Ever Over After (The Over Duet #2) - J.A. DeRouen

Ever Over After Copyright © 2016 by J.A. DeRouen Cover Design by Daniela Conde Padron of DCP Designs Editing by Madison Seidler Proofreading by Alexis Durbin Formatting by JT Formatting All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products, bands, and/or restaurants referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. License Notes This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Title Page Playlist Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three Chapter Twenty-Four Chapter Twenty-Five Chapter Twenty-Six Chapter Twenty-Seven Chapter Twenty-Eight Chapter Twenty-Nine Epilogue About the Author

Turning Tables – Adele Lil Darlin – ZZ Ward She Wears a Smile – Jonathan Tyler Burning House – Cam Who You Are – Jessie J Broken Crown – Mumford & Sons Scars – James Bay The One That Got Away – The Civil Wars Call Me – Shinedown The Kill – Thirty Seconds to Mars Control – Puddle of Mudd Gravity – Sara Bareilles The Special Two – Missy Higgins



Marlo Move-in Day—Northern Louisiana University I HITCH MY two-ton duffel bag over my shoulder and look up, up, up at my new dorm. Twelve stories tall. Holy shit, that’s a lot of estrogen in one building. Makes Boozman Hall at Orleans Academy look like child’s play. The thought causes an unwelcome pang straight to the gut. “Darlin’, if there isn’t an elevator in that high rise, I may have to pay one of those muscled-up fellas over there to get your trunk to the tenth floor,” my dad says, his gaze shifting back and forth from the building to me. I grunt and grab the other end of the trunk, damn well determined no one is talking to any muscled-up anybodies. Hell. No. I hear Dad’s sigh of relief once we get inside and hear the pinging of an elevator. The sentiment quickly dies at the sight of the monstrous line of other students, parents, and trunks waiting impatiently in front of the two—yes, two—elevators. I slap his shoulder and sigh, resigned. “Buck up, old man. Looks like it’s gonna be one of those days … shit.” “Language,” he mutters with not an ounce of conviction. “Damnit.” White cinder block walls. Two bed frames bolted to the floor with blue, plastic mattresses sitting on top, looking shiny and unwelcoming. Formica-covered desks with chips along the edges and weathered wooden chairs shoved against them. One two-by-two window—glass foggy and too high to peer out of without standing on top of aforementioned desks. One lonely looking sink with exposed pipes and a matchbox-sized mirror on top of it. My new home … at least for this semester. I rotate in a slow circle, taking it all in, not that there’s much to see. Dad left a few hours ago amidst an onslaught of, “Are you sure?” and “You can always start next semester.” I followed them with my own barrage of, “This is what I want,” and “I’ll be just fine.” But the truth is, now I’m not so sure. As my gaze flits from the empty walls, the cloudy window and mirror, and the carvings on the side of the desk— I heart penises. Never forget (with a rudimentary drawing of a brontosaurus alongside it).

And my personal favorite: Here I sit, Broken hearted. I masturbated, Then I farted. Robert Frost, eat your heart out. Profound words from the ghosts of students past. What would I leave behind for the next person … not a single thought bubbles to the surface. Because, just like this room, I’m empty. I shut my eyes and fight back the sorrow that clings to every part of me. I blow out a breath and try to exhale the hatred crushing my lungs at the mere thought of Remy Fucking Rodrigue. How could I have been so naive and stupid? Looking back, I see the signs—the not-so-subtle hints of what was to come— like graffiti painted on the billboard of my ridiculous life. And I fight back the tears always ready to fall at the thought of Ever. Ever … no matter how hard I try, my heart won’t let him go. I’ll never forget the way his lips had brushed against mine, or the way he’d made me feel like I was his solace, so I try to remember the blank look on his face, his hazy, unfocused eyes as he snorted powder up his nose. The ultimate finger to me … to Easton … to everything that had mattered in his life. The truth of it is I’m too broken to help him now. I can’t help him any more than I can help myself. I can’t be his solace anymore. “Hello?” a chipper voice calls from the other side of the door. The knock causes the door to creak open a crack, and a girl with braided hair and a tentative smile peeks inside. “Are you Mara’s new roommate?” I nod, plastering on my most welcoming smile. It feels forced, but it’s the best I can manage. “That’s me.” She motions behind her. “I’m your across-the-hall neighbor. I take it Mara hasn’t gotten here yet. She usually keeps her lips, among other things, locked to her boyfriend until the very last minute. He still lives in her hometown.” “Ah, so that’s where she is,” I say with a chuckle. I slide my fists into my jean pockets and shrug. An uncomfortable silence settles between us as she looks around the room. My head is a jumble of cobwebs and dust bunnies, and mustering up the energy for polite conversation is not something I’m capable of right now. “I like what you’ve done with the place.” She laughs, and her gaze settles on the unopened trunk at the edge of my bed. “Yeah, I’m going for the sterile, generic motif. Kind of depressing, huh?” I frown and fall back onto the plastic mattress. The springs creak beneath me, sounding more like they’ll break than bounce back. “I don’t know. I guess it’s all in how you look at it,” she says, and plops down beside me. “Maybe it doesn’t have to be depressing. Maybe it can be more of a blank slate.” My heart squeezes at her words. Yes … a blank slate. I love the sound of that. I open the chute in my brain and empty out the hate, the loss, the sorrow. I’m not foolish enough to think it’s gone forever, but right now, in this moment, I’m not Low: the girl who lost it all. I’m whoever the hell I want to be. I extend a hand, and a more genuine smile tugs at my mouth. “I’m Marlo.” She ignores my hand, throwing an arm around my shoulder and squeezing tightly. “I’m Sara. Glad to meet you.”



Marlo Present Day HER BLOOD-CURDLING SCREAM filters through the electronic sliding doors, and my adrenaline takes over, legs pumping as I pull on my gloves. I glance behind me to make sure Sara is steady in tow, and she smirks as the delivery kit bounces over her shoulder with every stride. “Bet you’re wishing you ran with me in the mornings now?” She chuckles, not even sounding the least bit winded. “Fuck off,” I mumble under my heaving breath, loud enough for just her to hear. It only makes her laugh louder. We’re the first to make it to the front entrance of the hospital, but the show looks well on the road, with a woman laying down in the front seat of a car, clutching her overly pregnant belly, her legs splayed out on the concrete of the parking lot. Her husband is occupied with skipping and hopping while pulling out every hair on his head and hollering “HELP!” at the top of his screechy lungs. Seriously, the dude could audition for choir boy back in the Middle Ages. “Oh God, ahhhhhhhhhhhh! I can’t take it,” she shrieks, clutching the car seat and dashboard, backtracking into the car like she’s just come face to face with Freddie Krueger. No worries, lady. You’d scare the shit out of Freddie, right about now. Sara lowers the delivery kit off her shoulder, and we get to work. I take a quick peek under the woman’s nightgown and give Sara a quick nod, a silent message that no way in hell is this woman making it upstairs to Labor & Delivery to have this baby. I’ll consider us lucky if a doctor even makes it to the parking lot in time. “What’s her name?” I ask the frazzled husband, and he looks at me like I have a unicorn horn sprouting out of my forehead. “Huh?” “Name? What’s your wife’s name?” I match his frantic tone with calm and ease, hoping it’ll rub off on him. “Allie.” I nod once and wave him over. “Thanks. Now get over here. You’re about to meet your baby for the first time. Pretty cool, right?” It’s obvious he thinks I’m a lunatic, but since I’m the lunatic who knows what she’s doing, he

complies. Sara unpacks our equipment as I approach the patient during a break in her contractions. We’ve been working as a team for as long as I can remember, even back when we were nursing students, wide-eyed and scared shitless. Labor and delivery is a team sport, and it helps to work well with the other players. I love it when our shifts coincide—we know our parts and play them seamlessly. She likes everything in order. I crave control. It works. I hear the faint sound of metal on metal, Sara arranging the instruments we’ll need sooner rather than later. Kelly … kelly … scissors … clamp. I block her out and drop down on my haunches, getting eye to eye with the mom-to-be. My lips are stretched into a thin line, and my eyes are somber, because I know what happens next. Now I need to make sure she does. “Allie, look at me,” I say as her eyes dart everywhere but to me. I grab her hand and squeeze. “Allie … we’re not making it upstairs. This is happening.” She shakes her head frantically and scooches away from me. “I-I-I want the epidural.” “Allie, stop. Look at me.” When her eyes meet mine, I give her a sympathetic smile. “We don’t have time.” Her eyes go wild and desperate, darting to Sara for some alternate plan. Sara gives a small shake of her head, and thankfully, Allie sobers. She evens out and turns back to me. Good girl. “Now, I need you to listen to what I’m telling you,” I say, and I see the pain creeping into Allie’s eyes. Terror slides over her expression, about to hit its hellish peak. Another contraction. “Aaaaaaaaahhhhhh, oh God!” Allie retreats, but I grab her by the knees before she gets very far. I move in close, eye to eye. “Allie, I know you don’t want to hear it, but you’ve got to listen to me. Do as I say, and you won’t blow out your bottom, okay?” It sucks to scare the shit out of her, but sometimes, you’ve got to hit ‘em where it hurts. Goal-directed fear has its place. “Listen to her, Allie Bear,” her husband cries, brought back into the game by the warning of a vagina explosion. Boys and their toys. What a douche. “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t. I’m sorry!” She shakes her head frantically back and forth, and I grip her hand and nod, telling her she can do this. She will do this. A blood-curdling scream erupts from the depths of her belly and flies through her parted lips. And then she makes the face. All L&D nurses know the face. She’s pushing. “I’m sorry!” she screams. And then she douses me in a warm, gooey, downright disgusting mess of amniotic fluid. Tip. To. Fucking. Toe. “Oh shit,” her husband cries. “Great aim,” Sara mutters. “Nice and steady,” I say calmly to Allie as the baby’s head crowns. “Keep that push nice and steady, Allie. You’re doing great.” Over the next two contractions, Allie pushes like a champ, and I maneuver the baby out and to her chest where Sara takes over cutting, clamping, and stimulating the little one. I think about what an honor it is to work with such strong women. Allie just went through hell and

came out the other side in pure heaven. I think about how lucky I am, to be part of this miracle. I think about how proud it makes me to use what I know to help other women in what is equally terrifying and magical. What I do not think about is the amniotic fluid and particulate matter that’s pooling in the bottom of my shoes. What I do not think about is the undershirt that’s saturated and sticking to my stomach. Or my bra that weighs ten pounds and needs to be wrung the hell out. God, I can’t stop thinking about it. Footsteps ring out in the entrance behind us, and I turn to see Dr. Howard slinging on his lab coat, hair disheveled and eyes bleary. I see a team of people filtering in behind him. Nursery. ER. Patient Care Tech with a stretcher. Allie’s smiling eyes leave mine and move to Dr. Howard, who’s busy rubbing his eyes and putting on his glasses. Once she has his attention, she glares. “Made your job easy, didn’t I?” Sara barks out a laugh, and I laugh, too. Allie has bite, and I like it. Sara gives me an “I got this” nod, and I turn to Allie. “Congratulations, Allie. She’s absolutely beautiful,” I say. She takes one look at me and her face falls, realizing the not so pleasant state of my clothes. I shake my head and wave her off. “Don’t give it a second thought. Not a single one. I’m going to get cleaned up while Sara stays with you and your little one, yeah?” She nods and shoots me a watery smile. Before I can stand, she grabs me by the hand and squeezes. “Thank you. Just … thank you.” And that’s why I do this. I turn away and clap Dr. Howard on the back before walking away. “The placenta’s all yours, Doc.” “Nice delivery, Marlo. Just remember to fake left next time,” he says with a laugh. I grab my purse out of my locker and pull at the OR scrubs I’d borrowed for the ride home. My demolished pair are in a biohazard bag at my feet. Those bad boys will need an extra hot washing, or four, before they touch my body again. Or maybe I should just cut my losses and toss them in the trash. I fetch my phone out of the side pocket and notice a text waiting for me. Mike: Morning quickie before we crash? I sigh, exhaustion settling in my bones. I’m always beat after my night shifts, but I can usually muster it up for a tussle in the sheets with Mike, my no-strings-attached, sexy times guy. We have not one thing in common other than we’re both in the medical field and brave the graveyard shift, but he doesn’t need to say much to suit my purposes. And he doesn’t ask many questions, so I’ve kept him around longer than most. Me: No can do. I ended the shift with a shower. Mike: Eh? Me: An amniotic fluid shower. Mike: Fuuuuuuuuuuuck. Me: No, that’s the point. No fuck. Next time. Cool?

Mike: Ready when you are. And that’s the great thing about Mike. He’s always ready. Or not. He’d tried to insert himself into my life in the beginning, but once I’d laid out the rules, he was cool about it. So for the last year, we’ve had great sex with no questions and no commitment. We don’t mix friends, and we don’t spend the night. All I ask is that we keep it monogamous. Because diseases. The nurse in me demands it. “Breakfast?” Sara asks as she breezes into the break room to collect her things. “I’m wearing postpartum mesh panties and stolen OR scrubs, anxiously awaiting a Brillo pad scrub down when I get home. What do you think?” “Fiiiine,” she whines, slamming her locker shut. “I’ll grab donuts for Adam and the kids before crashing at my house. I’ll bring a few over to you when I get home. Can you take time away from your scrub down to answer the door when I bring them?” “For melt-in-my-mouth, sugary O’s of goodness? I think I can muster it up. And look at you, sleeping at your own house? I’m surprised you haven’t shut off the utilities.” Sara rolls her eyes and shoves my shoulder. Then she shrugs, because she knows it’s true. Sara is a soon-to-be-expiring lease away from cohabitation with her fiancé, Adam, and his kids, Lily and Gage. He’s a tatted, hella sexy super dad, so I get the attraction. Not to mention, his kids are freaking adorable. Twins. Seriously, the whole lot are a Gap ad waiting to happen. Yeah, I totally get the attraction. The marriage part? Not so much. But Sara and I are hardwired differently, so I keep my mouth shut and hope her happily ever after isn’t just a happy for now. Dreamers don’t take kindly to realists pissing in their Cheerios. “I don’t want Adam to have to shush the kids all day while I sleep. That’s not fair to any of them. But I need my snuggles before I head to my house.” Her face gets all gooey and sweet, making me the teeniest bit nauseous, but I smile all the same. Her dream, not mine. It doesn’t escape my attention that she says “my house” and not “home.” I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss Sara lately. We’ve been next door neighbors for years, friends since college. I see her at work all the time, but it’s not the same as crossing the yard and hanging out with my friend. I’m being a whiny bitch, but sometimes it feels like she’s moving on without me. “Don’t forget I like sprinkles,” I call out as we head into the parking lot and go our separate ways. It’s not quite seven in the morning, and the city of Providence is still sleepy, making my drive home quick and painless. Some mornings, I find myself parked in my driveway with no recollection of how I got there. It scares the hell out me, so I make it a point to chug some Diet Dr. Pepper before hitting the road. Every night nurse has a poison of choice, and DDP is mine. We take our caffeine seriously. I trudge up my walkway, and tackle each porch step like the mountain it is. Almost. There. I slide the key into the lock before I notice it. A folded piece of paper wedged into the frame of the door, just above the knob. It’s probably a flyer of some sort. I pull it out of the door, noticing the weight of the paper feels less like Zippy’s Car Wash and more like a wedding invitation. So I flip it open. And all the blood drains from my face. My heart pounds in my ears like a thrumming drumbeat. An iron fist clenches my chest, wringing the breath from my lungs mercilessly. Years, years, of looking in the rearview mirror, and I come face to face with my past in a head-on collision—my scarred and blackened heart will certainly be one of the casualties. My fingers tremble uncontrollably as I jam the key into the lock and jiggle.

“Come on, come on, come on,” I hiss, releasing a pent-up breath when the knob finally gives way. Once I stumble across the threshold, I throw my full weight into shoving the door closed and engaging the deadbolt. A rush of memories flits through my mind like a high speed highlight reel of the good, the bad, the ugly, and the irreparable. “Where are you, Ev—” I stop, his name lodging in my throat like a bowling ball. God… I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I can’t fucking breathe. My eyes refocus on the note clutched in my hand. Your lips luscious red, My balls achingly blue, Have you any idea How long I’ve searched for you? I bend back the window blinds and scan the road, looking for him, knowing he must be here. The street and driveways look peaceful and undisturbed, but I don’t trust my own eyes. In the span of a minute, sixty seconds, all my trust and confidence takes a nosedive into the back seat, then crawls into the trunk. Wouldn’t I feel him if he were here? I’m not sure anymore. It’s been so long. It’s been no time at all. Haven’t I always known it would come to this? Haven’t I?



Marlo I DON’T ANSWER the door when Sara comes knocking. She’ll see right through me, and I have no intention of explaining. I’ve made it eight long years, keeping this from her—from nearly everyone. I see no reason to become Chatty Cathy now. I don’t go to sleep either. After a long shower filled with scrubbing and denial, I’m too wired up to even contemplate a nap. Thank God I don’t work again tonight. I’d be useless. I opt for baking, as I stare at the note sitting on my counter like it’s laced with anthrax. And isn’t it? The damn thing should have had “Enter at your own risk. Will blow up your life as you know it” written on the front. Fucking Ever. Months ago, I’d waited for the other shoe to drop. Alex had mentioned in passing that her caterer had asked after me, said he’d known me a long time ago, and it’d put me on edge. I had never asked her about it further, opting for blatant denial instead of ripping open the fragile scars of the past. It wouldn’t take much to turn it into a gaping wound, so I’d turned a blind eye and had hoped for the best. It’s been months. I had thought it’d been a fluke, just one of those weird coincidences of life. Sure, Ever had been quite the cook years ago, in another life, but he’s probably a junior partner at his father’s law firm by now. So I’d let it go. And now I’m furiously whipping up cotton candy on my stove as the perfect adornment to my pink and blue swirled cupcakes with buttercream frosting. Nothing tastes as dreamy as spun sugar and icing. I’ll drop these to Sara and the kids as an apology for ignoring her this morning. I’m composed enough now to face her, and that’s exactly what I’ll do to get the answers I need. Ever may have the upper hand, for now, but I have every intention of getting control of this situation. Control is what I do best. He’ll never know what hit him. “It’s so melty,” Lily says, cake crumbs spewing out of her mouth as she looks at me in awe. As far as kids are concerned, the baker walks on water. I swipe a finger through the icing and tap her button nose. She jumps, making her corkscrew curls bounce, and lets out an ear-piercing giggle. Gage never even looks up as he mows down his second cupcake. He may be tiny, but he can still

devour the damn thing in three bites. His dad would be proud. “Hmmph.” Sara tosses a plate with a sad looking donut on top of it, shriveled up with sprinkles flaking off the chocolate. “Here’s your donut, Marlo, since you couldn’t be bothered to answer when I stopped by. Eat up!” “Ew, that’s nasty,” Gage mumbles through his mouthful of cake, scrunching up his nose and shaking his head. I smile sweetly and push the plate toward the center of the table. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I’m not hungry. Thanks, though.” Sara purses her lips as she wipes Lily and Gage’s mouths. “Likely story.” A smile tugs at Sara’s lips, and she breaks out into laughter when I start flicking petrified sprinkles at her face. “Stop, you wench! I’m gonna have to pick that up.” I toss the donut into the trash as she cleans mouths, hands, and hair. Lily and Gage wriggle and pull, desperate to escape Sara and her wet wipes. Can’t say I blame them. I prop a hip on the counter as they dash out of the kitchen and feign nonchalance. “So, how’s the wedding planning going?” Sara swings her disbelieving eyes back to me. “Who are you, and what the hell have you done with my friend?” “Shut up.” “I’m serious.” “Whatever.” I blow out a breath and shrug. The question isn’t that out of character. “I’ve been neck deep in baby’s breath and tulle for months, and the only thing you’ve ever said about this wedding is ‘I’m a size six. No Easter-colored dresses, and make sure it’s low cut enough to show off the girls.’” She tips her eyes to the ceiling and points her finger in the air. “Wait, there was that time you said, ‘I know a stripper who makes Channing Tatum look like Elaine from Seinfeld. Let me know when to call him.’” She nods with pursed lips. “Yep, that’s it. That’s the extent of your wedding planning help.” Okay, so maybe I haven’t been the best friend lately. “I’m turning over a new leaf,” I say, giving her a toothy grin. “Is that so?” She narrows her eyes and crosses her arms. Little does she know, I’m a master at the art of disguise. Sara’s way too wholesome and naive for the likes of me. “I’ve missed you. I’ve missed spending time with you,” I say, and it comes out genuine, mostly because it is. I do miss her. That’s the number one rule of deception—stick to the truth as much as possible. “Have you found a photographer? A florist? A caterer?” My voice upticks slightly at the mention of the caterer, but Sara misses it like the novice she is. I smile and nod through her disbelief at the price of photographers and her struggle in deciding between peonies and classic roses. I swipe at my ears a time or two, because I swear to Christ, they’re bleeding. “Mmmhhmmm,” I say, agreeing with whatever crap she just said about cream and white wedding dresses. If you ask me, finding a virgin bride in this day and age is the equivalent of discovering an alien in the Circle K, so wear white, cream, or hell, purple, if that’s your jam. “I’m gonna be the flower guwl.” Lily stands on her tip toes, reaching for the cupcakes Sara placed on top of the counter. “And I’m giving RaRa away,” Gage says from the doorway, chest puffed up and head high. Sara’s dad passed away when she was a child, so she gave Gage the prestigious honor of walking her down the aisle. I can’t think of anything more fitting. These kids. Even my black heart pumps a little faster when they’re around. It’s only temporary, mind you. The coal sets back in within minutes of being gone from their presence. Sara swats Lily’s hand playfully and pokes her belly. “Not now, Lily pad. You’ll ruin your supper.

