Chapter 32
Julian
Fit is almost empty, thank God. Sundays usually are.
I’m not in the mood to be “on.” And it’s not lost on me that the timing is ideal.
I’ve had this whole weekend off. No traveling.
No content filming. And no real work. Considering how things played out, ideal is an understatement.
Who could’ve seen this shit show coming?
Not me. Maybe the universe threw me a bone for my birthday.
You can’t escape the shit show we’ve got in store for you, but what if we give you the weekend off to deal with it?
Blasting my workout playlist through the Fit sound system because I couldn’t find my AirPods, I work out until sweat drips into my eyes and my arms and legs shake from exertion. Because the place is all but vacant, no one is bitching about it. Another gift from the gods.
No matter how hard I go, Everly stands center stage in my thoughts throughout my exercises.
I know she loves me. Her body tells me she loves me.
Every time I touch her. Even if she can’t say it right now.
I spin into a roundhouse kick, striking the bag to drown out the old self-talk that tries to invade my thoughts.
She loves me. I deserve her. Do you? Another kick.
Yes! Back kick. She loves me. Side kick. I deserve her. Reverse turning kick.
Panting, I flatten my palms on the bag to catch my breath.
What if I lose her? The thought slams into my brain with a force that threatens to drop me to my knees.
I bend at the waist and brace my hands on my knees and take some slow, deep breaths.
I’ll be okay. I’ll be okay. Taya thought I abandoned her, thought I took a payout from her dad to stay away from her, and she dealt with it.
But you didn’t love each other like this.
That thought sobers me. We didn’t love each other the way I love Everly. The way I think she loves me.
Eminem’s iconic intro beat to “Lose Yourself” pulses through the speakers.
I move out of the kickboxing room and into the main area and step onto a treadmill.
Cardio isn’t my favorite, but this is my favorite song to run to.
I keep pace with the beat—it’s almost a perfect five-minute cooldown run.
Just as it’s coming to an end, a few of my clients walk in—the cougar club as some like to call them, sans Sylvie.
Thank God for little mercies. Except I’m missing my AirPods, so I hop off the treadmill and kill my playlist. I smile and greet the ladies as I swing into the office and cue the gym playlist. I wave on my way to the door, hoping they won’t stop me.
They don’t. Again, maybe the universe is on my side.
Even after the grueling workout, I’m restless—and fixating on my missing earbuds.
I storm into the house and begin rummaging through the tray on the entryway table.
Nothing. I search the kitchen counters and the junk drawer.
Not there. I already inspected my Jeep thoroughly.
I take the stairs two at a time, moving into our room.
Our room. I freeze in the doorway for a second, taking in the tangled sheets, half-open drawers—a reminder of her, in my arms, telling me with her body (if not her words) that she loves me.
She loves me. Right?
Not sure who I’m trying to convince anymore, I storm into the room and begin thrashing through backpacks and drawers.
My top nightstand drawer holds lube and condoms, which we haven’t used since our first night together.
No earbuds. I slam it shut along with the reminder of our first time—her first time.
Stalking to her nightstand, I yank it open so hard it falls to the floor, spilling the contents: lip balm, hand lotion, hair ties, pencils, pens .
. . her journal. I stare at it like a pendulum.
My name at the top of the page might as well be a neon sign.
In a trance, I reach for it. I grip it till my knuckles turn white.
If the universe decided I’m worth a damn, I’m about to prove it wrong, because instead of closing it, I begin to read.
The very first line has me faltering. This isn’t for me.
The second line swells my heart. I want to close it.
I know I should. I stop reading, wrestling with my conscience.
My desperation wins. Maybe I’m not a good guy and don’t deserve her.
I continue reading, heart racing in my throat, pulse pounding in my wrists.
Dear Julian,
You’re never going to read this, so here it goes.
I want you! I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you.
I’ve never wanted anyone—period! That’s not to say I haven’t had attention from boys before, but they were clumsy and dumb and painfully transparent.
They didn’t want me. They wanted someone or the experience.
I could’ve been any girl. That didn’t exactly make me want to rip my clothes off and have all the sex.
Or even kiss. I began to wonder if there was something wrong with me that I didn’t want to be with a guy.
Now I know it was the guy. Because with you, I want .
. . everything. I want you to touch me. I want to touch you.
When I’m with you, it’s like they describe it in the books.
Everything else fades away and all I see is you.
All I think about is you. All I feel is you.
The loneliness, anger, pain . . . all goes away when I’m with you.
Sometimes, I wish we could stay in this Blue Lake bubble forever and not have to face the world and all the stupid, senseless bullshit that comes with it.
Sometimes, I wonder if I’ve built all of this up in my mind and it’s not as earth-shattering as it seems. You make me feel seen for the first time in my life.
You make me feel beautiful and sexy and like I could deserve a man as beautiful as you.
I know fairy tales don’t exist. My sister has always told me I set myself up for disappointment because I expect guys to act like the ones in my books.
Maybe that’s true. I don’t know. I just know that I’ve never wanted to experience all the things I want to experience with you.
No one has ever made me crave being kissed or touched the way I do with you.
Maybe the gods are rewarding me for enduring all the bullying and lies in my hometown, for being ostracized and forced to leave the only life I’ve ever known.
Maybe I’m being given a gift for being the perfect daughter all these years that never made waves and always did what was expected of her.
I don’t know! Maybe it’s that I never took any of those fumbling guys up on their offers and waited patiently for you.
All I know is I’m yours, all of me. If you want me, and I think you do.
I don’t even care if it’s not forever. Although I’m sure it would break me if it wasn’t, because I’m convinced no one will ever make me feel the way you make me feel.
No one will ever smell the way you smell.
Kiss me the way you kiss me. Touch me the way you touch me.
