He looked at me with feeling. And now I wasn’t confused at what the feeling was, because I felt it too. It was the most solid feeling I’d ever felt, and the first time I’d ever felt it this deeply.
He stood up and leaned over me, kissing me, with feeling. When he gently laid me back on the bed, it was with feeling. When he kissed down my chest, he kissed me with feeling. Later, when he was inside of me, he stared into my eyes and his ice blue irises were warm, with feeling.
When Everett curled around me afterwards, his arm tight around my waist, he asked the question he asked the day before. But my answer had changed.
“Parker,” he sleepily murmured against my neck. “Are you in love with me yet?”
I waited a minute, until his breaths were even and deep, signaling he’d fallen asleep.
“If I lied to you, I’d be breaking the rules. And if I told you the truth, I’d be breaking the rules.”
We woke up early the following morning and hit the road to New Orleans immediately. Everett’s hand found mine across the console and held it. If the seven-hour drive taught me anything, it was that I never wanted to let go of his hand. My hand in his felt as natural as having another limb, and the loss of it would make my hand feel empty, for the rest of my life.
We strolled Bourbon Street together, holding hands. We ducked into little shops and walked across several blocks to have the famous beignets. We sat in City Park and people-watched. Everett made up stories about some of the strangers we observed. I laughed some more. It was coming more natural to me, though Everett still looked at me as if it was the strangest sound in the world.
You know that moment you have, when you want to freeze time, right before everything falls apart? The awful thing is that you never know when that moment is. You look back on it and wish you’d committed more of it to memory. But you don’t know that your world is about to tip on its axis.
For us, it was the moment we were back on Bourbon Street that evening, navigating our way through a sea of inebriated bar hoppers.
The air was warm and sounds from all the bars in the area were loud, messy noises, causing Everett to pull me into the middle of the street, away from the people swaying on the sidewalk. I pulled my tank top away from my chest to allow some air movement. Everett squeezed my hand three times and I let go of my tank top, looking at him.
“Why three?” I asked.
He looked at me and shook his head. Then, his eyebrows drew together and he put a hand by his ear, signaling he hadn’t heard me.
I stepped closer to him. “Why three?” I asked again. I pulled away to look at him, but something was off about his expression. He was looking over my shoulder but I could tell he wasn’t looking at anything. His eyes were blank.
“Everett?” I squeezed his hand. He didn’t react. I looked around and pulled him over to the curb. “Sit down,” I ordered, all but pushing him. His face was blank. And then his head turned to the left, came back, and turned to the left again. It was as if there was a rubber band, stretching his head to the left and snapping his head back straight.
“Everett,” I said again. “What’s happening?”
He wasn’t looking at anything. His left arm lifted up and twitched, up and down. I didn’t know what to do. And then he fell sideways to the sidewalk.
“Everett!” His entire body was convulsing, his eyes rolled to the back of his head so I only saw the whites of his eyes. I turned my head around, frantic. “Call an ambulance!” I screamed. His mouth was opened, but no sound was coming out.
“He’s having a seizure,” a woman said, crouching next to me. “Is he epileptic?”
I shook my head, watching him helplessly. Then he started grunting.
“Put his head in your lap, girl. There’s too much glass around.” I slid next to him, trying to put his head on my lap. The woman helped me, but Everett’s spasms were getting worse, with his hands thrashing.
“Should I hold his hands?” I asked, my voice thick.
“No. Just wait. He’ll come out of it.” I watched her pull her phone out and call an ambulance.
Slowly, his seizing stopped. He blinked and looked at me. “Everett,” I said.
I watched him open and close his mouth slowly, as if he was tasting something. But I saw recognition in his eyes, so I knew that was a good sign.
“He’s coming out of it,” I heard the woman say on the phone. I looked up at her gratefully but then her eyes widened. I turned back to Everett’s head in my lap. He was convulsing again. His eyes were rolled back again and his body was thrashing so hard that I couldn’t keep him in my lap.
