Then silence. Evelyn’s labored breaths disrupt the quiet, followed by Oliver’s eerily calm voice.
“The person you hate is you, Evelyn. You will never be satisfied. Take a look around. Is all this not enough for you?” He pauses, and all I hear is Evelyn’s quiet sniffling in response. “That’s what all this foolishness is about. ‘I need to find myself. Explore my art.’ This is all a horrific joke. And this lost daughter act? Believe me, I see it for exactly what it is. A desperate attempt to stroke the ego of the illustrious Evelyn James. I see you … and so will she.”
“You’re hateful. And wrong,” she whispers. “You don’t know anything. I just want to know my daughter … and my son.”
I should tiptoe back over the threshold and quietly turn the knob back into place. I should hurry down the front porch stairs and send a text to Evelyn telling her I can’t make it tonight. She wouldn’t want me to hear this, and I wish with all my might I hadn’t, so the best thing to do is pretend it never happened.
Slink away like a coward.
Yeah, I’m not gonna do that.
I cross the foyer, each footstep deliberate and punctuated. My heels dig in, and I imagine dents in the floor where my feet land. With each step, I push back salty tears threatening to spill out in anger. I reach the archway of the parlor and glass crunches under my soles. The floor glistens and twinkles from all the scattered bits of glass, and I find it strangely beautiful. I cross my arms over my chest, as much a defense mechanism as a statement.
They both stare at me, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, and a small whimper escapes from Evelyn. She looks embarrassed. He looks … bothered. What a dick.
“The only thing I see is a giant jerk,” I say, struggling to keep my voice from shaking. “You’re nothing but a bully, but it seems like Evelyn already sees you for what you are. We see you, make no mistake.”
I turn to Evelyn and see tears splash against her already red and chapped cheeks. My gut clenches as the words she and Oliver hurled at each other like knives swirl through my mind. Confused and hurt, I’m unable to speak around the lump lodged in my throat. I shake my head at her, at a complete loss for words.
Without another word, I spin on my heels and leave, slamming the door behind me. I rush down the stairs, hoping the momentum doesn’t send me careening headfirst into the concrete. My feet can’t move fast enough to please my mind. I need to get the hell out of here before I break.
After fumbling with the gate latch for far too long, I swing it open and break into a run. Before I make the block, I hit a wall of chest and a pair of arms wrap around me as a sob racks through my body.
“It’s okay. I’ve got you,” Ever says softly, tucking my head under his neck. I grip onto his shirt for dear life and inhale.
And then I break.
Ever
I DON’T HAVE the foggiest clue what just happened in there, but I’m sure as hell glad I followed Remy and Marlo on their little walk. I don’t trust Remy or his intentions, but I never thought her mom would be the issue.
I run my hand down her silky brown hair and inhale the scent of her shampoo. Lavender. I lightly brush my lips over the crown of her head and hold her against me. Her body slumps into me, and her tears wet my T-shirt. I resist the urge to wrap my arm behind her knees and carry her away from here.
She allows herself only a few minutes before she squares her shoulders, rubs her fingers under her tear-soaked eyes, and starts walking. When I don’t immediately follow, she looks back at me and gestures for me to move it. So I do. I fall into step beside her and slide my hand into hers.
For the first time this week, she isn’t shying away from me. Ignoring me. Dismissing me.
“What happened back there?” I ask. I keep my tone gentle, but I still need to ask the question. I’ve never seen Marlo so undone.
“Not now, Ever. Just … not now.” Her eyes plead with me as she keeps moving at a brisk pace, relaxing a little more the farther away we get from Evelyn’s house. “I just need to get back to school right now without bursting into tears again. Do you think once we get there—would you come up to the roof with me?”
“Of course,” I say, without an ounce of hesitation. “We can stay as long as you want.”
Fuck, that’s what I’ve wanted all week long. Sometime during last weekend, Marlo made the decision to friend-zone me. Hard. Hell, I wouldn’t even call it a friend-zone maneuver. She put me in the “hardly acquainted” box.
