Chapter 17 – Evelyn
EVELYN
The musical chimes of the doorbell danced behind the bright yellow door. I shifted on my feet, and Adrian squeezed my hand. Nerves churned in my gut like they were trying to have a dance off.
“It’s going to be okay,” he murmured. “She’s going to love you.”
I smiled tightly at him. Was I nervous to meet his mom again? Absolutely. But that wasn’t the only reason my stomach was tied in knots.
We’d spent the entire day combing through what we’d pulled from the FIA agents’ computers and were no closer to determining whether Director Keller was corrupt or if Luke Jones truly was a confidential informant.
My instincts told me Keller was dirty, but instincts weren’t enough.
A federal agency director was a level of power the Archers had never faced before, and I wasn’t about to open that can of worms without rock-solid evidence.
Based on what we’d found on the computers, Agent Holden was definitely dirty.
Liam found a string of emails from Mike’s personal email account showing that he’d taken bribes and threatened to arrest people on false charges.
Izzy and Maya had started a file on him in the Archers’ database so we could deal with him properly when this was all over.
A dirty federal agent in the pocket of the rich and wealthy?
Yeah, we weren’t going to let that slide.
Agent Dominic Hayes, though, was a different story. By all accounts, he was clean and a good agent. Marcus and Alexander didn’t want to rule out the possibility that he was dirty, but Liam and Sebastian couldn’t find a single red flag in his background. Not even a parking ticket.
Marcus argued that the lack of anything at all was suspicious, a sign his record had been scrubbed.
I pointed out that some people actually followed the rules.
He argued with me, but there was no real edge behind it anymore, at least not any suspicion or distrust. I was starting to think arguing was like foreplay for him, but I wasn’t ready to unpack that just yet.
Especially not when I was about to see Adrian’s mom again.
It was Adrian who broke up our argument to remind me about dinner with his mom.
In all of the chaos of being called into the station and then last night’s op, I had completely forgotten about it.
I guess that was a good thing in some ways, because I hadn’t had time to be nervous until Adrian pulled up to a cute blue house in a nice suburb on the outskirts of the city.
I hadn’t remembered her house being blue before, but the paint looked fresh, like she had recently done it.
I had been shocked when she’d wanted to stay in the house after her husband beat her, but she’d said she had good memories here, too, of her son growing up.
At the time, I just hadn’t realized how big of a role her son would play in my life.
Faint footsteps on the other side of the door got louder as someone approached, then Melissa swung open the door.
Her long blonde hair fell in natural waves to the middle of her back.
Her slight frame, so different from her son’s broad one, wavered when she saw me.
Her pale green eyes filled with tears, and she started crying. I froze.
“Mom.” Adrian let go of my hand to enfold Melissa in a big bear hug.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she babbled. “I told myself I wasn’t going to cry, but then I saw you, and I’m just so grateful.”
She reached out with her free hand, and then I was tugged into the strangest group hug I had ever received with one of the men I was fast falling in love with and his crying mother, whom the Archers had rescued from an abusive husband.
“I’m sorry,” Melissa said, pulling back and wiping under her eyes. “You must think I’m a nutcase.”
“No, of course not,” I said quickly, shifting awkwardly on my feet. I never knew what to say to the people we helped. This was more Izzy’s or Maya’s department. “I’m just glad you’re doing well.”
“I really am.” She squeezed my hand and smiled at me. Even with tear-stained cheeks, she was beautiful. “Well, now that my nutty is out of the way, why don’t you come in and eat?”
“That sounds wonderful,” I said.
Adrian smiled widely at me, then held the door open for both of us as Melissa led us inside. Adrian rescued the wine and flowers he’d set aside when he hugged his mom and followed us into the house.
I had vague memories of the house before, but it was clear Melissa had done a lot of renovating in the last few years.
Instead of drab gray, the walls were a cheery yellow.
The short entryway opened into a large living room on the left with a dining area just beyond it.
Stairs on the right led up to the second floor, and just beyond the stairs was the kitchen with its yellow walls and blue cabinets.
The cabinets matched the outside of the house, and I couldn’t help but smile at the cheerful vibes.
The walls were covered in picture frames, the photos mainly of Adrian as he grew up or Adrian and Melissa together.
I stopped by a photo of a smiling, toothless Adrian. He couldn’t have been more than eight years old in the photo. His smile was wide as he held a small fishing pole with an even smaller fish on it.
“He was so proud of that fish,” Melissa told me when she noticed where my attention had strayed. “He couldn’t understand why we couldn’t keep it as a pet.”
Adrian smiled at his mom’s words, but his eyes had shadows flickering in them.
I didn’t have to guess as to who took him fishing when he looked at the photo with a mixture of longing and resentment.
