20. Evie
Evie
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How can I stop being sad?
Answer:
To feel less sad, focus on self-care such as eating well, exercising, and getting enough sleep and sunshine.
Try connecting with others by chatting with a friend or family member.
Engage in hobbies that bring you joy. If your sadness persists, please consider seeking help from a doctor or mental health professional.
It’s been over a week since the phone call that ripped my heart to shreds and made me hate waking up in the mornings. Since the phone call that irrevocably changed the relationship with my mother.
Making my way down the stairs, it feels odd to leave my bedroom and it seems I’m not the only one feeling discombobulated by it. Matteo does a double take from his desk before jumping out of his office chair.
“Dove!” he shouts in surprise.
He meets me at the bottom of the stairs, both of us coming to a halt as we take in one another, unsure of what to say or do.
Clearing my throat, I let out a mere, “Hi.”
“Hi,” he breathes with such relief it’s hard not to feel guilty for worrying him.
Matteo…my saving grace.
I don’t know what I would have done without him this past week. He was my anchor in the storm, and if it weren’t for him, I would have been swept away, forever lost at sea.
At the reminder of the torrent of emotions, I swallow thickly and declare, “I’m going for a run.”
Matteo blinks before nodding furiously. “Okay, let’s go.”
“You don’t have to come. You’ve done enough. I figured I’d just—”
The look he sends my way has my jaw snapping firmly shut.
“I’m coming,” he says gruffly, his tone leaving no room for argument. As he raises his arms above his head, groaning through his stretch, it takes everything in me not to look down at the sliver of exposed skin along his abdomen.
At least I know my libido is still alive and well.
I keep my eyes firmly on his, and that’s when I see his lips twitch. Bastard knows I’m trying not to look.
“I’ve been at my desk for most of the morning. I need to get my body moving.” His gaze trails down my body as he lowers his arms. “The new running gear looks good. How does it feel?”
I rock back and forth on my heels, testing the new shoes. “They feel good, supportive. I suppose I won’t truly know until I run, though.” I smile, though it feels like a chore to keep it plastered across my cheeks. “Thank you for the gear. It means a lot.”
His hand twitches at his side, lifting then dropping, before he gives me a thin-lipped smile back. “No worries, I hope it runs well.” Moving to the front door, he grabs sneakers off the shoe rack before slipping into them.
“You’re not going to change?” I ask, trailing behind him. The black shorts he’s wearing look more like lounge shorts than activewear.
“I’ll take my shirt off as I get going.” He lifts his head, a twinkle shining in his eyes. “That, and I’m worried you’ll change your mind if I take too long.”
I shrug. “Valid.”
“Have any particular trail in mind?” he asks, rising to his full height. I’m not short by any means, but my five-foot-eight frame beside his six-foot-five one makes me feel tiny.
“No, I plan to just…run.”
Matteo’s gaze sears through to my wilted soul as he steps forward and wraps an arm around my shoulder, steering me to the front door. “Come on, Dove, let’s see if you can fly.”
My legs grew numb at mile six.
I started ignoring the blisters on the back of my feet from my new shoes at mile seven.
Settled into a good breathing pattern at mile eight.
We’re coming up on mile ten now, and if Matteo is tired, he doesn’t say it, just keeps pace beside me. Him being here with me, laying his hand on the lower part of my back every time my eyes well with tears, means more to me than any words he could say.
Because no matter how far I run, I stop her voice from ringing through my mind. Unfortunately, music doesn’t drown her out either.
Sorry, Evie, but I don’t believe you.
Faster.
Sorry, Evie, but I don’t believe you.
Try to outrun her.
Sorry, Evie, but I don’t believe you.
Push harder.
Sorry, Evie, but I don’t believe you.
Try to block her out.
Sorry, Evie, but I don’t believe you.
I don’t believe you.
I don’t believe you.
I.
Don’t.
Believe.
You.
Through my aching legs, blistered feet, and burning lungs, nothing surpasses the pain radiating in my heart.
That, and the undeniable truth—he’s winning.
Every day that goes by that people don’t believe me, he wins.
Every day that goes by that I remain silent, he wins.
Every day that goes by where my mother takes his side, he wins.
I’ve never entertained the thought of hurting another human being, but I understand it now. I understand how people can be pushed to their limits. How it drives you mad when someone robs another’s soul, only to walk away without consequences.
Injustice is real.
Evil is well and truly alive.
Depravity lives in the hearts of those with the kindest smiles.
But I know that if I spoke up for myself, I’d lose everything.
I’ve already lost my mom. What if I lost Caleb, too?
If another person told me they don’t believe me, it wouldn’t just be a week of not being able to leave my bed. I think it would destroy me beyond repair. And if Caleb didn’t believe me, that would not only break me, it would kill me.
