Ever Over After (The Over Duet #2)

by J. A. Derouen

  “Low?” I ask, and she doesn’t respond. “Low?” I say again, and she jolts upright. “Were you asleep?”

  She shakes her head and climbs off my lap, the cold air a shock to my sweat-slicked skin. She gives me half a glance before walking away toward the back of the house, and dropping her dress to the floor. “That was fun. Thanks.”

  I keep my gaze trained on her as she unhooks her bra and flings it down the darkened hallway.

  “You can see yourself out. Lock up when you leave, will you?”

  With a flimsy wave, she disappears from the hallway, and I hear a door click shut behind her.

  I blink once … twice … and I still can’t believe it.

  She left me bare-assed, on her couch, with my jeans at my ankles and the condom still on my quickly shriveling dick.

  I hop up, zip up, and stalk down the hall with a singular purpose. I won’t allow her to dismiss me this easily. I don’t care what she says; I rocked her damn world not two minutes ago. I’m not saying it puts me in line for an Academy Award for the best long-time-no-see fuck or anything, but I should at least be nominated. Praised for my stellar performance. I reach the door to what I assume is her bedroom and grab the handle. I shake it, but it doesn’t budge. Then I hear the distinct sound of a shower running, I guess from the adjoining bathroom.

  “Marlo, open this door. Let me in,” I say, keeping my tone sharp and authoritative.

  I hear a faint giggle from behind the door. “Not by the hair on my chinny, chin, chin.”

  Another door closes and the sound of water becomes fainter, telling me I’m locked out of not one, but two doors. And as much as I want to bust down the door and demand she let me in—to her room, to her body, to her closed off heart—my better judgment tells me to be patient and wait. Just like the big bad wolf she takes me for.

  So she wins this battle.

  Marlo - 1

  Ever - 0

  Well played … well played.

  Ever

  TOSSING MY KEYS on the kitchen counter, I let out a contented yawn and grab a bottle of water from the fridge. Mid-guzzle, Jeb lets out a holler in greeting and lobs me in the head with an empty tissue box. Water shoots into my lungs, out of my nose, and I double over in a coughing and wheezing fit.

  “What the hell, man? Why are you here?” I rasp, in between hacks. I pick up the tissue box off the floor and take a swipe at his head. “You wanna jack off, do it at your own house, with your own Kleenex.”

  “You speak to your best friend, your business partner, this way?” Jeb places his hand to his chest in mock horror and shakes his head. “I’m hurt.”

  “I gave you a key to my apartment for emergencies, not to bust in whenever you’re bored.”

  He shrugs and shoots me a sheepish grin. “You got me, I was bored.”

  “What about Lana? Why don’t you give her a call? She’s been occupying the hell out of you lately. I know because you’ve been giving me a little peace and quiet.”

  “Lana’s a no-go. It’s terrible, actually,” he says, bowing his head and mashing his lips together. “She decided to become a lesbian. Unlucky for you, she chose this week to do it.”

  He sounds dejected, and I bark out a laugh. Just Jeb’s luck.

  “Really?”

  “Yep. And that’s not even the worst of it. I’m down with the lesbian thing, but she won’t even let me watch. Seems unfair, if you ask me.”

  “You’re such a douche.”

  “I make no apologies.”

  He throws himself onto my sofa and settles in, feet crossed and hands resting behind his head. I grip one of his heels and toss his feet onto the floor to make room for myself. If there was somewhere else to sit, believe I would, but my tiny studio apartment only has room for the one couch. The kitchen is two strides from the living room/couch and television mounted to the wall. The living room is only two strides from my bedroom area, which consists of a bed, one bedside table, and a black, floor-to-ceiling curtain separating it from the rest of the room. A room. That’s the best description I can think of—my apartment is a room, but it’s got all the space I need.

  I sit down, and he tries to put his feet in my lap. I twist his legs and squeeze the top of his thigh, showing no mercy. He flies up to sitting and puts me in a headlock as I pummel him in the gut.

  Then he jerks still. He leans down and sniffs the top of my head like a bloodhound. He shoves me back and points an accusatory finger.

