SALT (Summer Nights)

15. Everett

Chapter 15

Everett

I didn't sleep. I couldn't sleep. I'm not even sure why I laid in bed at all. The entire night, I stared at the ceiling, condemning myself for coveting my dead best friend's daughter. He entrusted her to me, and all I've been able to do is dream unthinkable thoughts, and last night, I snapped. Once again, she deliberately disobeyed me. She left the house without her phone, a move that I know was intentional. I'm not fucking dense. Lauren showed up, and she went MIA. The conclusions were easy to draw. Cameron assumed Lauren was the reason I didn't get home on time last night. She didn't know that I walked in the door five minutes after she walked out or that she was the cause of my lateness, nor did she believe I'd sit in her room all that time and let myself feel everything I shouldn't want.

When I couldn't stand my insomnia anymore, I came downstairs to the gym where I've been for the last two hours, pushing myself until I felt like I might actually die because death feels like a fucking fate I deserve. At least in death, I could say I didn't touch her, at least not in a way that counts. I never had a daughter, but it's not hard to imagine myself in Damon's shoes. Were he alive, he'd probably already have me killed for the sunscreen. Fuck! That was the wrong image I needed in my head right now. I slam my hand on the stop button, get off the treadmill, and head for the sauna. Maybe I'll die sweating out my demons.

Once inside the sauna, I lay down a towel and drop my shorts before lying on the bench. For the first time in days, I feel my exertion weigh heavy on my eyelids, and I close them. But no sooner than the flashes of light fade to a jet-black backdrop, visions of her fingers sinking deep into her wet pussy seize hold of my mind, and I'm once again reminded of my hardened length. I've refused to stroke it. I've fucked women to get her off my mind, but I've never allowed myself to wrap my hand around my cock to thoughts of her. I feel my heavy tip hit my stomach as it painfully twitches, begging for release. It took every ounce of strength I had left in me not to immediately drop my pants and rut into my hand the second I got back to my room last night, but I didn't. Instead I headed straight for the shower and stood under the cold water until I couldn't take it anymore.

In my mind, I know no one sin holds more weight than another, but I've tried convincing myself otherwise for the past four years. The truth is, I started seeing her differently the night she got a glimpse of the man behind the veil. No one has ever seen me, and I mean truly fucking seen me. But the night of her seventeenth birthday, she found me standing in the shadows of the greenhouse, looking on as my then-wife shared a kiss with her high school lover. Cameron knew without words it wasn't the first time I'd witnessed Moira's infidelity. She stood by my side, watching on, and said, "Duty and honor are hallowed words, they're worth fighting for, but do they not die when they protect a lie?"

At seventeen, she saw straight to my soul. The crux of what was the bane of my existence: name, honor, family. My entire life, I have put those virtues before my wants. That night, I watched my wife kiss another man, but it wasn't until Cameron came along that I felt anyone would ever see me. She didn't see the act of infidelity as the main event. She saw me and my heart, and then I saw her.

Fuck it. I grab my throbbing cock and squeeze hard. If I'm already sentenced to burn in hell for the sins I've already committed, what's one more? A deep guttural moan escapes my chest on the first stroke as a vision of her withdrawing her fingers to fit three inside and accommodate my length makes its way to center stage. I already know what her soft porcelain skin feels like. I'm sure her pussy feels like silk. I squeeze harder, remembering how her juices coated her fingers. My cock strained hard against the zipper of my jeans as I looked on, wishing it were my balls covered in her essence. Damn it.

I hate that holding my cock to visions of shoving it deep inside of her already feels like the best sex I've had in years, and I'm not even fucking her. My balls draw close to my body on the next stroke as I think about how close I was to unbuttoning my jeans and giving her exactly what she wanted when her eyes rolled back as she screamed my name. That nickname has always felt like a curse when I've heard it roll off her lips. Moira always called me Everett, and in high school, friends called me Callahan. But Cameron gave me that nickname years ago at a family picnic. It came so naturally, like we were close, like I fucking meant something, and maybe I do. I hate the thought of meaning anything to her but pushing her away hurts just as much. Her leaving to stay at Connor's all but killed me. I'm a selfish prick for bringing her back here, knowing I'm already on the verge of losing control when it comes to her. Fuck.

