Chapter 18 #2
He lifts his head, defeat blanketing his features.
“It means that when I’m on a stage with thousands of fans screaming my name or I’m stuck in a room with a shrieking toddler, everything I hear sounds butchered and messed up in my head.
Nothing makes sense. And no matter what I do to fix it, it’s never enough. ”
I don’t think I’ll ever be enough.
I haven’t said anything at all. Haven’t moved in the several minutes he’s been talking.
Because he hasn’t stopped. It’s as if this dam has broken and everything it’s ever held back is pouring out of him.
He tells me how music saved his life. Made him something when he was nothing but a struggling student barely passing high school.
He tells me he plays because he’s good at it.
That the harder he works, the more he forgets.
But the part that breaks him the most, what has him crumpled against my chest when I finally give in to the pull of being closer to him, is when he says he’s living out his worst fear.
That he thinks he’s a terrible parent because he gave his daughter the one thing he hates most about himself.
This man is fracturing into thousands of tiny pieces right before my eyes, and I’m terrified I won’t have what it takes to put him back together again. I’ve never second-guessed the words coming out of my mouth more than the ones I’m about to say.
“Everett?”
I need him to hear this. I don’t want him to miss anything, so I push him upright. I slide my hands on either side of his face to get him to look at me. I dry his cheeks with the back of my hand, and I wait for him to do that thing he does.
When his eyes pinch at the corners and he studies my mouth, I begin.
“You’re enough. You’ve always been enough. For your family, for your fans, for Quinn, for me.”
I didn’t intend to include myself in that list, but I can’t help it when it’s true.
“Quinn is lucky,” I continue. “So, so lucky to have you as her dad.”
He tries to remove my hands and look away, but I grip on tighter. “She asked for you! Tonight, at bedtime, she asked for you. When I tucked her in she said ‘Daddy home soon’ and I told her you were out here writing songs for her but that you’d be in to kiss her good night.”
Just when I think there can’t possibly be anything left, new tears fall down his face.
“So, it’s not just her mom she needs, Everett, she needs you. She doesn’t care if she got your eye color or your hair texture or even your APD. She isn’t going to blame you.”
I let him turn away this time when he tries. “You don’t know that.”
I fold my hands in my lap. “You’re right; I don’t.
But I don’t blame my parents for the challenges I’ve had to face in my life.
Even the ones they could have prevented or the ones they claim are their fault.
She’s going to see that you tried to help her.
That you took her to speech therapy and taught her everything you know to help her cope.
You can give her something no one else can…
understanding. You’re the only one in her life who knows what it feels like, and she’ll have you to lean on when she needs someone.
She’ll be grateful she doesn’t have to do this alone like you did.
You don’t have to be afraid anymore. You can be yourself, Everett, and the people who love you will stay.
The ones who don’t were never meant for you. ”
I can’t even look at his face to see if he believes me.
If what I said made him feel any better.
Because now I’m emotional. That feels like all I can give him for one night.
I could pour a million other things from my heart, but they might all be too honest, too vulnerable.
More than he can handle right now. Stopping while I’m ahead is for the best.
I stand, grab the baby monitor, and head for the door. I don’t make it through the opening before he speaks again.
“Why didn’t you go on the date?”
The frustration in his tone is back. The walls are up again.
When I turn, I find him standing too. His arms are folded across his chest in a dare, and I don’t know what to do. My feelings for him would be another weight on his plate he doesn’t need to bear right now.
He takes a step closer. “Answer me.”
This time there’s a fire in his eyes that frustrates me. Why does he care? Is he looking for a fight?
“You called me,” I remind him.
He takes another step closer. “Summer.”
Because I wanted to be here, okay? Because I’d rather be here with you than anywhere else.
That’s what I should have said.
“You know why.”
He shakes his head. “No. I don’t. You’re single. You can do whatever you want.” He growls. “And you look fucking incredible in that dress. You deserve to be seen in it.”
Suddenly the air is vacuum sealed out of this room. It’s hotter. Sweltering. My legs are Jell-O, the door I’m slumped against the only thing holding me upright.
“I am being seen in it,” I whisper.
His eyes do a long, appreciative drag across my whole body, lingering in all the places I want him to. All the places that this dress was meant to accentuate for Joe but were always for Everett.
He eats up the rest of the space between us, rasping, “You’re about to be seen out of it.”
From the look in his eyes, I’m expecting his kiss before his mouth is even on me.
What I’m not expecting is the searing heat of his palm against the small of my back jerking me flush to him.
I’m not expecting the impatient way my nails score his chest through his shirt either.
My resolve is slipping with his mouth touching my skin.
“Everett,” I pant. “You’re drunk and not thinking clearly and I’m—”
Old Summer is desperate to lean into this delicious feeling.
New Summer knows this is a bad idea. When his lips fuse to my neck, I finally get a gulp of air.
A grip on reality. He might not actually want this—me.
The heightened emotions and high blood-alcohol level pumping through his veins could be to blame.
I could sleep with him. Shove aside every reason why we shouldn’t do this. Remove every piece of clothing that stands between us and get lost in him. But we could both wake up tomorrow and regret it. I want this with Everett, not angry Rhett Dawson.
“I think we should stop,” I get out.
As if my words are a bucket of ice water, he rips his lips from my body and stalks away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and leaving me plastered against the wall. I gulp down more air. It’s not enough to fill my starved lungs.
“What do you want from me, Summer? Why are you here?” he shouts.
“I came to see—”
“If I’m okay. Yeah, you said that already. I mean why are you here?” He points to his own head. “Fucking with my head. The only sound I hear.” He collapses on the couch again, his breathing ragged for several minutes before sleep takes him.
I retrieve the baby monitor, run inside for a blanket, and come back out to cover him up.
He doesn’t even stir at the sweep of a broom or snap of the garbage can lid.
It’s not a deep clean but I make sure there’s nothing he can step or fall on that could puncture skin.
Then I go back into the house. I plug in the baby monitor by the kitchen sink and lie down on the couch.
I google APD and soak up every article the internet has to offer on the subject before I finally close my eyes.
I want to be rested if Everett or Quinn need me.
One thing’s for sure… there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for him and his little girl.