Chapter Six Will
Chapter Six
Will
“Don’t.” I shake my head at Everleigh. “It’s been eleven years. You’re not allowed to cry.” I jab a finger into my chest. “I’m the only one who gets to cry over what happened between us. You nearly destroyed my life.”
Everleigh quickly wipes her tears. “Oh my god, Will . . . if you hadn’t freaked out and run down the street half-naked, we could have had a civil conversation about the misunderstanding. I did not know you thought—”
“Misunderstanding?” I lean forward, eyes narrowed at her. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
Her lips part for a second as she blinks with a blank stare. Then she steeples her fingers, tapping them against her lips as her self-control rebounds, nostrils flaring with a deep breath.
“What is it they say about doctors being the worst patients? Is it possible that you can see everyone else’s issues, but you can’t see your own?”
She exhales without a single muscle in her face twitching, flexing only her practiced composure.
It’s impressive. I try not to grin because this isn’t funny, but in hindsight, there were so many moments I should have known something was different about Everleigh Reichart.
For example, she can’t help her analytical side from creeping into conversations.
I know she’s dying to say something doctorly, but she should be thinking, Holy shit. Am I the problem?
“Why didn’t you say something to Tyler? Why didn’t you return my calls or texts?
You’ve spent all this time thinking that I was going to have you arrested for statutory rape?
Victoria said you were mad that I didn’t tell you my age, not that you were afraid of going to jail.
Will, that’s heartbreaking. I’m so sorry. ”
“Stop placating me, Everleigh. It’s an insult to my intelligence,” I say, throwing her words back at her.
She frowns, brow tight.
“Why would I tell anyone we had sex and I was afraid of getting arrested? Do you know how fucking embarrassing that is?”
“Will, I’m—”
“I know. You’re sorry.” I roll my eyes. “Just pack your shit. I’ll find you a place to live right after I murder Maren. In the meantime, don’t come into the house. You’re a goddamn disaster.”
She wrinkles her nose. “Will, I have to use the bathroom. And I take my lunch to work, so I need access to the kitchen. Also, my bras are hanging to dry in your laundry room. And I’m paying rent, so you have to abide by the rental agreement at least until I find a new place.
I won’t get in your way when you bring women home for the night. Can’t we just talk about it?”
“Oh, how nice of you not to get in my way if I bring someone home.” I turn toward the door.
“If anything, I’ll be a great reference.”
What the hell?
I glance over my shoulder.
Everleigh offers a creepy smile, chin up. “Sure. I could . . . well, I could tell them you’re eager but considerate.” She gives me a sharp nod. “And you’re an above-average kisser. And you make sure the woman orgasms first. Do you know how rare that is?”
Kill me now.
I open my mouth to speak, but what can I possibly say? Is she being the awkward girl I met in California? Or is she a well-respected doctor just fucking with my mind because she can?
Her smile vanishes with a long sigh. “Will, I’m very sorry, and ironically, I need a minute to figure out the best way to make amends. And maybe you need to talk to someone. Have you thought about that?”
I laugh past a cough. “Talk to someone? Like you, Dr. Reichart?”
“Of course not me.” She shakes her head a half dozen times. “That would be unethical. And just because we’re roommates, doesn’t mean you get free therapy.” She pauses, eyes wide like her words just registered.
I squint.
“I’m mean . . .” She clears her throat. “You could get a discount. Maybe. But I can’t be your doctor.”
“I don’t need a doctor.”
Her head bobs side to side. “Well, that’s debatable.”
“It’s not. But if it were, I’d hire a therapist. Psychiatrists are just overeducated, overpaid drug dealers.”
She slides her hands into her front pockets while stepping closer to me, bringing her soft floral scent with her. “William.” She wets her red lips. “You have every right to be upset.”
“No shit.” I don’t back away.
Her gaze seeps along my face, and a tiny smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. “Do you feel that? The sexual tension from eleven years ago is still there.”
“It’s tension minus the sexual part. I’d rather jerk off to a smoked rack of ribs than think about having sex with you again.”
Her eyebrows peak. “Oh, you have objectophilia or fetishistic disorder. Would you say the rack of ribs gives you feelings of love and desire or just arousal? Maybe even painful arousal like you don’t want to feel the attraction?”
I hate her.
