Chapter Seven
Ozzy and Lola take me to dinner and try to distract me in the crowded bar and grill with random stories of Lola’s friends and funny things the cat does. Ozzy has trouble looking me in the eye. When Maren called him on his way home, she must have painted me as the abused victim. I feel emasculated.
“You didn’t have to take me to dinner,” I say, hoping to ease the awkward tension when Lola decides to eat more and talk less.
Ozzy is my friend, but Maren is using him as an accomplice in her intervention.
“It’s no problem. Glad to do it. So how are things going?”
I took at him, eyes slightly narrowed.
He shakes his head and wipes his mouth with the napkin. “Uh, aside from the current situation.”
I continue to look at him.
He closes his eyes while pinching the bridge of his nose. “And of course your dad and that situation. Have you been to any Paddleheads games?” Ozzy offers a goofy grin while changing the subject to baseball.
There’s not an ounce of happiness in my body, but he manages to squeeze a smile out of me. “I have not,” I say, going along with this conversation that’s meant to distract me from the real shit show.
Ozzy nods before glancing at his phone. “Crap,” he mumbles, reading his phone screen. “Everleigh’s mom is there.”
“What?” I slowly set my spoon in the empty ice cream bowl. Is this a joke? Hell no. This is not happening.
“Uh, yeah. Her mom is at your place, settled into Maren’s old room.” He rubs the back of his neck with one hand. “It’s fine. Our spare bedroom has a king-size bed. They can both stay in there.” Ozzy tries to hide his displeasure with a fake smile.
“Thanks for dinner.” I stand. “But this isn’t Maren’s problem to solve. And it’s definitely not yours. I’m heading home to deal with it.”
“Man, you can’t do that. Do you have any idea how much trouble I’ll be in?” Ozzy scratches the back of his head.
“Oh, hey! Ask Everleigh’s mom what it was like to have a genius as a daughter,” Lola says.
“Shhhh.” Ozzy frowns at Lola.
She shrugs and mumbles, “What?”
“Later, sweet pea.” I kiss Lola’s head, then squeeze Ozzy’s shoulder. Yeah, he’s going to be in trouble, but this situation has spun out of control.
When I arrive home and open the back door, three heads whip in my direction. A real meeting of the minds in my kitchen.
Maren cringes, and Everleigh averts her red-eyed gaze.
The lady, who I assume is her mother, offers me a genuine smile.
“You must be the infamous Will Landry. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.
I’m Liz.” She sets her wineglass on the counter and meets me at the door with a proffered hand.
Her long, wavy hair is amber like Everleigh’s, but her skin is fair without the warm undertones of Everleigh’s, and she’s at least three inches taller than her daughter.
Long lashes.
Hazel eyes.
One-piece black jumpsuit with white heels and gobs of gold jewelry around her fingers, wrists, and neck.
Not at all what I expected. Then again, I’m not sure I had any expectations.
“Infamous isn’t the word I would use.” I shake her hand.
“Well, it’s the one that fits because you ruined my little girl for all other men.”
“Mother!” Everleigh’s face turns crimson, matching her eyes. “Let’s just get a hotel. Come on.”
“There’s plenty of room at my house,” Maren says as Everleigh marches toward the back door, giving me a wide berth.
I should ignore her. Why do I care?
She and those fucking crocodile tears. Dammit!
I hold up a finger to Liz and Maren. “Give us a sec,” I say, following Everleigh to the shed.
“Get back, William. I don’t want Maren calling the cops on me.” She kicks one of the solar lights on the path, and it falls off its stake.
Totally unnecessary.
“Everleigh, stop.”
She throws open the shed door and starts shoving the rest of her belongings into bags.
“You told your mom about us?”
“Yes. So what? What did you expect me to do after you broke my heart?”
“I didn’t break your heart.”
“You did!” She stands straight and clenches her hands at her sides.
“I’m sorry, Will. But I didn’t lie to you.
Yes. I should have been more open with you.
But I was on the precipice of womanhood.
All of my friends were almost ten years older.
I was living with my mom’s best friend, and I didn’t have any clue what normal felt like.
But you—” She wipes her face. “You felt normal to me. For one week, I got to experience what my friends felt when they kissed their boyfriends and compared the number of orgasms they had. I just wanted to feel like everyone else. Not like a genius. Not special. Not like a child. Not privileged. Normal.”
I drop my head and sigh. She’s an emotional terrorist.
“Will, I know I didn’t break your heart, but you broke mine.
And had you not run away, I could have eased your mind, assured you no one would ever knock at your door and send you to prison.
But you just stomped all over my heart and ran off without a glance back. You wouldn’t answer my texts or calls.”
A bitter apology sits on the tip of my tongue. How did my confession to Maren and a sympathy dinner from Ozzy turn into my being on the verge of apologizing to Everleigh for thinking less about her young heart and more about doing hard time?
Before I open my mouth, she stabs her fingers into her hair, clenching it. With a sigh, she closes her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I’m too close to this.”
I don’t know what she’s talking about or what’s going on, so I hold my tongue and let it play out.
“I’m just”—she shakes her head—“too close.” When she opens her eyes, her hands flop to her sides. “How did I not see it? All this time, I remembered that day from the perspective of an immature seventeen-year-old thrust into an adult world and experiencing love for the first time.”
Her brow furrows. “I didn’t think about state laws or prison time.
Not for a single second. You were traumatized, and I never saw it.
And it doesn’t matter why I never saw it.