The vision of her curled up in the closet, the flash of relief, followed by annoyance, was enough to make me feral. I wanted to save her as much as I wanted to smack her ass for thinking of leaving me in the first place… and then those words. She thought she had hung up the phone, but she didn't. I heard what she said when she thought no one was listening, and it felt like parts of my soul were physically abandoning my body, leaving to find a vessel more suited to deal with a dreamer's heart. But I wanted to dream. I still want to dream even though I know it will only make all of this that much harder to walk away from. Even if it does cause me pain, I've never felt more alive, more real, more like myself than I do sitting in the torture her light inflicts on me. Her eyes slowly blinking open and finding mine, pleading with me for more, have hot ropes of cum shooting onto my stomach. I grunt out my release, pulling long and slow, not wanting to let go but needing to get past these thoughts that plague me so I can get my head right.

As my labored breathing finally slows, I catch my breath and open my eyes to my new reality: obsession. My obsession is dangerous. My obsession is her.

" L ast night changed things, Everett. It doesn't matter if you don't want it to. It did, and you can't take it back," Cameron says from the passenger seat as I pull into the stadium's parking lot. I should have known the silence on the drive here was a small showing of goodwill I didn't deserve. I knew I'd have to answer for my misdeeds. As I laid in bed staring at the ceiling, I thought of all the things I would tell her, knowing she might go down this path regardless of what I've said. But I can't bring my mouth to say them quick enough before she adds, "Even if you could take it back… I wouldn't want you to."

I shut off the car and press my head back into the soft leather of my seat. "Cameron, it's not going to––"

A loud knocking on my window steals my words. "Do you always get in this late? I've been here for twenty minutes," Garrett chides, standing outside my window.

I hate being interrupted, but I'm grateful for the distraction right now. Whatever words I had for Cameron weren't coming easy because she's right. Whether I like it or not, last night did change things. Now, I have to figure out how to erase it so it doesn't happen again. It can't happen again. I don't bother finishing my sentence or even addressing her before I exit the car.

"What are you doing here?"

"Good morning to you too, brother," he quips just as Cameron exits her side. "Hey Cam," he greets right before she closes her door a little harder than necessary. She gives him no words as I hear her heels clicking off toward the entrance. "What happened?"

"I'm not sure what you mean."

He crosses his arms and widens his stance. "That girl has never once ignored me. She's sunshine on a cloudy day. What happened?"

I look toward the building and catch her back just before she enters the stadium. "Nothing, that's the problem."

"Don't lie to me. I'm your brother. I know when you're giving me half-truths. I've seen the way you look at her, Everett. It's not nothing."

"I didn't touch her," I answer a little harsher than intended.

He clicks his tongue. "That's what this is…" He trails off, his posture softening as he props an elbow on the roof of my car.

"What are you droning on about? You know what, never mind. Why are you here?"

"I stayed at Connor's last night with Colton. The new security company you hired stayed a little later than expected, and a quiet house was a nice change of pace. I love my kids, but lately, I've felt more like a referee than a father. I came to talk to Lauren, but I caught her on the way in and?—"

"What business do you have with Lauren?" I cut him off before he can act like he didn't just drop a piece of important information. I've asked him to help me with a lead I've been tracking down since Damon's death, and if Lauren has anything to do with that lead, I want every last detail.

