Chapter 14
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
OWEN
On the TV, Elsa’s singing about letting shit go and a part of me wishes I could do the same.
Just drop everything and walk out the door like Everest did.
Leave behind every responsibility, every burden, every person who wants something from me.
I could go somewhere sunny and sit on the beach and read while drinking pina coladas. I wouldn’t have a care in the world.
Except I’d probably spend the whole time worrying about how everyone was doing back home.
Would Ivy be okay living with my parents?
Would my parents be overwhelmed with raising a little girl?
Would my animal patients and human clients get the care they need?
Would my colleagues be able to manage the additional workload?
I can’t shut my brain off the way Everest can. I can’t detach myself from the important people in my life. And honestly, I’d miss them too much.
I gaze down at Ivy. She’s fast asleep with her head on my thigh.
After I picked myself up from the floor, we made dinner together—chicken nuggets like I promised.
With plenty of homemade ketchup. Then she wanted to watch Frozen, but she didn’t just watch it.
No, she acted out Frozen, every single line, every single song lyric, dancing across the room while she was at it.
After the first run-through, she wanted to do it again, so… we did it again.
She zonked out about twenty minutes ago and I’ve been sitting here re-watching Frozen again by myself. I should carry her up to her room, but I can’t quite bring myself to move. My limbs feel heavy with fatigue. I barely have enough energy to keep my eyes open.
The movie ends. The credits roll. It’s past ten o’clock. Everest’s not home yet.
I’m still pissed at him. For not picking up Ivy this afternoon. For storming out on us. For making me do things and say things I would never normally do or say. For making me feel things I don’t want to feel.
It’s always been this way with him. Every time he steps into the room. Every time I hear his voice. Something inside me rears up and takes over. I turn into a different person whom I don’t have control over, a person who just reacts without thinking, without any sense.
No one provokes me the way he does. No one gets so under my skin that I have no choice but to lash out. What is it about him that my self-control vanishes whenever I’m around him? Why does he have such an outsized effect on me? How does he turn me into a mindless, vacuous fool?
Like today. I kissed him. Groped him. Ground myself against him. I would’ve done more. I wanted to do more. Strip him down, lick him from head to toe, and have him pound my ass until I’m nothing more than a quivering mass of flesh and bone.
I still want that.
I’ve always wanted that.
Everest is wrong. I didn’t hate him the first time we met. In fact, I was hoping we would get along, that we could become friends. We were going to be brothers-in-law after all.
He had so many stories about his time on the West Coast, and whenever he spun his tales, everyone within his vicinity would hang off his every word.
We laughed at all the right times, gasped in shock at all the right times, praised him at all the right times.
He was the brightest person in the room, vibrating with an energy that was impossible to ignore. We were enthralled.
I’m not sure when or how that changed. I don’t remember any specific incidents that altered my perspective of him. All I know is by the time we went to Vegas for Jeremy’s bachelor party, the shine had worn off.
His voice was so loud, so in-your-face, it drowned out every other sound.
He could be heard from across the house, from down the block.
It grated on me so much, I could feel my nerves actually beginning to fray.
And he didn’t have a mute button. Or a pause button.
Or any volume control. Just yap, yap, yap, all the goddamn time, like he wasn’t able to breathe if he wasn’t talking.
He was so charismatic, so magnetic. Always the center of attention. Always commanded the room. Everyone was utterly charmed by him: my parents, relatives, neighbors, family friends. Even Jeremy thought he was the coolest guy ever and kept introducing him to people like they were best friends.
Did you know that Everest blah, blah blah. Everest is so funny and blah, blah blah. We’re so lucky that Everest could make it blah, blah blah.
One would’ve thought he cured cancer or solved climate change or invented flying cars. But he was just an unemployed hipster who couch surfed up and down the California coast. I seemed to be the only one who saw through his bullshit.
He wasn’t so impressive. What had he done with his life? What accolades did he have to his name? He didn’t contribute to society, didn’t think about anyone other than himself. He was nothing more than a pretty shell that was empty inside.
But I had to give him that. He was pretty.
Like he’d somehow harnessed a piece of that West Coast sun and carried it around with him wherever he went.
