Chapter 24
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR
OWEN
Everest is full-on sprinting away like he’s being chased by a goddamn ghost. My heart is in my throat, racing a mile a minute, and my brain kicks into crisis management mode. What happened? Is he okay? What should I do?
I’m about to go after Everest when Nell grabs my arm.
“Give him a minute. He just needs to feel his feelings.” She gestures for everyone to head toward the restaurant where we were planning to grab lunch.
He needs to feel his feelings? What the hell kind of feelings does he need to feel in the middle of the day? In the middle of the zoo? What in the world were he and Nell talking about in the shuttle?
I stare in the direction Everest ran off in, guilt and worry eating away at me as I try to will him to reappear.
This is my fault. I’ve been avoiding him for the better part of the day and I know Everest doesn’t like to be ignored. I just…
The conversation with Mom this morning really threw me. Realizing that I love Everest is… it would have been a big deal with anyone, but with Everest, it’s like a freaking bomb went off in my head and I’ve just been trying to keep my shit together.
Because if I looked at him for too long, if I listened to his voice too closely, if he touched me, I might crumble into a blubbering mess. The only way I can make it through the day is to keep everything locked down until we’re back in the safety of our home.
That’s not the way Everest operates, though. Everything is immediate for him, amplified and extreme. There’s no regulation, no measured control. He’ll keep spinning until he crashes and then who has to pick him up and put him back together? Me.
I can’t do that if he’s disappeared on me. I can’t fix things when I don’t know what happened or what’s wrong or what he’s feeling. I need to know where he is, damn it. I need to know that he’s going to be okay, that he’s safe—that he’s coming home.
My every instinct is screaming at me to go in search of him, to find him and demand he talk to me. But as much as I’m loath to admit it, Nell is right. When Everest gets overwhelmed, he needs time and space to “feel his feelings.”
Ugh. I hate that phrase. What does that even mean? Feelings are inherently felt. The whole sentiment is redundant.
“Come on.” Nell tugs lightly on my arm.
With gritted teeth, I reluctantly follow her and the rest of the family toward the restaurant. Even so, I can’t help glancing backward every few steps. Sitting still and doing nothing is not my style. Especially not when someone I care about is out there, hurting. Especially not when I was probably the cause of the hurt.
At the restaurant, we grab one of the large picnic tables outside and Dad and I go to place the family’s orders at the counter.
“Where did Everest go?” Dad asks.
I stop myself from making an annoyed sound. “I’m not sure. To cool off or something.”
“To cool off?” Dad echoes in confusion.
“He gets like this sometimes. He’ll come back.” He better. And quickly. Or else I’m going to scour every inch of the damn zoo until I find him.
While Dad gives the pimply teenager behind the counter our order, I pull out my phone to tap out a message, thumbs punching the screen.
Owen
What happened? Message me.
I stare at my phone, willing those three little dots to appear, but they stay stubbornly hidden.
Owen
At least tell me where you are.
Are you coming back for lunch?
Should we order something for you?
Nothing. Fucking nothing. Worry gnaws away at me, mixing with anger. Anger at him for running away instead of communicating like a goddamn adult. Anger at myself for making him want to run away in the first place.
If I’d just dealt with my shit faster. If I’d just given him the attention he needed.
The food arrives and Dad and I bring it back to our table. Everyone else immediately digs into the burgers and fries, and chicken nuggets for Ivy. I barely touch my food. The few fries I manage to choke down sit like rocks in my stomach. I keep tapping my phone to keep the screen awake, as if I might miss a message or a notification if I let the screen go dark.
Across the table from me, Dad catches my eye. “No word?” he asks quietly.
I give him a small shake of the head.
“He’ll be back. I’m sure everything’s fine.”
Still, my stomach threatens to eject the minuscule amount of food I’ve fed it. I have to clamp my hands over my knees to keep them from bouncing up and down.
Fifteen minutes. Twenty.
The table is littered with the remnants of lunch—balled-up burger wrappers, half-empty cartons of fries—but Everest still hasn’t shown his face.
Fuck it. I’m going to go look for him. I’ll fucking call security if I have to.
I stuff my phone into my pocket and extract myself from the picnic bench. But when I turn around, I practically collide with the man himself.
My initial shock of relief quickly gives way to outrage. “Where the fuck have you been?” I only just manage to keep myself from shouting.