"You need to figure your shit out, Everett. You're so wound up you can't think straight. We briefly talked about Lauren and Stormy last night after I showed you the small clue the cameras picked up from the break-in." It's nothing that points to them. He's operating on a hunch, maybe one Colton put in his head. Since they both stayed at Connor's I'm sure they discussed multiple angles and because it's Cole, I'm not na?ve enough to believe the topic of Cameron and I didn't come up. It's why Garrett's giving his two cents now. Pushing off the car, he points toward the stadium. "That girl in there is what you want, then own it. This…" he gestures toward me, "this will make everyone see something else. You look guilty. You're not acting like the calm, collected, level-headed co-founder of the MacBeth Foundation, part owner of Callahan but even before I took over for Connor, I trained every day. It just looked different than it does now. My physical health has always been a priority. Aging sucks, but if you take care of your body, it will take care of you, and training alongside guys half my age and going harder for longer has put wind in my sails.

"I'm not trying to prove anything to them. Not anymore. They looked good out there today," I say as I stand up and grab my board.

"Yeah, I think Parker has real potential to be a standout this season when he's not in his own way."

"I'll see if he's ready to talk."

It's no secret he has an issue with me, but I know he hasn't been running his mouth about it either. This is a small town, people talk. If he was talking, there's no way in hell whatever story he's spinning wouldn't have made its way back to me by now.

"See you bright and early tomorrow. Salt said uniforms will be in, and I figured it's best to make sure they fit before the guys get sweaty."

I toss my bag over my shoulder and try to keep my tone indifferent when I'm anything but. "She gave you her number?"

"What? No, some of us take bathroom breaks. I ran into her about an hour ago when you were running triangle drills. Side note: I know the guys think they are beyond those, but it's smart. They're all great players but being great individually doesn't make you great as a team."

"Yeah, my fear with leagues like this is everyone wants to be the standout, and they sacrifice the team for their own gain because, for some of them, it's their last shot. Their last year to play," I say as we walk up the tunnel.

"I thought the same thing when I started coaching these leagues two years ago, but I haven't run into that yet. That has a lot to do with Connor. On the first day of tryouts, he goes over the mission statement and drives home why the team exists, reiterating that if the players give him their all, he'll do the same. Each year, we have a handful of kids walk after that speech, and the ones who have stayed give everything."

"Let's hope this isn't the season that changes."

An unmistakable laugh catches my attention as we enter the concourse, and I see Cameron sitting on a bench, talking to a guy with a helmet in his hands. What little pent-up stress I was able to work out during practice is now back tenfold. That has to be the biker fuck that dropped her off last night.

"I'll see you tomorrow," I say, not waiting for a response before marching across the concourse. There's no way in hell she's leaving with him.

"Everett." She does a double take when she realizes it's me. "This is Nash. Nash, this is Everett, Connor's dad."

"Nice to meet you, sir," he says, extending his hand for me to shake, which I do so begrudgingly. I don't like that he just called me sir, nor do I like being introduced as Connor's father, at least not when every fiber of my being feels like something else to her.

I shake his hand but offer zero pleasantries. "Are you ready to go?" I ask pointedly.

Her eyebrows rise, but before her lips can move, he answers for her. "Oh, I don't mind giving her a ride home." He shoots her a wink. "Cam makes a good backpack."

Cam? I don't like how seemingly close she is to this guy that he's calling her by her nickname. And backpack? Over my dead body. "Her name is Cameron, and there's no fucking way she's ever getting on the back of your bike again."

"It's fine, Everett. Mackenzie called earlier, and she told me who my late-night visitor was last week, so there's no longer a security threat?—"

"Nash, was it? Do you mind giving me a second?"

"Sure," he stands. "I'll just be by concessions."

My eyes flick back to her just in time to catch her crossing her arms and raising an unimpressed brow.

"You're not riding home with him."

"And why not?"

"Because I don't like it."

"That sounds like a personal problem, Everett. I can get a ride from whomever I want."

Her eyes narrow on mine, ensuring I caught the double meaning in her words before she attempts to step around me. I catch her elbow. "The only ride you'll be taking is from me. You'll get in my car and only my car, not because I'm demanding but because we both know you want to." I see her obstinance rear its stubborn head, and I add, "And because I want you to."