“I see you have a PlayStation,” she says. “Assassin’s Creed Shadows isn’t my favorite. I mean, the combat is fine, but other parts like the hideout mode are underwhelming. We should get Dragon Age: The Veilguard. Oh! And if you like sports, let’s get Gran Turismo 7. I’m really good at it.”
“We?”
She shrugs. “Of course. I think it would be a good way to work through our issues. And if we’re not going to have sex, since it’s against house rules, then that only leaves gaming. And Maren told me you don’t need a roommate; you just feel lonely sometimes. So I’m here for you, roomie.”
“You have a week. Then you’re out.” I brush past her to drive straight to Maren’s house with my sharpest knife.
“Hey, Will.” Maren’s stepdaughter Lola greets me, licking a Popsicle, blond hair falling out of her braided pigtails.
“Hey, sweet pea. Is Maren or your dad here?” I step inside and toe off my boots.
“Nope. Samantha from next door is supposed to be watching me, but she’s out back making a TikTok.
” Lola steps aside to let me into the house.
“Besides, I’m twelve. I can watch myself.
Maren should be back soon. She’s picking up groceries on her way home.
We’re having cheesesteaks. Are you staying? Where’s Everleigh?”
I pass Maren’s cherished blue velvet sofa on the way to the kitchen. Then, I steal a beer from the fridge. “How do you know Everleigh?”
“Duh, Jamie used to work with her. Everleigh suggested I try VR when I wouldn’t ride in a car after my mom died. And now she’s your roommate. And you were her first love.”
I cough, choking on my swig of beer as this twelve-year-old delivers her words without a hint of sarcasm. “Um . . .” I clear my throat. “Who told you that?”
“Told me what?” She leans over the sink as her Popsicle drips.
“Who told you I was Everleigh’s first love?”
“Nobody,” she mumbles after shoving the rest of the red Popsicle into her mouth before it falls off the stick into the sink. “I heard her talking to Maren when I was sort of listening at the bottom of the stairs.”
“When you were eavesdropping?”
“Maybe.” She giggles, wiping her mouth with a paper towel.
“Will, she’s so fun, and the coolest doctor ever.
She plays video games. And did you know she started college when she was twelve?
Like, dude! That’s so cool. Why did you break her heart?
She’s so pretty and probably the smartest person in the world. Maren says you’re a little broken.”
Fuck me.
What the hell happened during the weeks I was in Somers with my parents? When did my friends decide to conspire against me? And who brings a child into such a mess?
“Did Everleigh mention why I supposedly broke her heart?”
Lola shakes her head.
I set my beer on the counter and lean my backside against it, rubbing my nose because they have a stupid cat and I’m highly allergic to cats. “She lied to me. She’s a liar. So let this be a lesson to you, young lady. If you lie, boys will break your heart.”
“William!”
My gaze shoots to Maren in the doorway, grocery bags in her hands and blue eyes shooting daggers at me. “You did not just tell her that, did you?”
“Run along, sweet pea.” I wink at Lola. “You’ll be fine. You’re not a liar.” My smile fades as I sneeze three times in a row.
Stupid cat. This is why I rarely visit.
Maren sets the bags on the counter and adjusts her long, blond ponytail before giving Lola a quick hug. “Give me and Will a minute. Go clean Bandit’s litter box.”
I wrinkle my nose and wipe it with the back of my hand, hoping the tickle subsides before I go into a full sneezing attack or anaphylactic shock.
“Serves you right,” Maren says.
After a brief pause to let Lola get out of earshot (unless she’s eavesdropping), I cross my arms over my chest. “Everleigh fucking Reichart? Have you lost your goddamn mind?”
“You pawned her off on Jamie and Fitz. It’s called karma.” She pulls the groceries out of the bags.
“Suggesting someone help her out for a few nights is not the same as a twelve-month lease.”
“She wanted a six-month one, but I knew you preferred twelve.”
“Fuck you.”
“Language, William. This is a family home, not your bachelor pad.” She unloads the groceries, talking with her back to me. It’s all too dismissive.
“I don’t have a bachelor pad because you invited the girl who nearly put me in prison to live in the shed. And she’s a mess, Maren. Shit everywhere. And my garage looks like a gym. Seriously, what were you thinking?”