This is on me. Not you, Will. My excuses are no longer justified because I’m not seventeen.
I’m sorry.” She rests a hand on her heart. “Truly.”
“Will?” Maren interrupts in the doorway behind me as bugs swarm into the shed, buzzing around the light. “Can I have a word with you?”
I don’t know what to say anymore. This is not what I wanted, people feeling sorry for me. Fuck. I don’t know what I want anymore.
Everleigh tucks her chin and turns toward the bed to continue packing, so I follow Maren into the garage, capturing the last bit of daylight glowing along the mountain ridge.
I frown at Everleigh’s exercise equipment as I step into the garage.
But I don’t say anything because I don’t need to be reminded that she has fantastic legs and toned arms.
“Oh my god!” Maren grabs my shirt and shakes me. “She hasn’t had sex since you took her virginity!”
My face sours. What is she talking about?
“That’s what Liz just said. That’s why you’re infamous in her mind. This is all so messed up. But I profusely apologized to both of them for suggesting Everleigh stay here. I’m sure Liz thinks I’m out of my mind. But I didn’t know she was coming to visit.”
I grab Maren’s shoulders. “Go home. It’s okay. I’ve got this. You’ve helped enough.”
She nods with the cadence of my words, then shakes her head when they register. “No. I did this. Jamie helped too. But ultimately, it was my idea. So I’m responsible for making things right.”
“I’m a grown-ass man who can handle this. And I should have been here to deal with this instead of you. Liz must be really impressed with the coward her daughter chose.”
Maren sighs, but then she furrows her brow. “Why do you care what her mom thinks?”
“I . . . I don’t. Just go. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Will—”
“Go.” I kiss her forehead. “You’ve done so much. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”
She gives a reluctant nod and steps over the lined-up kettlebells toward the door before turning back to me. “Wait. You mean that in a vengeful way, not in gratitude.”
“Correct.” I return a toothy grin.
“Ozzy told me to mind my own business,” she mumbles while opening the door.
“Listen to Ozzy. He’s always right.” I follow her outside and head toward the shed, where I knock before opening the door.
Everleigh strips the sheets from the bed.
“When’s the last time you had sex?” I ask.
“What?” She squints.
“You heard me.”
Her head jerks backward. “Why are you asking me about my sex life? I just opened my heart to you with a sincere apology. I had an epiphany. We shared a healing moment. There was an admission of wrongdoing. Responsibility. Remorse. What does that have to do with my sex life?”
“How many sexual partners have you had?”
She folds the fitted sheet with precision, just like Jamie used to do when she lived here.
How is Everleigh a walking disaster, yet she’s shockingly perfect when it comes to folding fitted sheets? This girl—this woman—has my mind all over the damn place.
She glances over her shoulder, hazel eyes framed in smeared mascara, giving me a slow assessment before rolling her eyes. “You’re unbelievable. Why are you asking me that? And how many sexual partners have you had?”
“Ever? Or just this past month? It was a slow month for me since I was at my parents’ house.”
“And by slow you mean you haven’t had sex in the past month because you’ve been at your parents’ house.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. There are women in Somers, Montana. Just not a lot. Slow means slow, not idle.”
She crosses her arms over her chest. “Are you really so desperate to have sex that you slipped away from your dying father’s bedside to get laid by a stranger?”
I roll my eyes. “I never said he was dying. There was no slipping away like I had a curfew. And only one woman was a stranger. The others were acquaintances. And for the record, I had a beer every night, but not because I was desperate or an alcoholic, just because I enjoy having a beer. Guess what else I enjoy.”
The blood drains from her face.
“Everleigh, can I make an observation?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.
She doesn’t answer.
“I think you hate being a doctor. I think you hate living your life for your father. That disgusted look on your face is actually envy. You wish you could have sex with strangers or mere acquaintances just because having an orgasm with a naked body grinding against you feels so fucking good. I bet the last time you had alcohol was the night we met in Stanford. And I bet the last time you had . . .” I bite my tongue before going too far.
She looks away and quickly wipes her eyes. I wonder if she cries with her patients.
“If you want to feel normal, then go make some fucking mistakes. Get a speeding ticket. Stop worrying about what other people think of you. Drop your panties for a stranger in the bathroom of a bar. Stop trying to live up to anyone else’s expectations. That’s normal. Or . . . it should be.”
She presses a hand to her neck as if there’s an invisible string of pearls to clutch. Her absent gaze lingers on the center of my chest for a few seconds before slowly lifting to my face. “I burned down my house and killed Marie Curie,” she murmurs.
“Yeah, don’t do that again. Let’s not normalize burning shit to the ground.”
She fights the grin that tries to steal across her lips, but I see it, the beautiful smile she gave me when we met eleven years ago.
“Well”—she looks at her watch—“I need to book a hotel room before it gets any later. I’m .
. .” Her brow furrows. “I’m glad you told Maren how you felt, and I’m glad you told me.
Thank you. I’m truly sorry for not only missing the real reason behind your anger but also for not trying to imagine how it’s impacted you all these years. ”
I stare at her hand as she offers it to me.
“Friends?” she asks.
“Friends?” I raise an eyebrow.
She shrugs. “Why not? Everything is out in the open. The healing can begin. And maybe things between us ended badly, but during the week leading up to the wedding, we were friends. The really good kind.”
I blink at her delicate hand, and I don’t know why I slide mine against it, but when I do, its warmth sparks those old memories. God, I used to love touching her.