Ever (The Ever Trilogy)

by Jessa Russo

  I wasn’t crying over my dad’s death.

  Apparently, that was cause for alarm.

  I didn’t care either way. Crying wouldn’t bring back my dad. In fact, I hadn’t cried at all since the night it happened. I was completely numb. I couldn’t feel much of anything. It was weird, not feeling anything.

  I guess my blank stare pegged me as the suicidal type or something. I was practically on twenty-four hour suicide watch, tucked safely away—a 51/50 in my own home. It was totally ridiculous, but I didn’t have the energy to tell everyone to leave me alone. I knew I wouldn’t kill myself.

  Right now, my mom and Jessie were dealing with the dozens of concerned friends, neighbors, and random strangers who appeared out of the woodwork for the memorial service. Frankie had been keeping out of sight all day and Mom had been so smiley she reminded me of The Joker from Batman—all toothy grins and crazy eyes. I didn’t know what that was all about.

  Everyone gathered in my living room, offering their condolences, sipping free wine, eating cheese balls and Jell-O molds, and telling my mom how much they’d absolutely adored my dad, or how very, very sorry they were. That one was my favorite. Sorry.

  Why? Did you kill my dad?

  I only said that once in the days after my dad’s death, before I realized the statement was pretty inappropriate. Okay, that’s a lie. I didn’t have to say it to know it was inappropriate, but sometimes you just can’t help yourself. And ugh, people kept saying it! Seriously, just don’t say anything. Because saying nothing is better than apologizing for something you had nothing to do with.

  I’d managed to make it through the entire funeral service and burial without saying one word. Not a single word or sound. It was a game I was playing with myself, mostly because I was bored, and partly because I didn’t think anyone was really listening to me anyway. At the cemetery, I just smiled and shook hands with each person in the condolences line, allowed them to hug me and pat my head, and then I would nod, smile, or frown when it seemed the response they were looking for. Toby stood by me the entire time, holding my hand, and I swear he was the only reason I kept it together.

  Back at the house, my game continued.

  However, if another person told me they were ‘sorry for my loss’—as if my dad was lost, as if we had just misplaced him—I knew I’d explode. I was quickly getting to the point of needing to scream at everyone which was quite a stark contrast from not saying a word all day—talk about your opposite ends of the spectrum.

  Maybe I was a head case after all.

  The one time I was left alone for even a second, Toby found me cornered in the kitchen, being consoled by one of my dad’s old friends from high school. He stood a little too close to me, his breath smelled a little too much like Budweiser and pepper jelly, and his fingers lingered dangerously close to my chest.

  He leaned into me as he spoke, shamelessly glancing at my chest every few seconds. Just another awesome curse of large breasts. His finger was lightly grazing my arms as he prattled on, arms which were crossed in front of me in a sort of “back off” stance that he was either oblivious to or simply ignored.

  I was about to lose it. Toby must have seen it in my expression as he entered the room. He stepped in front of me, putting some distance between my dad’s ‘friend’ and me. Though the look in his eyes was anything but kind, Toby politely excused us and waited for the guy to take the hint. He stared Toby down for a long second, a silent challenge, before finally walking away. After he left, Toby took a deep breath and turned to me, kissing the tip of my nose. He grabbed my hand and led me down the hall to my bedroom. I followed behind him in a daze, relief flooding me as I left the mass of mourners behind, focusing instead on the gorgeous savior in front of me.

  Dressed all in black—a black button-down dress shirt and black slacks, his trademark boots laced up underneath them—he was a welcome sight. I followed him into my room, closing the door behind us, wanting nothing more than to shut the day away.

  For the first time since it happened, I was alone in my room with Toby. Well, actually, this was the first time I’d ever been alone in my room with Toby.

  “Fuck. That was too much.”

  Clearly shocked by my colorful choice of words, his eyebrows shot up and he laughed.

  “What?” I replied, a slight edge to my voice.

  “I just think it’s funny that you chose that word to be the first thing you said all day. Come here.”