Besides, you want to leave some for Daddy, don’t you?” Lily’s expression says she definitely does not want to leave any for Adam, but she complies grudgingly. Once the kids filter out of the kitchen for the second time, I turn back to Sara. “And the caterer?” I prompt. I can’t help it, my skin prickles with awareness, and I hate it. Who knows, I could be way off base. Just because she’d asked Alex who’d catered her wedding doesn’t mean she followed up. And I’m still not entirely certain Ever had been Alex’s caterer. Who am I kidding? I’m pretty damn sure. “That’s the one thing I’m not worried about in the least. I could just kiss Alex for giving me his name. With tongue.” Sara turns around to wash the plates in the sink, oblivious to my internal tug-of-war between calm and bat shit crazy. “Who is he?” “It’s two guys, actually, but I deal mostly with Jeb.” Bingo. Where there’s smoke, there’s fire. Where there’s Jeb, there’s Ever. I guaran-fucking-tee it. Although, it surprises me Jeb has a career in food. I hadn’t realized he’d had an interest in it back then. Hearing Jeb’s name roll off Sara’s tongue as though it’s nothing is like a thread of nostalgia stitching its way through my heart. Hearing Ever’s name is more like a serrated knife taking the fateful plunge. “The menu? Oh my gosh, Marlo, it’s to die for. They do this whole fresh, farm-to-table, Cajun thing. I swear, I had to wipe the drool from my mouth just reading his suggested menu.” She turns off the faucet and faces me. “And get this. Jeb is creating an original drink list just for my wedding. It’s a specialty of his. He’s a gourmet mixologist or something like that. How amazing is that?” Sara practically vibrates with excitement, so overcome with the details, she doesn’t notice my nerves. I knew where this was headed the second I’d read Ever’s note, but her words are like a notary stamp on the damn thing. This is happening. “That’s … so amazing,” I say, hoping she can’t see the reel of thoughts fast forwarding through my head on my spool of crazy. After years of building up my defenses, constructing an impenetrable wall, Ever manages to scale it with nothing more than a poem and a chef’s hat. Why now? Who does he think he is? What does he want? What in the hell should I do? “Hey, they have a booth at the local farmer’s market this weekend, kind of a pop-up Mexican/Cajun fusion type of thing. You wouldn’t…” Sara hesitates, and I raise my eyebrows in question. Just ask me already! “Would you want to come with me? Try out the food and see what you think? I could use a little help with the two monsters,” she says, as she peeks into the living room at Lily and Gage, a sweet smile playing on her lips. She loves those little monsters so completely. “I would love to come with you. Nothing would make me happier.” Sara claps and squeals in excitement. I shrug and smile painfully as she pulls me into a bear hug. My stomach rolls at the thought of coming face to face with Ever. I clasp and unclasp my hands, trying to shake the nerves threatening to overtake me. Thankfully, she doesn’t notice. Yes, this is happening. He doesn’t know I’ll be there, and that’s exactly how I want it. It’ll be on my terms. And I’ll shut it down quicker than Ever can say “jambalaya.”



Marlo “I’M GONNA GET you wet, Lo Lo,” Lily squeals as she collects droplets of water into her tiny fists and propels them in my general direction. She misses me by a mile, but still laughs long and deep, clutching her belly like she’s holding her giggle box in place. She runs back toward the fountain, her purple ruffled bathing suit wedgie exposing one butt cheek. “It’s cute enough to squeeze,” I say to Sara, putting my finger and thumb together like I’m pinching her little booty from afar. “Juicy enough to bite,” Sara says, clanking her teeth together and humming. I shove her shoulder and point at her. “We’re quite literally surrounded by food, Sara. No need to eat Lily’s ass.” I shake my head in feigned disappointment, and Sara lowers her head in mock shame. Then she clanks her teeth together again and grins. The farmer’s market was already in full swing by the time we’d arrived. We’d stopped by a few booths with fresh root vegetables and homemade hot tamales, but it didn’t take long for the natives to get restless. Luckily, Sara came prepared with swimsuits and towels, knowing the fountain is a favorite of theirs. Hours of entertainment getting sprayed in the face with water—every kid’s dream. She laid a large quilted blanket out on the grass next to the fountain, and we’ve been lounging in the sun ever since—Sara in her baseball cap and running shorts, and me in my Jackie O shades, for maximum coverage. The only thing anyone will take me for is a mirror-eyed insect. No way will anyone notice it’s me. Gage runs in between the shooting jets of water, howling like a wolf at midnight and dodging petrified little girls, just barely. He plops down on top of one of the jets of water and it shoots through the legs and back of his camouflage swim trunks. “Dude’s gonna give himself an enema,” I say, sucking on the hibiscus honey stick I’d bought from the beekeeper’s booth at the market entrance. “Ha! It can’t hurt—the boy’s full of shit, even at the ripe old age of six. Between Cain and Adam, it’s like Frat House Rock lessons at the Hunt household. Lily and I hide out in her bedroom having tea parties when they get going. Bunch of butt scratchin’ boys …” Cain is Adam’s best friend, landlord, and also our friend, Celia’s, boyfriend. Yeah, Celia’s the latest in a line of my friends to fall victim to the virus called commitment. Another one bites the dust. I hope it

isn’t contagious, but I’ll wear a surgical mask if I have to. “That’s why you invite boys to visit, my friend. Not to live,” I say, and she rolls her eyes. “I’ll spare you my theories on relationships, since this is a wedding errand.” “Thank Christ,” she mutters under her breath while pulling the bill of her cap down over her eyes. “Speaking of the wedding, aren’t we here to taste some vittles?” “Vittles? You’re so freaking weird.” “Whatever, just feed me. I’ll watch Princess and Poopie.” “Don’t call them that!” “Am I wrong?” She tilts her to the side and purses her lips. “Okay, not really, but still. They’re my Princess and Poopie.” And there it is. She may not have been present for their first breaths, or changed their craptastic diapers, but they are hers. And I would bet if I asked them, they’d say Sara is theirs. Hell, if I dared to ask Adam, he’d probably throw her over his shoulder to show me he means business. And that caveman nonsense is a beautiful thing. It’s not for me, but it’s a beautiful thing all the same. “Fair enough.” I raise my hands in defeat. “You know I think they’re amazing.” She nods, and her eyes drift to them—Gage still sitting on top of the water stream, and Lily pulling with all her might to get him off. He’s not budging. I snap my fingers in front of Sara’s dreamy eyes, and she turns to me, annoyed. “Feed me, Seymour. Momma’s hungry.” “I forgot what a pain in the ass you can be,” she says, jumping up and grabbing her wallet. “Jeb said he’s going to fix a picnic basket of goodies for us to taste test. If you’re lucky, I’ll give you some.” She saunters away in the opposite direction from which we came, and I crane my neck to see where exactly she’s headed. I lose track of her as the crowd swallows her up and she completely disappears from view. I stand and raise up on my toes, lowering my sunglasses to get a clearer look. Nothing. Well, shit. Sara returns with a picnic basket filled to the brim with food of the gods. I know this because I’d orgasmed when she’d opened the lid and the aroma had wafted my way. She pulls out Lily and Gage’s lunch first from a bag labeled “kiddos.” This looks more like standard Mexican fare, and Sara sets out soft tacos and chips with cheese dip. Both kids dig in like they haven’t eaten in weeks. She hands me a taco wrapped in foil, and honestly, nothing about this says wedding to me. And then I unwrap it and take a bite. Oh. My. Wow. “You’re eating the…” Sara rifles through the tray and lifts up a small card. “Fried speckled trout taco with salsa ravigote, mixed greens, and spicy cornichon.” “Exqueeze me?” I say, barely swallowing before diving in for another bite. Food like this isn’t meant to be savored. It should be devoured with the enthusiasm of a pack of ravenous dogs. “What are all those words you just said, because you lost me at ‘ravioli.’” “I’m sorry, now that I look again, it’s called: ’Shut Up and Eat It ‘cause It’s Amazing.’ Sound better?” She raises her eyes in question and fans herself with the card. “Makes sense to me as long as I can keep eating.” And I do. We plow through the fish and move on to the braised brisket with crème fraiche, arugula, and habanero salsa. That description is courtesy of another card. I’m going to call it Brisket Taco à la Bomb. Dessert? Pumpkin praline flan. Don’t knock it ’til you try it. It’s delicious. We’re all sprawled out on the picnic blanket, even Lily and Gage, looking like the mice from

Cinderella. Flat on our backs, shirts rising up over our round and swollen bellies. Gage even burps to complete the effect. I’m drunk on food. Ever’s food. Even in high school, he was an excellent cook. But this? This? Transcendent. He has left the realms of normal cuisine and entered food nirvana. And I’m betting this is a basic example of what he can do. It would have to be, to serve in an outdoor kitchen/market setting. What can he accomplish in a commercial grade kitchen? “It’s settled, Sara. After the wedding ceremony, you and Adam are having a fiesta. I don’t see any way around it. I’ll bring the maracas; you order the tacos. And don’t forget that flan, or I’ll throw you in Mexican prison.” Sara laughs. “Not happening.” “Mariachi bands are romantic.” “Maybe if you’re on vacation in Cozumel, but not at a backyard fiesta. Put away the piñata, chica.” I push up to my elbows and glare. “Then you’re coming back with me next week for my taco fix.” She has to come with me. It’s not like I can order them myself. I can’t show up at Ever’s booth, smooth as you please. She can be my taco dealer. My mouth waters at the thought. “It’s not Mexican every week. They switch it up depending on the chefs collaborating with them. I think Jeb said they’ve done Japanese, Italian, dim sum … it’s always different.” “That makes me irrationally sad,” I say, and it’s true. I need these tacos in my life, at least weekly, if not more. Leave it to Ever to screw with my food cravings. “Do you mind waiting while I change Lily and Gage into dry clothes? I know it’s getting late,” Sara says, wincing and clasping her hands to her chest. I wave her off and smile. “No worries.” I eye the basket at her feet, and my stomach lurches at the thought of what I’m about to do. “How about I return the picnic basket while you’re changing them. Save us some time.” She exhales a breath of relief. “That’d be great. Thanks. The booth is called Le Poisson Delicioso. Meet you back here?” I nod and grab the picnic basket, heading in the direction I saw Sara walk earlier. The farther I trudge into the market, the thicker the crowd becomes. With every step I take, the stronger the aroma of Mexican heaven becomes. I step off to the side and rifle through my purse for a pen. I pluck one of the menu cards out of the basket weaving, and get to work. After a few tense moments of pen chewing, it comes to me, and I start scribbling. When my note is complete, I fold the card stock in half and wedge it into the top of the basket, where it surely won’t be missed. I rise, ignoring the buzzing gnats in my belly, and keep walking. The mile-long line of peckish looking patrons tells me I’m going in the right direction. They need their taco fix, too. I grip the basket in my hands, momentarily frozen. I’m not close enough to see his face, but I’d know that posture anywhere. He’s leaned over the counter, chatting with customers, apron pulled down and folded at the waist and sleeves pushed up to his elbows. I close my eyes and go back in time, picturing those exposed forearms cutting, slicing, cooking for me. That easy smile that came from doing what he loved most. Cooking always allowed him a brief escape from the broody cloud that hovered over him. I guess some things never change. A crowd separates us, and still, he slays me. I push my sunglasses up on my nose, wishing I could nail them in place, wear them as a permanent mask. It’s funny how a piece of plastic is the only thing standing between me and my past. Maybe funny

isn’t the right word. Terrifying is more like it. With one glance, I morph into that broken girl he threw away. I guess part of her will always live in me. I swallow the nerves, beat back the bile churning in my belly, and square my shoulders. It’s time to do this. I step forward one step … two steps … and falter. And this is when I realize I have no plan to speak of. I don’t want to get any closer and risk him seeing me. I sure as hell don’t need to see him either. A closer look won’t help one damn thing. I don’t want to talk to him directly. I don’t want one more memory to force it’s way back into my steely brain. The brain I’ve conditioned to forget Ever Montgomery at all costs. I don’t want any of this. What the hell am I supposed to do now? “Well, if it isn’t Low Down Dirty Shame, resurrected from the dead,” I hear the all too familiar voice say from behind me, and my spine turns to steel. “I mean, surely you were dead, since you disappeared into thin air. That’s the only explanation, right?” Humor colors Jeb’s voice, but I’d have to be a fool to miss the cutting tone buried just under the surface. I don’t blame him. I didn’t just leave Ever all those years ago. I left all of my friends with barely a word. I didn’t spare a single one for Jeb, so he has every right to be pissed. I spin on my heel to face him, and I can’t help the smile from tugging at the corners of my mouth. He thinks I’m the one who died, but seeing him after all these years feels like he’s the one who just came back to life. Green eyes bright and dancing, he stands there, arms loaded with a box of supplies, surveying me. After his blatant and thorough perusal, because Jeb does nothing half-ass, I raise the edge of my sundress a smidge and curtsy. “You can’t kill mean, Jeb, you know better than that,” I say, grinning. He lets out a throaty laugh and drops the box at his feet. He extends his arms to me, now heavily tattooed in bright and vibrant colors, and winks. “C’mere, girl. It’s been too long. I need to squeeze you.” His voice drips with affection, and my nose burns as I push back happy tears. I drop the basket beside me and crawl into his embrace, melting into the familiarity of him. How a hug from someone I haven’t seen in almost a decade can feel so comforting, I’ll never know. But when he squeezes tight and kisses my temple, I feel the break. A crack in the facade. A rip in the stitches. And that’s when I know with utter certainty I need to stay the hell away from Ever Montgomery. If Jeb can invoke these emotions inside me, Ever will be a tidal wave of which I’ll never surface. He pulls away just far enough to meet my eyes and smiles. “Tell me all of it. Every single thing I’ve missed. And don’t you dare leave out the naughty parts.” I throw my head back and laugh. Fucking Jeb. “Me, naughty? Never.” And we both burst out laughing. “How about this? I’ve been nice more often than I’ve been naughty. We’ll leave it at that.” “Ah, sweet, sweet Low. You know I can’t do that,” he says, his voice low and knowing, too knowing for my liking, and I look away. “I knew it was a matter of time until you two collided again. I have to admit, I’m oddly relieved. Let’s get this shit over with and move the hell on.” He steps away and tugs on my arm, obviously trying to pull me toward the booth … toward Ever. I pull back and step away. Jeb and I obviously have very different ideas on how today is going to play out. “This is as far as I go, Jeb. There’s a crowd between us right now, and even that may be too close. You need to tell him to stay away from me.” I lift up the picnic basket it and shove it in Jeb’s direction. He tilts his head and watches me, as if he’s waiting for the punch line. “I’m not doing this … whatever this is. It was all a million years ago, and I’m not dredging up old

bones. You need to get him to keep his distance,” I say, shoving the picnic basket at him again, prompting him to take it. “I’ll tell him, Low, but it won’t do a damn bit of good.” “I go by Marlo now. No one calls me Low anymore.” He narrows his gaze and tags the picnic basket from my grasp. He shakes his head, and his disappointment bothers me. I wish he could see I’m being the strong one. I’m keeping the wobbling foundation from crumbling around us. It’s obvious Ever and I have both moved on, and nothing good can come from unearthing the past. “I’ll pass on the message, but don’t expect it to do much good. I have a feeling keeping the two of you apart will be like keeping two high-powered magnets from colliding.” He looks me up and down, less perusing and more judgmental this time. He pulls a card from his pocket and pushes it into the palm of my hand. “You being here right now proves my point. You can’t stop a storm that’s already brewing, Marlo, no matter how hard you try.” “But I have to try. I mean, you get that, right?” I give him a pleading expression as he steps away from me. “I don’t need my past and present to meet. I’d bet my ass they won’t play nicely.” “I’ll give you that … for now. But make no mistake, there’s an expiration date, and that’s got nothing to do with me.” I turn to leave, and Jeb calls out to me. “I don’t know what he did all those years ago, and I don’t care. But I didn’t do a damn thing. Maybe you should think about that.” It’s a slap in the face, but one I deserve, so I take it. My friendship with Jeb was collateral damage, and I wish like hell things would have been different. There are so many things I wish, but that’s a train of thought I squashed years ago. I’ll never get back what’s been ripped away from me, and I’ll never be who I once was. The girl Ever’s searching for no longer exists. I force a smile and give Jeb the one thing I can offer. It’s all I have left, so it’ll have to be enough. “I’m sorry, Jeb. I’m sorry for so many things.” And then I walk away.



Ever GREASE COATS EVERY exposed piece of my skin, and the rivulets of sweat drip down the curve of my lower back until they tickle my ass crack. How the hell did I end up in such an illustrious profession? I take a pinch of the brisket dregs out of the pot, because dregs are all that’s left, and toss it into my mouth. Yeah, it may be draining and thankless at times, but there’s one thing about my job I can’t deny: it’s fucking delicious. “Bled us dry again, huh?” Jeb says, clapping a hand on my shoulder and peering into the empty pot. “We’ll have to set up another pop-up with Eduardo. This is our most lucrative collaboration, if the leftovers, or lack thereof, are any indication.” “The till agrees. A quick count of the cash and charges says we killed it. Eduardo’s chomping at the bit for a repeat, so we’ll set something up next month.” “Why wait so—” I throw up a hand and stop him. “Don’t get your panties in a twist. We’re all booked, man. No worries, you’ll be mixing your specialty margaritas again in no time. We’ll schedule him for our first open weekend.” “Fine,” he says, whining like a petulant child, and I sigh. “I guess that gives me some time to try some new tequila infusions.” Before I say anything, he drops a basket on the table. I raise an eyebrow in question and he sighs. “We had a visitor today. Or more of a snooper, really,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, cringing. I shrug my shoulders, clueless to what he’s getting at, and he points to the piece of paper sticking out of the top of the basket. “I believe that’s for you.” I pull the paper from the basket and unfold it. Ever had a little brain, His thoughts were fuzzy as snow. He tried to go where Marlo went, But her answer was abso-fucking-lutely NO! I burst out laughing, and my face hurts, actually hurts, from the huge grin pulling at my cheeks. The

laughter dies in my chest, leaving behind the all familiar ache—a yearning so much a part of me, it’s changed the beat of my heart, the direction of my soul. Who am I kidding? My fucking soul has been hunting her for years. “God, Low,” I say, shaking my head and tapping the card on my fingers. “I wouldn’t be laughing, man. I talked to her.” “And?” I pull the word from my throat, push past my corrupted lungs and clenched teeth, knowing I won’t like what he has to say. Because my Marlo is full of piss and vinegar ’til the bitter end. I’d expect no less. I’d be disappointed with less. Just the thought of her being so close, so damn close, has my blood thrumming through my veins. Knowing that wakes something inside me long thought dead. “She wants you to stay away,” Jeb says in a low tone, sounding apologetic. “Man, I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you, but I think she’s content to leave the past where it is.” “Nothing to be sorry about. It’s not like I’m gonna listen to her, anyway.” I chuckle, and clench my jaw, swallowing the hurt and reminding myself this is par for the course with Low. “Does she really think I’ll give up that easily?” I slide the note into my pocket, leaving my hand clenched around it, pressing the crisp edges against my thumb. So close. So damn close… “It’s been a long time, Ever. I’m sure she remembers that boy who used to give up every other day and twice on Sunday.” Jeb winces and shrugs, probably expecting me to deny it or take a swing at him. But I don’t do either. “That’s fair.” It sucks, but it’s fair. “What she’s got to know is this little note won’t do a damn thing to deter me. If anything, it spurs me on. She’d have done better to ignore me. But now? Game on.” “I don’t know, man, this may be a crash and burn scenario,” he says, half in our conversation, and half watching a short skirt and tits saunter by the booth. Some things never change. “Why don’t you let me worry about that, okay?” I get back to clean up as the swaying skirt reels Jeb in like a fish hooked on the line. “Hey, we’re celebrating tonight. Drinks on us for the staff. Ya coming?” I’m shaking my head before he finishes. He knows better than that, but he keeps on including me. He never pushes, but he always lets me know what’s going on. “You know I can’t. Take what you need from my cut to cover half, and we’ll talk tomorrow?” Jeb gives me a terse nod, and follows the skirt, giving me a few minutes to myself. I can tell he’s concerned, worried I’m dredging up shit better left alone. I’m not sure how long it’ll be before he trusts that I’m solid. Does Marlo have the power to unravel me? Without a doubt. There’s no question in my mind that she could be my undoing. But I also know she’s worth the risk. She’s worth it all. “God grant me the serenity To accept the things I cannot change; Courage to change the things I can; And the wisdom to know the difference.” Even after all these years, hearing those words recited in unison, a collection of wayward souls

