Chapter Fifteen Evie #3
“Joyce is the most rational, but I think it’s because she’s a retired clinical psychologist. She actually helped me a lot when shit went south for me.”
Her head cocks up, her pretty face bathed in concern.
“How bad were you?”
Watering down the truth has never felt like an option with her. Not the way it does with everyone else. So I answer truthfully.
“Bad. But I’m pretty sure it’s the same answer any of the four of us could give.”
“Specify.”
“I was stuck in a cycle of fear and anxiety. Just waiting to die. Wondering if I was living a Final Destination life or if some night I’d be walking to my car and bam, somebody would gut me. I couldn’t sleep or eat. Let alone cook. So yeah, like I said . . . bad.”
She grabs my shirt, right above my jeans, stopping me from stepping into someone’s side mirror. I maneuver around it, coming to a stop between two identical black SUVs as I turn and face her.
“I didn’t know,” she whispers, leaning forward to kiss me right in the center of my chest.
With a finger under her chin, I lift her face, holding her eyes for a moment before I cradle her face and kiss her, letting my words play out on her lips.
“It wasn’t for you to know.”
She pinches my chin between her fingers and gives me her best impression of a goddess as she bats her lashes at me.
“It is now. Got it?”
“Yes, ma’am. But I’m good now . . . really good. And hey, you know, if you ever wanted to talk to Joyce, too, I could make an introduction. I went first, so you can trust her.”
Evie smiles and nods in that way she does when she’s trying not to give away what she’s thinking.
“Yeah, that could be cool.”
I don’t think I’ll ever get over earning her trust. It’s the greatest privilege of my life.
She looks down for the phone and takes it from me, hooking her arm through mine, and we continue on our way to the car.
“Mimi?”
I wait to answer because that car alarm is getting louder and louder . . . and I know it’s not my car, but what if it’s next to my baby and scratched it?
She nudges me for an answer, so I snap back and pay attention.
“Aww, Mimi—she’s like a little ray of sunshine that likes to read very smutty books about werewolves and to send me recipes she finds online to help my career. Sometimes they’re even by me.”
She’s chuckling as we single file it through a few more cars, that alarm now blaring. Man, it’s way too close to where I’m parked.
Evie’s voice is raised as she jokes, “Welcome to Hollywood, the live-action version of Grand Theft Auto.”
I crane my neck, trying to see past a white SUV that I’m parked behind, finally breathing easy because I can see the Volvo next to it is the culprit for my worry. Its headlights are blinking on and off, all the sound coming from it.
My head falls back, and my shoulders sag as I smile back at Evie. “Not gonna lie. I was a little worried about my girl.”
Evie rolls her eyes. I don’t hate it. I’ve got a thing for her eye rolls . . . I’ve got a thing for her.
I’m grinning, a pep in my step as we finally clear the cars and my Mustang comes into view. That’s when everything hits me all at once. Like a goddamn brick.
Oh fuck.
“Chase,” she yells, gripping my bicep, but I’m frozen, my chest already heaving. The sound of the alarm sounds over and over like the pounding in my chest.
I can’t even process what I’m seeing. Oh my god. This is not happening.
“What the fuck,” I breathe out, walking toward my previously pristine Mustang, Evie still holding on to me. “No, no, no, no . . .”
My shoes crunch over the glass that’s everywhere. The windows are destroyed, cracked and completely blown out. So much so that the front windshield is shattered to the point you can’t see through it.
Evie’s hands shoot to her face as she stands in place, shaking her head.
I walk to the hood, running my hand over the huge craters dented all over it. It’s like someone took a fucking bat to my car.
“What the fuck,” I bellow as my hands run through my hair.
There are a million thoughts racing through my mind. The most prominent being Goddammit.
Evie walks past me to the open passenger-side door, peeking her head in before locking eyes with me. “Don’t even look inside.”
I frustratedly punch the air, groaning loudly before barking, “Fuck.” Then I look at the Volvo and yell, “Shut up already.”
Evie winces sympathetically at me, making me drop my eyes to the ground.
My blood is boiling, and I’m so pissed. But I can’t fucking lose my shit in the middle of a parking lot. It’s unhelpful in the journey of adulting. So I wipe my hand down my face and try to collect myself, taking a few deep breaths.
But then I hear her yell.
“Fuck you, Volvo . . . and Volvo owner. Nobody needs this soundtrack for our misery. Your car’s dumb, and the color looks like piss.”
She’s nuts, which makes me grin as I look over at her. And as I do, the damn alarm stops. Her eyes pop open wider, staring back at me as I make the same face.
“Way to handle it, fella,” I say on a heavy exhale as she winks, before I stare at my car again and add, “We should take pictures before I call the insurance company.”
Without a word, Evie follows my lead, taking photos with her phone from the opposite side of me.