Everest flinches like I hit him, but I don’t let myself get distracted by my guilt. I grab his arm and drag him away from the restaurant’s patio area.
Everest doesn’t fight me, but he doesn’t cooperate either. He stumbles lackadaisically wherever I direct him. “Nowhere. Just made a couple loops. Needed to clear my head.”
I push him behind a shrub. “What happened?”
He crosses his arms and sighs like he’s exhausted. He drops his chin to his chest, gaze glued to the ground between us.
My heart twinges at how defeated he looks. Where is the overconfident, über-cocky Everest I know and apparently love? Where are the eye rolls and the snarky jabs and the taunting smile? Worry makes my words come out too harsh.
“What the fuck happened?” I hiss at him.
“Nothing.” His bottom lip sticks out in a pout.
Seriously? He’s going to be like this? Reverting to the same old teenage bullshit? “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means, I don’t want to talk about it.” He tries to step around me, but I shift sideways to block him.
“Why not?” I demand, hands curling into fists so hard my nails bite into my palms. “Why can’t you just talk to me like a goddamn adult?”
His gaze snaps up to mine, flashing with anger and irritation. We’re both running high on emotions and the air crackles around us.
Rage bubbles up inside me. No, not rage, something stronger, more primal and unvarnished. It’s raw and potent and visceral. I want to grab Everest and devour him. I want to tie him up and shove him into a hidden, secret place where no one else can find him and nothing else can hurt him. I want to shake him until he understands. I want to pull him inside me so he can feel what I feel—the debilitating intensity of it, how it knocks me off my feet and sends me reeling.
Doesn’t he know? Doesn’t he get it? I fucking love him and it’s fucking killing me.
I can’t breathe. I can’t move. My head is spinning and the ground tilts under my feet.
“O.” Everest’s breath brushes across my lips a split second before his mouth fits over mine. His arms come around me and I circle mine around his waist. We plaster ourselves to each other from knee to chest, like two magnets, inextricably drawn together.
My body melts into his. My lungs gradually expand. All the disorderly thoughts ricocheting through my brain settle into one single idea.
Everest—I need him, with all my heart and soul, with my whole mind and body. Because I love him—deeper, stronger, more thoroughly than I’ve ever loved anything else in my life.
“Boys?”
We jump apart, startled, and Everest lets out a little squeal of surprise. Spinning around, we find both of our moms standing there, grinning at us.
“Jesus Christ,” Everest mutters, holding his chest.
“A little warning next time, please?” I shoot our moms an unimpressed look.
“Uh no, no next time at all, please,” Everest objects.
“Sorry about that.” Nell winces sympathetically.
My mom, however, just smirks at us. “We just wanted to tell you that we’re all done with lunch.”
“Ivy’s getting restless,” Nell adds. “So we’re going to take her to watch the penguin feeding.”
“You guys take your time with…” Mom waves her hand vaguely at us. “Just catch up with us when you’re done.”
“Byeee!” Nell waves her fingers and the two of them dissolve into giggles as they retreat.
I drag a hand over my face. This weekend could not be any more disastrous. I have an emotional breakdown and realize I’m in love with the one guy I’m supposed to hate more than anything in the world. We can’t keep our hands off each other, even when we’re supposed to be fighting. And now Mom and Nell know all about it.
Roughened fingers wrap around my wrist and pull my hand away from my face. Everest slides his palm against mine and intertwines our fingers.
A shiver runs up my arm. It’s so intimate, so vulnerable, holding hands with him like this. Who knew such a simple thing could have such an outsized impact?
He takes my other hand and holds it the same way.
“Sorry I ran off,” Everest murmurs.
A hint of grumpiness trickles back through me. “I was worried.”
“I know you were, but…”
“You needed time to sort through your feelings.”
“Yeah.”
I peer up at him as my chest tightens. “And have you? Sorted through your feelings?”
Everest nods, a wry smile on his lips. “We should probably talk.”
I harrumph. “Probably not behind a shrub in the middle of a public zoo, though.”
Everest laughs, warm and low. The sound is a balm to my soul.
“Come on,” Everest tugs me out from behind the bush. “I’m starving.”
“Serves you right for missing lunch.”
Everest gives me some playful side-eye. “You could’ve saved something for me.”
I snort. “And it would be cold and gross by now if I did.”
Everest’s expression turns saccharine. “Aw, you do care about me.”