coming together for the purpose of holding each other up—it calms me. A lot can be said for knowing right now, even if only for this hour, I’m completely safe from myself. It’s a welcome feeling, but tonight’s the first time in a long time where I actually need it. This is a new home group for me, since I only moved to Providence a few months ago, but I already feel comfortable here. After introductions, Caroline, the group leader, and, coincidentally, my sponsor, greets everyone and opens the floor to the group. I see her eyeing a girl in the front row, giving her a gentle push to share, and the girl folds without much effort. She stands and walks to the front, standing beside Caroline. Caroline rubs a soothing hand over her back as she gulps a frightened breath. Her face is dull, with sunken eyes and stringy hair, and it’s obvious she’s new to the program. Or she’s taken a hiatus, at the very least. Her lips tremble and she shuts her eyes as a tear slides down her cheek. Fuck, I remember that feeling. I never want to experience it again. “My name is Raven, and I-I’m an … alcoholic,” she whispers, finally opening her eyes. “I got out of detox five days ago.” She looks out into the crowd, then drops her head, using her fallen hair as a shield. “Hi Raven,” the group says to her, and she gives us a watery smile as her chin trembles with the effort of holding it together. “My life is a mess. I’ve thrown away every single person who gave a single shit about me, and I’m not sure how I’m going to put the pieces back together. But I figure coming here is a good start. I’ve been here before … too many times to count. But today’s different. I want it—I want my life back. I want to live more than I want to drink, and I figure that’s the most positive thing I can say right now. So thanks.” I hang back and listen to the others who choose to share, taking in their words and picking out the parts that speak to me. I see a part of myself in each of them, can relate to their struggles as well as their victories. For Raven, getting through tonight without chugging a bottle of vodka is a win. It’s been a long time since my sobriety has felt that tenuous, but it serves as a reminder of how far I’ve come over the last few years. When an opportunity arises between speakers, I stand and walk to the front of the room. Caroline raises her eyebrows in surprise, and I smirk. It’s odd to have a sponsor of the opposite sex, but I’d felt a connection with Caroline immediately. She’s never been one to care about norms or rules, so she’d agreed. She’s used to me being a wallflower during meetings, only opening up when we meet privately. “Hey everybody. I’m Ever, and I’m an addict. It’s been almost five years since I’ve used.” I shove my hands in my pockets, take a deep breath, and settle in. “Some days I feel invincible, my addiction pushed so far out of my mind, it’s like it happened to another person, in another life. That’s why I come here. It reminds me that I’m always one pill away from the hell I created for myself. It tells me, ‘Don’t get cocky. That’s when you falter.’ “Someone from my past has reemerged, and I have to be honest with myself here. She’s important— really important. She’s someone who I should have made amends with a long time ago, but she had the good sense to get the hell away from me with no forwarding address.” I chuckle humorlessly. “I can’t say that I blame her. I probably would have drug her down into the sewer with me. Back then, her leaving me was for the best. “But I’m a different man now, and the truth is, I still owe her an apology. The whole truth is I want so much more than that. It’s not gonna be easy. She’s a fighter on her worst day, a warrior on her best, so she’s gonna give me hell. I welcome it, because it’s one of the things I love most about her. “Timing is an interesting thing. Five years ago … hell, even three years ago … I’m not sure my sobriety could handle her rejection. Now, don’t get me wrong, I have no intention of letting her turn me away, but I fully expect her to try. But now—today—I’m ready. So thank you. Thank you to the AA and NA program as a whole, and thank you to each and every one of you sitting in this room. Because of you,

I’m strong enough to look her in the eye and say, ‘Do your worst.’ I’m strong enough to show her the man I am. I’m strong enough to fight.” And with that, I nod at Caroline, who’s grinning like a fool, and make my way back to my chair. I wrangle the vibrating phone out of my pocket, getting snagged on my watch, then the seatbelt. Anyone passing by would think I’m locked in the truck with a hive of bees. It’s bad enough I feel like a stalker, I don’t need to look insane while I’m at it. A text from Jeb sits on my home screen, so I unlock it and open my messages. A pic of Jeb and Lana, our market days cashier girl, flashes onto the screen. They’re arm in arm, French fries shoved up both their nostrils. Lana’s giving me the dreaded duck face chicks love so much, but Jeb isn’t even looking at the camera. He can’t drag his eyes away from Lana’s cleavage long enough to say ‘cheese.’ I can’t say I blame him. Lana’s got great tits. You could pack a lunch and store it in the canyon that is her cleavage— she’d even keep the shit warm. His next message pops up while I’m looking. Jeb: Lana says, “We miss you.” I say, “Be jealous. Very jealous.” Me: Fuck off. And don’t fall in, dickhead. I lock my phone and toss it on the passenger seat. I run my hands over my face and sigh, inhaling a deep breath to shake my nerves. Her Jeep is in the driveway. A soft top, fire engine red, Jeep Wrangler. Blood red is more like it. We’re talking about Marlo, after all. How fitting. One hundred, no, a thousand, vehicles lined up in a row, and that’s exactly what I’d pick for her. Lots has changed, but some things stand the test of time. Low … my Low, is on the other side of that door, curled up in bed, her usual sass kept in check by sweet, sweet dreams. I imagine what it would be like to come home to her. Her eyes closed, lashes like butterfly wings resting on her flushed cheeks—an uninhibited smile playing on her naked lips. She’s got nothing on but a white tank top and panties … the elastic edging of the black silk denting deliciously into her flesh. She’s curled in the fetal position, that fabulous ass rounded and waiting for me to palm it, hard nipples pushing into stretched, white cotton. Damn. Damn. I shift in my seat, pushing my palm into my lap, mentally chanting to myself to calm the hell down. Nothing like an active imagination and an ill-timed boner to make me really feel like a stalker. I swipe the card off the dashboard, my rebuttal to Marlo’s note of warning, and fold out of the car. I look both ways as I cross the street, not for cars, but for nosy neighbors who may call the cops or wrestle the possible robber to the ground. Part of me wishes something would happen. I hope Marlo has people who look out for her. A bigger part of me wishes she’d hear me coming and meet me on the porch for an epic showdown … in the previously mentioned tank and panties, if I had my way. The need to see her, to run my eyes over every piece of her and remind myself she’s more than a memory, is staggering. There were times when I wasn’t sure. She feels like a lifetime ago … another time … when I was a different person. That’s partly true. Back then, even in the deep haze of it all, I could feel my love for Low trying to claw its way out, begging to break free. But the cancer growing inside me, that extreme sense of loss, strangled everything else. In the end, I let the fog envelop me and opted for numb. God, I was an idiot. I’ll never make that mistake again. Never.

I wedge my note into the seam of the door and place a palm to the paned glass. I clench my eyes shut and rest my forehead on the door, only for a moment. As much as I want to curl my fingers into a fist and knock, it has to be her. I need her to come to me. And when she does, I’ll be ready. There was a grouchy Marlo, Living in the same zip code. She hated Ever something fierce, Thought he was a toad. She wants his heart to pierce, To stab and to slay, But what she must know, Is he’s not walking away.



Marlo I RUN A finger over the edge of the card that Jeb slid into my hand. Down the side. I turn it upside down, focusing on the pressure drawing across the pad of my finger. The letters are printed black and crisp, so matter of fact. My eyes run over every letter, one by one, for probably the hundredth time. Moelle (MWAL) A farm-to-table Cajun eatery I flip the card over and read the address, phone number, and website like I hadn’t memorized it hours ago. I won’t call the number. I won’t look up the website. I refuse to do it. Why? Because, fuck him, that’s why. And the note he left me? He’s got to be joking … either that, or he’s forgotten who he’s dealing with. He’ll walk away when I stretch his ball sack over his head and throw him into oncoming traffic. Well, maybe roll away on a morgue stretcher is more like it, but mission accomplished either way. Screw him and his ropey forearms, mussed hair, and fancy tacos. They weren’t that good anyway … okay, that part’s a lie, but whatever. He probably walks around smelling like cumin and onions. What’s sexy about that? Absolutely nothing. The familiar rap on the door grabs my attention, and I realize the time. It’s almost eight in the morning, and Mike’s just getting off his shift. We both work nights, me as a nurse at the hospital, him as a paramedic, but our shifts don’t always coincide. I have a few much needed days off, and I should be in bed, but my jumbled head blew that out of the water about three this morning. Since then, I’ve been lost in a daze, trapped in my obsessive thoughts. So much so, that I forgot Mike had texted about coming over after work. I get up and shuffle across the living room, not giving two shits about my ratty tank top and cut off sweatpants. I flip the lock and trudge back to my chair. I’ve been fucking Mike for nearly a year, so he understands me—he knows I don’t believe in formalities and dating etiquette, like opening the door and sloppy, hello kisses. Because we’re not dating. Yeah, it’s strange, and most people don’t grasp the concept, but I don’t give a shit. My friends think I’m crazy. “You can’t have a one-night stand for a year, Marlo.” My answer? Oh, yes I can and I will. I’m grown, and I’ll do whatever the hell I want to do. Mike opens the door and walks into the living room without a word. He’s still in his uniform, shirttails out and buttons undone, exposing the white undershirt stretched over his hard pecs. He scratches

his chest and passes me without so much as a glance before plopping down onto the sofa into a languid heap. Without even realizing, I resume running the card between my thumb and forefinger. “Babe, I’m exhausted. Why don’t you come on over here and hop on,” Mike says, slapping his lap suggestively and letting his head roll onto the back of the sofa. I flip the cursed card into my purse and focus my attention on Mike. He’s what’s easy. He’s no frills, no questions, no hassle. That’s exactly what I need … isn’t it? Then why do I find the thought revolting all of a sudden? I push the thought away, knowing exactly what’s making me question everything. Or who is making me question everything, is more like it. I laugh at his comment, albeit forced. “Oddly enough, that request doesn’t bother me in the slightest. What does that say about me?” He rolls his head in my direction and opens one eye. “It says you know your man is tired and you’re willing to accommodate him. Nothing wrong with that.” He hits his lap again and shoots me what I can only guess is his come hither stare. “Now that statement? It bothers me a whole helluva lot. You are not mine, and I’m definitely not yours. You know the deal, Mike. Nothing’s changed.” I let out an irritated sigh, stand up, and walk into the kitchen. I watch him from across the bar, and it’s obvious I’m not the only one that’s aggravated. He hasn’t made the boyfriend play in months and I honestly thought he was over it. I thought we were on the same page, had been for a while now. The more I think about it, I’m not even sure if that page is still available. My head is a hot mess, and my gaze keeps flitting to a stupid card burning a hole in my purse. That. Damn. Card. “Let’s be real here, Marlo,” Mike says, pulling me back into the here and now. What I wouldn’t give to avoid the here and now? “Who else are you fuckin’ besides me? Last I checked, it was me, and me alone. Why deny what’s obviously already happening.” I release a weighted sigh, determined to set him straight. “Mike, don’t mistake good hygiene for love and affection. I’m a nurse, for Christ’s sake. I mean, germs…” I have the decency to wince, but nothing good comes from giving illusions and false hope. I’ve learned that lesson the hard way. Mike and I have had a good run, longer than most, but now I see the writing on the wall. I’m sure he does, too, which makes this all the more uncomfortable. He’s put on his relationship hat one too many times, and it’s obvious he wants more. I have nothing else to give him, so I’m doing him an ultimate favor. I’m ridding him of me. He stands up and stretches, acting unfazed by my comments, but the hard line of his jaw gives him away. “I think that’s my cue,” he says, tagging his keys off the coffee table and sauntering toward me and the front door. “One day, Marlo Rivers, you’re going to wake up and realize you pushed away every good thing in your life. You’ll have nothing and no one, and it’ll be too late to go looking for ghosts of Christmas past. When that happens, make sure you think of me. Cause I can guarantee you, I won’t be thinking of you.” His words hit me right between the eyes, a fiery ball of flames launched from a seemingly harmless toy gun. I didn’t think he had the power to hurt me. It’s not like I love him. But the truth in his words burns deep. I’ve had nothing and no one for as long as I can remember. I’ve pushed everyone away and kept my steel walls erected long before Mike came along, and I’ll be doing it long after he’s gone. Nothing will change that.

“I never meant to hurt you,” I say, and he scoffs. “You’ve been a good friend to me.” He opens the door and shakes his head. “We were a lot of things, Marlo, but we were never friends.” The door slams behind him, and I don’t know if it’s what he said, how I feel, or my fear of what’s to come with Ever, but I’ve never felt more alone in my life. His grasp on my hip loosens, only to move up my stomach and savagely grab my breast. Shards of light converge into one blazing beam, centering on bruising pain, bringing focus back to what I want to so desperately forget. I give my head a futile shake in an attempt to rattle my thoughts, scatter the images as they break my heart, steal my soul. What will be left when it’s over? I whimper, and my nipple sears in fiery pain, in what feels like ripping skin. “I thought I told you to shut up,” he growls, droplets of spit splattering against my neck as he writhes on top of me. Make it stop. Make it stop. Please, God, someone make it stop. “Who would have thought? Who would have fuckin’ thought,” he rasps as his body jerks me into the headboard with every horrid thrust. “That Ever was too much of a pussy to seal the deal.” His laugh is wicked and haunting. The sound physically wrenching the tears and cries from me, as if it’s the only way to defend myself, fight against what he’s doing to me. And it is. And it’s useless. I feel his lips curl into a smile at my ear as he whispers, “You being a virgin makes it that much sweeter.” I lurch up to sitting, my eyelids flying open and my lungs gasping for breath. “I can’t … I can’t,” I whisper, gripping my throat, my chest, curling my fingers into the flesh over my hammering heart. I can’t fucking breathe. My cheeks are soaked. My sheets are freezing, wet from my sweat-slicked skin. A strangled cry rips from my constricted chest, and my balled fists slam into the mattress, over, and over, and over again. The fury boiling my blood courses through me like an ill-timed tidal wave. It’s been years. Years. I can’t even recall the last nightmare; it’s been so long. After all this time, it kills me to know those feelings still live and breathe inside of me. I thought they were gone. I know they were gone. Until Ever Montgomery showed his face again, that is. And he can leave just as quickly as he came, as far as I’m concerned.



Marlo “MA’AM, I SINCERELY apologize for my puffy loaves of bread,” Alex says to the pedicurist as she examines her feet in displeasure. “No one should be exposed to the horridness that is my feet, but I’m hoping my fat piggies won’t be so ugly with a splash of color. And the good Lord knows I can’t bend over this big belly and reach my toes. I can’t wear anything but slip-on shoes at this point because I can’t reach to tie anything else.” She places a hand over her eyes and shakes her head in exasperation. The overwhelmed pedicurist pats Alex’s leg, while looking at all of us for reinforcement. Sara jumps to the rescue. “I’m sure West would help you put on your shoes if you’d ask him. I’ve seen the way he fusses over you. It’s so cute, it’s just—” “Nauseating?” I chime in, trying to be helpful. I shrug when I’m met with scowls. It’s not like I’m lying. Frankly, the whole lot of them test my upchuck reflex on a daily basis. Out of our foursome, I’m the only one left with a bit of sense. Lately, I can’t deny I’m harboring some irrational animosity toward both of them, seeing as their wedding brought holy terror raining down on my life in the form of Ever Montgomery. Their gain was definitely my loss … or my onslaught of long, buried emotions, at the very least. These fools are pairing off two by two like it’s the great flood and Noah’s waving them into the arc. Except for me, of course. I refuse to be swayed by a pretty face and a swinging dick. But hey, I’m happy for them, all of them. I hope they all ride off into the sunset together with their wedding bands and bulging pregnant bellies. But if things don’t work out, I may have to sew my lips together to keep from telling them I told you so, because … well, I did tell them so. Every single one of them. But nobody listens to little, old Marlo. “Marlo, you’re so crazy. Who in their right mind doesn’t believe in love?” Yeah, just wait until they’re bawling into their Wheaties and asking me where the hell they went wrong. Celia swats my leg and shakes her head. “Not nauseating. Totally sweet. Right, Marlo?” she prompts, raising her eyebrows and pursing her lips. I nod solemnly. “Yes. Sickeningly sweet.” “Marlo!” Sara shouts, throwing a fistful of cotton balls at my head. I grab each and every one of them and shove them in my mouth. “What? I didn’t say anything.” I mumble over the cloud of white tumbling past my lips and pushing on my cheeks.

They all giggle at my antics and roll their eyes. Even Alex seems to have forgotten about her clodhopper, swollen feet, so I call that a win. These days, it’s always three against one, me being the odd bitch out, so I take my wins where I can get them. Sure, life keeps moving and people change, but it would be nice to have one friend who hated love and relationships as much as I do. It gets a little lonely sometimes. Everyone else is sails up, careening toward the future, while life drags me, kicking and screaming, into the bowels of my past. Hardly seems fair, if you ask me. I pluck the cotton balls out of my mouth and toss them in the trash, smacking against the pieces of furry lint tickling my tongue and pallet. “Blech,” I say, holding my neck, while my throat muscles strain to swallow against the ick. “Here, take a swig,” Celia says, handing me her bottle of water and laughing. My fingers wrap around the bottle, cold and wet with condensation, and I stare. My eyes zero in on the cap … the tiny ring of plastic below it … the seal broken and half the water gone. I squeeze the bottle tighter to mask the faint tremble in my fingers, and the flimsy plastic cracks in response. Celia tips her head in question, eyes darting from me to the bottle quivering in my fist. Why can’t I do it? After all this time, why the hell can’t I just take one sip? I push the bottle toward Celia, and she takes it back, albeit puzzled. I shake my head and laugh it off. “The nurse in me won’t allow it, Cece. I’m a weirdo,” I say, with a shrug. Sara laughs and wiggles her freshly painted “Do You Li-Lac It” toenails. “The nurse in me slapped on a blindfold months ago. Kids are filthy animals, man. Last week, I had to cut Gage’s fingernails just to get them clean.” “Cain had to do the same thing not that long ago,” Celia mutters, rolling her eyes. “Freaking manchild.” “Aw, but you love him, Cece,” Alex croons, obviously feeling better about her “Suzi Nails New Orleans” pink piggies. Celia’s face gets all moony, and I take my cue to zone the hell out, letting them swoon and sigh without my usual commentary. I find it’s best to let them get their fill of fairytales, unicorns, and butterflies; only then will they readily admit their boys don’t pee rainbows and fart glitter. They actually already know that, but roll their eyes and laugh off the disgustingness that is Adam, Cain, and West with stars and hearts dancing in their eyes. Sometimes I narrowly resist the urge to fart on them myself. I doubt they’d think it was cute then. Don’t judge. “Don’t you want a little of the magic, Marlo? The growing tingles of new love? The butterflies?” Celia asks wistfully. “My butterflies are dead,” I mutter and shrug. “Hostile living conditions.” She barks out a laugh. Only then do I look around and realize she and I are alone. Sara and Alex are long gone, and I’m not sure how I’d missed them leaving. One thing’s for sure, I don’t like the knowing look in Celia’s eyes. “Is everything all right, Marlo?” Celia asks, pulling me from my thoughts. “I’m good,” I say with a yawn. I stretch my arms over my head and arch my back for effect. “Just tired.” Celia picks up her water bottle and plays with the cap, watching me. She’s too perceptive for my liking, and she’s making connections I’m not keen on her making. If one of my friends had to find out about my past, I would have given anything for it not to be the damn therapist. But that’s not how things go down. The fact that Celia is a therapist is the exact reason why she and I had found ourselves in the emergency room in the middle of the night with a frightened out of her wits rape victim. She being the counselor on crisis call, me being the SANE on duty.