He shone. His hair was so sun-bleached back then, it was more blond than brown.
His skin was tanned golden. He had that long swimmer’s body with wide shoulders and narrow hips.
His hands were so big. And he had a way of smiling at a person that made them feel like they were the only one in the entire room.
Not that he ever looked at me that way. I wasn’t good enough for that, wasn’t cool enough to warrant his time. I was too nerdy, too serious, too much of a rule-follower. He’d walk right past me as if I was invisible. He’d speak right over me as if my voice was inaudible. I didn’t exist to him.
Well, good fucking riddance. If he was going to treat me like shit, then I would treat him the same—even if he was the most attractive man I’d ever laid eyes on.
Things are different now, though. Yes, Everest is still as pretty as he was the first time we met.
But perhaps he isn’t as empty-headed as I’ve always believed him to be.
He’s a person. Who has feelings. Who can get hurt.
And he doesn’t deserve to be my emotional punching bag, no matter how little I might think of him. I owe him an apology.
If he ever decides to come home.
He’s probably out with his gym bro friends.
At a club. Drinking. Dancing. Losing himself to the music as his body undulates and rolls.
His hair will be damp with sweat. His shirt will outline the contours of his muscles.
Someone will be watching him from across the busy club.
Their gazes lock. Intentions communicated with nothing but a look.
They meet in the shadows of the club, in corners just dark enough to release their inhibitions.
Nerves and anticipation ratchet up while en route to the hotel room.
Then the inevitable explosion of lust the second the door clicks shut behind them.
I know it well. I was that someone all those years ago. I still remember it.
Every single second.
My gut clenches with an emotion I don’t want to examine too closely. Technically, I can’t blame Everest for finding someone to hook up with. We didn’t vow to become celibate when we took custody of Ivy. He’s still his own man. He can sleep with whomever he wishes.
But he has responsibilities now, damn it. Someone who depends upon him, who needs him to be here, to do his part. He shouldn’t be gallivanting around with strangers when I’m—when Ivy’s waiting for him at home.
I eventually fall asleep with Ivy curled up next to me on the couch. I don’t know how long I’ve been out for or what time it is when I feel a hand settle gently on my knee.
The room is dark and my vision is bleary when I open my eyes. But I don’t need light to recognize the shape of Everest’s shoulders and the tilt of his head as he crouches down in front of me.
He removes his hand when he sees that I’m awake and my knee feels cold without his touch.
“I’ll take her to bed,” he murmurs.
I don’t object as he gathers Ivy in his arms and lifts her from the couch.
I rub my eyes and run my hands down my face.
My stubble is getting a little too long to mistake for a five o’clock shadow.
It’s been several days since I’ve found the time to shave, and at this point, I might just give up and let it grow out.
Everest carries Ivy up the stairs. I shut off the TV and carry the empty popcorn bowls to the kitchen. I’m clearing up the dishes from dinner when he comes back down.
“I said you didn’t have to wait up for me.”
I stiffen at the implication. That I was waiting for him, worried he wasn’t home yet. That I care.
“I didn’t.” That wasn’t why I was still downstairs in the middle of the night. I was tired. I fell asleep. It had nothing to do with Everest. So I tell myself.
He doesn’t respond, just leans his hip against the kitchen island, his crossed arms making his biceps look way bigger than they have any right to be. He watches as I load up the dishwasher and wet a rag to wipe down the counter.
Silence weighs heavily in the air between us, thick and suffocating. I can hear my heart beating. I can hear the rush of air in and out of my lungs.
“Where were you?” The question pops out in my desperate attempt to cut through the unease.
“Why do you care?”
“I don’t,” I answer too quickly for it to be true. My back is to Everest, but I hear his eye roll all the same.
“I went out with the guys.”
I knew it. My hackles rise. “Got yourself some hot ass?” I cringe and grind my teeth together.
I sound like a jealous lover. I shouldn’t care what he did or who he did it with.
He could fuck half the city and it shouldn’t matter.
So why is there a red, hot, churning mass in my stomach?
Why do I feel the urge to punch some nameless faceless person on the jaw?
Everest huffs and mutters something under his breath.