  So he had noticed my little game. Of course he had.

  He sat down on my bed, cross-legged, after dropping his boots on the floor. I crawled into his open arms, leaving my black boots next to his. His and hers. No one had forced me to ditch the boots today—I’d worn them with my dress and dared anyone to comment.

  I let him curl me into him, holding me tightly while I finally cried for the first time in weeks. Feeling his protective strength around me unlocked the flood-gates, and all the pain I’d been hiding was unleashed on him—leaving tears and snot streaks on his chest, probably ruining his nice shirt. I must have looked and sounded terrible, but he didn’t loosen his grip in the slightest bit, and we sat there for what felt like an eternity. I just cried and cried while he held me.

  Eventually I was sufficiently cried out, with only an occasional sniffle. I looked up at Toby. He pulled his head back to look into my eyes, still not letting go of me even as he repositioned himself. With a pained expression on his face, he tucked my hair back behind my ear and gently stroked my cheek where the tears had no doubt left ugly mascara tracks. Since I hadn’t cried since the accident, I hadn’t worried about waterproof mascara while I’d gotten ready for the service this morning. An oversight I was likely paying for now.

  He kissed the tops of my cheeks, leaving a trail of kisses where the tears had been. When his lips gently found my mouth, a jolt of life coursed through my body, making the rest of the world—the funeral, the people, the pain—melt away.

  I didn’t want him to kiss me gently or tiptoe around me as if I might break at any minute. I didn’t want him to look at me with concern or pity in his eyes or worry that I might soon fall apart. I didn’t want to be babied like a little girl whose daddy had died. I was tired of the way everyone had been treating me.

  I wanted him to treat me like an adult who could handle anything. Like a woman who was very much alive and anything but fragile. Maybe if he treated me that way, I would be that way. I wanted to grow up right then. With him.

  Maybe I was having some strange reaction to the gloom and death that had lingered in the house for days. Maybe it was my way of feeling alive after the consuming numbness I’d felt since the night of my dad’s death. Maybe I was searching for a way to fill the emptiness threatening to swallow me whole. Whatever the reason, I was suddenly kissing Toby without restraint.

  I tangled my fingers in his hair, and I pushed him back on the bed so we were lying down together. His arms still held me tightly, reassuring me all the while that I was safe with him, though I already knew.

  He stroked my back with strong hands, switching between pressing his fingertips into me one moment and lightly grazing my skin. I stopped to look at him, taking in the beauty of his dark eyes, his tanned skin, his perfect lips, all flush from our kissing. He is so beautiful. I leaned down and kissed him in the nook where his throat met his collarbone and then left a trail of kisses up his neck, leading back to his mouth.

  My legs tangled with his, and I repositioned myself so I was lying completely on top of him, my legs straddling him on either side. I had never behaved like this with anyone before, and I felt powerful and wonderful and frightened all at the same time. My inner voice was screaming at me. Stop, it said. Slow down, it warned.

  I don’t want to stop. I don’t want to slow down.

  At that moment, I didn’t want to be responsible. I didn’t want to be careful. I didn’t want to be that Ever—my dad’s Ever—the one who everyone knew would be good and kind and wise, and would always, always mak
e the smart decision, would always do what was right.

  I turned off all thoughts and focused on kissing Toby.

  Before I’d noticed, Toby had my dress up and over my head, lying in a heap on the floor beside our boots, leaving nothing to cover up my bra and panties but a sheer black slip that I had borrowed from my mom.

  We resumed kissing, and my brazen, irresponsible side took the reins. I felt my hands touching Toby as if they were driven by some other force, moving of their own accord. They seemed to want to touch all of him at once, though from my position on top of him, they were currently focusing on his shoulders and his lean arms, or tangling again in his hair.