SANE, meaning sexual assault nurse examiner, a job I’ve done for years. Something about helping in this capacity is healing for me. No one should ever find themselves huddled in a hospital bed, scared and broken, but I hope having someone like me, who’s unfortunately lived through a similar circumstance, gives my patients a measure of comfort. Working as a SANE also tones down the part of me that feels like a giant coward. I never filed a report, never faced my rapist in court, and never tried to stop him from hurting someone else. Every time I walk into the ER, every single time, I think about that. I was a coward then, so I stand tall now. I admit to them I wasn’t strong enough back then, but I can be their rock, their support, if they let me. It’s the least I can do. The very least. “You can’t take a sip of my opened drink, can you?” She holds the bottle out to me in challenge, and I shake my head and wave her off. “It’s not just you, but you know that.” I sigh, irritated. It’s not like her to test me like this. “It’s just … it’s a glitch of mine. A remnant from the past. It’s nothing.” “Okay.” She smiles and puts the water on the side table, out of my reach. “I’ve never seen you react that way, that’s all. You seem distracted lately, and I worry about you.” I slide my flip flops back on my feet gingerly, grab my purse, and dig out my keys. I basically do anything and everything to get the hell away from Celia—the meddling little fairy. “Nothing to worry about, Cece.” My tone is terse, and I cringe internally at the sound. “Marlo, wait,” she says, placing a firm hand on my upper arm. “When we talked about … everything … you told me no one from your past would ever come looking. You told me you weren’t afraid.” “Yes.” “Is that still true?” “I’m not afraid, Celia,” I say with a forced smile. “You don’t have to worry about anyone looking for me.” She releases a pent up sigh, and her shoulders slump. “Thank goodness, because I was gonna go all Robo-Cece on somebody’s ass. Or maybe I’d just sic Cain on ‘em. Either way, you know I have your back, right?” “Whatcha gonna do, beat down the bad guys with your glittery wand? Nobody brings a fairy to a fight.” I laugh and bump her shoulders. If there are fairies in the world, if there’s such a thing, I guarantee Celia is the head fairy in charge. She fits the role so perfectly, Cain even nicknamed her Tink. “I’m feisty, girl. Don’t underestimate me!” “Never,” I whisper, and it’s true. In fact, every single word I said to Celia is the absolute truth. No, I’m not afraid. And she doesn’t have to worry about anyone looking for me, either. Ever is the one who should be scared, because he’s forgotten who he’s dealing with. And now, I’m looking for him. My eyes drop down to my freshly painted “Vampsterdam” toes, and a wicked smile curls on my lips as I think: How fitting? Oh yes, Ever Montgomery, shit’s about to get bloody.



Ever “THAT’S A HELLUVA trip to the dock, Jeb. The redfish alone made the drive worth it. Those filets are pretty. I’ll blacken some, maybe make a courtbouillon with the rest,” I say, surveying the ice chests loaded with redfish, shrimp, and oysters. “You’re gonna chargrill those oysters, right?” Jeb asked, already salivating like a St. Bernard waiting for his steak as I nod my head. “Butter, garlic, parmesan … the works, right?” “Uh, yeah, for the restaurant. Not for you, asshole.” Before the words leave my mouth, he’s grabbing handfuls of oysters out of the ice chest and tossing them in a plastic bucket. “Two dozen before opening appetizers. You know, as a thank you to the staff.” “For the staff, huh?” I chuckle and shake my head. “I can’t help it, man. I’m a giver.” “Damn straight. You’re giving me a chapped ass as we speak.” Jeb raises his arm, oyster fisted and ready to chuck at my head, when the bell on the front door jingles. We don’t open for a few more hours, and I’m sure I flipped the sign to Closed before I left last night. Jeb cranes his neck toward the counter separating the kitchen from the dining area. “Sorry, we’re cloosed,” he stutters, his voice getting lower toward the end. He turns his head toward me, eyebrows raised and mouth fashioned into a grimace. The kitchen door swings on its hinges, and Marlo waltzes in, breezy and bitchy all at the same time. Her curls fall around her face and shoulders in wild abandon, reminding me of a gypsy, but one look at those piercing green eyes has me leaning more toward Medusa. Hands to her waist, hip cocked, and ready for battle. Her sass fills the room as she stands in the doorway, her gaze trained on yours truly. God, she’s beautiful. “Heeeeeey, Marlo. Long time no see,” Jeb says, his voice a squeaky falsetto, and his lips curved into a painful-looking smile. “Well, I’m here,” she says, ignoring Jeb and his greeting, her words doused in the sweetest venom. “Isn’t this what you wanted?” “Do you see me complaining?” I close the lids of the ice chests, my eyes never leaving hers, an unruffled smile playing on my lips, but I see the skittish look flitting in her eyes. She walks farther into the kitchen and tosses her purse and keys onto the counter. She throws her hands in the air and widens her eyes, obviously waiting on me to

say something. “Let me make you breakfast,” I say softly. “Then we’ll talk.” I’m already grabbing ingredients when she starts her spirited protest. “Breakfast? I don’t want any goddamn breakfast.” She leans over, both hands splayed on the counter, poised and ready for battle. “I want to know what I have to do to get you gone. That’s all.” I keep placing ingredients on the counter as she fumes. Boudin? Check. Eggs? Check. Butter and lemons? Check and check. “Come on, it won’t hurt to have a little something to eat before you go. You can even shout profanities at me while I cook.” “While I have no doubt shouting at you would make me feel better, I think I’ll pass.” We both hear the scraping of metal on metal at the same time and turn our heads to find a mischievous Jeb stealing Marlo’s keys off the counter. “What the hell? Give me my goddamn keys, Jeb,” Marlo says in an eerily calm voice, flinging her hand in his general direction. “I’m not joking. Hand them over now.” Jeb shrugs and shoots me a winning grin. He turns back to Marlo and tsks. “No can do, Low Down Dirty Shame. You barged into our place of business, while we were closed, practically breaking and entering,” he says as she fumes. “You’re lucky we don’t call the police. The least you can do is hear my boy out.” She lunges at him, but he dodges her easily and shoots her a goading grin. “If you’re gonna fuck me, Jeb, the least you can do is pull my hair,” she mutters as he heads for the exit. “Believe me, that’s something I would happily arrange,” he says with a chuckle and a jingle of her keys before shoving them deep into his jeans pocket. He jiggles his fingers to his ear like he’s holding a phone and turns his gaze to me. “Ring-a-ding when you’re done, dude.” I nod and give him a silent word of thanks as he takes off, leaving me with a prickly as hell Marlo. I brush it off and start cooking. She doesn’t say a word as I juggle the skillets and pots on the stove. The hollandaise sauce simmers as I poach the eggs and remove the boudin from its casing. I form delicious patties of rice and seasoned pork and lay them on the screaming hot skillet. She doesn’t say a word until I grab the leftover crawfish étouffée from the fridge. “You’re not gonna win me over with your cooking,” she says, arms crossed tightly over her chest. “I mean, I’m gonna eat it, but it changes nothing.” I empty the étouffée into a simmering pot to warm and quirk an eyebrow in her direction. “Oh, it changes things a little bit, even if you won’t admit it. Did you ever think you and I would be standing here, sharing a meal again?” “Let’s not forget one of us is here under duress.” “I hardly think that’s true.” “I’m here for one reason and one reason only. To tell you to stop writing me notes. Stop stalking me.” “Stalking? Really?” I chuckle as I plate the boudin patties and pour the étouffée on top. “Last time I checked, you were the one showing up at my market booth. Waltzing into my restaurant outside of business hours. Really, Low, who’s stalking who here?” “You’ve got way too many boiling pots of somethings within my reach to test me.” I balance the poached egg on top of the boudin cake and étouffée, keeping my hands busy to hide the nervous energy quaking beneath the surface. Her words and pinched expression may scream “bitch on steroids,” but she can’t hide the way her eyes rake over my arms, the catch in her breath as she watches

me. She’s always loved watching me cook for her. The two of us, dancing and twirling around the kitchen as we’d created had damn near been foreplay for us. Her crossed arms and crabby frown say one thing, but the simmering heat in her eyes tell a different story. I pour the hollandaise sauce over the egg and drizzle a pattern around the plate before sliding it across the counter. I grab two barstools from the back of the kitchen and sidle up next to her with my own plate and fork. She swipes the fork out of my hand like a starving hostage and pierces the egg. The yolk runs down the stack and I swear I see a bit of drool at the corner of her mouth. “This is my take on eggs benedict. It’s our best seller at Sunday brunch,” I explain, but there’s no way she hears a word I’m saying. She lets out a moan and dives in for a second bite. Then a third. Then a fourth. I let out a low chuckle. “I take it you approve.” “Shh. Don’t ruin my food orgasm. I hear your voice and I have to resist the urge to stab you in the eye with my fork. Eye goo wouldn’t go well with this dish.” I keep silent, hoping she feels the rush of nostalgia like I do. Memories of us pummel me and the urge to grab her stool and drag it between my legs is so intense. Resisting the pull takes all my energy. I watch her take a bite, run the prongs of the fork through her pursed lips, practically feel the vibration of her throat as she moans her approval. If this isn’t food porn, then I don’t know what is. I shift on my stool, harder than a man getting a string of lap dances on Bourbon. Fucking Marlo. Without pretense or apology, she reaches over and steals a bite from my plate, raising her eyebrows in challenge. I slide the plate over to her with a smile. “My bullshit meter has a short fuse, Ever. When it’s had its fill, I’m gone, so say what you need to say. Say it, and then we’re done with this.” “Big threats from a girl with no keys,” I say, picking up the empty plates and walking to the sink. She pushes off the stool and follows me across the kitchen. “I’m betting Jeb is in spitting distance, but, if not, I’m nothing if not resourceful. You know this about me.” “Yes, I do.” “Two minutes … tick tock.” I huff in frustration and drop the dishes in the sink. I turn to her and cross my arms, matching her stance in battle. “I just want a chance to clear the air … talk things through with you. Is that too much to ask?” “Yes. One and a half minutes.” “You can’t deny there’s unfinished business between us, Low. Words left unsaid. There are things that I need you to know.” The hint of pleading in my voice and the gentleness of my stance do nothing to weaken her resolve. “Oh, well if you need it, then that’s what should happen, right? To hell with what I want or need,” she spits out. “And, by the way, it’s Marlo. No one calls me Low anymore. And your time is up.” She turns on her heel and starts across the kitchen, and I’m desperate to make her stay. “You know, it’s customary to kiss the cook,” I say, the challenge clear in my tone. Marlo never could walk away from a dare, and I’m counting on her competitive nature to win out. She stops cold and stays with her back to me for long seconds. She turns around, shoots me a saccharine smile, and walks back to me, all sexy swagger and defiant eyes, clearly on a mission. Toe to toe with me, head tipped up to meet mine, her hand reaches out and palms the back of my neck. She pulls me to her, swift and hard, and our lips crash together like a clap of thunder. And, just like that, I’m drowning in her. Smashing lips, crashing teeth, sliding tongues, and every single thing that is Low, consumes me to the point of drunkenness. I open my mouth, devouring all she is, gulping for the breath that’s been absent for Eight. Fucking. Years. This. God, just this. If this is all I can have for the rest of my life, whether it be five years or five

thousand, she is more than enough. My senses are overflowing after being starved for what feels like an eternity. The strangled groan vibrating deep in her chest pushes me further over the edge. We pant into each other’s mouths, desperate and wanting. Our hands fist each other’s hair, grounding us, keeping us from being swept away by the undertow. It’s all too much and not nearly enough. How will I ever get enough? One of her hands drifts from my hair, trails my neck, and then lands flat on my chest. I place a hand on top of hers, crushing it to my galloping heart, wanting her to feel what she does to me. She breaks free and travels down, down, down. She fists my straining cock in her hand, jacking once, twice before I groan into her open mouth. “Fuck, Low … fuck,” I whisper, swiping my tongue over her bottom lip before gently sucking. She releases me, but keeps moving down, cupping my balls in her fist. I push myself into her hand, craving the contact, craving her. The delicious squeeze of her fist gets deliciously tighter … tighter … tighter… “Whoa, whoa, whoa” I whisper, the air ripped from my constricted lungs, the pressure of her fist nauseating me as she crushes my balls in the vice of her steel fist. Then her teeth sink into the meat of my bottom lip and the taste of metal bursts onto my tongue.



Marlo I SQUEEZE PAST the point of polite, nearly to the point of no return, then I release all pressure. Ever struggles for breath, gulping as he cradles the crown jewels in his shaking hands. Hunched over, we’re face to face, and I grin wickedly as he scowls. I lean into him, just inches away from his ear as he heaves. Coming here today was foolish and dangerous. The pull between us is like a dying fire—nothing but ash and smoke until someone kicks up the embers. Before you know it, the flames burn brighter than ever. He conjures this nostalgia from the past and a naive hope for the future, and both scare the shit out of me. “I’m not interested in hashing out the past, present, and definitely not the goddamn future. I’m not built that way, Ever—no pillow talk and apologies. That goes for everyone, but it especially pertains to you.” I clench my eyes shut and steady myself, before leaning back and meeting his eyes. “I’m not what you’re looking for. I haven’t been for a long time.” My stomach churns, and I fight against every cell in my body and step away from him. I struggle to keep my face trained with indifference while wondering how? How in the hell can eight years vanish the moment his lips touch mine? On the outside, I’m the picture of calm while my insides quake with a blood curdling scream. His lips tasted of the sweetest cyanide, lulling me softly to my inevitable demise. On legs like taffy, I walk across the kitchen, tag my purse, and sling it over my shoulder. Ever doesn’t move, but his eyes track me as I move to the door. I turn to leave when he calls out my name. I turn to face him for the last time. “Why, Low? Why did you leave me?” His expression is etched with pain, confusion, hurt—every single feeling that ravaged me the day I left New Orleans. It’s hard to go back in time and remember the emotions and the regrets. The times in my life when I couldn’t push past the hurt, those moments when my mind made my heart face all that had happened, I honestly wondered if Ever was too high and I was too broken to care anymore. Doesn’t there come a point when a person has no choice but to say “no more”? His question pushes away the hurt and replaces it with blinding anger. His question brings to the surface all the times I reached out for him, begging him to grab onto me, hold onto me, promising to never let go. It reminds me of every time he pushed me away. Why did I leave him? Why did I leave him? “You’ve got nerve, Ever,” I say, my voice wavering slightly before I bite back the burn. “If I gave one

shit about your answer, the real question is why did you leave me? You and I both know you were long gone by the time I packed up and left town. When I left, you were nothing but a drugged-out zombie.” He doesn’t answer, guilt evident in his face, his posture, his silence. I head for the door and will my feet to push forward, one step in front of the other. I’m almost there … only minutes until I can break. When I step out the entrance into the blinding morning sun, I slide on my sunglasses, grateful for the shield. Jeb is perched in the driver’s seat of my Jeep, feet on the dash, and radio blaring. He appears to be napping, so when I swat his feet off my dashboard, he jolts and nearly tumbles out of the seat. He gives me the evil eye and hops out. I give him a quick nod, not really in the mood to talk. “Did you two figure your shit out?” he asks as he taps a palm to the hood of the Jeep. “I made him realize there’s nothing left to figure out. There’s nothing there.” I turn the ignition while Jeb gives me a disbelieving smirk. I ignore it and give him a curt wave, all while he shakes his head in … what? Disapproval? I’m not sure, and I don’t have the energy to ponder the inner workings of Jeb’s mind today. With each block I pass, farther away from Moelle, my breaths get more labored … more shallow … more tortuous. I make it a mile, maybe two, before my vision blurs and hot, salty tears burn my eyes and streak my face. They feel like acid on my skin, as if they were made from the most tortuous place inside of me. As if they are special tears saved for the very worst of circumstances. And it doesn’t get any worse than this. Sitting on the side of the road, bathed in tears and snot, I admit to myself what I will never admit to another soul. I’ve spent so much time hating, forgetting, wishing away every memory from that time of my life. I’ve buried myself in the bad. But while I crumble into a crying heap, my head rhythmically beating against the steering wheel, I try to push away the feel of his lips, the brush of his skin, the sound of his moan reverberating in my mouth. I try to push it all away, because, in this moment, I can’t deny the way he made me feel. The way he still makes me feel. I need to put forth the same effort to forget him as I did into loving him. It’s the only way. I balance the cake boxes in my arms like the Leaning Tower of Pisa, and rush to the entrance of Holy Cross Church. Vespers started fifteen minutes ago, and I’m sure Father Roy is wondering where I am. I hate being late. Father Roy holds Vespers every Wednesday night for the students of Northern University of Louisiana, and, following evening prayers, he feeds them. Well, not him specifically, but several women of the congregation. Once a week, the kids get a home-cooked meal made with the love and care of God-fearing women. Except me. I may make the cupcakes, but I don’t fear God. He and I both know there are worse things in this world to be afraid of. Shortly after moving to Providence for college, I showed up at Holy Cross for “confession.” If the priest in New Orleans was cool about it, then Father Roy was downright chill. Through most of college, we had weekly pow-wows behind the screen that were more therapy than actual confessions. Whatever they were, they helped me breathe when school, work, my new life, my old life, especially my old life, threatened to close in on me. Father Roy took a liking to me, and, Catholic or not, I make great cupcakes. After a few thank you packages from me, his sweet tooth guaranteed me a volunteer spot at weekly Vespers. After all he’s done for me, it’s the least I can do. Plus, I have the added bonus of scoping out the college hotties in a totally non-creepy, hot cougar-ish way.

He did rein me in a bit after I showed up with Immaculate Conception Carrot Cupcakes and Peanut Butter and Jezebel Cakeballs. I thought they were hilarious. He did not. In hindsight, the fondant prophylactics may have been a bit much. So now I stick to the basics, and everyone’s happy and hopped up on delicious sugar. With the whole not being Catholic and all, I usually don’t stick around for prayer, but I come thirty minutes early to visit with Father Roy. My incessant challenging of religion keeps him on his toes, and his patience and faith keep me from completely falling over into the dark side. He’s Yoda. I’m a wannabe Luke Skywalker with a dash of Darth Vader. He’s also kinda cute in a priestly way. It’s totally innocent— no Thorn Birds saga for this girl. The little old ladies of Holy Cross love me, too. They gush and dote over the sweet little nurse to the point you’d swear I was Florence Nightingale. They always make me a to-go-plate, and it’s always freaking delicious. But today did not go as planned. Working last night had put me behind before I’d even began, and I was icing cupcakes up to the minute I ran out the door. Fingers crossed the cakes had been cool enough, otherwise I’m hauling a melty mess in these boxes. I wait for the passing cars to clear before crossing the street, and that’s when I see him. My temper shoots up like a rocket as I watch Ever, cool and collected, saunter into church. He’s got on khaki slacks and an untucked blue button-down shirt, sleeves rolled. He looks put together and a bit of a mess all rolled into one, a walking contradiction. And that he is. Did he follow me here? That big jerk, I bet he did. What the hell is he trying to accomplish, popping up all over town? Does he think he’ll finally wear me down? Not a chance. I hang back a couple of minutes, hoping to avoid a run-in, and then enter the meeting hall of the church. The hall is connected directly to the worship area, and that’s where we set up dinner for everyone. I breathe a sigh of relief when I see it’s only me and the ladies. “Marlo, dear, we were getting worried about you,” Betsy croons as she grabs the top three boxes of my stack. “You’re never this late. We were about to send out the search party.” I smile and follow her to the dessert table, inspecting every nook and cranny of the room, wondering where Ever is hiding. He’s probably spying on me right now … asshole. “Sorry, Miss Betsy. I worked last night, and I woke up in just enough time to get everything done,” I say, with an apologetic shrug. “You work too hard, Marlo. Such a beautiful soul, caring for the sick and lonely,” Miss Rita says, sighing as she smooths my hair. “Well, I take care of pregnant women, Miss Rita. They aren’t actually sick … or lonely…” “Shush, shush, you’re so modest, dear. I’ll fix you a big plate of spaghetti and garlic bread to take home. Supper, then bed. Miss Rita’s orders, you hear me?” “Yes, ma’am.” I arrange the cupcakes on stands I keep at the church and help the ladies set up the buffet-style meal. It’s spaghetti this week, but they like to switch it up. Beef stew, brisket and gravy, red beans and rice with sausage … they go all out. I’m not the only one they like to spoil. I hear the soothing chant of the “Our Father” filtering in from the worship area, and I eye the double doors with curiosity. There’s only a small crack, just enough to peek an eye through, and I itch to do just that. Is he actually in there praying? I can’t imagine it’s true since I’ve never seen him here in all this time. Surely we would have run into each other before now. But I do usually leave well before prayers start … I guess it’s possible. Nah, no way. “You should sneak in the back and listen, Marlo. Prayer is a powerful thing,” Miss Betsy says with a slight crook of her head to the double doors and a less slight shove to my back.

