30. Evie
EVIE
The Uber pulls to the curb well past one in the morning, and I lean back through the open door to press a loud, whiskey-soaked kiss to both of Hazel’s cheeks.
“Get out of my car,” she says, her voice bright and delighted.
“Technically, it’s not your car.”
“Get out of this man’s car, then.” She reaches for my sleeve, pulling me back into the Uber long enough to bop me on the nose. “Text me the second you’re inside, or I’m calling the morgue to see if you’ve been murdered.”
“I’ll be murdered,” I agree solemnly.
“Evie Renee Sutton!”
“I’ll text you.”
I stand on the sidewalk, waving until the taillights disappear around the loop. It was a genuinely excellent night—three hours of dancing, a round of free shots, and a total, blissful absence of any thoughts related to hockey players.
Then I turn toward my building and spot a black SUV sitting in the guest space next to my usual spot. The good mood drains out of me instantly.
I recognize that rental class. It’s the same one he always picks, parked right where my missing Corolla should be. He’s not in the driver’s seat. I check anyway, walking the length of the vehicle and peering through the tint like a complete fool.
Then I step back, tipping my head toward the second-floor walkway.
“Maxwell!”
Across the courtyard, a neighbor’s dog starts barking loudly.
He’s standing on the landing outside my door. When he moves to the railing, I can tell he’s been there for hours by the way he shakes out his numb legs.
“Get lost,” I call up.
“Hi, Evie.”
“Nope.” I start up the stairs. They feel much steeper than they did this morning, and I have to catch the rail on the fourth step to stop from stumbling.
Though I’d like it on the record that the stairs are poorly leveled.
“Go home. Go back to Charlotte. Go find another door to knock on that isn’t mine. ”
When I reach the top of the landing, his eyes sweep over me—from the green dress down to the three-inch heels—and something small and stubborn twitches at the corner of his mouth.
“Don’t,” I mutter.
“I didn’t say a word.”
“You smiled.”
“I did.” He doesn’t look away. “You look unbelievable.”
Four days of scruff on his jaw and that black T-shirt I have very detailed memories of. He’s leaning against my railing at one in the morning, looking like the answer to a question nobody asked. The man is so unfairly, ridiculously handsome it’s genuinely offensive.
Still, I’m absolutely furious at him.
“Go.” I point a finger toward the ground. “Down. That way. Bye.”
“Baby, can we just talk for a minute?”
I scrunch my nose. “Not your baby.”
“Pretty girl.”
“Shhhh.” I press a finger against his sternum. “You’ve forfeited that one, too.”
“Come on.” His hand moves to my elbow to steady me. “Let’s get inside before your neighbors call the cops.”
The lock is being uncooperative. I jam the key in on the third attempt, but it won’t budge. Briggs steps up behind me and covers my hand with his. He’s radiating heat as he tilts the key a fraction of an inch and lifts.
The door swings open like a traitor.
“It sticks,” he says.
“Everyone knows that.”
I kick my shoes off just past the threshold—one of them skittering toward the kitchen—and manage to make it to the couch before my legs give up. I collapse sideways across the cushions, dress riding up my thigh in a manner I decline to acknowledge.
Briggs shuts the door and stands in the center of my living room.
“Water,” I mutter into a pillow.
“Yeah.”
“There’s a glass with a chip in the rim. Don’t use that one.”
I listen to him navigate the cabinet and the tap. Then he’s back, setting the glass on the coffee table.
He lifts my ankles, sits at the far end of the sofa, and settles my legs across his lap. His thumb finds the arch of my foot, and I let it stay there, because I’m drunk and weak and my feet are throbbing.
“I’m sorry, Evie.”
I crack one eye open. “For what? For being the world’s most incompetent communicator? For being a total dickhead?”
“Yes.”
“Hmph.” I close the eye again. “What else?”
“For flying into your city and not saying a word.” He continues rubbing my foot. “I landed at six yesterday morning. I’ve been here nineteen hours.”
“I know exactly how long you’ve been here. I found out from a website that critiques the paranormal activity of shitty chain restaurants.”
“I’m really sorry.”
“Are you?” I prop myself up on an elbow. “Or is this just how I get you now? In fragments, from strangers.”
“It shouldn’t be.” He takes a slow, steadying breath.
“I went to Ophelia’s, then to see Zig, then to my father’s house.
And I did all of it without calling you first. I just—I wanted you to meet me on the other side of it.
” He’s focused on my knee now, avoiding my eyes.
“In my head, I was going to get every piece of it handled, and then I’d come to you all finished.
Cleaned up. So you wouldn’t have to see any of the messy middle. ”
“Yeah,” I say. “That’s not fair to anyone.”