  “I can’t believe it! You got laid.” Jeb cackles and gives my shoulder another shove.

  “How in the hell would you know that?”

  He grins and crosses his arms. “I smell sex and candy, ya dirty bastard.”

  I stand up and walk into the kitchen, busying myself with everything but looking at Jeb.

  “Not talkin’ about it,” I say, then point a finger in his direction. “And you’re a disgusting creature.”

  “You don’t have to. I’ll talk about it enough for the both of us.” He follows me into the galley kitchen, and I retreat. “Come on, dude, I’m just happy for you. You deserve that shit—lap dances, blow jobs, all of it. And here I thought you’d taken a vow of celibacy until Marlo woke the hell up.”

  I stop mid-stride before I can catch myself, then continue past the curtain and into the bedroom after a brief second. A brief second is all it takes for Jeb to figure it out.

  “Nooooooo! Really? You were gonna let something this monumental go without telling me? Just when you think you know a person,” he says, shaking his head in disappointment.

  He shoves the curtain out of the way and raises his hands in question. I stare right back in challenge.

  “You think I waited all this time and I’m gonna brag to you about it like a stupid high school kid? This isn’t a game, Jeb. This isn’t Lana.”

  “Hold on, now. First of all, don’t talk shit about Lana. She may be a lesbian, but she’s my lesbian,” he says, pointing to himself with misplaced indignation. “Not to mention she likes when I tell people what a wildcat she is … all beside the point. The point is, I’m in this, too, brother. I’m by your side, pom-poms in the air, waving our girl home.”

  He swoops his arm in gigantic circles, like a coach signaling his player in to home base, and I burst out laughing. He grins at me and wiggles his fingers, silently saying “give it to me.”

  “You’re a piece a work, you know that?”

  “Gimme.”

  He’s invested in this with me and knows how much Marlo means to me. Hell, when I’d suggested packing up shop and moving a few hours down the road, there’s no doubt in my mind Jeb knew exactly what I was doing. The moment I’d found out where she was, I’d wanted to be there … yesterday. He’d kept his mouth shut and had gone along for the ride. Jeb is always down for the ride. He’s a good friend, to both me and Marlo, even if she can’t admit it yet.

  I shake my head and grimace. “Look, all I’ll say is I had a small win today. Small being the operative word. She opened the door to the idea of me in her life, but she’s far from letting me in. Her guard is up, man, and I’ve got my work cut out for me. But I’m closer now than I was yesterday.”

  Jeb grins and slaps my shoulder. I give him a questioning look, and he shrugs.

  “I’m just proud of you, is all,” he says, with a sheepish shrug. Then he chuckles. “You finally got laid.”

  “Kiss my ass.”

  “Hey, Ma, how ya feeling?”

  My stomach clenches as I wait for her answer. Old habits die hard. It’s been over two years since her last hospitalization, but I’m always waiting for the other shoe to drop. It’s been a long road … for both of us.

  There were days when I’d thought I’d never get over the loss of Easton. I don’t know if I ever fully will, but, in time, I’ve learned to cherish the memories I have with my twin brother and move on with my life the best way I know how.

  Part of my mother had mourned the loss of Easton since the day we were born. She had griev
ed the life she had imagined with her two healthy sons, to the point where she hadn’t been able to fully appreciate what a wonderful human being she’d created. Him, not me. Physically, Easton’s body had failed him in nearly every way, but I’d never known a purer heart. He had been my best friend. She and I talk about him all the time now, much more than when he was alive, as a way to keep his memory fresh and real in our thoughts. Sometimes I see the regret in her eyes for all the years she’d lost with him.

  “Things are good, Everett. Stop worrying over me. I kept Adeline today for Jeff and Cybil. We baked a strawberry cake, and, oh my goodness, you should have seen her. She had flour from the top of her little blonde curls down to the tips of her toes. I almost had to hose her down,” she says with a girlish giggle.

  It’s surreal hearing her talk about anything with such excitement. I never thought she would get here. I’m ashamed to admit I had nearly given up on her when things had finally turned around. Unfortunately, it took the death of my father to wake her up.

