Chapter Thirty-Eight #2
“No. The sex is too good.” I toss my hair over my shoulder and strike a flirty pose. “Plus, I look cute in your clothes.”
“Fuck yes, you do.” His eyes darken with hunger again, but not for food. “Did you get enough to eat?”
“Yes.”
He closes up the pizza box and takes it to the kitchen while I replace his toothpaste in the bathroom. We meet in the bedroom, where he lifts his shirt over my head, sweeps me off my feet, and tosses me onto his bed. Ditching his underwear, he climbs on top of me, and I wrap my legs around him.
“I’m sorry I don’t have more time.” I slide my hands along his thick-muscled biceps. “I wish I could stay all night.”
He lowers his head so that I can feel his lips brushing against mine when he speaks. “Baby, it still wouldn’t be enough.”
After round two, I lie snuggled up along his side with my head on his chest, an arm and a leg tossed over him. The lamp gives his bronzed skin a golden glow. “I don’t want to leave,” I say lazily.
“I’m not kicking you out.”
“But I should go soon.”
His arms tighten around me. “Maybe I won’t let you go. Maybe I’ll keep you here forever. ‘I’m sorry, Eliza, I have no idea what happened to your daughter. You’ll have to find someone else to boss around.’”
I laugh. “That wouldn’t be any fun for her. It’s only me she wants to control.”
“I don’t know how you stand it.” He rubs my back. “I wish she appreciated you.”
“Sometimes she does.” My voice sounds weak.
“When? I have only ever heard her say nice things to you once—about your dancing. And right afterward, she called you a disappointment because you didn’t get into Juilliard. I’ll never forget it.”
The usual list of excuses I always make for her is on the tip of my tongue. But when I open my mouth, what comes out is something else entirely.
“Actually, I did get in.”
His hand stops moving on my back. “What?”
“Juilliard. I wasn’t rejected. I got in.”
“But—”
“I lied. When I got the acceptance letter, I replied that I was quitting dance and going to another school. Then I told my mother I hadn’t been accepted.”
“Why?”
My heart is pounding so hard. “Because I knew she’d make me go.”
“You were that afraid of her?”
“I was afraid of being forced to live a life I didn’t want. So I lied.” A sob catches in my throat. “But I felt horrible about it. I still do.”
“Oh, baby.” He strokes my back again. “You didn’t owe her that acceptance. It was your life. Your decision.”
“Still. It was dishonest. It was me running away from something hard instead of facing it.”
“Hey. Look at me.”
I pick up my head and look into his eyes. He frames my face with one hand.
“You have nothing to be ashamed of. You did what you had to do to lead the life you wanted. I think it was brave.”
“But I didn’t have the guts to stand up to her.”
“Mila. You were a kid. You stood up for yourself the only way you could.” He caresses my cheek with his thumb. “She raised you to feel like her love was conditional. Something to be won. It’s not surprising you were afraid to tell her a truth she wouldn’t like.”
“You don’t think I’m a bad person for lying to her?”
“Not at all. I wish you’d stand up for yourself more often.”
“Direct confrontation is not my style.”
“It’s mine,” he grumbles. “Can I fight for you?”
His protectiveness warms me all over. “No. I appreciate the offer, but you cannot meet my bully at the flagpole.”
He exhales. “Sorry. I’m not trying to make this about me. It just tears me up inside, the way she treats you. And when I see something wrong, I want to fix it.”
“You can’t fix this, Everett. Only I can fix me.”
“Hey.” He lifts my chin and levels his eyes with mine. “There is nothing broken about you—nothing that needs to be fixed. I just can’t stand the thought of someone hurting you. That’s all.”
Putting my head on his chest again, I soak in the heat of his body and the comfort of his embrace. I want to tell him everything.
“Everett.”
“Hm.”
“I burned the acceptance letter that night. At the bakery.”
A pause. “You did?”
“Yes.” My voice trembles. “I lit the corner of it on fire from a burner on the stove and let it burn in the sink. And I swear to God I made sure that burner was off.”
“Shhh.” He tightens his arms around me. “I believe you.”
“You do?”
“Yes. And I think I would have noticed if a burner was on. I would have smelled the gas or seen the flame.”
“For ten years, I’ve been carrying that around with me. I never told anyone—I was too afraid of getting in even more trouble. It made me feel so alone.”
“You’re not alone anymore.” He kisses the top of my head. “And you’re not the only one who has secrets from that night.”
“What do you mean?”
He doesn’t answer right away.
“You can tell me. I won’t judge.”
“It’s pretty dark,” he says quietly.
“That’s okay.” I want to know everything about him. The dark and the light.
He takes a couple of breaths while he thinks it through, his chest rising and falling beneath my cheek. When he speaks, his voice is solemn. “The night of the fire, my father didn’t have a heart attack. He fell down the stairs. And it was my fault.”
I gasp. “What happened?”
“He was drunk and furious. Out of his mind. He’d already taken a swing at me, but I was worried he was going after Gabi.”
I pick up my head. “Your father hit you?”
“Sometimes. If he was drunk enough. Or angry enough.”