The hardest part about abuse sometimes was when you could remember the good times before it and sometimes during it. Grief wasn’t linear.
Melissa pulled on bright red oven mitts and pulled open the oven. The smell of fresh herbs, chicken, and veggies filled the air as she pulled out a massive pot pie.
Adrian groaned next to me. “Pot pie? Mom, you’re spoiling us.” He turned to me. “Mom’s pot pie is the best. You’ll be ruined for all others if you eat it.”
I grinned at him, enjoying the way his face lightened. His shoulders had also relaxed since entering the house.
“I’m prepared to take that risk,” I joked back.
Adrian pulled out a seat for me, then ushered his mom into her own seat and took over serving. He placed the pot pie on the table and gathered wineglasses out of the cabinet. Pouring us each a glass, he carried them over to the table and started serving.
“This smells divine, Melissa,” I said, holding a bite up to my face and inhaling the delicious smells. I blew on the fork carefully before running out of patience.
“Wait for it to cool—” Adrian stopped as I popped the forkful in my mouth.
An explosion of flavor hit my tongue, even as the heat burned. He sighed and got up, getting me a glass of water from the fridge.
I grinned at him. “Sorry, it was too good.”
He rolled his eyes but dropped a kiss on my forehead before he returned to his own seat. Melissa watched us fondly, her green eyes, so like Adrian’s, warm and slightly misty. Oh no, tears. I didn’t do well with tears.
“So…” I searched for a subject, racking my brain for what I remembered about her from her file. “Are you still teaching?”
Melissa’s face brightened, and the misty-eyed look faded as she launched into her teaching stories. She was teaching third grade currently and told us story after story about the mischief a pack of twenty-plus eight-year-olds could get into.
“They remind me a lot of you, actually,” she told Adrian after a story about a group of boys playing King of the Mountain on the playground. We had long finished with dinner, and Adrian was at the sink washing the dishes.
“Ooo, baby Adrian stories?” I leaned forward and rested my chin on my hand. “Do tell.”
“Well, there was this one time…” Melissa leaned forward.
“Okay, that’s enough,” Adrian cut in, but his eyes were sparkling and his smile soft as he rested his hand on his mom’s shoulder. “You can’t scare her away just yet.”
Melissa smiled, but her eyes were sad. “I think Evelyn’s already seen the darkest part of this family, son.”
Adrian’s smile dimmed, and his eyes grew stormy. We sat in somber silence for a few moments before he spoke. “I should have done more to protect you.” His voice was full of self-loathing. My heart ached for him, and I wanted to hold him.
Melissa covered his hand on her shoulder with one of her own and shook her head. “No, it wasn’t your job to protect me. It was my job as your parent to protect you.” Her smile was soft and sad as she looked up at him.
I swallowed hard at her simple words. It felt like a knife to the gut the way she looked at him.
Had my own parents ever looked at me like that?
They certainly hadn’t protected me or even tried to.
I hadn’t spoken to them in at least ten years, ever since I left for college.
I wasn’t even sure if they lived in the same house.
Danny kept in touch with his parents, so I could have asked him to find out, but there didn’t seem to be a point to it.
They’d made their choice. And I had to live with it.
A soft touch on my shoulder jolted me back to the present. Both Adrian and Melissa were watching me carefully. Melissa’s eyes were sad and knowing, and I wondered how much Adrian had shared with her about my backstory.
“Well…” Melissa clapped her hands lightly. “Enough of the heavy topics. I made cookies for dessert.”
The cookies were salted caramel chocolate chips, and I’m sure they were amazing, but I barely tasted them.
I felt raw and exposed, and suddenly the cheerful walls of the kitchen seemed like they were closing in.
Adrian rested his hand on my leg, and that was the only thing that kept me from floating away.
Thankfully, Melissa seemed to forgive my rudeness and carried on a conversation with Adrian as we finished dessert.
As we were leaving, she hugged me tightly. “You’re welcome back any time,” she said, pulling back so she could see my face. “You’re family now.”
I smiled tightly, swallowing against the lump in my throat. Tears pricked the back of my eyes. I barely remembered getting into the car.
I jumped when Adrian spoke. “Are you okay?”
His green eyes were worried, but I couldn’t muster up the words to describe the seething, writhing mess in my head, so I just shrugged.
There was no way I was going to be able to tell him without breaking down that I couldn’t remember if my parents ever loved me the way his mom loved him.
And it didn’t seem fair to tell him any of that when he and his mom suffered at the hands of his father.
My parents had never beaten me; they were just…
neglectful. But neglect could leave just as sharp of wounds.
Thankfully, he didn’t press me any further. He just reached over and took my hand, the weight of his palm against mine, warm and steady. He held my hand tightly all the way home.