“He’s having another one,” the woman said. This time, her voice sounded more concerned than before.
Everett was making choking sounds at this point. “Everett,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “Please, Everett.” I didn’t know what I was asking for. But a miracle would do.
By the time the ambulance arrived, Everett wasn’t breathing.
I hated hospitals. I hated the waiting rooms. I hated that the water fountains were so far apart. I hated that you had to wait to see a loved one. And I hated that I had someone in this hospital, a loved one. Mostly I hated that Everett wasn’t here to see me hate everything. The girl who once embraced no emotions was now wrapped up in hate.
“You can see him now,” a nurse in pink scrubs said. I tried not to sneer at her as I walked briskly past her. She’d been my nemesis when Everett had first come to the hospital and she’d barred me from his room. I’d been away from him for four hours at this point. I’d called his family and they were already on their way. But for now, it was just Everett and me.
I entered Everett’s hospital room quietly, worried he was sleeping. My eyes saw a nurse in the corner, making notes, but I paid her little attention.
But as soon as I came around the curtain, he was sitting there, in the bed, staring at me as if he’d been waiting to see me. He looked tired, completely spent, but he still had a smile for me. “Come here,” he said, lifting the one free arm that didn’t have tubes running through it.
I climbed in beside him, wrapping my arm around his waist, greedy for this, for him.
His hand touched my hair and he rubbed over it. “My precious.”
I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. “Everett,” I said. Only, my words were a whisper. “Why?”
He held my hand in his, running his thumb over my knuckles. Even in a hospital bed, strapped to numerous machines, he was still soothing me. I’d always be broken. But being with Everett, I’d been okay being broken. He’d pushed me so hard, he’d smoothed out the sharper edges.
“Parker.” It was said to grab my attention. His voice was weak, his speech was a little slurred, but he was still commanding. “I told you, I told you before this trip. I’m-”
“No.” I nearly yelled it. The nurse looked at me with a sharp eye. “No,” I said softer. “You’re giving up. That’s not a dignified way to die, dammit.”
“I’m not giving up.”
“Yes, you are.” My voice was crumbling. The strength I summoned was noticeably absent. I swallowed tears, but they lodged in my throat. “You are, Everett. You can fight. You made me fight. You can too.”
Everett shook his head sadly. “Parker, listen. I fought for years. I’ve spent more of my life sick than not. I’m tired. I’m ready.”
“I’m not.” I choked this time. I brought my free hand up to my mouth. “God dammit, Everett. You made me feel. You made me want to live. You can’t leave me.”
He patted my hand with his hand. “I’m not leaving you, Parker. I need you to listen to me. Don’t be a brat.” I opened my mouth and he looked at me pointedly. “Listen to me. I wanted my one sweet moment. That’s what this trip was about for me. But when I looked at you, watched the way your eyes closed at the Grand Canyon. The light lit up your face and your hair and all I could think about was how incredibly perfect, how incredibly sweet you looked. And then you opened your mouth and ruined it, b
ut even still, it was all I could do to keep from kissing you breathless.”
“I wish you had,” I said, tears running down my face. “God, Everett. I wasted so much time,”
“Shhh,” he urged. “Don’t interrupt me. Remember that moment when you first laughed? I told you not to fall in love with me, and you laughed. I made fun of you then, but the way I felt when you laughed – I ached. You were so beautiful. It was the first sweet moment of my life. Knowing that I’d said something to pull you from the abyss of indifference.”
“Parker,” his voice caught on my name, and my belly dipped. “You have no clue, do you? The effect you’ve had on me.” He gripped my hand tighter, but his hand was still shaky. “I went on a road trip across the country, hoping to find a sweet moment somewhere along the way. Instead, I found them all in you. When we were in that canyon in Colorado and you fell. You were embarrassed when I carried you, when I fussed over your swollen ankle. I never cared, not for people, not the way I cared for you then. I think that’s when I first started.” He tugged my hand, making sure I was paying attention. “That’s when I first slipped off the rocky edge, when I first fully embraced falling in love with you. It hurt, you know. Loving you. It hurts now. But I’d rather suffer through this pain in my final moments than suffer through being alone, from living a life unfilled. I don’t want the eternal sunshine of a spotless mind. I want your laugh, your touch, and the way you kiss me. I want them to fill my mind. It’s a lot of sweetness to live on.”
