “I’m making the donuts in Mom’s kitchen.”
“How much is she itching to get back to work?” he asks, taking the plate from the island and unwrapping them.
“She’s fit to be tied,” I share as he picks up one and takes a bite and then looks at me.
“These aren’t your mom’s,” he says to me right away as he looks down at the donuts. I shake my head.
“No.” I smile, putting one foot on the other. “Those are my creation. I roll them until they are paper thin and then stack them on top of each other so they are flaky.” He takes another bite. “Are they good?”
“No.” He shakes his head, making my heart stop in my chest. “They are better than good.” I roll my eyes and breathe a sigh of relief.
“You’re a jerk,” I kid with him, and he puts the donut down on the plate.
“I should go,” I say, and he looks up at me.
“I don’t want you to,” he says softly and slides his hand in mine. “Come and sit with me outside.” He moves quietly outside to his back deck, where there is a long L-shaped patio couch. He goes to sit in the corner, stretching out his legs. “Sit with me,” he urges, pulling down my hand.
I sit beside him, looking out into the darkness and curling my feet under me. He wraps his arm that was holding my hand around my shoulders, pulling me into his side. I shouldn’t be here with him, but there is nowhere else in the world I would rather be than right here. I put my head on his shoulder, looking out into the darkness. The next thing I know, my eyes are so heavy I can’t open them.
“Baby.” I hear his voice softly, and when my eyes flutter open, I’m lying with my head in his lap, right on top of his hard cock. I push up, looking at him. “It’s almost three.”
I sit up. “What?” I ask him, and he rubs his eyes.
“We fell asleep,” he explains, and I sit up, blinking away the sleep from my eyes.
“Shit,” I swear, getting up. “I closed my eyes for a minute.”
“Well, it was a little bit more than six hours,” he corrects, getting up with me.
“I have to go,” I say and walk to the door with him on my heels. “Thank you so much.”
“For what?” he asks, standing there looking at me with sleep in his eyes.
“For dinner,” I reply, and I want to lean up and kiss him. So I do, but instead of kissing his lips like I want to, I kiss his cheek. I’m about to walk out the door, but he spins me to face him. His hands go into my hair. Fisting it, he tilts my head to the side, and he kisses me. It’s wet, it’s wild, and it’s fucking everything. My tongue mixes with his, and he kisses me until I don’t even know my own name anymore.
He finally lets my lips go, and I open my eyes. “Have a good day, baby,” he says as I turn and walk out of the house, my lips still wet from his kiss and tingling. I’m in a daze, and when I get home, the last thing I’m expecting is for my mother to be sitting up waiting for me.
“Hey,” I say, walking in and kicking off my shoes, “did you just get up?”
“What are you doing?” she asks, getting up from her spot in her chair.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I reply to her, confused, as she stands in front of me with her hands on her hips.
“That man has been a shell of a man since you left,” she says, her voice tight but soft at the same time. “And now you are doing the same thing to him that you did back then.” Her words shock me, but she’s not done. “You are going to leave here and go back to your life, and he is going to stay here. But now he’s older and he has a daughter he has to worry about and not just you.”
“Mom,” I say as my chest tightens, her voice and words penetrating so much that my breathing is coming in pants.
“And what about you?” She raises her hand, pointing at me. “What are you going to do? How are you going to feel when you leave here?” I swallow down the lump in my throat. “You haven’t had anyone in your life since him.” I softly gasp. “No, I want you to be happy. You have a life, and you haven’t done a thing since you left here. Sure, you’re successful, but what else do you have?” She shakes her head, and she wipes the tears away that are rolling down her face. “You don’t think I know what it’s like to love someone from afar?” she says. “I know more than you think I know. You get one chance at love in your life. I’m not talking about loving someone. I’m talking about falling in love with someone so much that your heart hurts when you aren’t with them. That you literally don’t think you’ll be able to live if they are not there. It’s a love that is so consuming you know you will never love someone like you love that person.” The way she is talking, it’s like she’s reliving something. I watch the pain on her face, and I know this isn’t only about me.
“Are you talking about me”—I point at myself—“or are you talking about you?”
“I’m talking about walking away from someone and sacrificing what you want for them.” Her voice rises. “You are going to leave here and then what? You are going to have to walk away from him again. This time without the hatred in your heart. Without thinking that you never want to see him again. This time, you are going to have to walk away from him knowing in your heart you will never love anyone like you love him, and where will that leave you?” She shakes her head. “You live there; he lives here. He has a child he has to think about. He’s living for his child. I’ve watched him for the past nine years. Watched him live his life just existing, and the only time I’ve seen him smile is with his daughter. The only time I see a little light in his eyes is when he's with her.” She inhales. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” she finally says before walking away from me and toward her bedroom. She leaves me in the middle of the living room, asking myself the same thing. How the hell am I going to leave him again?