Her face reluctantly softens, but she concedes. "Fine, I'll meet you outside."

T he ride home is silent, similar to our ride to work this morning. I'm not complaining. I'll take her silence over her being on the back of some idiot's bike any day. We have things we should discuss, but talking about them makes them real. Talking leads to more questions and discussions about what comes next, which are all things I don't have answers to. I know what I should do and what I should say, but right now, cutting off one of my hands feels like a far better punishment than the risk that comes with giving her words, ones that would undoubtedly inflict pain.

"Who is that?"

My eyes scan the road ahead, and I see Lauren sitting on the front porch. She's early, and I'm fucked. I had the entire drive home to give Cameron a heads-up, but I didn't. To my credit, it's not because I was hiding it. I forgot. Being locked in a car with Cameron doesn't help either. She already consumes all of my thoughts—seat her an arm's length away from me, and forget about it. It's annoying as much as it is pathetic.

I've barely parked the car before she's reaching for the handle, and I'm certain I know exactly what she's assuming. "Cameron..." My words die before they begin as she pushes open the door and starts up the stone path toward the house.

"Oh, I didn't realize we'd have company," Lauren says, rising from the porch steps with a bag of food from Vivianno's and a bottle of wine.

"Yes," I nervously clear my throat and pray Cameron doesn't make this into something it's not. "Cameron lives with me."

"Oh, well, I'll make a mental note to order more next time."

"Next time…" Cameron questions slowly as I jog up the steps to key in the alarm code and open the door.

"Lauren, the kitchen is straight back through the foyer if you want to get the food ready."

"Sure, I'll just make myself at home."

When I turn back, Cameron's on the top step, her fist clenched and her gaze at my feet. "I want my keys back, Everett."

"Cam–"

"Now, Everett. Keys!"

"It's not what you think," I try as I step toward her.

"Don't. You lied to me to get me in your car, and then you brought me home to what…? To witness your date? To put me in my place? To further emphasize that I'm just a girl with a crush?" She runs her hand through her hair and bites her lip as she shakes her head. "Give me my keys."

"They're in the garage under the upside-down stack of terracotta flowerpots."

She doesn't even spare me a glance before storming off toward the garage, and I let her go. I let her go and tell myself it's because I need answers, but deep down, I know that's a copout. I let her go because we don't match. There is no future where she and I are endgame. When I stood here and told Lauren that Cameron lived with me, she didn't see a girlfriend, a wife, or a partner. She saw a college kid living with a guardian. That's what Damon made me with his death, and that's all I'll ever be. So, I let her go.

Closing the door, I walk through the foyer and toward the kitchen. I know damn well this isn't a date, and so does Lauren, but I am curious why she's put in all the pomp and circumstance. We aren't friends, but the way she's genuinely making herself comfortable in my kitchen as she plays music on my Alexa with a poured glass of wine in hand as she searches through my cabinets, has me on high alert.

"There you are. I hope you don't mind the music. I saw the speaker and couldn't help myself. I always cook with music on." She stops her perusal and pours me a glass, only to ask once it's in front of me. "Do you drink wine? I should have asked instead of assuming, but I feel like everyone enjoys a good glass of Merlot now and again. Not to mention, it pairs nicely with the food I picked up."

She's rambling. That's a nervous tick if I ever did see one.

"Why are you here, Lauren?"

She rolls her lips and taps her nails on her glass. "We didn't start on the right foot the other day. Lunch was a dick-measuring contest if I've ever seen one, but I meant it when I said I was not here to cause trouble. However, some things have been brought to my attention that I felt I should share. I'm too old for drama, Everett."

"Well, you have a captive audience, seeing as it's just you and me, so please feel free to drop whatever baggage you brought with you on my doorstep," I say sardonically as I take a sip of my wine. I'm not a big wine drinker, but this is actually decent, and after the past twenty-four hours, I could use a drink. I may have been brash, but it can't be helped when sitting here with her is the last place I want to be.