  Toby stopped me, pulling my head away from him and holding my face in his hands. He looked up at me as if to ask if what we were doing was okay. He was slightly breathless, and I could see his chest rise and fall with each breath. When he opened his mouth to form the question into words, I answered him by moving my body into a sitting position on top of him and beginning to unbutton the first few buttons of his dress shirt. His eyes widened and I laughed, as surprised as he was by my brave actions.

  After the first few buttons were undone, I opened up his collar to expose the top of his chest, my breath catching as I did so. Covering the entire left side of his chest was a darkly lined tattoo. I only saw about half of it with how few buttons had been undone, but I saw what looked like some sort of tribal tattoo, but with the tip of an angel’s wing poking out above it. When I went to pull his shirt further aside, he reached for my face and pulled me back down to him, covering my mouth with a kiss. I completely forgot about the tattoo.

  Kissing him felt amazing—as it always did—but I had another brief thought that we should stop. That we should slow down. But I told myself to go on, keep going, you can do this, you want to do this.

  It occurred to me that I was about to go all the way with Toby. The idea excited and terrified me. I couldn’t believe I was doing this. I’d only known Toby a short time, and he was the first guy I’d ever even kissed. This is crazy! What if my mom opened the door? I quickly pushed that thought aside and told myself that it was so absolutely worth the risk. I wanted to go all the way with Toby.

  I love him.

  I think.

  It didn’t matter. In that moment, the only things that mattered to me were the warmth of Toby’s body against mine, the taste of his tongue in my mouth, and the spark of life I felt inside me for the first time since … since … .

  Shit. I’m crying again. I hadn’t meant to, and I wasn’t crying loudly, but I think Toby must have felt my tears on his face. When we pulled apart, his eyes were dark with concern. He smiled a sad smile and gently wiped my tears with his hand. What a mess.

  I lay my head on his chest, listening to the soothing rhythm of his heartbeat. He pulled the covers up over us, and I instantly felt less self-conscious. He didn’t say a word and didn’t try to continue what I had ended so abruptly, though I could tell by his quickened breathing that it must have been difficult to show such restraint.

  We laid like that for a long time, his hands rubbing my hair and my back, not saying anything, just listening to the hushed conversations down the hall and the front door opening and closing each time a guest left the house. By my calculations, there weren’t many remaining.

  “Ever. I’m so sorry.”

  I groaned at his poor choice of words. “I know, Toby. But please don’t say you’re sorry. I hate that.” I sat up, starting to feel anxious and upset again. I wondered if I’d go from content to upset all the time now, or if the ups and downs of my mood swings would soon fade away. Maybe I’d be numb again soon. I hoped so. Numb was easier.

  “I just don’t understand! Why? Why did this happen? My dad is so careful! So responsible! He’s driven that road a million times!” I realized what I’d said. “Was. My dad was careful.”

  “I know. I know. I’m so sorr—” The look I shot him made him stop before he said the dreaded words again. “It wasn’t supposed to happen.”

  Wait. What did he just say? It wasn’t even the words, strange as they were. It was the way he said them.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Never mind. It’s just that he was so young.”

  A knot started forming in my chest, a tightening of my stomach following suit.

  “Toby, I heard what you said. What do you mean ‘wasn’t supposed to happen?’ That’s kind of a weird thing to say, and honestly, I’ve heard all of the weird things people say to someone whose dad died.”

  I pushed out of his arms and grabbed my dress, suddenly feeling very exposed. I paced the floor. I couldn’t understand what he was saying or why I was so freaked out by it. Of course, I thought it wasn’t supposed to be my dad who was never coming back. Of course, I had the purely selfish thoughts, the dreams, and the moments of wishing it could be anyone else’s dad but mine.

  But the way Toby said it … ‘it wasn’t supposed to happen’ … the words were innocent enough, but his tone, and the meaning behind them … something wasn’t right. I knew it deep down in my gut.

  Something else came crashing into my mind. I was back in the car with him the night of the accident. I could clearly see Toby’s face, his concern … and I could hear his words.

  ‘It’s your dad.’

  How had he known?

  “Ever, please calm down. Stop pacing.”