Every time her voice loops through my head, it’s as if my memories rise in protest, conjuring up a moment to dispute her. As if my own brain needs to remind itself that it did, in fact, happen.
My mind doesn’t want me to forget again. It wants me to keep fighting, despite feeling like I have no fight left.
And it seems my body is on the same wavelength.
My feet stop, my legs slowing before I move to the side and lie down on the grass, my chest heaving. Matteo flops down beside me, his heavy breathing in sync with mine.
“Good to know my body’s not the only one giving out,” I say.
“Anyone’s body would give out after that. Jesus fucking Christ, Dove, what were you trying to do? Get a running head start to shoot yourself into space? Your legs were flying.”
For the first time in over a week, I laugh. A deep belly laugh that starts out slow and gradually builds to the point where my stomach and cheeks join my other body aches.
To my utter delightful surprise, Matteo’s deep gravelly laugh follows. Angling my head, I watch him, his eyes on the glowing sky and the setting sun.
“You’re beautiful when you laugh,” I whisper.
Matteo turns to me. “Beautiful, you say? What happened to not stroking my ego? I thought I had to get on my knees for that.”
If my cheeks are blushing, I have no idea, the heat from my run overriding any sensation. “Pretty sure you earned a compliment or two after running ten miles with me,” I tease. “Although I’d still kill to see you on your knees begging.”
“Mm-hmm,” he hums. “I’m sure it’s a glorious sight.”
We both fall quiet for a moment, our eyes never straying from each other as the tension between us thickens, the string on each end meeting in the middle and exploding.
What if Matteo is the only man I’ll feel safe around?
Matteo seems to be the only person I can stare at and feel all the normal feelings a woman should have while looking at a beautiful person. Lust, need, desire—he makes my skin hum, my blood flow with a burning desperation.
When Carter tried to be intimate with me, my entire body locked up. I even stopped breathing at times. But that doesn’t happen with Matteo. If anything, I seek out his touch in any way I can get it.
The eyes I’ve adored since we were young flick between my own before he whispers gutturally, “What did she do to you?”
The question stuns me, mostly because I thought I was getting away with him not asking questions. I assumed he was allowing me to wallow while I tried to sweep it under the rug. But the other reason is because of the look on his face. It’s as if he’s prepared to go to war for me.
My voice croaks as I admit, “She broke my heart.”
His eyes melt. “Can I help mend it?”
Smiling softly, I do something I’ve never done before—I don’t suppress the urge to touch him. Reaching out, I ever so softly cup his cheek. “You’re already helping.”
Matteo’s hand comes up to mine, my heart rising in my throat with the movement. I prepare for him to remove my touch but instead, he gently places his hand over mine, holding me to him. “It doesn’t feel like I’m doing enough,” he whispers roughly.
“You’re doing more than enough. You’re holding my head above water.”
“I would let myself drown in order to save you.”
Matteo’s eyes close slowly as he moves his head, just a fraction, and I could swear he’s stopping himself from nuzzling further into my touch.
We’ve never done this before.
This is all unchartered territory.
My focus should solely be on picking myself back up, on getting my life sorted and my shit together, and yet lying here in the middle of a deserted park with Matteo in downtown Denver as the sun sets has never felt more right.
“You just have to keep trying, okay? Don’t give up again like you did this week.”
His words stun me into silence for a moment. The utter plea in his voice has my heart skipping a beat.
“I’ll try.”
“That terrified me, Evie.”
I can’t help but suck in a sharp hiss of air at him using my first name. It’s always been Dove.
Matteo’s voice is hoarse as he goes on. “It utterly terrified me.” He pauses. “I thought I was losing you.”
You were. “I’m sorry.”
For once, it’s not an empty apology. Looking in his forest-green eyes, I can see how much I hurt him, can see how much pain I would cause him if I wilted away into nothing.
His swallow is audible. “Don’t give up. Please. You’re not done conquering the world. Just keep going…okay?”
“Okay.”
He exhales, letting out such a deep breath I wouldn’t be surprised if he told me he had been holding it in all week. Guilt crawls under my skin at worrying him so much, and the fact that Caleb hasn’t flown home tells me that he’s been keeping under wraps just how sad I’ve been.
My hand slips from Matteo’s cheek as he rises, holding out his hand for me. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
The corner of his lip twitches. “Take my hand and find out.”
It’s the easiest thing in the world for me to trust Matteo.
Sliding my hand in his, an electric shock runs down my arm, raising the hairs along my skin. He holds my gaze while slowly lifting me from the ground.
Once standing, he wraps an arm around my shoulder, peering down at me as he guides us through the park. “Are you still a horrible cook?”
I snort. “Depends on what I’m cooking.”
“I’ll take that as a yes then,” he mutters.