Screw that box.
I watch Marlo as we make our way back to school, and she’s more beautiful than I ever realized. I mean, she’s always been gorgeous, don’t get me wrong. Damp cheeks smeared with salty tears, tiny curls furling at her neck from the straight hair she’s beaten into submission, and an air of vulnerability that I want to swoop in and save make her downright irresistible to me. I want to protect her from Remy. From Evelyn.
From me.
And isn’t that the shit of it. I could wreck her just as badly. I’m no better than any of them. Hell, I may be worse. What could a screwed up, head case like me have to offer someone like Marlo?
Not a damn thing, that’s what.
We round the corner where Orleans Academy sits, enter Boozman Hall, and climb the steps to the roof in silence. It’s the good kind of silence. The kind that soothes. Not tense. More … companionable. Understanding.
We push open the metal door and take our usual seats, but just a touch closer since I refuse to let go of her hand. She tilts her head back against the wall and closes her eyes. Without the bustle of the cars and people from the streets to hide it, I hear an incessant buzzing from her purse. She huffs and rips her phone from the side pocket, powering it down without answering the call.
“Nothing good can come from me answering my phone right now. I don’t want to talk to her, and I definitely don’t want to talk to him,” she says with a sneer.
I pull out my wallet and slide out a joint. I offer it to her as I dig my lighter out of my pocket.
“A little help to forget?” I ask, but she shakes her head and pushes it away.
“I don’t want to get high right now.”
I shrug and put it away. “Sorry, I’m just trying to help. Getting high always takes away some of the load when life gets too shitty. I thought you might need to get away from it all.”
“I guess that’s where you and I differ. I want to fly. You want to forget,” she chuckles and bumps my shoulder. “Weed is just fun for me, nothing more. I’m not in the mood for that tonight.”
“Understood.” I nod, and consider the subject dropped. Getting high has made many a night bearable for me, but everyone deals in different ways.
“Thanks, though.”
“Did he hurt you?” I ask, feeling my temper rise at the mere idea of it. If he laid one finger on her…
“No.” She shrugs and rolls her eyes. “Well, not in the physical sense of the word.”
Thank God.
“They were fighting,” she whispers as she keeps all her focus on twirling her ring around her finger. “They were saying hateful things. About each other. To each other. I’ve never heard anything like that before.”
I barely hold in the scoff poised on my lips. Welcome to my world, is what I want to say. But I don’t want her there. She doesn’t deserve it the way I do. Marlo is too good for that. Too honest.
If I collected every hateful word my parents slung at each other over the years, I could fill Webster’s Dictionary. Or ten. There is no shortage of blame-placing and guilt-tripping at the Montgomery household.
“Then he turned it on me. He said she contacted me for selfish reasons and I’d see her for what she was soon enough,” she says, tears filling her eyes once more. She shrugs. “Evelyn left when I was so young. I don’t remember anything about her from before, but I wanted to know her now. But the truth is I took up for her tonight in a way she never did for me in the last seventeen years. What if what Oliver said is right?”
And that’s wh
en the tears roll over her lids and spill to her flushed cheeks.
What the hell can I say to that? I don’t know a damn thing about her mother, but I tend to think someone who would leave a child behind without a second thought is capable of any number of despicable things. She doesn’t sound especially loving or trustworthy.
“What if he is?” I ask her. “What if he’s right?”
She jerks her head to meet my gaze, surprised by my question. I may not know what will make her feel better, but in my experience, lies coated in sugar and syrup are the wrong way to go.
Her eyes slowly change from sadness, to confusion, and then finally resolve. A slow smile spreads across her face, and she nods slowly.
“And what if he is?” Her expression is almost smug. “It doesn’t even matter, because I’m still me. I’m the same girl I’ve always been, and neither one of them can change that. Nothing they do or say will ever change that.”
I squeeze her hand and nod my agreement. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right, Low.”