  I’d gotten the call while I was in culinary school, about a year after getting sober. Massive heart attack—dead before the paramedics had arrived. I’ll always regret the way we’d left things. As part of my sobriety, we’d both tried to forgive, if not forget, but the water under that bridge had been laced with lighter fluid and dynamite. Formally cordial had been the best either of us could muster, but we’d managed it until the day I’d received the phone call.

  I had thought the death of my father would end her. How much loss could one person take? I’d imagined her looking at what she had left—her brother and a son she’d blamed for simply existing—and giving up right then and there. Sometimes, the smallest glimmer of light can shine through perpetual darkness, and luckily, that was what had happened to my mother.

  It turns out my dad had served as more of a crutch than support for her, despite his best intentions. His endless coddling and excuses had enabled her more than anything, and when given the option to stand on her own two feet or lie down and surrender, she’d chosen to stand. And when she’d gotten sober, she had chosen to apologize to her only living son.

  And I’d chosen to forgive her.

  Life is too short to waste time on anger and resentment. I’d rather make up for lost time and get to know my mother, minus the wine and pills, than stew in hatred. Easton would never want that.

  Luckily, Uncle Jeff had forgiven her, too. He’d helped his sister box up and sell her house in Baton Rouge, then after her hospitalization, he’d moved her into the mother-in-law suite behind his house in the Quarter. There’s only a courtyard separating brother and sister, but the arrangement worked out nicely with the birth of my cousin, Adeline. Cybil and Jeff have a built-in babysitter and Mom gets to spoil the hell out of her niece. Everyone is happy.

  Does she have bad days? Yes, of course, but she’s better than I’ve ever seen her.

  “Oh, I can about imagine what she looked like. On my last visit, she helped me make banana and chocolate chip pancakes. She ate all the chocolate chips and the kitchen floor was smeared with banana slime. Maybe three years old is too young for kitchen duty.” I chuckle.

  “Nonsense, she loves it. Maybe she’ll take after her world renowned chef of a cousin,” she says proudly, and I can feel her beaming through the phone.

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Mom. The world isn’t quaking in its boots just yet—”

  “But they will,” she interrupts. “I know it.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” I run a hand over my face and sniff. I give my head a sobering shake, still in awe of how far we’ve come. I’d never imagined I’d hear anything but disdain from my mother. I’d never expected to feel anything but guilt.

  “My guest room is getting lonely. New Orleans misses you, Ever.”

  She’s right; it’s been a while since I’ve visited. With opening a new restaurant and our collaborations every Saturday at the farmer’s market, finding time to leave town is almost impossible lately.

  “And I miss y’all. I need to take a look at my calendar and carve out a weekend. I’m sure I can talk Jeb into closing the restaurant for a few days, or maybe having a guest chef appearance. Give me a few weeks, and I’ll work something out, I promise.”

  “I’ll follow you to Baton Rouge on your way home.”

  I shut my eyes and suck down a labored breath, knowing exactly what she’s referring to. It’s been far too long since I’ve visited Easton’s grave. She and I always make a point to go together, as if seeing us together will bring him peace.

  “Of course,” I whisper. “Of course.”

  The importance of this trip home just jumped up in priority, and I may even need to extend it a few extra days. I want to spend time in New Orleans with my family, and, of course, visit Easton’s grave. There’s another stop I need to make, one that’s long overdue.

  I need to visit Remy. He deserves at least that.

  Who knows? Maybe Marlo will have forgiven me by then, and I can convince her to come with me. Marlo and I in New Orleans together, seeing Remy—it would be like a blast from the past.

  I’ve got my work cut out for me if I’m going to make it happen.

  I clench my eyes shut and stretch my arms overhead, trying to shake the fatigue settling into my muscles. Sitting on this kitchen barstool has turned my spine into a tightly stretched rubber band. It’s going to pop any second if I don’t get the hell out of this restaurant and make good on that date with my couch and the remote control.

