Chapter 25
Evie
When I wake up, I’m drenched in sweat. Groaning, I toss the sheets off my body and sigh when the fresh air hits my skin. I roll over and glance at the clock on my nightstand. It’s not even nine o’clock. I was asleep for forty minutes—if that.
My to-do list tells me that’s a good thing, but my body screams the opposite. Slowly, I sit up, whimpering as I register the pain in my lower back.
“Jesus?” I whisper as I struggle to get out of bed. “Hi, it’s me, arguably Your least favorite person.” I take a deep breath, hoping to channel Abi’s confidence when it comes to prayer. I know I don’t do this whole prayer thing very often, but . . . if You could just make this pain go away, then—
I pause, realizing I’m always trying to bargain with God about something or another.
Over the course of my life, most of my prayers have sounded a lot like, “Hey, Jesus, if You scratch my back, then I’ll scratch Yours.
” First, asking God to get my parents back together in exchange for attempting to be a better person.
Next, begging Jesus to save my life during that car accident with the promise of going back to church.
I went once and haven’t been back since.
Come to think of it, I never seem to follow through on my end of the bargains. Is that why He’s been silent with me? Am I not doing something right?
And now, I’m asking Him to heal my body . . . in exchange for what? I have nothing to offer God. Clearly. If I did, I’d have given it to Him by now. And even if I did, I can never seem to stick to my word . . .
No wonder Jesus doesn’t like scratching my back. He knows my back rubs are worthless.
Once I’m out of bed, I grab my laundry bag, laptop, and wireless earbuds, then wobble to the door and incline my ear.
The TV is on. Carefully, I push the door open and pad toward the stairs.
I pause at the top step, waiting for a particularly loud moment on the program Grandma is watching before creeping down the steps.
At the bottom, I pause again, wondering if I’ve been caught red-handed.
Crickets.
Success.
Once I’m in the clear, I put my earbuds in and toss a load of laundry into the washing machine.
Then I try to get comfortable on the bean bag chair in the corner—a useless endeavor, considering nothing is comfortable for me these days—and finish drafting my resignation letter.
Once I hit send and that’s off my to-do list, I continue my job search.
I’m filling out an application for a nurse’s aide position at a skilled nursing facility the next town over when the door to the laundry room pops open, and in walks Brandon.
I nearly topple off the bean bag chair. “What the—?” Slamming my laptop closed, I gawk as Brandon saunters into the laundry room like he owns the place. “What do you think you’re doing?” I bark, ripping my earbuds out.
Shaking his head, he eyes the washing machine. “This is an intervention, Miss Montgomery.”
I roll off the bean bag chair and, in a rather ungraceful manner, clamber to my feet. Brandon watches with a mixture of both concern and amusement on his face.
I face him with a huff, trying my best to ignore the new ache in my spine. I point at the door. “Get out,” I order. “Before I tell Grandma you’re breaking and entering.”
“Actually, Maggie was the one who called me.”
I frown.
“She wanted me to remind you that her sense of hearing is still as sharp as ever. She also told me to tell you that this is payback.”
I stare stupidly. “Payback for what?”
“When you had me take her to the grocery store a couple of weeks ago.”
Right. “Of course it is.”
A beat of silence passes.
Feeling insecure, I cross my arms over my braless chest and glance at the door. It’s one thing for us to be alone at the office, but it’s something else entirely in Grandma’s basement while I’m in nothing but my flimsy pajamas. “You need to get a hobby other than obsessing over what I’m doing.”
Brandon’s brow tips up. “Worrying about you is hardly a hobby, Genevieve. It’s a full-time job.”
I scoff. “Then don’t.”
“As if I have a choice in the matter.” He glances around pointedly. “You should be in bed, resting.”
I throw my hands up. “What do you suggest I do? Wear dirty underwear all week? The laundry needs doing, Brandon—whether Grandma likes it or not.”
He responds with a drawn-out sigh, as if I’m the most exasperating person on the planet. His attention shifts to my laptop. “I got your resignation letter, by the way.”
Already? He must have his email connected to his phone. “Yup.”
His eyes narrow. “I decline.”
I laugh, genuinely amused. His lips twitch. “You can’t decline a resignation letter, Brandon.”
“You can’t quit,” he says simply.
I shrug. “I just did.”
He glowers. “Well, take it back.”
“I can’t unsend the email.”