I roll my eyes and bite my tongue because even though I do love him, I’m not about to admit it for the first time in the middle of the goddamn zoo.
Everest spots a hot dog stand and drags me toward it. Standing in line, I’m about to make a comment about mystery meat when Everest beats me to the punch.
“Not a single word,” he says, putting his hand over my mouth. “It’s delicious and I don’t care what’s in it.”
I stick my tongue out and lick his palm.
“Ew!” he cries, snatching his hand away. He glares at me and I smirk back at him.
The worry and anger from earlier melt away, leaving me feeling strangely light. Like I’ve dropped a heavy weight from my shoulders and now I’m floating through the air.
Everest orders two Italian sausages on hot dog buns, even when I tell him I don’t want one. He shoots me a mischievous look. “Good, because they’re both for me.”
But when the hot dog guy hands over the buns, Everest gives me the second one. I think about protesting, but my stomach grumbles, reminding me that I was too preoccupied to eat before.
I opt for some mustard and sauerkraut, while Everest loads up on every single condiment available. He holds my gaze as he lifts the sausage and bun to his mouth and takes a giant bite. He moans as meat juices and runny condiments cover his lips and drip down his chin, but he doesn’t bother to wipe any of it away.
“Mmm, so good,” he mutters, mouth still half-full of food.
“You’re gross.” I shudder in disgust and turn to grab a handful of napkins from the hot dog stand. We’re going to need them all. Good thing I have wipes in Ivy’s go-bag too.
Everest laughs and takes a couple napkins from me. His eyes sparkle brightly with amusement and joy and I realize he did that on purpose, just to get a reaction out of me. Ugh. Heathen.
“Come on, you can walk and eat at the same time, right?” I don’t wait for his answer before turning toward the penguin exhibit.
We arrive just as the feeding demonstration is ending and by then, Ivy’s energy levels are running on fumes. Everest carries her to the parking lot and we make our way to my parent’s house.
Later that night, after dinner and endless games of UNO—most of which I won—I find Everest in the backyard.
He’s gazing up at the moon. The water in the pool dances, illuminated by the lights below. The neighborhood has fallen quiet, leaving only the soft chirping of crickets in the background.
I hand him one of the tumblers I brought with me and he lifts the blanket he’s got spread across his lap. I settle in next to him, squeezing in close so we can tuck the blanket around both of us.
“Is this a Laga-whatever-it’s-called?” Everest asks, lifting his glass.
“Lagavulin,” I supply.
“Yeah, right, good for a nightcap.”
“See? You’re learning.”
He shakes his head with a soft laugh. “You’re such a snob,” he mutters.
“A snob who brings you top shelf scotch, so who are you to complain?”
Everest shifts, sliding lower to lean his head on my shoulder. I lift my arm so it’s resting across the back of the patio sofa.
“I would’ve been fine with a beer.”
“Shut up and drink the scotch.”
We fall into a comfortable silence and I tilt my head to bury my nose in his hair. He smells earthy and warm, like freshly cut grass. It’s familiar and comforting and soothing.
Never in my wildest dreams would I have ever thought…
The probability that Everest and I, out of all the people in the world…
If someone had told me a year ago that I would be sitting here, holding Everest in my arms, smelling his hair, I would’ve laughed them out of the city.
But this thing inside me, the thing that wants Everest, that loves Everest, that I’ve fought for so long. It’s grown and grown and grown until it’s filled up every inch of my existence. Until it’s overwhelmed me and overpowered me.
Everest has permeated every corner of my life. He’s saturated me, through and through. He’s a part of me now, so intertwined that I wouldn’t be able to extricate myself from his clutches. I can’t imagine my life without him anymore. When I try, it’s just hollow, empty, nothingness.
“O?” Everest whispers into the night.
“Hmm?”
“We should talk.”
I sigh. My breath stirs Everest’s hair, which in turn tickles my nose. We do need to talk. There’s a lot we both need to say. But there’s also a part of me that’s terrified of what will happen when we pull wide that door.
It’s only open a crack at the moment. We can still slam it shut and pretend none of this ever happened. We can still sleep together and raise Ivy together—why risk everything by putting a label on it?
With my eyes squeezed tight, I murmur almost silently into Everest’s hair. “I’m scared.”
He squeezes my knee and turns to press his cheek against mine. “I know, babe. I am too."