“My God. I had no idea.” My blood ices over with fear. Was this my fault too? “Wait a minute. Was he angry about the fire? Is that why he hit you?”
“He was angry about a lot of things in his life. That night, he was furious with Gabi. But he never hit her—he’d hit me in front of her, because he knew how much it hurt her.”
“Oh, Everett.” A deep chasm opens in my chest, sympathy and sorrow rushing in.
“I was trying to de-escalate the situation, but he just wouldn’t give up the fight.” He pauses. “I had a baseball bat in my hand. He came at me, and I moved out of the way. He lost his balance, stumbled toward the staircase, and fell backward.” Everett’s voice breaks.
“It wasn’t your fault,” I tell him. “You did what you had to do. You were keeping the people you love safe.”
“He needed surgery after the fall. That’s when he got hooked on the pain pills. He never really recovered.”
My heart—my entire body—aches for him. And for Gabi, too, who was suffering in silence all that time. She never told us about her dad.
“Publicly, we went with the story about the heart attack causing the fall. It was just easier.”
I brush the back of my knuckles over Everett’s cheek. “I’m so sorry. I knew your dad was a drinker, but I never knew things were violent at home.”
“We didn’t talk about it. It was embarrassing.”
My eyes fill as I recall what Gabi said last week.
There were other things that went wrong that night—really horrible things—which had absolutely nothing to do with you. Things I’ve never talked about.
Now it makes more sense. And even though it hurts to think she felt like she couldn’t come to her friends with the whole truth, I’m glad she had her brother. I wish I had family who loved and protected each other the way they did, in good times and bad.
“You and Gabi are so lucky to have each other. ”
He kisses my fingertips. “You have me too.”
Everything around us blurs and fades. In this moment, I’m overwhelmed with longing for him that rises from the deep and quickly rushes over my head.
Powerless against it, I lower my cheek to his chest again and tuck my arms around him, holding on as if he’s a life preserver in choppy waters.
My eyes close, and his heartbeat anchors me.
I’ve been gone for hours. Much longer than I said I’d be. The responsible adult in me, the one who jumped on a plane two days after my mother called, knows I should get up, get dressed, go home.
But the part of me that loves being touched, held, and cherished, begs me to stay.
In his arms, I am wanted. I am forgiven. I am understood.
Everett and I don’t get out of bed until after nine p.m. Once I’m dressed, I check my phone and discover I missed a series of texts from my mother. They started almost the minute I walked out of the house.
Mom: The schedule you left for my evening meds doesn’t seem right.
Mom: I got all the way to the kitchen with my walker, but you put my favorite mug on the highest shelf. I can’t even reach it without my back spasming.
Mom: I’m out of the sensitive skin body wash I need. Can you please pick some up and bring it home in time for my bath at 8:00?
Mom: Where are you? I thought you said you wouldn’t be late. It’s almost 9:00!
Mom: Can you please call me?
Everett notices my troubled expression. “What’s wrong?”
“My mother. She’s been messaging me all night for petty things. She just wants to interrupt my time with you.”
Everett’s face remains impassive. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m not.” I sigh as I lean down to tie my sneakers. “But I better get home. Can you send me a photo of the orchids on the wall after you get them up?”
“Of course. Thanks again for giving them to me. You’re sure your mother won’t miss them?”
“Unfortunately, I’m positive.”
When I straighten up, he tugs me into his arms. “This is a better home for them. They’ll be appreciated here.”
“Yes. They will.”
My mother is sitting on the couch in her pajamas and robe when I get home. She has a book on her lap, which she sets aside when I come in.
“Where have you been?” she demands, pushing her reading glasses to the top of her head.
“I was with Everett.” I shut the door behind me.
“I texted you several times tonight. I needed you.”
I refuse to let her force me into delivering a phony apology. “I didn’t see the texts until after nine.”
Her lips purse. “What did you do all night that kept you so busy?”
“Not much.”
She pouts, unable to do anything with that gray rock. “Well, it’s very late, and I’m exhausted now that I waited up for you.”
I say nothing as I take off my sneakers.
“Would you mind helping me to bed now?”
I do, then say good night and leave the room, turning the light off on my way out.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m settling on the couch for the night when a text from Everett comes in.
Everett: Did you make it home okay?
Mila: Yes. I just put the toddler to bed.
Everett: Was she mad you were late?
Mila: Of course. And she’ll probably punish me for a few days.
Everett: You don’t have to take it. You didn’t do anything wrong.
Mila: I’ll be okay. I had the best time with you tonight. It was worth it.
The next thing I get is a photo of the orchids hanging in his living room.
Mila: They look so good!!!
Everett: I love looking at them. Thank you for trusting me with them. With everything.
My screen grows a little blurry, and my throat feels tight.
Mila: I do trust you.
He hearts the message.
Everett: Good night, Freckles.
Mila: Night.
Setting my phone aside, I close my eyes and imagine his warm body curled around mine in the dark. I wonder how often he and Bella spent the night together and feel a sharp pang of jealousy.
Eighteen days until I go back to New York.
For the first time, I wish I didn’t have to leave Hart’s Landing quite so soon.