"My niece is Evan Grave's sister?—"

"That is need-to-know information. Information you should have shared last week," I say, attempting not to lose my temper. Yelling at women is something I try hard to avoid.

She holds up her hand. "This is the story she's attempting to spin."

"Well, this sounds like a problem for you. She's your niece. Fix it."

"Will you settle down and hear me out? I came here because I want to let this play out, and I need your cooperation to do so. I'm curious where Stormy is going with this."

"Why would I entertain this, Lauren? I thought I made it clear I don't want your drama, and yet you're back with a problem nonetheless," I point out as I round the counter to get something stronger than wine.

"Because of who she is and what she might know. Her stories might be fabricated, but there is some truth spun into them. The question is, how does she have those truths?" She pauses to take a sip of her wine before adding, "I would have told you last week had I known then what I do now. Everett, you have to remember I've been gone for over twenty years, and believe it or not, I didn't care to check on anyone who still lived in this backwash old town. No one here was worth my time."

Pulling down a lowball glass, I fill it with ice before uncorking my cognac. "Let's hear it, Lauren. It better be worth my time if you expect me to play along."

"The other day, when I got back from running up to the store, Stormy was sitting in the living room with a guy I'd never seen before who was sporting a Callahan instead, she was in a guest bedroom upstairs, which gave him the perfect opportunity to case the downstairs. Having gotten into the house, he noted where all the interior cameras were located to avoid them when he returned later. I'm sure he didn't know she was in that closet scared shitless when he broke in a few nights later. He probably thought she was upstairs asleep without a worry that he was downstairs pilfering through Connor and Makenzie's valuables.

I take a long pull of my drink as I go over the details she's sharing and the ones she isn't. "You're going to need to get better at lying if you expect me to believe your niece..." I draw out the title, letting it marinate before adding, "conned you into believing she has a sibling. Sage Graves was not your sister. You didn't have any siblings," I assert, topping off my glass.

"You're right. I don't. Just because I refer to Stormy as my niece doesn't make it literal. People refer to family friends as uncles and aunts all the time. I'm sure you have something similar with Cameron."

Cameron has never once called me uncle. Thank fuck for small miracles, but I understand the sentiment. I take a drink, needing the caramel-colored concoction to take the edge off. "The more I learned about Evan, the more curious I became. I assumed you and Moira had damn good reasons why you weren't helping him out now." She turns to the cabinet behind her and pulls out two plates.

"Evan isn't a bad kid. Jaded, bitter, and maybe a little resentful—yes, but he's done a lot of it to himself. Moira and I helped him after his mother conned us. Obviously, we never expected anything in return. We saw a boy born into a house of addiction and stepped up to care for him when his mother couldn't. For the most part, he was grateful, but at the end of the day, I don't care who you are. Being abandoned sucks. He was old enough to understand exactly what happened. His mother didn't die. She'd rather do drugs than have her son. It fucked with him."

"What exactly do you think you know about Sage Graves?" she asks, her expression pinched like I'm missing something big.

"Enough. Sage was a drug addict who abandoned her son and never looked back." As I watch her sip her wine, another detail suddenly hits me. "Why would Stormy choose Evan as her brother? Or maybe the better question is, why would she expect you to believe it? If she's not your niece, who is she to you?"

"Were you and Moira happily married? I mean, I was around, and I know there were rumors, but then you guys had Connor, and you were married for almost two decades. Was it all a facade or was any of it real?" she asks, setting a salad plate in front of me.

"Lauren, I don't care to discuss my marriage with you or anyone else. I'd appreciate it if we could stay on topic." I sit at one of the stools surrounding the kitchen island and watch as she dishes out the salad.

"I am on topic. The fact that you can't see that is telling." She walks around the island and grabs her plate before leaning against the opposite counter. "Moira MacBeth is Evan Graves's biological aunt, not me, which would make her Stormy's aunt as well, if they were indeed siblings." I feel my eyes narrow on hers as I try to process whether or not I believe the words coming out of her mouth. My marriage with Moira may have been loveless, but we were friends. It doesn't make sense that she would keep that information from me. "Moira's uncle, Craig, is Evan Graves's father."