“Maybe I’ll just…” I say, pointing at the door and looking back at her. “Maybe just a few minutes.” Miss Betsy gives me a contented smile, kisses her fingers to her lips, then presses them to her heart. As she looks up with closed eyes, I’m fairly certain the woman is praying for my soul. Good luck with that one, Miss Betsy. Can you say lost cause? I inch the door open just wide enough to creep inside, and lunge for the empty seat in the back pew before anyone notices my interruption. I crane my neck and peruse the other pews, spotting Ever in the first row, front and center. I chuckle to myself, thinking how much times have changed. The back of the class boy would shudder at the thought of being front and center. “Fancy seeing you here,” the person next to me whispers in my ear, way too close for comfort. I jerk back and turn to face the close talker, barely holding in my laugh. Nothing, and I mean nothing, is harder to do than stifle a laugh in church. It’s the equivalent to launching the space shuttle for me. I can almost feel Nana’s back of the arm pinch as I plaster my hand over my mouth. Jeb stares at me with the most innocent smile and wide doe-ish eyes. I, in turn, pinch the back of his arm. The look on his face is priceless, and I fight my surge of laughter again. “What the hell are you doing here, Jeb?” “Pretty sure H-E-double hockey sticks is prohibited in church, but what do I know? And while I should tell you I’m praying for you and all the sick babies in the world, I’m actually here for the food.” He shrugs unapologetically and focuses on Father Roy at the front of the church. “Why aren’t you, and Ever, for that matter, at your restaurant? Don’t you have a business to run?” I whisper, but obviously not low enough, judging by the scowls of our neighbors. “Only serve lunch on Wednesdays,” he explains as the service begins to wrap up. “You know, he comes here every week. Has been for months.” I don’t say anything, but I try to hide the twinge I feel at his words. Every week. We’ve been crossing paths, barely missing each other, every week. For months. God… “He doesn’t come just for the cupcakes, but he figured out they were yours pretty early on. No more cupcake ban for Ever.” He chuckles, and I scoff. “Of course the bastard figures out a way to get the goods.” Jeb raises his eyebrows suggestively. I roll my eyes and shove his shoulder. He laughs to himself. As Vespers end, and people file out of the pews, I resist the urge to cut and run. Seeing Jeb over the past few weeks makes me miss him so much. I haven’t allowed myself to think of what I left behind very much over the years, but with old feelings bubbling to the surface, Jeb is a reminder of the good times. The great times, actually. “Hey, Jeb, whatever happened to you and Charlotte? I always thought you two would figure it out in the end.” Jeb’s expression morphs from playful to bitter the instant her name leaves my lips. “I thought I fell in love. She knew she didn’t,” he says in a flat, unfeeling voice. “Charlotte wasn’t love. She was a lesson.” I sigh, wishing a great guy like Jeb didn’t have to learn that particular lesson. I guess we all had a lot of lessons to learn back then. “Her loss.” “Damn right.” He laughs and shakes his head. “I hope when she stands next to whatever MBA douchebag she married, in her perfectly starched dress, uncomfortable as hell shoes, and her bun pulled so tight her head feels bruised at the end of the day, she thinks of me. Loving life, while she plays a part.” What do you say to that? I opt to keep my mouth shut and nod, because damn. Jeb’s hurt obviously runs deep, and I don’t blame him at all. I don’t know the whole story, but Charlotte had picked wrong. One look at Jeb sitting beside me, and I know, without a doubt, she’d picked wrong. My window of opportunity to sneak out is rapidly vanishing, so I gather my purse. I expect Ever to

approach the back of the church any minute now. “I better go,” I say, standing and squeezing Jeb’s shoulder. Father Roy passes the last pew and gives me a surprised smile when he notices me. I wave him off and scowl. “I only came for your Gregorian chanting. It reminds me of the band Enigma, and I instantly feel zen.” He laughs and bows his head, palms pressed together at his chest. “Whatever gets you here. Peace be with you, Marlo. Now, let there be cupcakes.” With a wry smile, he walks away. He thinks my presence is a little victory in our war of faith. If he only knew it was actually my demons that drew me inside, he’d think differently. Jeb stands up next to me, and we’re the last ones in the church. So much for a cunning escape. I glance to the front before turning to leave, and notice Ever and a boy still sitting in the front pew. The other boy’s hands are fisted in his hair, and he’s hunched over his knees. Ever lays one hand on his shoulder, and I can see his lips moving. His expression is composed, calm, strong. He looks nothing like the brooding boy from the past. “He’s a mentor here at the church. He does a lot of good, from what I can tell,” Jeb says from behind me. “It’s been a long time, Marlo. Things change … people change. Maybe you should remember that.” I give him a curt nod, and Jeb raises the kneeler as we exit the pew. It whines in protest, echoing through the empty church with an awful squeak. Ever looks back in irritation, with only a moment of recognition flitting across his eyes before he turns back to the boy. Yes, Jeb might be right. Maybe people do change.



Marlo “EARTH TO MARLO—have you heard a single word I’ve said?” “Huh?” I rub my eyes and focus in on Caroline standing before me, arms crossed and brows furrowed. Her serious expression is in direct opposition with the wooden brushes poking out of her haphazard bun and high water, paint-splattered overalls. This doesn’t even raise a question in my mind. I’ve come to expect the quirky, and all together odd, from Caroline. I’ve come to love that about her. In some way, all of my friends volunteer at the center that Caroline runs. I tried to volunteer to help with sex ed, but Caroline questions my ability to remain tactful. Those college kids could use a healthy dose of “what the hell’s up,” if you ask me. Instead, I work in the center’s lab, along with my SANE duties, when the situation arises. I collect specimens for anything from strep throat to the clap. Caroline worked with the hospital to get a cut rate on lab testing, and, thankfully, we are able to provide our services at a drastically discounted cost to our clients. “Supplies for the lab. We’re running low on some of the swabs, and you’re down to one box of butterfly needles. You should probably do inventory today.” I nod my head and turn to the supply shelves. She’s right, I need to make an order pronto. I open the folder containing the order forms and grab one off the top, causing all those underneath it to fall to the floor. I don’t know why I’m surprised. I’m so exhausted, it’s a wonder I can put one foot in front of the other. I look like a warmed over pile of crap, but no amount of concealer can hide the near purple circles under my eyes. Fucking Ever. Ever, who’s bulldozing his way into my life; who reminds me of the girl I used to be; Ever, hunched over, consoling that boy in the church, something I would never believe he was capable of. To hell with him and every single thing he’s intent on stirring inside of me. “Sorry Caroline. I’ll take care of it this afternoon, I promise,” I say, pinching the bridge of my nose. “You okay, my girl? You look like something the bear drug in … after dragging it around for a good long while.” I wave her off with a flip of the hand and a grim smile. “Nothing to worry about. Just some trouble sleeping. I’ll be fine.”

“Ah, the schedule of a night nurse. I’ve never understood how you and Sara can flip flop back and forth between days and nights. I’d be a living zombie.” I turn my back to her and survey the shelves, marking down needed supplies and avoiding eye contact. Caroline is like a surrogate mom to most of us who work at the clinic, and she’s way too perceptive when her “children” are involved. Caroline knows about my past, but she’s respectful of my boundaries. She knows I’ll come to her if I need a listening ear, and I know she’s available if I do. It’s a silent understanding, and it works for us. “I’ll catch up. Extra shift just screwed me up this week, that’s all. No worries.” Rather than dredge up old history, I’d rather her believe I’m a sleep deprived night shift worker. I have no intention of telling her about my dreams. When Ever had first shown up in Providence, my nightmares returned with a vengeance. Waking up drenched in sweat, heart pounding, fear racing through my body, just like it all happened yesterday instead of years ago. But that’s not what I’m talking about. My flashbacks faded after a couple of weeks, thank God, and were replaced with something else. These aren’t nightmares—they’re dreams. The kind of dreams that would make a Hustler centerfold blush. And I’m sure you can guess who stars in these downright filthy, Hustler-blushing, dreams. The Ever from my past had been a toe-curling, pulse-thrumming heartthrob. The Ever of today is a rugged man with hard muscles (among other things), and an addictive intensity that draws me in, no matter how much I want to stay away. The Ever from my dreams? He’s a dirty-talking sex machine who knows exactly what to do with that rock hard cock I’d felt in his jeans last week. Oh. Hot. Damn. Every single night, I wake up on the brink of orgasm, so close my fingertips are brushing the precipice. I can peer over the side of the cliff and see nirvana, but can’t reach it. It’s like a mirage … a fucking mirage. I could cry … the first couple of times it’d happened, I actually did. Because, let me tell you something—no solo action, not one damn thing I can do on my own, comes close to replicating the dirty mouth and steely equipment of my dream Ever. So the days roll forward, and I spend the majority of every night (or day, depending), amped up and let down. I think my clitoris hates me. I’m pretty sure I hate me. I really wish I could hate Ever, but I’m too busy lusting after his corded forearms, velvety voice, and that hungry tongue, swiping into my mouth and taking, taking, taking… Is it hot in here? I shake my head, begging the lustful thoughts to leave me in peace. Peace. Piece. I know what I need a piece of… “Marlo, what are you doing here? You promised Alex you’d help her with art class. It started twenty minutes ago,” Sara says from the doorway. She walks into the lab and takes the order form out of my dangling hand. “What language is this, woman? Are you writing in hieroglyphics?” She balls up the paper and tosses it in the trash as I groan and fall into a chair. “I’m so tired right now, I think I could be on the brink of death. Where’s the Propofol, Sara?” I ask, flailing my arms like a spoiled child. “There’s no Propofol, ya big ass. And you won’t even take a Benadryl to sleep.” “I’m a changed woman. Lack of sleep has opened my eyes to the wonders of drugs. Pump me up, woman,” I say, extending my arm to her. Sara grabs my arm and manages to slap me in the head with my own hand before I can stop her. “Hey, cut it out. Don’t slap a girl when she’s down.” I pout … then yawn. She shoves my purse into my gut and pulls me off my chair. “Get outta here. I’ll finish the ordering for today, and then head over to help Alex at the gallery. Consider yourself officially off duty.” “I can’t ask you to do that. I’m sure you have other things to do besides bail me out.” I clutch my purse in my hands and try to stop her from pushing me out the door. “Crap, and I’m supposed to bring cupcakes

… which I didn’t make … because I suck donkey balls.” Sara grips me by the shoulders and shushes me with a little shake. “First of all, you didn’t ask, I offered. Secondly, I’m going to swing by the house and grab Lily and Gage before heading to the gallery. That’ll make me the future Stepmom of the Year as far as they’re concerned.” “What about the cupcakes?” “Ho Hos and Ding Dongs, coming right up,” she chuckles. I groan. “No talk of Ho Hos, Ding Dongs, or coming, until I get some sleep or get laid like a boss,” I mumble as I shuffle to the door. “What’s that?” Sara calls out as I reach the door to the clinic. “Nothing. Just … thank you,” I say, hating the defeated tone in my voice. But defeated is exactly how I feel. “Darling, how are you? I feel like it’s been ages since we’ve spoken,” Evelyn says as soon as I answer her call. I can see her lips puckering into a pout through the phone. I pull out of the clinic parking lot and start my drive home to sleep. Or try to sleep. Or dream about an asshole with a silver tongue and a magic dick. We’ll see how it goes. “It hasn’t been ages. We spoke last week.” I chuckle, and she huffs. “And if memory serves, you’re supposed to schedule a trip to Providence to meet with some local jewelers. Are you calling to tell me I’ll have a guest soon?” I may have high-tailed it out of New Orleans like someone set my ass on fire all those years ago, but Evelyn and I have maintained a close friendship regardless of the distance. We phone each other often, sometimes staying on the line for hours, and she always sends me gorgeous pieces of jewelry from her latest collections. She makes the trek to Providence a couple of times a year under the ruse of visiting local merchants, but Evelyn’s jewelry sells itself. I play along, though, because I like her company, and I think it’s nice she checks in on me. She doesn’t pry, but she’s watchful, always testing the waters to know if she should dive in. She may visit me, but I’ve never stepped foot back into New Orleans. Some things are better left buried and forgotten, and old ghosts haunt too many nooks and crannies of the Quarter. Evelyn understands and never pushes me on the issue. “Soon, I promise, but you know Oliver and his trips. He doesn’t like to be away from me, you know, so I’ve become quite the jet setter this year.” Her affection for her husband bubbles in her voice. There was a time when I didn’t think Oliver deserved her devotion, but luckily I’d pegged him all wrong. He’s loyal to a fault and loves the hell out of Evelyn. It’s obvious she feels the same way, too. “You know you love it,” I say, stifling a yawn. “You sound like you’ve got one foot in the grave and the other in the grinder. What’s going on, Marlo?” I release a pent up sigh and grip the steering wheel with white knuckles, hoping the pressure on my palms will keep my eyes focused and alert. I feel the slow drift tugging at my senses like a melody lulling me to sleep. Figures I could pass right out in the middle of the road, but can’t catch a single peaceful wink in my own bed. “I’m just … I’m having trouble sleeping,” I explain, quickly deciding just how much I want to tell Evelyn. I have no intention of opening the flood gates and raising the white flag of defeat. If I come clean to Evelyn, she’ll be gassed up and speeding down the interstate before I finish my sentence. Evelyn may have been missing the “mom gene” when I was younger, but she’s trying to make up for it these days.

“Something’s come up, and it seems like every time I lay my head on the pillow, it’s all I can think about. I can’t shut my mind off, no matter how hard I try.” “Anything I need to know about? Or Oliver? I’ll call him now and take care of it,” she says, voice hard and clenching. “No need to call in the calvary.” I chuckle, trying to keep my voice light so as not to alarm her. “I just wish I didn’t let things bother me so much. Why can’t I just reach into my brain, grab these crazy thoughts, and throw them away?” “Face it.” “What?” “Darling, whatever it is, whatever is holding your thoughts captive … face it. You’ll sleep better for it. You’ll be better for it,” she says, knowing all too well what it feels like to be a prisoner of her thoughts. I turn onto my street and slow to a coast. I sigh and nod my head as if Evelyn can see me. “You’re right; I know you’re right.” The more I try to shove Ever and his sexy lips out of my mind, the more front and center he becomes. Obviously, forgetting about him and moving the hell on isn’t working this time. I may have to change tactics. I turn into the driveway and furrow my brows at the unknown car parked in my driveway. “Don’t let silly stuff eat you alive. Say what you need to say … do what you need to do … and the thoughts in your head will untangle and work themselves out,” she says as I slide off my sunglasses and eye the figure hunched on my front steps, knees to elbows and eyes on me. “Just face it.” “I got it. I’m gonna let you go and take care of it right now.” Could the timing be any more perfect? “That’s the spirit,” Evelyn says in a high-pitched squeal. “And call me later this week so I don’t worry.” “Of course,” I say, only half listening as I watch Ever … watching me. I hop out of the Jeep and walk to the porch, feeling the air thicken and charge between us with each measured step. Neither of our gazes waver, and the throb of my heart is deafening in my eardrums as I pass right by him without a word. I feel the movement behind me as I walk to the door, my senses hyperaware of his presence, gulping in the urgent and frenetic energy rolling off him in waves. I slide my key in the door, but don’t turn the lock, watching his looming figure in the panes of glass. He boxes me in, both hands gripping the door frame as his head lowers to the curve of my neck. He sucks in a ragged breath as his nose runs across the ridge of my collarbone, then he buries his face into my curls. “What do you want from me?” I whisper. My voice is sandpaper, and the tension in my body is a frayed length of rope with a flame looming underneath. I drop my forehead to the cool glass and release a pent up sigh. He inches his lips up the curve of my neck. The soft roll of his breath on my ear causes a whimper to escape. Goose bumps erupt on every inch of my body, and I barely resist the urge to turn my head and meet his waiting lips. “I’m not interested in the past or the future. What I want is right now.” His teeth graze my earlobe, and his arm snakes around my waist, pushing my ass into his rock hard erection. “I fucking need it, Low.” I hate him. I crave him. But I hate him so much … don’t I? I battle between logical thought and hormones as Evelyn’s words play over and over in my head. Face it. Face it. Face it. I doubt this is what she had in mind, but turning my agonizing dreams into reality sounds like a genius

idea to my body as it quakes with unrelenting want. At the same time that my fingers turn the lock, my head falls back onto his shoulder in surrender. Little does he know, that’s all I’m willing to surrender to him tonight. He’s going to play by my rules. He pushes the door open with a swift kick, hauls me inside, and shuts it before I have a chance to blink. Oh yes, this is exactly what I need. Face it…



Ever I’M ON HER before the door clicks shut. The tiny flick of her wrist to unlock the door was all the permission I’d needed. Her purse drops to the floor with a thud, keys clanging behind it. I whip her around to face the door and brush the curls off her neck. I see her heartbeat pulsating just under her porcelain skin, and I run my tongue up the length of her neck as she groans her approval. I slide the strap of her dress off the curve of her shoulder, and sink my teeth into her skin, leaving the faintest marks behind. I grind into her ass to release some of this pressure, this need growing inside me to strip her naked and drive into her right here in the doorway. “It’s been too long,” I whisper as I flick open the buttons of her dress and slide my fingers into her bra. Her chest heaves into my hand as I drag an open palm over her nipple. “Too fucking long, Low.” She stiffens beneath me where she was languid muscles and throaty moans just moments before. She flips around to face me, placing one hand on the base of my neck and the other on the length of my cock. She squeezes me and pulls my lips to hers as she pushes me farther into the house. Tongues dueling, teeth scraping, and fingers grasping, this feels more like a fight than a fuck, and I’m honestly interested in neither. “Whoa, slow down. Let me love you,” I whisper, sliding my fingers through her hair and pulling away slightly. She averts her eyes and pulls me back to her, but I resist. When I resist again, irritation flits across her face, and she huffs. “Don’t try to make this something it isn’t, Ever. This is sex. No past, no future, remember?” My jaw clenches at her callousness, but I swallow my words of protest. I want her to know sex shouldn’t feel like a battle. I want to tell her to throw out the boxing gloves and let me show her how good I can make her feel—how good we’ll be together. Because we will be. Some things never change, no matter how much she wills it. Her warning reminds me where I stand with the new Marlo. She may be giving in to me, but she’s not giving it all to me. That’s something I’m going to have to earn. And I will. I feel the couch hit the back of my knees just as Marlo pulls down the zipper of my jeans. I break our kiss long enough to pull my shirt over my head, and her eyes zero in on my tattoo. Questions flicker in her eyes for just a moment before she washes her expression clean.

She wants to know, but wishes she didn’t, that much is clear. She won’t ask, and, I won’t tell. She wants to be a hard ass, that’s fine, but I won’t make it easy for her. Her thumbs slide into the waistband of my jeans and boxers as her teeth nip my jaw. She pulls them down to my knees and uses both her hands to shove me onto the couch. I reach out and slide my fingers into her hair, pulling her closer, but she resists. I clench my jaw and close my eyes, allowing her the control I want … that I instinctively crave. I’m not sure how long I can play this game with her, but I’m willing to try, just for another chance with her. She kneels in front of me and runs her hands along my thighs, her thumbs running delicious circles along my skin. “What do you want?” Her brow arches, and her eyes burn with lust. “You. Always you,” I say gently, trying to balance her hardened heart with love and compassion. “My mouth?” she asks, ignoring my sentiment. “For now.” Her eyes flick with irritation before her lips curve into a seductive smile. She takes me in her hand and squeezes the base, jacking me twice before placing a chaste kiss to my tip. I jerk in her hand, and she smiles before opening her fist and licking me base to tip. My head rolls to the back of the sofa as she uses her hand, lips, tongue, and even teeth to work me into a pained frenzy. My hips jerk, pushing my cock past her lips, barely containing myself from pulling her close and fucking her mouth. Part of me knows she wants that, so I refuse to give in, although my resolve is waning quickly. I see her hand between her legs, and it takes all self-control not to come right then and there. I slide my fingers through her hair, revealing her face as she works me. “Why don’t you come up here and let me help you with that?” Her eyes flick to mine for the briefest moment before she looks away and ignores my request. She releases me with a pop of her lips and raises my wallet into my eye line, obviously fished from the jeans pooling at my ankles. “Condom?” I grab the wallet from her and slide out the foil packet, which she makes quick work of. She stands and turns around, giving me her back. She slides her hand up her dress, lifting her skirt to reveal the roundest, most luscious ass I’ve ever seen. The years have been kind to Marlo’s ass. Who am I kidding? The years have been kind to every inch of Marlo Rivers. She hooks the straps of her black lace panties and slides them over her hips, bending down to the floor as she does it to give me one hell of a show. She stands up, looks over her shoulder, curls falling into her face, and laughs. Her green eyes dance with playfulness, and the strap of her half-unbuttoned dress hangs off one shoulder. My heart clenches in my chest. She’s so gorgeous, it hurts. “C’mere,” I whisper, holding out a hand to her. She lowers herself onto my lap, keeping her back to me the entire time. My cock in her hand, she takes me inside her in one swift movement. The feel of her squeezing me, the sound of her moan rumbling up her throat, her curls brushing against my chest as she throws her head back in ecstasy—it’s more than I could have imagined. And I’d imagined greatness. This? This is pure perfection. Our bodies roll together in synchronous waves, pushing and pulling, giving and taking, and all pretense washes away. I pull her back to my chest and run my hungry hands over and under the material of her dress, loving the feeling of her quaking belly and hardened nipples. “Turn around, Low. I want to see your face. I want to see what I do to you.” She turns her face to my neck and burrows, her breath ragged and strained. “What do you have against reverse cowgirl?” she asks, not making any attempt to move or shift. There she is. Marlo. Refusing to give an inch. I grab both of her hands and intertwine her fingers with mine. I run the other hand to her bra, pulling

down the cup and squeezing. Our other set of hands trail down her stomach to her center, where I place my hand on top of hers. “Show me what you like—what gets you off.” And she does … and it’s fucking beautiful. Her orgasm rips through her with ruthless intensity, her body shuddering and quaking on top of me. I follow close behind, her body squeezing and pulling me over the edge. It’s relentless—all-consuming. She rests her head on my shoulder, her sticky back plastered to my sweaty front, and I have no intention of moving anytime soon. I’ve waited too long to give up a single second. There, buried deep inside her, I listen to her breathing even out and slow. I brush the hair from her face and kiss the part of her jaw I can reach. “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 grieved 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 … clementines, 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. “You’re right. What the hell was I thinking?” “You weren’t, and you’re welcome. What would you do without old Uncle Jeb to set you straight?” He shrugs his shoulders and clucks his tongue. “Now get outta here so I can make magic. I guess it’s not magic, just alcohol … but I guarantee you, some assholes will leave here thinking they can fly.” He raises his eyebrows and nods. I laugh. “That they will. Liquid courage … magic … same thing.” Speaking of courage, I need to find Marlo.