“Nothing they do changes who I am inside. Not her possibly selfish motives…”
“Nope,” I say.
“Not his ugly words…”
“Right.”
“Whether she ever invites me over again … and definitely not his limp dick.”
“Wha?” My eyes widen in surprise, and Low throws her head back in laughter.
She shakes her head and smiles. “You don’t want to know, trust me,” she says.
I’m not touching that one with a ten-foot pole. She’s right, I do not want to know.
“Thank you, Ever. Just … thanks.”
I shrug and shoot her a sheepish grin. “I didn’t do anything but walk you home, and that’s no hardship, I promise you.”
“You asked the right question, and I realized it doesn’t matter. In the grand scheme of my life, they don’t matter. What I saw today was about them—those are their problems, not mine. They don’t change who I am, and whether or not Evelyn is in my life, I’m gonna be okay.”
“You will.” I swallow the lump forming in my throat.
I roll Marlo’s words around in my head, liking the feel of them, the solace they bring. The idea that my parents’ actions and feelings don’t change the person I am inside is invigorating. Can I pack up their guilt and resentment and hand it right back to them?
No thank you, that’s not my baggage to carry. You can fuck off now, both of you.
Can I do that? The real question is can I feel that? Really feel it and live my life on my terms. How is it, in a matter of minutes, this girl has an epiphany that I could never seem to understand in all these years living with my parents?
Marlo runs her thumb across my wrist, and I raise my eyes to hers. She’s so strong. I see it in her eyes … the way she holds herself together … even the way she falls apart. Especially how she falls apart.
And that’s when I know. Marlo is all the things I’m not, but everything I want to be. I can do this with her. I know I can, and I want it more than anything.
I smile past the burning in my throat and the crushing in my chest. I tug her arm to pull her closer.
“C’mere,” I whisper, memorizing the curve of her lips.
Her smile reaches her dimples, rolls over her green eyes, making them sparkle from something other than tears. I lean toward her, and she follows.
Until she doesn’t.
Confusion replaces anticipation, and she peels her hand away from mine, scooting back to create some space between us. So I scoot forward, because screw that. That’s when her hands raise up to shove my chest.
“What’s wrong, Marlo? Why are you pushing me away? Why have you been pushing me away?”
She crosses her arms and huffs, looking like the indignant Marlo I’m used to. There’s no vulnerability here, that’s for damn sure.
“I don’t think your girlfriend would appreciate you kissing me. In fact, I’m pretty sure that would make you a giant jackass,” she says, looking smug … and hurt.
Too bad I have no clue what she’s talking about. So I tell her just that.
“I have no clue what you’re talking about.”
“Oh no? So you weren’t with your girlfriend last weekend? You don’t leave school every weekend to see her?” When I continue to give her a blank and confused stare, she groans. “Ever, stop lying! I called your phone this weekend, and she answered.”
What the hell is she talking about? I spent the weekend with Easton, like I do every weekend, only leaving for a few hours of sleep at Aunt Marty’s house. How could someone answer my phone, other than me?
Unless…
“Were you the wrong number?” I ask, and she looks downright pleased. She nods, and now I’m the one groaning. “Low, that wasn’t my girlfriend. That’s the nurse taking care of my…”
Wait, what happened to keeping it light? Primo weed, stellar conversation, and out-fucking-standing cupcakes?
I guess that all went out the window when I’d followed her to Evelyn’s house. And if not, it surely disappeared when she told me about Evelyn and Oliver’s argument. And when my lips were two inches away from hers, a breath away from happy, those rules were in the wind for good. So we’re doing this.
“Darcy is one of the nurses who takes care of my brother, Easton. He’s in a long-term care facility. He needs round the clock medical attention, so he doesn’t live at home with my parents. That’s where I go every weekend.”
Each word I say chips away at Marlo’s resolve; I can see it. Her shoulders loosen, then her arms uncross. By the time I finish explaining, she’s leaning into me, close enough to touch. Kiss.