  I stopped pacing. I stood in front of him, arms crossed. I knew there was a look in my eyes that dared him to tell me again to calm down.

  “Explain, Toby. And I mean explain everything. How did you know it was my dad that night?”

  His jaw clenched, and his face went hard. It was brief, but I caught it. Then he sighed. There was a pained expression in his eyes. I watched curiously as it slowly changed from pain to confusion … to something else entirely. Resolve. Stone cold resolve, free of any other emotions. His sudden determination left his eyes dark and seemingly without feeling. My heart dropped in my chest.

  He got up off the bed and put on his boots before turning back to face me.

  “This isn’t working.”

  Holy shit. What? That’s the last thing I’d expected him to say. Just minutes ago we’d been making out and … and I had even thought I was about to go all the way with him … and now he was … is he breaking up with me?

  “Toby, what? What do you mean?” I felt myself tense up, an angry heat spreading through my body.

  “I mean exactly what I said, Ever. This isn’t working. This. Us. You and me. I don’t want to be with you anymore.”

  “Why, Toby? Tell me why.” My words were sharp, direct—the opposite of how my heart felt. Oh my god. This isn’t happening.

  I felt my composure slipping away piece by piece, but my eyes stayed dry. Maybe I’d cried out all of my allotted tears for the day.

  “It’s not you, Ever. It’s—”

  “Get the hell out, Toby.”

  “Wait, Ever, I—”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know. Seriously though? How freaking typical can you get? It’s not you; it’s me. Maybe we can still be friends. You’re a really nice girl. I’ve been hurt before. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Save the bullshit, Toby. Just because I haven’t had a lot of boyfriends before doesn’t mean I’m a complete moron. I’ve seen the movies. Read the books. You’re just as textbook as the rest of them. I ask you a question that you don’t want to answer, and you run. Well, I’ll save you the trouble of letting me down easily. Get the hell out of my house, Toby. Run away.”

  He flinched at my words, or maybe it was my tone of voice that cut him. I didn’t really know, and I didn’t really care. I was not about to be nice about it. He’d completely blindsided me, and I’d be damned if I begged him to stay or tried to change his mind. I’d rather be alone forever than become that girl.

  My thoughts raced through my head. My heart screamed. I remembered the night he said he’d never been this happy before. I recalled the way he’d always been so interested in learning about me. I th
ought back to just a few minutes earlier—kissing him, touching him. I had almost given him the most important thing I could ever give a man. Myself.

  That thought angered me beyond repair. What if I had gone through with it? What if I hadn’t started crying? Would we still be standing here? Would he still be breaking up with me? Ugh! How much worse would I feel then? I was so angry; I was beginning to sweat.

  And he’s just standing here! Why is he still here? He was just staring at me, his eyes pleading. The hurt look on his face completely at odds with his devastating words. I swear I could feel each little fissure forming in my heart. Each little crack spreading, consuming. The pain tightened in my chest, the anger making it hard to breathe. His presence was infuriating!

  Toby had just broken up with me. Yet he stood there, staring at me, looking as if I was the one causing all the pain. He was not saying a word, the look on his face reminiscent of a lost puppy. How could he be looking at me that way? He’s the one who did this. What the heck is going on?

  Our gazes locked. With one look into that beautiful blue abyss, I felt the last bits of strength seep out of me. I opened my mouth, but words wouldn’t come. My survival instinct kicked in, telling me I had to get away from him. Fight or flight. It’s now or never.

  I punched him.

  I don’t know what overcame me, but one minute I was standing there staring into his eyes, feeling myself get sucked into them again, and the next minute Toby was stumbling backward out the door of my bedroom, rubbing his jaw.

  When I spoke next, my voice sounded strong and firm, and so unlike how broken and small I felt inside.

  “I said get out, Toby.”

  I shut the door to his shocked expression, put on my headphones, and crawled under my covers, pulling them up over my face so I was completely engulfed in darkness. I didn’t cry. There really just weren’t any tears left.