Marlo EVER’S HAND WRAPS around the length of my hair, twists, and pulls. He draws me to him, my back melding into his front, and thrusts inside me in one fluid motion. Yes. The sting of my scalp, the bite of his teeth into the base of my neck, the feel of him gliding into me slowly, rhythmically, powerfully—it’s punishing in the most delicious way. It’s so good … too good. I power down onto him, increasing the speed and force, and he grips my hip with his free hand. He puts just enough pressure to slow me, and I huff in frustration. “Why are you fighting me, Low?” he whispers into my neck, his lips brushing my skin with each exasperating word. Exasperating because he won’t give up. Completely infuriating because my body loves it. My mind is in complete revolt, all lights blaring red, but my body is a whore for him. We’ve been going at it for weeks. I’d sworn the first time was the last time. I’d promised myself I’d give in just that one time and get him out of my system. It had been exhilarating … mind-blowing … it had been sex hopped up on steroids and Red Bull. After he’d left that day, I’d slept twelve hours straight. The fatigue and weariness etched in my features had melted away like a bad memory, and I had been resurrected. Dreams be damned, Marlo was back and better than ever. It’d lasted two days. The dreams had come back, and after experiencing the real Ever, in the flesh, they were even more vivid. Since they had been in technicolor before, now my dreams were damn near virtual reality. Nothing but Ever, in the flesh, would do. So when I’d found the man in question lounging on my porch steps after a twelve-hour shift, after no sleep for a total of thirty-six hours, I’d welcomed him inside. Welcomed is an understatement. I’m pretty sure I’d had his dick in my hand before he got the key in the lock. Then I’d promptly kicked him out when I was done with him. This routine of us hitting it, and then him hitting the door has been going on for weeks now, and I feel his patience waning. He wants more. I won’t give it to him. He pushes to the point I want to walk away and tell him to fuck off. But I can’t walk away, because … I don’t know. I just can’t. “Faster,” I spit out through clenched teeth as I ram myself onto him. He pulls back.

I growl. Legit. Growl. He presses his lips behind my ear and chuckles. “I want to see your face when I’m inside you. I want to make you feel good. Stop taking from me, Low, and let me give it to you. You’d fucking love it,” he whispers into my sensitive ear. He thrusts into me. Plants himself inside me and grinds slowly. “No.” The word is clipped, my heart battling with itself. I straddle the line between keeping my sanity in check and free-falling into the black hole that is Ever. No … never again … I won’t survive this time. Some lessons you don’t just learn. Some lessons are tattooed on your soul. I pull away from him and slam back down. Again. Again. Until he plants himself inside and stills, releasing a throaty moan. “Can’t you feel this? I know you do.” “Just fuck me, Ever.” I keep my tone void of emotion, willing him to return to the task at hand. Wishing he would leave the sentiment at the door, where it belongs, far away from me. My emotions are already tangled cobwebs without his constant prodding. Am I sad? Am I pissed? Am I completely overwhelmed? I’m all of those things. Not to mention horny as a teenage boy in a brothel. I think I may be losing my mind. He runs his thumb over the ridge of my spine, starting at my ass and drifting up, up, up, until he reaches the base of my neck. He presses his forehead to my temple and releases a pent up sigh. “Time passes, memories fade, but feelings are forever. I know you can feel this, Low. So give in to me.” His words wash over me, tears rushing to my eyes, burning my nose. He continues my slow and methodical undoing, and I sink my teeth into my cheek. His lips and tongue caress my neck as his nails rip through my heart with every word. I bite back the tortured sob lodged like a bowling ball in my throat. I swallow back the tears swimming in my eyes. I rip his fingers from my hip and pull away, clawing for air, needing to break the surface and just breathe. He wraps an arm around my hip and shushes the cries I didn’t realize were coming from me. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he whispers over and over. “I’ll stop. I’m sorry.” His hand returns to my hair, and he’s relentless. He powers into me with such force, all I can think about is pleasure. Pure and untethered pleasure.



Ever I ZIP MY pants and clench my jaw, waiting for the marching orders that are sure to come. It’s been a whole sixty seconds since I pulled out of her, so I’m sure the words are ready and waiting to fall from her tongue. Marlo is nothing if not consistent. These past few weeks have been a mixture of the best moments of my life and the most frustrating and patience-testing times I’ve ever experienced. Marlo has let me into her body, but her heart and mind are a completely different story. Her soul? No fucking way. I’d bet my ass Marlo’s soul is buried somewhere near the core of the Earth. Maybe it’s hiding out underneath a pile of corpses—all the men she’s eaten alive and spit out when she’s done. Yes, “all grown up” Marlo is a bonafide man-eater. Every time I see her, she makes it abundantly clear what she wants from me and where I stand. No past … no future. I agreed to her terms, hoping she’d soften in time, but my patience is growing thin. Her resolve, on the other hand, is strong as oak. “Fuck me, Ever.” “Faster, Ever.” “Shut up, Ever.” She’d pulled me across her bedroom by my dick last week. She’d literally led me around by my dick. I’d nearly left that day. I should have left. But I can’t walk away, because … I don’t know. I just can’t. That’s what she wants. Honestly, who in the hell knows what she wants? I doubt even she has the answer to that question. I eye her expectantly as she leans against the living room wall, head bowed and fists clenched above her. She’s yet to face me—nothing new for Marlo. The bottom of her knee-length T-shirt pokes haphazardly from the panties she’d hastily pulled up when we’d finished. She bangs a closed fist into the wall and shakes her head. “Feelings are forever, huh?” she says in a strangled whisper. “I’m sorry?” She turns to face me, and her expression is chiseled stone. “Your little speech.” Her lips purse in irritation, and she glowers. “Time passes, memories fade, but feelings are forever? Fuck you and your feelings.” I bite back my frustrated response, knowing it’s exactly what she wants. I won’t fuel this thing she’s trying to build up in her head. The truth is, I can’t figure out where all this resentment comes from. Had I

checked out on her all those years ago? Absolutely. Without a doubt. But my twin brother had just died. Can’t I get a little bit of compassion, here? “Boy, would I love to know what I did to make you think I’m the devil incarnate,” I mutter as I pull my shirt over my head. She glares at me, but then trains her features back to calm. “Never mind. Drudging up old ghosts isn’t on the menu today. No past, no future, right?” In that moment, she seems to resent her rules just as much as I do. The thought makes me smile. She gives her head a tiny shake and plasters a smile to her face. “See ya next time?” She’s happy again, downright bouncy, with her mask firmly back in place. I feel her taking two steps away from me. That’s how it is between us—one step forward, two steps back. I’ve been chipping away at her walls bit by bit with an ice pick, but it’s time to break out the sledgehammer. It’s time to shake things up. “I’m meeting with Sara and Adam after work tomorrow night to discuss the wedding. They’re coming to the restaurant after closing. I told them I’d cook them dinner while we chatted—why don’t you tag along. I’ll even let you choose the menu.” I busy myself with collecting my wallet and keys, avoiding her eyes. I make my request like it’s nothing out of the ordinary. I pretend this is old hat for us. She’s not the only one who can play pretend. “Not gonna happen, and fuck you for asking,” she says, crossing her arms and huffing. I raise my hands in protest and widen my eyes. “Hey, it was a simple dinner offer. Nothing to get upset about.” “There’s nothing simple about that offer, Ever, and you know it.” She thrusts her finger at me and scowls. “Wait, you haven’t told them you know me, have you? I swear to God, if you did…” Bingo. Just what I need. Marlo’s weakness. “If I did, what? What would you do?” She fumes as I chuckle to myself. “You mean, you never told them about me, Marlo?” “And what exactly should I have told them?” I battle with what to say, what would be the perfect chess move in this game with Marlo, but finally opt for the truth. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe you could have told them about a boy who loved a girl with all his might and foolishly lost her,” I say, my eyes unguarded … vulnerable. She scoffs. “I remember things a little bit differently.” I shrug and widen my eyes in question, waiting to hear what she has to say. “I remember a girl who loved a boy with all her might, and he foolishly threw her away. There’s a difference.” She throws her hands up and takes a step back, shaking her head. “I’m not talking about this. I’m not talking about any of this.” I nod and sniff, trying to hide my disappointment. I didn’t want to resort to blackmail, but these are desperate times. “Okay, then forget about the invite. No problem. I’ll be sure to tell Sara and Adam you said hello.” I’m halfway to the front door when she grabs my shoulder. “Don’t you dare.” “You want me to be your dirty little secret?” She doesn’t move a muscle, but her eyes tell me yes. “I’m not sure why it means so much to you, but fine.” “Because they’re nice people who will almost certainly invite you … everywhere, because that’s what they do.” I laugh. “They’ve already done that. Invited Jeb and me to a barbecue at our first consultation. Don’t get all riled up. We both declined.” “Good. I don’t want you inserting yourself into my life.”

I smirk, and the words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. “You don’t mind me inserting myself other places, though.” I waggle my eyebrows and smile, my gaze zeroed in on her crotch. I see the slightest upturn of her lips, and I give her side a quick tickle as I pass her on my way to the door. She barks out a laugh, and I feel the mood cool down from boiling to a slow simmer. I open the door and turn to face her. She’s so beautiful, despite her wicked stubbornness … maybe even because of it. I don’t know what I’d do with a Marlo who didn’t spar like a warrior. I doubt I’ll ever have the chance to find out. “I won’t say anything, Low. I’ll let you pretend I don’t exist to you or your friends,” I say, tone low and serious. “But soon, I’ll ask something of you, and I’ll expect you to agree. That’s the deal. That’s the tradeoff.” She narrows her gaze on me, trying to suss out my intentions. Good luck with that. She reluctantly nods, and I sigh in relief. I should be ashamed, strong-arming her this way, but I can’t muster it up. She’s been dragging me through the rocky gravel for weeks, kicking me in the shins whenever she could, so it’s high time I play dirty, too. Now I have a couple of weeks before I cash in my favor, and I can’t wait. I’ve had enough of Marlo Rivers leading me around by the dick. I’m ready for her to hold my hand. It’s only been eight years…



Marlo “NEXT!” LIBBY HOLLERS at the top of her little lungs, her frizzy blonde head tipped to the ceiling, and her fists clenched at her side. Her screechy voice ricochets off the walls of the workroom, located in the back of Alex’s art gallery. Bailey hops down from her chair and lays down her paintbrush. Her hot pink sneakers blink frantically as she bounds across the room to meet us. She’s wearing a rainbow tutu and a hair tie reminiscent of Madonna in her “Lucky Star” days. “Pipe down, little Libby, or Alex will put the smack-down on our mini spa,” I mutter under my breath, slashing my hand across my neck. “Great job, Ethan. I love your use of color,” Alex says, praising one of the other students as she snakes her way between the drawing tables, her belly becoming more of an obstacle each week. Libby huffs and straightens our bottles of nail polish, toothpicks, and paintbrushes. Just a few months ago, Libby had been spending art class with her arms crossed and her pout firmly in place, refusing to participate at all. Her attitude had been pissy, but her outfits and accessories on point. I’d flashed her my lavender and gray chevron toenails, and she was a goner. She’d turned her frown upside down, and we’d started Marlo and Libby’s Nail Salon—open for business once a month at the gallery. She had been my first customer, now my partner in crime. Her mother had signed her up for Alex’s art class, hoping she would make friends and find a creative outlet to release some of her frustrations. Classroom struggles early on morphed into defiant behavior and acting out, and Libby’s mom was at her wit’s end. Libby may not have been keen on painting with the other children and having them compare their work to hers, but she had been ecstatic about being my assistant. It’d puffed her chest and put a fire in her eyes. It’s amazing what a little confidence can do. “Hot pink polka-dots, please,” Bailey says before her tutu even hits the chair. She places her hands on the table and spreads her fingers wide as Libby grabs the cotton balls and polish remover. “Libby, you get off the old polish while I grab what we need.” Libby nods and gets to work. “Pink polka-dots, and what color do you want the base coat to be, Miss Bailey?” She screws up her lips and squints her eyes, then they widen. “I know! Yellow!” “You’ll look like a glass of lemonade,” I say with a smile. “Yum.” While I paint Bailey’s nails, Caroline comes up behind me and squeezes my shoulder. I look back in surprise.

“Who knew Alex’s gallery would become the home of the hottest nail place in Providence,” she says with a laugh. I shrug and keep working. “You have your art, I have mine.” I bump Libby’s shoulder. “Right, Libby?” “Right!” she chirps. “You’re right; art is expressed in many forms. All the girls have such beautiful nails, because of you, Libby. Unfortunately, there’s no way for us to display your work at the art show next month. I wish I had just one original Libby Broussard painting to hang on our wall.” Caroline smiles at Libby, whose head is lowered, avoiding eye contact. “Do you think you could try for me?” She shrugs at Caroline, meets my eyes, then looks back down at the table. “Maybe,” she whispers. “Thank you,” Caroline says with a smile and turns to leave, but not before giving me a knowing glance. “I didn’t expect to see you here,” I say before she walks away. “Celia couldn’t make it today, so I thought I’d stop by. Plus, my instructor is stretched to the point of nearly popping. She won’t let me take over the class, but the least I can do is lend a hand,” Caroline says, shooting a wary glance in Alex’s direction. Alex runs a palm over her belly, the buttons of her shirt straining under the pressure of it. “I bet she’s got a nine-pounder in there,” I say. Caroline chuckles and nods her agreement, then walks away to help the other children. Libby stays silent as we continue working—me applying the base coat and her adding the tiny yellow dots. Once we move Bailey under the fan to dry, I bump Libby’s shoulder and give her a soft smile. “It’s a tough thing to do, isn’t it? Letting everyone see your work?” She frowns and nods. “All the other kids are better than me. Their paintings are so much prettier.” “Different.” “Huh?” “All the other kids are different than you. Not better. And what a great thing, to be different than everyone else? What kind of fun would it be if we were all exactly the same?” She shrugs, and so do I. “Let your freak flag fly, high and proud, Libby. I can’t wait to see what you’ll paint. I know it’ll be great.” She smiles nervously. “What if they all stare at me? What if they’re all watching?” “So what? You pick up the paintbrush, hold your head high, and do your thing. You’ll be nervous at first, but I bet it’ll only last a little while. Then you’ll just be having fun. Sometimes you have to fake it ’til you make it.” I flash my black glitter nails in backward jazz hands, and Libby laughs. “Do you?” she asks, and I furrow my brow in question. “Do you have to fake it ’til you make it?” I bring my gaze to hers and mutter, “Every damn day, Miss Libby. Every damn day.” Her mouth forms a surprised “O,” and I put my finger to my pursed lips. She giggles. “Only fifteen minutes left, everyone. Start putting the finishing touches on your pictures,” Alex calls out to the class. “Careful, Jackson. More paint on the paper than the table pl—oh!” I look up to see a horrified Alex, clutching her belly and looking down at her soaked blue jeans, getting more soaked by the second. “Miss Alex, you peed!” Jackson cries out, pointing an accusatory finger. The entire class breaks out into a chorus of “eww” and “gross.” “Pack up our supplies and put them away, will you, Libby?” She nods as I stand and walk over to Alex. I make eye contact with Caroline, and she gives me a thumbs up, letting me know she’s got the class under control. I scan the room and find a rumpled drop cloth on a side counter. Alex looks frozen in place and makes no attempt to help me as I wrap her bottom half in the drop cloth. “All right, kids, all right. Let’s pipe down,” I call out, quieting their declarations of disgust. “I’m taking Miss Alex and her pee pants home. Miss Caroline will finish up today. See ya next week.”

I give Alex a gentle shove toward the door, and she falls into step with me. “Did you have to call me pee pants?” she whispers. “Would you rather me tell them a whole lot more than pee’ll be flying out from between your legs shortly?” After a brief pause, she nods. “Good call.” “You hurting, hon?” She shakes her head. “Nothing but the awful sting of humiliation.” “Baby’s movin’?” “Yeah,” she whispers wistfully, running a hand over her belly as her eyes fill with happy tears. “Then call your soldier and tell him we’re coming. We’ll grab him and your bag and head to the hospital. It’s time to meet Miss Avery Adler!” That’s when Alex bursts into full-on tears—snot, hiccups, and all. I wrench the phone out of her hands. “Oh, give me that, ya big baby, I’ll call him. Dry it up, buttercup.” “I-I-I’m having a b-b-b-baby,” she wails. “Could’ve fooled me, ‘cause it looks like you’re having a breakdown.” The phone rings twice before West picks up. “Everything okay, baby?” “Grab the bags, baby. The Hot Mess Express is coming your way.”



Marlo “THAT’S IT ALEX, you’re doing amazing. The contraction should be easing up any second now,” I say as I ready the delivery room and keep an eye on the baby’s heart rate. I cut a second baby hat and thread it through the other, making a fluffy pink and blue striped bow on Avery’s newborn hat. The baby warmer is on, blankets at the ready, and the delivery table is set up for the doctor. Alex’s tears had dried up with the arrival of West, and the two of them have been the best birthing team I’ve seen in … well, ever. West had been a medic in the Army, and that unflappable calm he’d undoubtedly needed in war is coming in handy today. He is sitting behind Alex, knees drawn up on either side of her, both of their hands laced together on her belly, with his dog tags dangling from the baby warmer across the room as her focal point. The contraction releases Alex, and she lets out a shaky breath, her head falling back onto West’s shoulder. He brushes the wet strands of hair from her forehead and kisses her temple, whispering calmly into her ear the entire time. With closed eyes and an almost imperceptible smile playing on her lips, she nods at his words and brushes her lips to his. I touch Alex’s arm, and, when she turns to me, her eyes are brimming with love, determination, and the strength of ten men. Or maybe one man … West. I feel like an intruder. I feel exposed. I feel an aching in a part of my heart I’d thought I’d lost long ago. “Um, I’m gonna go update your waiting room entourage and grab a few supplies I’m missing. We’ll check your progress in about thirty minutes, okay?” Before she can answer me, another wave rolls in, seizing her attention. Her gaze turns to the dangling dog tags, and she takes in a slow, deep breath. West gives me a nod. “We’ll call if we need. Thanks, Marlo.” I rush out of the room, and shuffle down the hall in the opposite direction of the waiting room. I lock the door of the employee bathroom and shut my eyes as my fully-clothed ass falls onto the toilet seat. What the hell? Birthing babies is my job—I do this shit on the daily, and I never get choked up like this. I feel like the Grinch and my growing heart is pushing on the confines of my thorny ribcage. Marriage, family, all of it—I don’t want that. It’s an indisputable fact I’ve known for years. I tell myself this, over and over, as unwanted emotions clog my throat. The unwelcome thoughts bubble to the surface, refusing to be ignored for a second longer. My uninvited tears well in my eyes, betraying my

long-standing position, bringing the big questions front and center. What if I’m wrong? What if I have no idea what I want? Man, I need to get my shit together, and fast. “Hey, hey, hey! Eyes up here, people,” I shout as I wave my hands. The raucous waiting room quiets down to a low roar, and a roomful of expectant eyes turn to me. The room is filled to the brim, and they are quite the ragtag bunch. Alex’s parents stick out like sore thumbs, dressed in their Sunday best, or at least my Sunday best, Mrs. Fontaine’s lipstick expertly applied and her pearls perfectly in place. She’s fanning herself with a magazine and gripping the leg of her son, Emmett, who’s a resident here at the hospital. He’s got the wrinkled scrubs, five o’clock shadow, and under-eye circles to prove it. West’s mom and sister are beside them, a bundle of excitement and nerves. Caroline and Celia are milling about the room checking on everyone, always the therapists, while Cain and Adam occupy the twins. Cain is in full camouflage, having probably come straight from his job as a game warden, and Lily and Gage are climbing the mountain of a man like a tree. Gage’s fingers are looped in his mouth like a hook, and Cain keeps talking to Adam like he can’t even feel it. The only people missing from the mix are Sara and me, since we both came into work to be a part of the delivery. “Well?” Caroline asks, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “Do we have a baby yet? Can we meet little Miss Avery?” They all scoot to the edge of their seats, and the room holds its breath. “Not quite yet, but she’s almost ready to start pushing. Alex is such a trooper, and she’s doing a wonderful job,” I say with a smile, and the whole room deflates, like I just informed them there was no Santa Claus. “I wanna meet baby Avery,” Gage growls in a surly monster voice, and Lily nods her agreement beside him, her brown curls bouncing as she pouts and crosses her arms. “I know, bud, but Avery’s decided to be fashionably late. She’s running the show here,” I say, giving him a sympathetic smile. Adam tags him around the waist and pulls him onto his lap. Not to be outdone, Lily jumps on her dad’s other leg. “Patience, dude. Birthing babies is a tough business,” Adam says with a laugh. Lily squints her eyes at Adam. “What’s going on back there, Daddy?” Adam’s eyes widen. “Well, uh…” Caroline extends her hands to the twins, taking their mind off Lily’s question. Adam breathes a thankful sigh. “Come on, my sweets, let’s visit the vending machine. I bet we can find some chocolate to share.” As Caroline disappears around the corner, Emmett huffs. “I don’t see why I can’t be in the delivery room. I start my OB rotation next month,” he mumbles under his breath. “Um, doctor or not, dude, you’re the brother. Ew,” I say, shaking my head at Emmett. “You and Sara are her friends!” “Let it go, Elsa, you’re sitting the bench on this one,” Cain calls out from across the room. Celia slaps his shoulder. “What?” I shake my head and laugh. “Marlo,” someone calls from behind me, and I turn to see Sara crooking her arm at me. “Come on, I just called the doctor.” I wave to the waiting room as I race back to Alex, and the crowd behind me goes wild.