  I have three days left of menus to approve, and I’ve been sitting here for three hours. Three hours of which maybe thirty minutes were utilized for actual work. The rest of my time has been spent trying to figure out what the hell to do with Low and watching the inked letters on the page jumble and vanish as my eyes cross.

  I’ve come to two conclusions. First, my eyes are playing tricks on me, and second, this situation with Low is impossible. She’s rigid, unyielding. She’s bossy, careless, and her emotions are locked up tighter than Fort Knox. She’s downright hostile at times.

  But she’s also the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen. And she’s fragile … yes, fragile. Those brief milliseconds when her walls drop just an inch and she forgets she hates me, I see the girl from my past. The Marlo who made me fall, no, plummet, into love with her.

  Then she realizes her mistake, her body stiffens, and she vanishes right before my eyes. Yes, I see that girl I knew so well … but somehow broken. The same scenario plays out, over and over, every time I see her. Did I have a part in that? Maybe, and the thought of it burns.

  Broken, whole, patched up with paper clips and super glue, I don’t care. I want her back. I want all of her.

  I rub my eyes and refocus on the disheveled pile of papers in front of me.

  Grilled shrimp/pan-seared grit cake/onion marmalade … check with Jeb on how many cans of marmalade we have left.

  Pastured pork chop/fried eggplant/corn maque choux/herb butter/local honey … we should have plenty of corn and eggplant in the pantries … let me check.

  Over the next hour, I get everything finalized, and I’m pleased with what I’ve come up with. The dishes are new and innovative twists on Cajun classics, and Jeb’s drink menu is perfection. I think our patrons will flip for his white sangria and mojito alcoho-lick popsicles. They’ll pair great with the sultry evening heat. I feel settled—at least when it comes to my work, I feel settled.

  “Whoa, what the hell are you still doing here, man? All work and no play makes Ever a pain in my ass,” Jeb says as he enters from the side door, carrying shopping bags.

  I raise my hands in surrender, then flip him off. “Shut it. You do not want to compare ass pains with me. I’ve got permanent bruising from dealing with you.” I chuckle as he tosses a jalapeño at my head. “Whatcha got in there?”

  He raises up another jalapeño, a bag of clementines, and a handful of herbs. “Infusions, man, infusions. Mint, basil, cucumber … clement
ines, peppers. The possibilities are endless. I’m gonna knock their fucking socks off.”

  I laugh, but, honestly, it’s refreshing how excited Jeb is about our place. There had been a time when pride was hard to come by for the both of us, and regardless of what anyone else thinks, we’re both damn proud of what we’ve done here in such a short amount of time. Moelle has quite the buzz stirring in the Providence area, and it feels amazing.

  I gather up the menus and slide them across the counter in Jeb’s direction.

  “Next week’s menus. Let me know if you have any problems.”

  “Cool.” He flips through and gives each page a quick once over, nodding. “You going to see Low? A little afternoon delight? Things are going well, right?”

  “Nah,” I say, clenching my jaw, and gathering my things to leave. “The more I think about it, the more I wonder if that’s gonna work out. She’s got no intention of letting me in her life in any real way.”

  Jeb lifts his eyes from the menus and stops flipping. He shakes his head slowly and gets back to it. “And here I thought your quitting days were over. Good to know.”

  “You don’t know shit,” I say, pointing at him before turning to the door.

  “I know you’ve been waiting a long time for this day, and at the first sign of struggle, you’re tucking your tail and running. Low deserves better than that.”

  “She deserves better than me.”

  “This again? I’m not counting down all the reasons you’re a wonderful, dashing man. Last time I checked, I didn’t have a vagina.” He sets the menus aside and runs his hands over his frustrated face. “She didn’t give up on you back then. You pushed her away, you ran, you ignored her, and she always came back for more. Yeah, after a long while, she accepted defeat, but I’m sure she has permanent scars from beating her head against the wall back then. So if you aren’t willing to do the same for her now, then you’re right. She does deserve better than you.”

  I sigh and look away, because he’s right. God, what was I thinking? If I love her like I claim to, how can I just give up? I need to get my head on straight. I need to knock down every wall and make her see what I already know.