“Jesus,” I sigh, looking at the headlights, which are now nonexistent, and the tires that are flat.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d think this was personal. It feels it.
As if she’s thinking the same, her voice flitters over the wreckage. “Why would someone do this? Who hates you?”
I squat, taking a closer picture before hearing her voice again from the back of the car.
“Hey, Chase . . . you should come back here.”
A deep groan rumbles my chest as I stand and walk around the car, over the glass and past the open driver’s-side door, which makes me nauseous because the leather seats are shredded.
I hate people.
“They didn’t even fucking steal anything,” I grit out, walking her way.
Evie’s chewing her middle fingernail as I close the distance, and she points to the car.
“Shit,” I rush out, reading what’s keyed across the back of the trunk amid the red paint splashed across my back window.
Evil Will Die.
“Come on,” I shout, throwing my hands up and turning away from her before I face her again, pointing at it. “Why would someone do this?”
Evie crosses her arms, shaking her head. “We should call the cops,” she whispers, drawing my attention.
She’s scared. Of course she is. It’s only been a week since that bullshit at her work. But this is . . . this is just someone being a dick. Even as I think it, I’m not totally convinced either.
Still, I don’t want her to be afraid.
“Baby,” I call to her, opening my arms, signaling her to walk to me and snuggle in. And she does.
“It’s okay,” I say, kissing her forehead. “It’s nothing more than some asshole fucking up my car because he can. It’s LA, after all.”
My eyes fall to the destruction again, and it sounds weird, but I’m getting déjà vu. I rub her shoulder, glancing down because she hasn’t answered.
Evie’s gnawing at her lip, staring at the car, worry behind her eyes before they pop open wide and she looks up at me.
“Umm . . . What are the chances, while you’ve been doing all the PR for the restaurant, you posed in front of your car?”
I shrug, not following. “What? Why?”
I’m not making the connection until she says, “The paint . . . isn’t that like one of the vigilante moves for people who hate animal cruelty? They throw it on fur coats, right?”
My mind never even went there, but she looks a lot less afraid, so I’m game.
“Did you talk shit about vegans in that LA Times spread?”
I breathe out heavy. “Define shit?”
“Oh my god,” she rushes out, pushing me away like she’s solved the crime.
“Come on . . . I always talk shit about vegans. And yeah, I got my fair share of emails saying meat is murder, but I didn’t take it seriously. There’s a whole-ass vegan option on the menu. Gimme a break.”
Her brows rise. “Well, you might want to start taking it seriously. For a multitude of reasons. The main one being . . .” Her eyes shift to my license plate.
I hate to say it, but she’s starting to make sense. I did pose with my car in that magazine article. And I do talk shit.
Goddammit. That stupid plate. Oh man, I knew that plate was a bad idea. No, I didn’t—I loved it. But it’s made it real easy to find me.
Still . . . the feeling in my gut won’t go away.
No, I’m being paranoid thinking anything else. This makes sense.
She’s right. I’ve done this to myself. But still, fuck them.
“What about not being cruel to this animal,” I bite out, pointing to myself. “You know, if they ate more meat, then they’d be too lethargic to fuck up my car and become felons. Meat saves the world.”
She starts to laugh, then stops and walks over to me, forcing me to look at her. But I’m pouting, trying to keep my eyes on the ocean.
“Look at me,” she presses, but I don’t, so she tries to shake me. “Look at me.”
I do, directly into her eyes.
“The good news is, I bet you have excellent insurance—”
I pop my shoulders and begrudgingly nod as she continues.
“—and you’re rich . . .”
That earns her the dimple.
“—so come on, let’s lock it up . . .” I raise my brows, and she nods, realizing how futile that is. “Or leave it as it is and go back to the beach. I’ll buy you another beer while we wait for the tow truck . . . I might even let you make it to first base under the pier.”
A grumble comes from deep in my chest.
“I’m sorry about your car,” she whispers, lifting to her tiptoes, giving me no other choice but to kiss her.
I let out a deep breath, pulling away before draping my arm over her shoulder and letting her lead us away as I throw out, “Hey, you wouldn’t know anyone who could give me a ride to work tomorrow?”
She laughs and glances up at me, reaching up to interlace her fingers with mine.
“You’re in luck. I do know a girl who could give you a ride. But only for the right price.”
Our steps match as we walk.
“Oh yeah, what’s she charge?”
She bites her lip, doing a poor job of hiding her smile, before she levels, “Your heart—”
My face whips to hers, because for the first time in our history, Evie just said something cheesy and adorable on purpose.
I shrug. “Never mind, I’ll walk.”
Her mouth falls open, eyes wide as she slaps my chest, but I grab her face and kiss her.
How is it that ten minutes ago I was ready to lose my shit, but now I can’t think of anything else I’d rather be doing?