“You love to work out, so I told her you’d be okay with it. You rarely park in the garage anyway. And Everleigh is an excellent influence. She’s in phenomenal shape. Have you seen her legs? Good lord, her muscles just pop.” She sighs.
I frown because I don’t care what Everleigh’s legs look like. Okay, I mostly don’t care.
“I think she’s the one,” Maren says, dumping a bag of grapes into a glass bowl and filling it with water and vegetable spray.
“The one what?” I sip my beer.
“The woman for you.”
Again, I choke and shake my head. “N-no.”
She shuts off the water and turns while drying her hands with the towel.
“Maren, I could have gone to prison for statutory rape. I don’t know why everyone thinks this is a joke. It’s not. I lived on pins and needles for three years. I jumped every time someone knocked on my door. It wasn’t funny then, and it’s still not.”
Maren rolls her eyes.
“No.” I shake my head. “You don’t get to do that.
That’s the shit I’m talking about. You can’t act like the law is everything when it suits you, but nothing when you want to dismiss it.
If Lola were seventeen and a twenty-nine-year-old man had sex with her, Ozzy would end that guy’s fucking life and still insist they throw his dead body in prison for a decade.
But what if Lola dresses up to look twenty-five, has a fake ID, and doesn’t disclose to the poor guy that she’s seventeen before she willingly has sex with him?
Whose fault is that? I’ll tell you. It’s still his fault. ”
Maren doesn’t blink, and her lips part, but nothing comes out.
I lace my hands behind my head and look at the ceiling. “Just let it go.”
“Jesus, Will,” she says. “I . . . I don’t know what to say.”
“Nothing. You don’t have to say anything.”
Her expression tenses. “I do have to say something because I had no idea you were that traumatized by it.” She deflates. “I’m an asshole,” she whispers.
I sigh. “You’re not.”
“I always thought it was just an embarrassing experience, not something that gave you PTSD for three years. That’s awful.”
“Now you make me sound like a pussy.”
She winces. “No. That’s not what I mean.”
“Well, it’s how I feel.”
“Will.” She grabs my arms, and we stare at each other. “I didn’t know.” She closes her eyes for a few seconds and shakes her head. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I . . . we didn’t see the pain she caused you. I’m a terrible friend.”
“Mare—”
“I’m going to do whatever I can to make this right. If Everleigh has to live with us until she finds a new place, we’ll make it work. I’ll talk to Jamie, and we’ll make this right. Okay?” Maren wraps her arms around my waist and rests her cheek on my chest.
Why do I feel so uneasy? This is all I’ve wanted—for my friends to understand that what happened between Everleigh and me was a bad thing, borderline tragic. But I feel like a baby who blew everything out of proportion.
Did I?
“She was clearly a troubled teenager,” Maren says, releasing me.
“I can’t imagine what being forced to grow up so quickly does to someone.
But it doesn’t make what she did to you okay.
I’m going to have a heart-to-heart with her.
And not only will we get her moved out ASAP, I’m going to insist she not contact you.
She’s a psychiatrist, for crying out loud.
She should know exactly what all of this has done to you.
Even if Jamie, Fitz, and I didn’t realize the depths of your trauma, Everleigh certainly should have.
I’m starting to question why everyone says she’s such a good psychiatrist.”
I nod slowly.
“What?” she says. “What’s that look?”
“Nothing. Just, god, now I feel like a whiny baby. I don’t want to downplay it like it was no big deal. At the time, it was. But when you treat me like a victim, eleven years later, it feels like overkill.”
“Don’t, Will. You’re sounding exactly how someone who’s been emotionally abused would sound.
You’re second-guessing and blaming yourself for overreacting, but you’re not overreacting.
We, your friends, underreacted. Jamie and Fitz will feel terrible when I tell them, but they need to feel bad just like I needed to really feel it to understand what you’ve gone through. ”
I hate being a victim. Why the hell did I say anything?
“We’re going to make this right. And I hope you’ll forgive us for ever making light of it.” Maren rests a flat hand on my chest. “When Ozzy gets home, I’ll have him and Lola take you out to dinner while I have a long talk with Everleigh. We’ll have the spare room ready for her by tomorrow.”
This feels so wrong. But it’s not wrong. It’s necessary. Right? I’m a victim, and I need to sit back and let my friends gather around me to lick my wounds.
Fuuuck . . .