I couldn’t help it. A sob wrenched from my throat. “You are such an asshole, Everett,” I said, hiccupping on a sob. “I didn’t want to feel. I just wanted you to change your mind!”
“Well now you feel. And that gives me happiness. I want to see you hurting. I’d rather see you in pain than numb to everything, like you were when we met. I’m so glad I helped you feel again, Parker. That is the sweetest moment of them all.”
Love, the emotion that should elicit healing, was in fact the most painful emotion of them all. It crept in when you didn’t want it. Made itself at home, terrorizing your hormones with confusion. It made you more susceptible to pain, it weakened your resolve while simultaneously making you frantic with need. And it hurt. Not just mentally, but physically. My heart was aching, it was breaking, and I was so very angry with Everett, with love.
I wanted to punch him, to make him physically feel the pain I was emotionally feeling. My head fell to his chest on the bed and I sobbed. The tears were long suppressed, coming freely from my eyes. It was years of suppression being released at once and it was the most overwhelming moment of my life. It was the first time I cried for anyone. It was the first time I loved anyone.
“Do you love me?” he asked. This time, I could answer without sarcasm.
“I hate you, Everett.”
“Good.”
I pushed my forehead against his chest, squeezing my eyes shut. “I hate you so much.”
“Good,” he said again.
I lifted my eyes and stared at him, anger, hurt, fear, and one more thing in my eyes. “I love you and I hate you and I am so fucking mad at you, Everett.”
His hands were on face, cupping my cheeks and pulling me to him. He kissed me then. It was an I-love-you, an I-hate-you, and most of all, a goodbye kiss. Tears slipped from my eyes so freely, it was a never ending waterfall, slipping over our lips. Everett pulled back and then crushed my lips to his once more. Again and again. As soon as he felt ready to stop kissing me, he wasn’t. It was like gravity. But I couldn’t be his gravity. I couldn’t keep him.
It was excruciating. I finally pulled back and sobbed, my hands gripping his hospital gown. My eyes closed and I cried, my tears soaking his gown.
“I hate you,” I said again.
“I know.” His hand brushed my hair soothingly. “I’m glad you do.”
“Why did you do this to me?” I asked. My heart was aching so intensely. I couldn’t breathe. The pain wracking my body was worse than anything I’d ever felt.
“Because I want you to live. Your life is a gift, Parker. Live while you can. Smile, dance, see the world, fall in love-”
“Shut up!” I couldn’t keep my voice down. “I already did fall in love, you asshole. You made it so fucking easy. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.” My voice broke on the last word and I stood up, looking around. I couldn’t think. My head and my heart were so full of pain that thinking clearly was not an option. I wanted to scream.
“I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you.” It was the truth, and it was painful to say, to admit.
“Isn’t it enough to spend the rest of mine with you?” he asked, his eyes pleading.
“No. It’s not.” I rubbed a hand over my face. “I don’t want to be in a world where you don’t exist.”
“But I will, Parker. You’ve made sure of that. I’ll be at the Purgatoire River. Come here.” He held his arms out for me and I climbed in, not wanting to ever leave. “I’ll be here.” His hand touched the spot my tattoo was on. “And most importantly to me, I’ll be here.” He touched my heart. “You’re not ten below zero, Parker. Not in here. You’re warm. A little broken, but warm.” His lips pressed against my head. “And you’ll have me in here. In your memories.”
My lip trembled and I choked on a sob. “We never made it to the east coast. You wanted to make it to the east coast.”
“Go there for me. Dip your toes in the Atlantic. Visit Central Park. People-watch.”
I rubbed my eyes with the back of my hand. “I don’t want to go there alone.” I stood up and walked away, trying to get some distance.