Avery Caroline Adler lays nestled on her mother’s chest, her wisps of dark hair peeking out from underneath Alex’s hospital gown as she eats like champ. She’d let out an ear-splitting wail when she was born, then latched on to Alex’s breast, and hasn’t come up for air since. I hear the natives getting restless behind the closed delivery room door, and I know Alex and West only have a few quiet moments left. The happy family is scrunched together on the tiny bed, with West on his side. His head propped on his elbow, stars dance in his eyes as he watches his two girls in wonderment. He alternates between kissing Avery’s head and kissing Alex anywhere he can reach. Avery’s head finally peeks up from the gown, and she whimpers. “I hate to interrupt, Alex, but the door is about to collapse from the sheer weight of the ears pressed against it. Can I take Miss Avery for a moment and get her ready for her company?” “Of course,” she says with a weary, but blissfully happy, smile. I extricate Avery from the gown, wrap her in blankets, and bring her to the warmer. Sara’s right behind me, helping to get Alex cleaned up and the room back into some semblance of order. I wipe the bottoms of Avery’s feet with the footprint paper, and she jerks away from me. “Hold on there, sister, your mom and dad want keepsakes, so I need you to help a girl out, ‘kay?” I roll her feet over the papers. Perfect little feet with five toes on each show up on the birth certificate. She furrows her tiny brows at me, and I turn off the light on the warmer, making her open her eyes wide. She blinks and wraps her fingers around my thumb. “You and I have only a few minutes of peace and quiet left, tiny one, and I feel an obligation to impart some sort of wisdom to you, being as this is your first conversation and all,” I whisper, sliding her hat over her head as I ponder what I want to say. I crook her bow hat off to the side and swaddle her in the baby blankets. “So this is the lowdown. Accessories are king, cupcakes cure everything, and men are like tissues. One use only. Except for your dad, of course. I’m pretty sure he’s a keeper. Remember those things, and you’re golden.” “Marlo, you done? We’re gonna have a riot on our hands,” Sara says from across the room. “Yeah, just a minute,” I toss over my shoulder as I inch the baby hat over Avery’s ears and cinch her blanket tight. “Head up, tits out, girlfriend. There’s a lot of people waiting to meet you out there. Even when you’re scared, keep that head held high. Fake it ‘til you make it—that’s our motto, little one.” I tap my gloved finger to her button nose, and I swear, Avery smiles. “I believe we’re the last of the caravan, Marlo,” Caroline says. “I’m in it for the long haul,” I say, keeping my eyes shut. “They’re short nurses tonight, so I volunteered to stay and work.” “You keep an eye on my Avery, you hear me?” I open one eye to see her smiling at me from behind the counter of the nurses’ station. Even though it’s close to midnight, she’s positively glowing. “You’d swear you had the baby, looking at that goofy smile on your face,” I mutter, rubbing my eyes and sitting up straight. “Can I help it if my godchild and namesake is the most beautiful baby in all the land?” “Leave it to you to make it sound like a freaking fairytale. What is it with you people and your happily-ever-afters?” Caroline crooks her head and motions behind me to Alex’s hospital room. “Fairytale or not, nothing about that was easy. Those two worked their bee-hinds off to be together. You can’t begrudge them this, can you?”

I cringe, realizing what a gigantic ass I sound like. God, what’s wrong with me tonight? I don’t begrudge my friends anything, least of all happiness, but, for some unknown reason, what’s always been easy to take feels like a bitter pill tonight. Alex and West had fallen in love again, gotten married, pregnant, and I’d cheered them on through it all. Well, except in the beginning, when I’d chosen to be the skeptical voice of reason. But after a while, I’d jumped on board and even grabbed a set of pom-poms. Sure, I’ve been known to make the occasional hilarious, albeit snide, remark, but there is never any venom behind it. Tonight, I’m a ball of backslaps and spite. “You know I love Alex, and I want what’s best for her,” I say with a frustrated groan. “I think I’m just tired and filled to the brim with cuteness for the night. I gotta say, Caroline, your namesake is all kinds of beautiful.” She wrinkles her nose and smiles, more with her eyes than her mouth. “She’s every single thing, isn’t she? I was so honored when they asked me to be her godmother. When they told me her name?” She sighs, and her eyes turn misty. “I assure you, there was no doubt who Avery’s godmother would be. You were the only choice as far as they were concerned. That’s the truth.” “You know,” Caroline says, then stops. She shakes her head, starts, then stops again. “Spit it out, Caroline. You know you wanna,” I say with a humorless chuckle. “Maybe you’re feeling undone with everything tonight for a reason.” She looks from side to side, then walks around the counter and takes the seat beside me. “Maybe you’re ready to move on, Marlo. Find a relationship of your own.” “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Let’s not get crazy here.” I push away from her, my chair rolling across the floor. Unfortunately, she catches me before I make it very far. “I’m not saying tomorrow, or next week, but maybe soon. When was the last time you had a fire in your belly?” “Fires are good for nothing more than burning down the house. Thanks, but I’ve already checked that box,” I say with a huff. “I know you think you can ignore that scarred part of yourself. But maybe someone will come along and make you want to show them your hand. Maybe someone will love you not only in spite of what’s happened to you, but because of the way you’ve overcome it.” I scan the nurses’ station, surprised Caroline and I are the only ones at the desk, wishing someone would walk up and interrupt this conversation. She’s never pushed me this way before. She’s always allowed me to stay in my comfort zone, and I wish like hell she’d go back to that. “What happened to me is mine and mine alone. I don’t need to share it with anyone,” I say, shaking my head. “And before you say anything, I’ve come to terms with it. All of it. I’m not afraid to wear those scars on my heart. I just don’t think I need to plaster them on my forehead.” “No need to plaster anything to your forehead. If you open your heart to someone, they’ll see everything they need to see.” And maybe that’s what I’m so afraid of…



Marlo I MASH MY pillow over my head and burrow into the covers, but the banging only gets louder. I pad around the bedside table for my phone and sneak a peek at the time. 11:30 AM … Oh, hell no. Bang, bang, bang! With a feral growl and fire blazing in my sleep-encrusted eyes, I rip off the blankets and storm toward the front door. I throw it open with such force, the wind catches the bottom of my shirt and blows it up to my waist. It dawns on me I’m wearing nothing but a T-shirt and a thong right when I meet Ever’s laughing eyes. I stretch the shirt to my knees in an attempt to hide the goods, and his gaze shifts to my newly exposed cleavage. Shit. “What in God’s name do you want at this hour? Is something on fire?” “You keep tugging on that shirt, my lap will most certainly catch on fire. Wanna give me a hand with that?” “If you want me to stamp out the flames, I’ll be happy to grab my stilettos and go to town,” I spit out, hip cocked and bleary eyes blazing. He cringes for a split second before his lazy smile falls back into place. He rests his shoulder on the doorframe, casual as you please, but keeps his hungry eyes fixed on me. “I think I’ll pass on that particular tap dance,” he says with a chuckle. He brushes a thumb across my exposed upper thigh. “It pains me to say it, but you need to throw on some clothes. It’s time to pay the piper, girl.” “The only thing I’m throwing on today is the covers over my head. I’m working on a couple hours of sleep here. Before that, twenty-four hours of wide-ass awake. I don’t know who this piper is, but he gets an IOU today.” I push the door shut, but a stubborn man’s shoe wedges itself between the door and the frame, blocking my escape to dreamland. I narrow my eyes at him and huff, but he just shrugs. “A deal’s a deal, Low. I told you I’d keep my mouth shut to Adam and Sara, and I kept my end of the bargain. I’m calling in my favor, and it’s time sensitive. Suit up, or I’ll throw you over my shoulder and moon the world with that gorgeous ass.” I mentally scroll through my options—try to run, tell him to fuck off, or suck it up and do what he says. Unfortunately, the first two choices come with repercussions, and my ass may be fine, but it needs a little

more sun before it makes its public debut. So I turn on my heel and get busy changing. Jackie O sunglasses perched on my nose and a permanent scowl gracing my face, I meet Ever at the door. “Let’s get this over with, assface,” I say as I pass him on my way to my Jeep. “And I’m driving.” I park across the street from Holy Cross Church and turn to Ever. “It’s not Wednesday. Why the hell are we at Holy Cross?” Ever chuckles. “Vespers isn’t the only meeting I attend here. Come on. And try to keep the cursing to a minimum. I don’t want to be collateral damage to your lightning strike.” “Ha, if that’s enough to conjure lighting, I’d induce a meteor shower with the shit I’ve pulled,” I mutter. “Before we go in, I need your word that everything you see and hear today will be kept private. Is that a problem, Marlo?” I eye him curiously, but shake my head, anyway. Being a nurse, I’m used to keeping things confidential, so no problem there. We cross the street and enter the church from the meeting hall entrance. We pass a few small groups of people smoking in the front, and they give Ever half-assed waves. Once inside, more people mill in the lobby area, but Ever pulls me into the meeting room. At first glance, the room is nothing but metal chairs and a table with coffee in the back. Half the metal chairs are occupied. He pulls me farther into the room, and I notice a bobbing blonde bun with paintbrushes sticking out in all directions. We both sit down, and the room slowly fills with people. A light stench of stale smoke and coffee settles around us. “That’s a pretty sorry setup over there,” I whisper, gesturing to the one pot of coffee with sugars and creamers littered around it. “Someone could have thrown down a plate of cookies or something.” “You should come to one of our Thursday meetings. Leftover cupcakes from Vespers,” he says, waggling his eyebrows. I scoff. “Yeah, right. Like there are leftovers of my cupcakes.” He laughs and places a hard kiss to my temple. Clapping hands pull our attention to the front of the room, and my gaze falls on Caroline, my Caroline, as she wrangles the crowd. “Are we ready to get started?” she asks with outstretched arms and a smile, her eyes surveying the room. She stops short when her eyes meet mine, and recognition flickers when she notices Ever next to me. She smooths her expression and continues. “Hello, everyone. My name is Caroline, and I’m an alcoholic.” She watches me as the group greets her in unison, and I watch her right back. I give a tiny nod, which she takes as intended, and continues. She keeps talking as my mind swirls with a million thoughts. I’m surprised to see her here in one way, but in another, it makes perfect sense. Who better to understand the plights and struggles of her clients than someone who’s endured some of the same struggles? Isn’t that the reason I became a SANE nurse? A small part of me feels slighted that I’ve never known this side of her. Does she think I wouldn’t accept her for who she is? No, that can’t be it… “The Serenity Prayer” plays as background noise to my racing thoughts, filtering through in bits and pieces. Accept the things I cannot change. Courage to change the things I can, and

Wisdom to know the difference. I turn to Ever, feeling confused, overwhelmed … exposed. It all feels too real, and I shake my head, wanting to bolt. Ever’s face gentles, and his eyes smile at me as he runs a thumb across my flushed cheek. “It’s all right,” he whispers. “You’re just here to listen. Okay?” I nod my agreement, all the while thinking to myself, “No, it’s not okay. It’s the exact opposite of okay.” I can’t be sure of what comes next, but I know it’s going to be too real, too raw, and it terrifies me. I turn forward in my seat and place my hands in my lap, one on top of the other, and look straight ahead. People stand, one by one, and share their stories—some of triumph, some of despair, but all straight from the heart. As they bare their souls, I wonder what Ever will say when it’s his turn. Will it be healing? Or hurtful? Either way, am I ready to know? The room erupts into applause, and Ever squeezes my hand, bringing my focus back to him. He gives our entwined fingers a quick kiss and rises from his chair. Caroline waves him forward, and he pulls his wallet out of his back pocket on the way to meet her. Holding up what looks like a red coin, he takes a bronze coin from Caroline. He gives her a tight hug, whispering to her as she smiles and nods. Her gaze flits to mine, and I look away, feeling confused. The clapping quiets, and Ever turns to address the room. He averts his gaze and draws in a deep breath, obviously overwhelmed. Believe me, I know the feeling. I want to know what he’ll say more than anything in the world, yet I fear it at the same time. “I have a million words to say … years of them built up, ready to pour out of me. And now that I’m standing here? Nothing,” he says with a chuckle, and the room laughs with him. He holds up both coins and shows them to the group. “I’m gonna keep both of these with me always. The red coin so I never forget where I’ve been, and the bronze coin to remind me how far I’ve come. My name is Ever, and I’m an addict. I’ve been sober for five years today.” Amongst applause and two-fingered whistles, his searching eyes bore into mine, waiting for something. Condemnation? Acceptance? Maybe love? “AA says we should focus on the here and now, but today, on the fifth anniversary of my sobriety, I need to reflect. I hope you’ll indulge me.” Ever casts a glance in Caroline’s direction, and she smiles. “I’ll never forget the first time my mother told me it was my fault my brother was sick. She was drunk beyond all sensibility. I was five years old. She said, and I quote, ‘You ruined him. You may as well have killed him. I can’t even look at you.’” Tears well up in my eyes, and hatred for his mother burns in my gut. What kind of mother says something like that? “And she didn’t. Look at me, that is, for stretches longer than I can measure. Easton was my twin, and for medical reasons I can’t explain, I took more than my share from my mother when she was pregnant, leaving Easton nothing but scraps. In my mother’s twisted mind, I had sucked the life out of my brother. I knew early on she would never forgive me, and that poison took up residence in my veins. It flowed through every part of my body … stilted my breath … hardened my heart. It darkened my soul and settled in deep, down to the marrow of me. I believed every single word she said. Even worse, I knew she did, too.” Those words from our past wash over me like crashing waves, one after the other, with no time to catch my breath. “I ruin the ones I love. I’m like a leech that sucks people dry. Everything I touch turns to shit.” These were not the ramblings of a brooding teenager. They were his truth. That’s what he had believed, at least.

“Growing up that way, living with that type of original sin, the kind that won’t wash off no matter how hard you scrub—it changes you. It makes you live a life of unrelenting regret and misdirected anger. And when my brother … my best friend … passed away unexpectedly, I let go of the frayed rope of control I’d been dangling from for years. You see, Easton and I were two parts that made a whole—I’m the healthy body, the working shell, but Easton? He was the insides, the pure and gentle soul—easy to love and impossible to let go. He left me here, but I couldn’t accept it.” Ever fiddles with his frayed jeans pocket and sniffs. “I’m sure you can all imagine what happened next.” Ever looks out into a crowd of nods and words of affirmation. They all know this story all too well. So do I, but it’s because I had lived it. I’d watched him let go of that rope with no idea how to save him from himself, not even sure if he’d wanted to be saved. At the time, it’s doubtful he did. “I lost my brother and pushed away the girl I loved and just drowned in it. I carried around this gnawing pain—it wasn’t just an albatross around my neck, it was an inoperable tumor in my gut.” He clutches his stomach, hand fisted, voice rough like gravel. “The drugs felt like the only way to fill it. Or numb it. Or just give me a moment’s peace.” He meets my gaze, and his eyes are filled with unspoken apology. “I’m embarrassed to admit how many years, yes, years, it took me to wake the hell up. With the helpful and none-too-gentle shove of a friend and my uncle, I finally agreed to enter recovery. Of course, I fought, lashed out, and denied, denied, denied. And all of it was wiped away when my uncle said to me, ‘What Easton wouldn’t give for the chance to live this life? The very life you’re throwing in the goddamn trash.’” Ever shrugs and presses his lips into a thin line. He’s open, honest, and raw. Humble and vulnerable. “I woke up, detoxed, started a new life, and finally, finally, mourned the loss of my brother. I’ll probably be doing that in small ways for the rest of my life.” Accept the things I cannot change… “I strive everyday to be a brother Easton would be proud of. To be the best friend, business partner, mentor, son, that I can be. That’s how I honor my brother every single day.” Courage to change the things I can… Ever’s eyes are locked on mine, and I feel my tears building. His words undo me, chip away at my resolve. A tear falls onto my cheek, the crack in my facade showing itself, no matter how hard I fight it. “I hope you can see the change in me, know I’m a different man than I was before, and open your heart to me. I need you to give me more of a chance than you think I deserve … so I can prove you wrong.” Ever pulls the coins out of his pocket and holds one in each hand. “It’s a good day. Thanks, everyone.”



Marlo EVER SITS DOWN beside me, and his presence feels like a concrete block on my heavy chest. After his speech, every eye in the room burns holes in my back, but that’s nothing compared to the way he wrings out my heart by just sitting there. He makes no move to touch me or talk to me, and thank God for that, since I feel like I might shatter into a million pieces. Caroline wraps up the meeting, her words droning on in my head like Charlie Brown’s teacher. Chairs scrape the floor, and the soft mumbles become more boisterous as everyone stands and files out of the room. I shoot up out of my chair, but head in the opposite direction of the exit. As luck would have it, Caroline is alone when I get to her. She wraps an arm around me and turns us away from the crowd. “Why don’t we step into my office,” Caroline whispers as she rubs my back. “What is happening?” I ask when we stop in the corner of the room. “What the hell just happened?” “Seems to me you got a helluva lot of information in a short amount of time,” Caroline says with a chuckle. She tips my chin to meet my eyes. “It doesn’t have to be a bad thing.” My face crumbles and the tears build, yet again. “Why didn’t you tell me?” She sighs, and her mouth quirks up on one side. “Which part? About my being an alcoholic? I’ve been sober for decades, Marlo. I own who I am and the life I’ve led, but I don’t have a mind to dwell. Just like my work at the clinic, I thrive on helping others, and that’s where my focus is these days. These people are my friends. We just happen to all have something in common.” I nod and smile, because I understand where she’s coming from. Caroline is not a person to worry about labels. She’s too many things to too many people to concern herself with that. “Now the Ever part of this happy accident? He told me of a girl named Low, and I had a sneaking suspicion it was you, but I couldn’t be sure. And I couldn’t ask,” she says with a shrug. “It’s called Alcoholics Anonymous for a reason, Low. Now, I can’t lie, I’m pleased as punch you’re who he’s been going on about, and I plan to get a front row seat and popcorn to this particular show.” She laughs at her joke as I shoot her a mortified glare. “This isn’t funny, Caroline. I feel like my world is spinning out of control.” “On the contrary. I think it may finally be coming together for you.” Her eyes dance with excitement, and my irritation bubbles beneath my thin skin. I pull away, but she tightens her steely grip on my shoulder. “You’ve both overcome the unimaginable. I can’t think of any two people who deserve happiness

more than you and Ever.” I scoff and roll my eyes. “You would say that.” “And why wouldn’t I?” I throw my hands in the air and raise my eyebrows in frustration. “So what? I should just toss my heart on the table for Ever to feast on?” Caroline inches closer until we’re nose to nose and I have nowhere to hide. “It’s been locked in a cage of your own doing for as long as I can remember. How’s that working for you?” “Low?” Ever’s voice cuts the tension bouncing from me to Caroline, and I shut my eyes for just one second— the briefest calm before the storm. And make no mistake, this one is a Category 5 hurricane. I turn to face him, pressing my lips together and steeling my heart. Arms hanging at his sides, a nervous smile etched on his face, and eyes filled with vulnerability … hurt … hope. Shit. “Ready?” I ask, my tone clipped. His smile wavers, and he shoves his hands into his pockets. Ever turns his attention to Caroline and gives her an almost imperceptible nod. “You crazy kids have fun,” Caroline says, her upbeat tone feeling itchy against the current mood of the room. “Bye,” I whisper as I put one foot in front of the other, looking straight ahead. Ever falls in line beside me, but he looks the same as me—criminals on their way to face the firing squad. Neither of us say a word. I stare at my house through the windshield of my Jeep—gardenia bushes in full bloom, smelling like heaven, white banister porch sanded and painted by yours truly, and a black front door shining like a beacon, glowing like a safe haven, softly calling my name. My escape is mere yards away. I just need to figure out how to make it there unscathed. I’m exhausted. I’m confused. I’m overwhelmed. And I’m so hungry I could rip off my arm and eat it. Hangry doesn’t even begin to cover it. I reach up to turn off the ignition, but Ever’s hand covers mine before I turn off the key. “I lay it out there. Throw it all on the line, and you don’t have one goddamned thing to say?” he spits out angrily, but I hear the hurt behind the venom. I drop my head to the steering wheel and groan. No escape for me. Not even a second to breathe … to think. I let out a frustrated sigh and white knuckle the steering wheel, hoping to release some of this frustration. My head swirls with all that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours, and I struggle to get a firm grip on anything. Did Alex really just have her baby last night? It feels so long ago, I should be buying Avery her first birthday gift … a baby bikini to give West a heart attack. That’s what friends are for. The only thing I know for certain is I’m nowhere near ready to have this conversation with Ever. I may never be ready for him. “Yeah, I’ve gotta admit, it was quite the verbal vomit you spewed all over that room. You covered it all, didn’t you?” I turn my head to the side and glare at him. “You’ve been thinking on this shit for years. Years, Ever. I’ve had what? An hour? How about you give me a little time to process things?” “No.” “No? What the hell do you mean ‘no’?”