“I’ll delete it, then. Mark it as spam.”
“Won’t change anything. I’ll just send it again.”
He pauses to think, his jaw flexing. “Did you find something else?”
I hesitate to answer, knowing I have nothing to lean back on right now. Like a shark smelling blood in the water, Brandon senses the chink in my armor and steps forward. “Evie, listen—”
“Stop,” I say, stumbling back.
He grabs my arm as my foot slips on a stray sock. “Whoa. Careful.”
“I’m fine!” I blurt as my back bumps up against the washing machine.
His proximity is making me nervous. Shaking off his touch, I wrap my arms around my torso and squish myself up against the dryer, attempting to put as much distance between our bodies as possible—which is only a couple of inches at best.
Unable to take a hint, Brandon draws closer, and I almost go into cardiac arrest when I feel the heat rolling off his body.
He made his intentions crystal clear this afternoon, so this—being alone with him and half naked in my pj’s—is dangerous territory.
If he came onto me right now, I wouldn’t have the willpower to say no.
I’ve never had any self-control when it comes to him.
“You’re nervous,” he says, his voice low and thick as he observes me with a tilt of his head. “Why?”
I hold my hand up, my heart pounding in my throat. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” he demands.
“Come any closer.”
He looks down, as if he didn’t realize he was getting too close for comfort. He gives me a confused look. “I just want to talk.”
“Talk about what?” I snap, irritated by his cluelessness. “About the appalling things you said to me this afternoon?”
Recognition dawns on his face. “So that’s what this is about.”
“What else would it be about?” I practically yell. “I don’t want what you want! I never did!” I never intended to become one of his . . . his—
Friends with benefits.
He flinches. “What do you mean?” His voice is measured and calm, like he’s handling a ticking time bomb.
I feel like a ticking time bomb . . .
“Oh, please,” I growl, avoiding his eyes now.
“Don’t act coy, Brandon. I know you better than anyone.
We both know what you’re really after. I knew from the beginning, but I was stupid enough to fall for the whole, ‘I want you to trust me again’ act.
” Scoffing, I throw my hands up. “But silly me for assuming you could keep it in your pants long enough for me to find another job!”
He guffaws loudly. It’s a blunt, incredulous sound. Warily, I peek up at him and flinch at the hard look on his face. “You think I want to sleep with you?”
For some illogical reason, his reaction hurts my feelings. As if—in my demented mind—discovering he doesn’t want to sleep with me is just as hurtful as if that was all he wanted . . . Ugh! Make it make sense, Genevieve!
I gape at him. “You basically insinuated you’re game for round two this afternoon.”
He’s shaking his head, his jaw tight, his posture rigid.
“So you’re allowed to wind me up, but I can’t tease you back?
The only reason I said any of that was because you were messing with me, hinting at the fact that you knew I liked you.
” He props his hands on his hips, looking like he’s about to scold his toddler.
It’s almost comical. “Tell me how that’s fair, Genevieve. ”
I scrutinize him. “Do you?”
“Do I what?” he snaps, lost in the argument.
“Do you like me?”
He laughs again, but then he sobers, clearly at his wit’s end with me. “What are we? In junior high?”
“Answer the question.”
“Of course I like you, Evie,” he grits out. “I like you more than I’ve ever liked any other person I’ve ever met.”
And just like that, my anger evaporates like vapor in the wind. “So you do want to sleep with me.”
He rolls his eyes, exasperated. “That’s not what I want, Evie,” he rumbles. “Not even close.”
I scoff, but his words set my heart ablaze. “Then what do you want?”
Silence rings in the air like the echo after a gunshot.
He gazes at me beneath his thick, dark lashes, his gorgeous eyes shining. My heart races in the silence. “Your trust, baby.” He inches closer, and I swallow, nervous as his term of endearment liquifies my insides. “Your forgiveness. From the very beginning, I thought I was clear about all of that.”
“You were,” I admit quietly, attempting to step around him. “But, frankly, you’re doing a terrible job of it.”
He throws his arm out, ensnaring my waist. My breath hitches.
“I’m trying,” he whispers, his anguished voice warm against my cheek.
“But I’m only human, Evie, and I make mistakes.
I know I’ve put my foot in my mouth more times than I can count over the last few weeks, but I’m trying.
I really am. But for some reason, you’re refusing to meet me halfway. Why?”