My eyes feel like they jump out of my skull. "What proof do you have?"

"My mother."

"Your mother. The same one who's currently staying at Sweet Water Retirement Home?"

She raises a brow. "Are you keeping tabs on my mother?"

"No, Connor's wife had her mother there last year. Naturally, I took it upon myself to know what residents were in the facility."

"Of course you did," she says before sipping her wine. "After Stormy dropped that bomb, I decided to visit my mom. If there was any truth in her story, my mother would know. She was a records clerk at the Waterloo police station for over thirty years. What I found out was Sage Graves did get a rape kit or a version of it at the hospital after a sexual assault occurred around the same time she would have likely conceived Evan. The hospital processed everything, but when it showed up at the police station, it went missing. All the records of her claim were gone."

"If everything went missing, how does your mother know anything about it?"

"She was the one who received it from the hospital. The kit literally went missing while she was processing it. She left to use the restroom, and when she returned, it was gone."

Craig was a dirty chief of police who had his hands in everything. His corruption and blackmail went untouched for years. "Let me guess, she didn't question that it went missing because of who was named as the assailant." She shrugs a non-verbal admission. "Have you mentioned any of this to Evan?"

"No, I haven't seen him since that day in my living room. Honestly, a conversation between Moira and me is long overdue, but seeing as she hasn't been around, I decided to come to you as an olive branch, if you will. I'm currently working for your son, and I meant it when I said my business here has nothing to do with you and yours." She pauses to take a bite of her salad. I'll give it to her. Lauren's comfort and moxie are unfitting for the current situation. They remind me of Cameron. She waves her fork at me. "Are you not going to eat?"

"You'll have to excuse my lack of appetite. This story you're spinning is news to me, and I'm still not sure I believe it."

Again, she takes another bite, unfazed by my disbelief. "What do I have to gain by lying?" I don't admit I haven't figured that out yet, but there's always something. Ghosts don't come back without a reason to haunt. "If you don't believe me, you could always ask your wife."

"Ex-wife," I correct before taking another pull of my cognac. "You still haven't answered my question. You aren't Stormy's blood. So who are you to Stormy?"

I watch as she places her plate down and picks up her wine. She's stalling, which means whatever comes out next is either a lie or a version of the truth that doesn't tell the whole story.

"I met Sage through an unlikely source I don't want to discuss. The way we met doesn't concern you. It's a part of my past." She pauses, flipping open another container. "Unbeknownst to me, Sage had a will. The woman barely had a pot to piss in, but she had a will, and apparently, she named me as a guardian for Stormy should anything ever happen to her. But the detail Stormy doesn't realize I know is that Stormy was not Sage's biological daughter. Sage adopted her."

"Are you fucking kidding me? She leaves Evan on our porch but adopts a stranger? Pass me the bottle."

Lauren slides the bottle across the counter. "I know how it looks, but you can't judge someone else's journey because it doesn't fit your script. We both know Sage wasn't the only one around here with skeletons in the closet." As I pour myself another glass, she asks, "So, are you agreeing to let this play out?"

There's more to tell. I can feel it. But I honestly can't put together why the girl would choose this lie; however, like Lauren, I'm intrigued.

"I'm not the keeper of your secrets, Lauren."

"The way I see it, I haven't given you any information you couldn't have found on your own." She places her hand on her hip. "If there were secrets in it, they weren't mine."

My eyes narrow on hers. She's not wrong. While I know damn well she's withholding information, the secrets she shared weren't hers; they were Moira's, but everyone knows a secret that isn't yours to tell is still a secret, but I let it go. I have so many questions, but first, I need to see my ex, and right now, she's the last person I want to see. I can't believe, after everything we've been through, she would keep this of all things from me—it's time to find the stranger I used to call wife.