“That’s exactly what my dad said. He told me to knock it off.” Briggs looks at his hands. “You’re the best part of my day, Evie. The only thing that’s actually made me feel human lately is being near you. I didn’t think I deserved to feel better, so I stayed away on purpose.”
My heart turns over, but I quickly shove the feeling down somewhere safe. “So your father had to give you a lecture on how not to ghost me?”
“I guess. In a way.”
“That’s truly humiliating for you, Maxwell.”
He huffs a rough, humorless laugh. “It is.”
I sit up fully, dragging my legs back to my side of the cushions because I can’t manage this conversation while his hands are still on my skin.
“You want to know what I did today?” My voice is scaling up into a register I don’t love.
“I sat in my car outside Sutton’s, and I thought about driving to Murphy’s house.
I wanted to walk in and stand in that living room and force you to look at me.
And I didn’t, because I decided you two needed that space to yourselves, and I wasn’t going to be the girl who interrupted it. ”
“Evie—”
“I gave you the entire day,” I cut in. “I sat on it. I went and got drunk with Hazel just so I wouldn’t call you. I checked my phone forty times, and you didn’t reach out once. Not until you decided to show up on my doorstep at midnight because your dad told you to.”
“That’s not—” He cuts himself off. “Okay. That’s a fair hit.”
“And why on earth did you go to Ophelia’s this morning?”
“After the article dropped, I was breaking down and pushing you away. I needed to hear her side of things so I could finally stop banging my head on the version I made up. And I’m glad I did, because there was a lot I didn’t know. A lot I still need to explain to you.”
I sniff. “Like what?”
“It’s, uh, I think it’s something we should talk about later. Once you sober up.”
Something in me goes cold. He’s doing it right now, deciding what I get and when I get it, while he’s standing in my living room apologizing for exactly that.
“The headlines are saying you’re an unrestricted free agent. Is that something we should wait to talk about?”
He flinches. “. . . no.”
“I found that out from a tabloid, too.” I’m shaking my head.
“Your contract is up in April, which I suppose I could have googled, but I didn’t think I needed to.
You could be anywhere by this summer. And you knew that the entire time I was in Charlotte, holding your hand and meeting your friends and sitting in your kitchen.
You let me stand around in a life you might be walking out of. ”
“That isn’t—”
“Was I supposed to just figure it out? Was that the plan?” I’m on my feet now, a mistake, and I have to catch the back of the couch to keep from wobbling.
“You bought me a cortado at your favorite cafe. You circled Valentine’s Day on your calendar.
And you never once said, hey, by the way, this might all be over in ten weeks. ”
“Because I didn’t know what I wanted yet.”
“No, you did.” My voice cracks, and I hate the sound of it. “You just wanted the version where nobody has to know a thing until you’ve made a decision. That’s what you do, Briggs. Isn’t it? Is that why Ophelia—”
I stop myself, but not quickly enough.
“Say it,” he urges, lips pressed into a thin line.
“No.”
“Evie. Say the rest of it.”
I’m drunk, and my chest feels hollow, so it comes out in one piece, whole and terrible.
“It doesn’t matter. This was never going to work.
” I gesture around him. “Look at us. You’ve got a career and a fancy condo in another city.
I’ve got a job at my father’s funeral home and a Corolla that barely runs.
I was a season, Briggs. I was a nice thing that happened to you the winter your brother died.
It’s going to be so easy for you to move on from this because you leave.
That’s what you do. You’ve left every single person who ever tried to stand close to you, and I don’t know why I convinced myself I’d be the exception. ”
Briggs stands carefully and says, “Okay.”
My shoulders slump, the fight fully draining out of me. “Okay?”
“You’re drunk, and you’ve been carrying that all day. If I argue with you now, I’m just arguing with the whiskey. So I’m going to say one thing, and then I’m going to go.
“I’ve lived in Charlotte for three years, and I don’t own a single piece of art.
There is nothing on my walls. You stood in the middle of my condo last weekend, and it was the first time it truly felt like home.
So you can tell me that I leave. You’d have a solid case.
But don’t tell me you were a season. You are so much more than that. ”
The admission lands like a hit, taking the air straight out of my lungs. I want to reach for him, to bridge the distance between the sofa and the door, but my feet are anchored to the floor.
I’m a ghost in my own apartment, watching the only thing that’s felt real in months prepare to exit.
“My suspension ends Friday. I fly back in a few days. I have to go because it’s my job. But I’m not giving up on you. I want to work this out. More than anything.”
He looks at me one last time from the doorway. I want to say his name. I want to tell him to stay, to forget the flight and the league and the thousands of miles between us, but the words are lodged behind a wall of whiskey and pride.
“Drink the water,” he says. “Sleep well. If you want to talk before I leave again, I’ll be around. If not, I’ll still be thinking of you.”
Then he pulls the door shut behind him. I listen to the sound of him descending every single one of those stairs before I finally break down in tears.