“You take care of your brother?” Her eyes soften a bit, as if knowing about Easton endears me to her.
“We take care of each other,” I say, and it’s the God’s honest truth.
Marlo nods.
“So, she’s not your girlfriend?” she asks, her voice only a shade above a whisper. I shake my head. “Then why did she answer your phone?”
“I was helping Easton change his clothes. He likes me to do those things when I’m there, so Darcy grabbed my phone because I had my hands full. I should have looked up the call after, but I just forgot about it since it was a wrong number.” I sigh and shake my head. “God, is that why you’ve been avoiding me all week?”
She lowers her eyes and shrugs, looking embarrassed. “I didn’t want to be a big, fat ass cheater. I like you, but that’s not me.” Her lip quirks up in a half-smile, and then twists into a pouty scowl. “And if that’s who you are, then I take it back. I don’t like you at all.”
I grab under her knee and pull her closer and laugh. “I just told you, I’m not dating Darcy,” I say, not letting go of her knee. “Can you think of another reason to push me away?”
She shakes her head, and I see her reservations melt away. She watches me through lowered lashes and whispers, “Will you tell me about Easton?”
“Another day,” I say, not entirely sure if I’m telling the truth. “I have my mind on other things right now.”
I lean in and run the tip of my nose along her cheek, loving the feel of her, the smell of her. Vanilla and something else warm. She smells golden—like sunshine warming my skin on a bitter, cold day. I lean back just enough to meet her eyes, and her lashes flutter. I love that I can tame the fire in Marlo with my touch. Her edges aren’t as sharp under my gaze. I don’t think many people see this side of her. I imagine it’s just for me, and my cock hardens at the thought.
“I don’t want to push you away anymore,” she whispers.
“Good to know,” I say as I close the gap and pull her bottom lip into my mouth.
Marlo
I’VE BEEN KISSED before. I swear I have. It’s a fumbling of lips and teeth, too much spit or not enough, usually accompanied by a darting tongue that tries to tickle my tonsils.
That’s not this. Ever’s lips on mine isn’t even in the same galaxy.
Kissing Ever
is like breaking the surface of the ocean. Legs kicking, arms flailing, and then that precious moment when air rushes into your lungs, giving you the one thing you need the most. Yeah, kissing Ever is just like that.
When his teeth lightly tug on my bottom lip, he owns me. I swear, my shirt almost flies off of its own accord.
Of course, I keep my cool despite his lovely lips … sort of. His tongue slides gently against mine, and I inch closer to him. He pulls away to taste my upper lip, and I grip his shirt with both hands. Maybe my hands slide under the shirt to touch his hot skin, but only an inch or two. When he lets out a long sigh, and his fingers brush the sides of my cheeks just so, I slide my legs between his. I want to pull his ribs loose and burrow deep inside of him, and even then, I’m not sure if it’s close enough.
He slows the kiss, still tasting me, sucking my lips, teasing me with his tongue. When I open my eyes, he’s right there with me, hazy eyes and parted lips. I run a hesitant finger over the freckles on his nose, and he runs his thumb across my swollen mouth. I finger his hair, tugging playfully, and he kisses my dimple, poking me with his tongue.
We explore each other slowly, thoroughly, and my thumb runs over his stomach to the thin line of hair trailing below his belly button. He shivers, and I swear the bulge pushing into the back of my thigh isn’t a banana in his pocket. It makes me feel powerful—that I can turn him on that way. This is the first time I can remember wanting that power. Boy’s erections were always a nuisance to me in the past.
He doesn’t expect me to do something with that, does he? Nuh-uh.
Let me be clear, those are not the thoughts running through my mind as I bend my knee and push my thigh more firmly into Ever’s hard-on. Not even close.
His hips raise to my pressure, and he drops his forehead to mine with a long sigh.
“I knew kissing you would be good, Low, but that was … I don’t know what that was,” he says with a chuckle, stealing another kiss.
“We should try it again. You know, figure it out.”
Low Over High (The Over Duet #1) Page 10