“Parker, I bought your plane ticket back home.”
I stopped pacing, stopped looking around and brought my eyes back to his. “What did you say?”
“Your plane ticket home is in your email. You leave tonight.”
“What are you talking about?” My voice was up several octaves and I saw the nurse move towards me.
Everett held up a hand to the nurse and then he turned to me. “I told you, if you fell in love, your ass would be on a plane. And it will be. In four hours.”
I was speechless. I stared at Everett like he’d grown another head.
“I don’t want you here for this, Parker. I don’t want you to remember me like this.”
I collapsed into the chair beside his bed and sobbed into my hands. This was more than I could physically bear. I lifted my head to see him again, my nose running and my tears tracking a hundred lines on my face.
“Come here,” Everett said, his voice breaking again. He opened his arms and I climbed into the bed. He wrapped his arms around me and held me tight, squeezing me. He was always pulling me to him. I wanted to pull him to me, to keep him.
“I love you, Parker. More than I’ve ever loved anything. I am so thankful for that text, so thankful it was you who replied. I’m thankful you drove halfway across the country with me. But most of all, I’m thankful for what you’ve given me. It’s been the best time of my life. And it wasn’t all the pit stops or the main attractions. It was you. It was always, only you.”
I didn’t think I would ever stop crying. My hands balled into fists against his chest. “Then fight, dammit. If not for you, fight for me. I need you.”
“You don’t, Parker. You’re strong. You’re a fighter. You’re brave and beautiful and ornery and so many things. You don’t need me.”
I knew with absolute certainty then that nothing I could say would change his mind. He was done, he wasn’t going to fight. I pushed my lips to his chest and squeezed my eyes tight. “I need to go then. Now.” I held his hand and he squeezed three times. The moment he let go would be it. I’d lose a limb.
I tugged.
He let go of me, albeit hesitantly. I stood up and walked to the door. But before I reached the handle, I turned around. Everett was right when he said I was stubborn. But I was right about this.
“Everett,” I said. He lifted his head to me. His eyes were tortured, red-rimmed.
“If you die, I’m the only one with our memories. But if you have the surgery, if you lived, you might lose them. But you’d be alive. And I’d still have those memories.”
And then I left, without looking back.
Two Months Later
I received a box in the mail a few days earlier. The return address was Dallas and the sender was Bridget. But I couldn’t open it. It sat in my bedroom untouched. It wasn’t very big, but I was afraid of it. Loving Everett brought with it a range of emotions. I was a wreck. From anger to fear to happiness to love. I felt them all. And they hurt, all the time. Feeling things was painful. But if I had learned anything, it was that every bit of good came from a little bit of pain. I wouldn’t be like Eloisa. I’d choose the memories of Everett and live through the pain. Because at least I was living.
My dreams were either replaying our trip or an alternate reality. Where Everett lived. He wore all black and had a new scar on top of the old one and we spent a weekend in the Picketwire Canyonlands, a weekend in purgatory, together. That was my favorite dream, the one that made me cry whenever I woke up. Because my reality was often a nightmare.
Carly and Jasmine had invited me to go out with him a few times since I’d returned. But I couldn’t. I was a different person in many ways, but I wanted to avoid people as much as possible.
That box in the corner of my room was a lot like me. Filled with Everett, but afraid to open up. It could collect dust in the corner of my room forever.
I testified against Morris Jensen. I sat in the box, answered the questions from the county prosecutor. He pulled up photos of me from when I’d been brought to the hospital. I stared at those photos and ached for the girl I was when they were taken. Ached or the years of indifference I would embrace. I removed my suit jacket partway into questioning, to let them all see the scars that Morris Jensen left on my body.
I avoided looking at Morris the entire time. When the defense attorney questioned me, I answered all the questions, but Morris’ fate was already sealed. If it hadn’t been sealed by the DNA evidence under my nails, it was sealed with Mira’s testimony.
Ten Below Zero Page 22