Make my body come alive the way it does for you.
It’s physically painful that you’re only a few steps away, across a cold tile floor, probably naked except for the soft cotton pajama bottoms I love that hang low on your hips.
My mouth goes dry at the memory of how soft and smooth the skin of your chest is.
The way it heats my fingertips when I touch you.
The way your biceps ripple when I grip them tight, wanting more of whatever you’re giving me.
Is this what falling feels like? If it is, then here’s the spoiler.
It’s better than the books, Julie. You’re better than all my imaginings of what the guy I’d fall for would be.
You’re perfect and beautiful. And I don’t mind saying it because you’ll never read this anyway.
Good night, sweet Julian. I hope you dream of me as I’ll surely dream of you.
Love, Ever
I close the journal. At some point, I’d sunk to the bed reading it—just that first page.
I came to my senses after that. I can’t do this.
I shouldn’t have done it. It wasn’t for me to ever see.
But I don’t—can’t—totally regret reading that one page.
It’s not dated, but it had to be after we’d been together—maybe before we slept together.
It doesn’t even matter. I’m euphoric with hope.
And I’m more determined than ever to keep my girl.
Whether I deserve her or not doesn’t matter.
She’s mine and I’m hers. Whatever else happened or is going on, I know that much is true.
She knows it too, even if she needs a reminder.
I trace my finger over the last line. Love, Ever.
I flip to the back and tear a blank sheet from the spiral binding, swipe a pencil off the floor and lay the blank page over her name.
After I trace it onto the paper slowly and precisely, I hurriedly scoop all the fallen items back into the drawer, including the journal, and replace the drawer back in the nightstand. Earbuds search forgotten, I retrieve my phone from my pocket and pull up a contact I haven’t used in three years.
Me: Hey Angel. It’s Julian. I need a favor. Today. Available?
Angel: . . .
My knee bounces as I watch the three little dots. It’s been a long time. Not sure I made a lasting impression. Random impulsive encounters don’t always make the core memory bank.
Angel: Random, but yeah. Lucky you. How soon can you be here?
Me: 15?
A thumbs-up sets me in motion. I’m taking it as another sign from the universe.
***
An hour later, I’m in my Jeep ready to take the short drive back to Blue Lake, when my phone chimes with Ever’s text tone. My heart leaps as I slide my device out of my pocket. I can feel my pulse in my fingertips.
Ever: Hey Julie, can we talk?
Butterflies and the pit in my stomach fight for dominance. I’m encouraged by her calling me Julie. The universe is on my side, right?
Me: Sure. When and where?
Ever: Here at sunset?
Me: Yep. Can I bring anything?
Ever: Just you ;)
Her cute reply and wink calm my racing heart.
The universe is on my side. I let the crisp air of turning seasons rush through the windows all the way home.
I don’t play music and instead focus on the sights and smells of Cavern County.
Home. I take in the oak tree-lined highways, the rolling foothills of yellow brush, the endless blue sky dotted with sporadic wispy clouds.
Sunset will hit in a couple hours. Plenty of time to get home, shower, change and take a slow walk to Brew and my old apartment.
My hand goes automatically to my chest. I don’t rub though, and instead I tap it with my fingertips.
The unhurried walk I hope will keep me calm and prepare me for whatever it is Everly has to say.
She loves me. I know she loves me.
***
Clouds make for spectacular sunsets. Tonight’s looks epic.
Another sign? At the top of the stairs to my apartment, I take one last look behind me at the lake view.
Reaching for the door handle, I pause, ponder for a second, before I raise my knuckles to lightly rap on the door.
She opens it within moments, a weird smile on her face.
Because I knocked instead of walking in?
Fuck, this is awkward. I forget the unease when her scent hits my nose.
But it’s mixed with . . . the aroma of her favorite meal?
I want to reach for her, tuck the loose lock of hair behind her ear, kiss her on the soft spot below her earlobe, breathe in her sunshine scent.
I smile instead. “Hi.” I stuff my itching fingers into the pocket of my joggers.
“Hi.” Her weird smile is replaced by her sweet, shy smile I love so much. She reaches up and tucks the strand of hair behind her ear.
I swallow, watching her finger trail the shell and twirl the ends of the curling chestnut lock. Looking past me, she gasps at the sight of the sinking sun.
I turn my gaze to follow hers. “Incredible, right?” I knew the clouds would help paint a good one tonight.
“Yeah. Wanna go down to the beach for it? Or watch from the deck?”
“Whatever you want.” I want to hug her. Should I ask if I can hug her? Is it weird to ask?
“Let’s just watch it here. I made dinner. We can eat after if you’re . . . Are you hungry?”
“Yeah. Smells delicious. Your favorite meal?”
Nodding, she smiles shyly and backs away from the door—both of us realizing we’re still standing in the doorway of the apartment.
“Want something to drink?” The polite dance we’re both doing is bordering on ridiculous, but we continue to play along.
“Sure, whatever you’re having. I’ll just head out to the deck.” I don’t wait for a reply, and she doesn’t offer one. Maybe we’re both over the absurdity of our pleasantries.
Ever brings two glasses of water outside and sits in the empty chaise, setting the glasses on the table between us.
Tracking her movements in my periphery, I make myself calmly fold my hands over my lower abs and cross my ankles on the foot of the lounger.
I take a breath from deep in my diaphragm and mentally clock the colors of tonight’s sunset.
Deep blue, purple, dark pink, burnt orange, golden yellow—almost every color.
I want to hug her. Hold her hand. Pick her up and snuggle her into my lap.
Feel her curl into me like she was made for it.
And wasn’t she? But I can’t get ahead of myself.
She asked me here to talk. I reel my shit in and wait.
Another deep breath. Exhale. She loves me.