“We’re talking about this now. I’m not giving you a couple days to rebuild your walls, and we both know that’s exactly what you plan on doing. You’re right about one thing, Low. It’s been years. And I’m not willing to give up one more day waiting for you to see what’s right in front of your face.” “Right in front of me? All I see right in front of me is an impatient dickhead!” “And I see a stubborn pain in my ass,” he hollers. He leans in and runs his hands up the sides of my neck and squeezes. “But I love you. And I need you to let me, because I’m not giving up this time.” I bite my cheek and clench my eyes shut, trying to stave off the rush of emotions. How he thinks he can make the square root of pi minus the derivative of whatever the fuck equals two is beyond me. The complicated doesn’t magically become simple. He can’t just tell me he loves me and turn back the clock. Do I love him? Did I ever stop? “You’re crazy.” I shake my head and feel my defenses slipping through my fingers like sand. “How do you propose we start over after everything we’ve been through?” “After?” He pulls me closer, forehead to forehead. “I don’t care about before or after or anything in between. The only thing I care about is us. It’s you and me, Low.” “How can we ever be the same?” I whisper as a traitorous tear escapes. Ever swipes it away with his thumb, leveling me with his pleading eyes. “How can we be anything different than what we’ve always been?” “And what’s that?” “Everything.” One word. How can one single word erase years of hurt? How can it shift my world on its axis, making what should be wrong feel right; turning what’s forever been impossible into inevitable. It can’t be that simple. It can’t be, but somehow it just is. Everything. He’s the rushing water, eroding away the jagged edges of my resolve. I love it. I hate it. I can no longer deny it. And when his lips crash into mine, hard and urgent, I take it. It’s tender and brutal. It’s comfort and ecstasy. It’s all of those things … and every single thing … all at once.



Marlo WITH MASHED LIPS, legs clamped around Ever’s waist, and hands grabbing any and every part of each other we can, somehow we unlock the door and fall into the foyer. I fumble with the buttons of his shirt as the door latch clicks into place. Ever grabs my wrists and pulls them away, but I push back. I point to his tented crotch and glare. “Pants off, dick out.” “Not this time, Low.” He shakes his head, making his lips brush against mine, then nudges me back against the door. “We’ve been doing this your way for a while now, but not this time.” I jerk my hands away from him, but he keeps a tight hold on my wrists. I unhook my legs and slide down him, my soft body pressed to his hard one. So very hard… “I want you, open eyes…” He pulls my bottom lip into his mouth and sucks. “Open heart…” He moves to my ear, and goose bumps erupt along my neck from the feel of his ragged breath. “And open legs.” His voice is laced with sex, right along with humor. So totally Ever. “Fucker.” I laugh, dropping my head to his chest. “Oh, I plan on it.” He chuckles, letting go of my wrists. His thumbs run along the pulse point of my neck, and his fingers thread through my knotted hair. “So you’re in charge now? Are you about to break out the handcuffs and nipple clamps?” His lips curve into a wide grin. “Let’s put a pin in that … for now,” he says, his hungry eyes fixated on my teeth sinking into my bottom lip. “No power struggle tonight, Low. We’re partners in this. I want to worship that gorgeous body of yours, but make no mistake, I want what’s inside. I want you to give in to me … give in to this.” His voice goes raspy as he clasps my hand in his, clutching it over his thundering heart. His expression is gentle and open—gorgeous. I instinctively back away, but he pulls me to him and shakes his head. “No,” he says simply as he flicks the buttons of my shirt one by one. There’s no rush or urgency as he descends lower. He’s slow—deliberate. His eyes burn through me as he brushes my shirt off the curve of my shoulders. It flutters to the floor. I flick the button of my jeans, and slide the zipper down as a nervous smile lingers on my lips. “Let me,” he whispers, stepping forward to cover his lips with mine as his hands slide under my jeans

and over the swell of my ass. Warm, plump lips; hot, firm hands … God … God. A shiver races down my spine as a whimper creeps up my throat and onto his lovely lips. “I feel like I’m unwrapping a decade’s worth of birthday presents in one package.” His words slide across my eager lips. His fingers slip beneath my underwear and run down the seam of my ass before he finds me hot, wet, and beyond ready. A chuckle rumbles in his chest as he explores. “Happy birthday to me.” I bend over to pull off my jeans, making it quite the show, even winking at him cheekily on my ascent. After steadying myself with Ever’s help, I get to work undressing him. He swats my hands and backs away, and I groan in frustration. “I’m at a bit of a disadvantage here, don’t ya think.” I cross my arms and scowl, wearing nothing but a bra and panties while Ever remains fully clothed. He raises an eyebrow at me, then charges, tossing me over his shoulder with a stinging slap to my ass cheek. “Hey! Slap my ass again and I’ll put an extra toothy blow job on the docket.” He stalks to the bedroom as blood rushes to my head, and I pull the back of his boxer briefs as far out of his pants as they’ll go. “You earned this wedgie fair and square, assface.” Ever tosses me onto the bed in a heap of limbs and hair as I sputter and huff. Button by painstaking button, he undresses, watching me from the far end of the bed. His curved lips are playful, but his eyes are pensive. “I knew it would be like this. God, just like this. It’s why my head begged me to give up but my heart would never listen. How could I go the rest of my life without this … without you?” I flush under his gaze and run a hand across my stomach to cover up. A frown pulls at his lips as he shakes his head. “Don’t hide yourself from me, Low. I’ve waited too long for this moment to miss a single thing.” He unrolls his cuffs and climbs onto the bed, shirt open, giving hints of the rigid planes and valleys of his chest … stomach … oh my holy V … He settles between my legs, his thumbs brushing my temples as the rest of his body pins me to the mattress in the most delicious way. My fingers linger over his exposed skin, trailing the curve of his ribs, his muscular back, down to the curve of his delectable ass. Round, muscular, and practically begging me to sink my teeth into the flesh of it. I settle for digging my nails into his cheeks and pushing up off the bed, grinding into him. The aching pressure of his hard cock against me is the sweetest torture. His thrusting tongue, labored breaths, and straining cock scream go, go, go; but his expressive eyes, burning through my defenses, and his thumbs brushing the apples of my cheeks give me pause. It’s as if he’s simultaneously looking to the past and ahead into the future, and all the feeling, emotion, and expectation converge into my constricted chest as I suck in a ragged breath. He wants me—the naive girl I once was and the mess of a woman I am today. But he doesn’t know me anymore … what if he did? My stomach clenches at the thought. Would he be able to accept me as I am instead of who I once was? Those two people can’t be any more different. I’m a freight train barreling toward a brick wall, horn blasting through the electrified air. It’s too much … it’s too much … I can’t… “I love you, Low. I plan to spend every minute of every day, showing you just how much,” he whispers into my hair. He lifts up, again meeting my eyes. “And even then, I’ll barely brush the surface.” The tension gripping my gut unfurls with his words. It’s instantaneous and jarring. I swing from bound and gagged to free fall in an instant, giving me a profound case of emotional whiplash. Breathe … just breathe. Tears leak from eyes, silently rolling down my temples and dampening my hair. “I need this … I need you, Ever…”

“You have me. You have all of me.” He presses his lips to my temples, soaking up the moisture, then moves to my lips. The salt from my tears lingers on our tongues, a reminder of what we’ve endured, a promise of where we’re headed. I slide his shirt over his shoulders, ghosting my palm over the tattoo on his chest … I’ll explore it more later… My bra and panties fall to the floor as he draws my nipple into his mouth. I swallow a groan and twist my fingers in his hair, tugging him closer … closer … I can’t get him close enough. And when he thrusts inside, no one before this could ever compare. Not even him—what we had before feels frivolous. He’s broken down every defense I have. He’s obliterated my walls and crawled deep inside my soul. Love changes over time. The edges may dull, the butterflies hibernate … but some things, the best things, sharpen and flourish as years pass. Ever is the best thing. “I need to move,” he rasps, then takes my lips with his first delicious glide. “As long as you stay,” I whisper as my body attunes itself to his. I lift my head to his, forehead to forehead, mouth to mouth, and soul to soul, and beg him for what I need. “Just please stay.” Please stay … even if my heart is scarred and my soul is dirty. Please stay … because I’ll never survive it if you leave me again. He’s the creation and the rapture. Every good and bad thing all wrapped up into one. And now, after all these years, he may just be my resurrection.



Ever MARLO SLAMS THE mallet down onto the counter … one … two … three times, then shakes the plastic bag and examines the pecans. “Easy, killer. You’re making me nervous with that mallet,” I say, brushing her hair behind her ear. She smirks, pouring the nuts into the mixer. “The pecans need to be tiny—pulverized.” “Pulverized nuts. Yeah, not helping.” She laughs and turns on the mixer, sneaking glances at me over her lowered eyelashes. She’s so damn pretty, she makes my chest ache. Sweet vanilla lingers in the air, and the rickety oven warms her small galley kitchen. It’s hot enough to make her exposed chest look sticky, delicious, as the thin straps of her tank strain against the weight of her tits. I’m not sure what I want to eat first—her or the cupcakes she’s baking just for me. The timer dings, and she bends over the oven to pull out the pan. She didn’t take the time to put on any pants, and she smirks over her shoulder when she sees me salivating. “Not much help over there, perched up on the counter, ogling.” “I’m supervising. Trust me, there are lots of things to keep my eye on.” I waggle my eyebrows and squeeze my hands in the air. “Cheeks, tits—it’s all too much. Get your ass over here and give me something to grab onto before my hands catch a cramp.” She places the cupcakes on the cooling rack and turns off the mixer. I widen my legs, and she slips in between them, my hands finding their rightful place. I give her a swift spank. Her nails dig into my side as she lifts up and bites my bottom lip. “What did I tell you about spanking?” Her green eyes darken as my fingers slide under the elastic of her panties. “You can’t fool me, Low. Are you gonna tell me you’re not soaking wet right now?” Her cheeks flush, but she holds my gaze, unashamed and turned the hell on. “That doesn’t mean a damn thing,” she says, her hands creeping up my stomach. “The sound of you saying my name is all it takes to make me wet.” “Marlo?” She shakes her head. “When you call me Low.” “I thought you said you weren’t that girl anymore.” Her hands still, and she looks up at me, hope along with uncertainty brimming in her eyes. “I don’t know, maybe she’s in there somewhere. At least I hope she is.”

I’m not used to seeing these glimpses of hesitancy in her. The Marlo I know, then and now, doesn’t do vulnerable, but I can see cracks in her confidence instead of her usual steely resolve. It’s a reminder that underneath the girl she once was, there’s a woman I can’t wait to know better. “What’s this whole thing you’ve got going on,” she says, waving a hand in front of me, clearly moving on from her previous train of thought. “I swear it’s like the hot guys’ uniform. Mussed hair, tattoos, bare feet, and then the cherry on top … wait for it … the jean button undone.” “More like the lazy guy’s uniform.” “Do they teach ya’ll that in hot guys’ school? Leave the button undone—your pheromones will waft up from your crotch and hypnotize the ladies.” “Does it look hot?” “Fuck yeah.” “Are you hypnotized?” “Not hardly.” “Well, that tank top with no bra and damn near nonexistent panties? I’m in a total trance, Low. Those tight nipples bounce, and my head starts swaying. ‘You’re getting very sleepy,’” I taunt, and she throws her head back in laughter. “I have the sudden urge to bounce in place.” “Don’t let me stop you.” She shoves my shoulders, and her fingers linger over the tattoo covering the left side of my chest. The compass takes up my entire pec and creeps to the side of my ribcage. “When did you get it?” She traces the “E” that sits at the top of the compass, just under my collarbone, and I lay my hand over hers. I squeeze, and she leans in, placing a kiss on the side of our hands. “A few months after I woke the hell up and got sober. It’s a reminder.” She nods. “East’s on top. Very fitting.” “You have no idea. In life and in death, Easton gives me the direction I need,” I say, looking down at the ink on my chest. “Every time I step out of the shower and look in the mirror, it’s a reminder. I like to think Easton is smiling down on me, proud of what I’ve become, where I’m going in my life.” “If he can see you, there’s no doubt in my mind he’s proud.” She hesitates, but then shakes it off and continues, “So, years, huh?” “Years?” I ask, not sure what she’s talking about. “You used drugs for years before getting sober?” I start to answer, but she interrupts, “I’m sorry, I just stupidly thought a letter I sent your uncle would have solved the problem—gotten you the help you needed. God, it sounds so self-centered now that I think of it. Like one simple letter could fix everything.” She shakes her head and drops it to my chest. I remember the anger I’d felt when Uncle Jeff had confronted me with Marlo’s letter waving in his hand. I’d wanted to throttle her, had actually tried to find her to do just that. But she’d vanished into thin air, and so had my anger over the years. Her last effort to save me makes me love her even more now. I slip my fingers into her hair and tip her head up to meet my eyes. “It did help, for a while. Not long after that, my dad and Uncle Jeff checked me into a rehab facility. But it only lasted two weeks.” “Why?” “I turned eighteen, and they could no longer keep me there. I signed myself out at the stroke of midnight,” I say, the stupidity of my actions washing over me like acid rain. Marlo sighs and shrugs. “I always wonder why, ya know? Why you and not me? Why didn’t I have the need to take it any further than an occasional joint? Why was I lucky and you…” “The best comparison I’ve heard compares us all to the Earth. The soil is different depending on where you are, and different things grow depending on the makeup. Something in my soil, or my DNA,

makes drug addiction a quick trigger for me. It’s not an excuse—I wasn’t destined to be an addict, maybe just predisposed. But Easton’s death was like high-grade fertilizer to that part of my brain, and I barreled full speed ahead. I don’t know why you react to drugs differently than me, but I’m grateful you do.” “Yeah, me, too.” She sighs and continues tracing my tattoo, watching the movement of her fingers intently. “I’m also grateful you made your way out of it. That you made your way back to me, however it happened.” She rolls up on her toes and presses her lips to mine before turning back to the cupcakes. Italian cream cupcakes with a pecan buttercream frosting—my mouth waters just thinking about taking the first bite. “It’s actually interesting, but you’d never guess who started the ball rolling on my sobriety,” I say with a chuckle. “Did Jeb handcuff himself to you and swallow the key?” She turns to me and widens her eyes, both of us knowing he’s not above doing something just like that. “Nah, it wasn’t Jeb. It was actually Remy, if you can believe it,” I say, waiting for her incredulous comment. But it doesn’t come. She stills beside me for a split second, then continues icing the cupcakes. “Is that so?” she whispers over her shoulder. “Yeah, crazy right? The guy who provided me with the majority of the drugs I took was the one who helped turn things around. He threw me out on my ass, told everyone he’d kick their ass if they took me in. I had nowhere to go, and not a penny to my name. Let me tell you, a couple of weeks on the streets of New Orleans, panhandling and sleeping in my own filth was more than a wake up call. I showed up on Uncle Jeffrey’s doorstep, hoping for a couple nights of sleep and maybe a few bucks from his wallet. That’s when he laid it out for me, made me realize what a fucking disgrace I was to the memory of Easton.” She turns to me, a horrified expression painted on her pretty face, tears welling in her eyes. Her trembling fingers grip the counter. “Yeah, Low, it got that bad,” I say, refusing to look away, but swallowing back the humiliation threatening to choke me. To see how far I’ve come, I need her to realize how far I’d fallen. The knife in her hand clangs when it hits the counter as she rushes to me. She throws her arms around my middle and buries her head in my chest. “But you’re better now. Everything is all right,” she whispers, shaking her head against my chest. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’m all good now, and I’m gonna do everything I can to stay that way. For me, for you, and for East. Ya got me?” I brush her hair away from her face and meet her frightened eyes. “Yeah,” she says before laying her head back on my chest. “Can we just … can we forget about the past? I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I want to leave it where it belongs—look ahead to our future.” I smooth her hair and rock gently, trying to soothe her turbulent thoughts. I’m well aware of how unpleasant they are—I’d lived them. This is the closest I ever want Marlo to get to the ugliness of that time of my life. Leaving the past in the past seems like an excellent idea to me. “Of course, Low,” I say, pressing a hard kiss to her forehead. I run my hands down her arms, lacing my fingers with hers, sinking into the wonderment of being here —holding her, kissing her. “I just want you to know—Easton’s always been my compass, but you’re my anchor.” I pull our clasped hands around my back and drop my forehead to hers. “I’m sorry I wasn’t either of those things for you back then.” Her breath stutters and stops, and she clenches her eyes shut. “It’s over. It’s all over,” she says as she nods her head. And I can’t shake the feeling she’s talking about more than my addiction. I want to bring up my upcoming visit to New Orleans to see my mom, Easton’s grave, and then Remy. I almost do, but hesitate at the last minute. She’s overwhelmed right now, and mentioning it now may be more than she can process right now. Another day … soon.



Marlo “HEY DAD.” I cradle the phone between my ear and shoulder as I gather up the lab specimens to take to the hospital. I hear Cain and Sara arguing in the common area of the clinic, so I shut the door for some privacy. All the clients had made early morning appointments, so even though I’d just shown up a couple of hours ago, I’m already done for the day. “Is it? It can’t be? It sounds like my Low, but there’s no way—” “Dad…” I interrupt, flinching at the irritation in his voice. He’s got every right to be pissed. We normally touch base at least a couple of times a week. The last few weeks? Not so much. “Because the only way my Low wouldn’t return my calls for two dang weeks is if she were kidnapped … or in jail.” He huffs into the phone, and the shrill sound tickles my ear. “Girl, I was one phone call away from calling the calvary.” “The calvary?” “Yep. Declan, Evelyn, and you know who else.” “You wouldn’t.” I gasp, dropping the lab specimens on the desk and sinking onto the stool. “Oh, wouldn’t I? “Nana would throttle me, old man. You get me killed, and you’ll have to count on Declan to take care of you when you’re old and decrepit—I see a pee-smelling old folks’ home in your future,” I warn, with a taunting lilt in my voice. “Girl, don’t make me come over there.” “Sugar-free pudding and adult diapers,” I sing-song with a giggle. “Sugar-free pudding,” he grumbles under his breath. “Cockamamie junk cooked up in a lab. People need to eat what the good Lord provides us. Not something from a test tube.” “I miss you, Daddy,” I whisper, beating back the need to squeeze him. He’s so bossy … and ornery … and sweet. “I miss you, too, little girl. But if you don’t return my phone calls, you’ll be missing me a lot less because I’ll haul your butt back to Texas. Ya hear me?” “Yes, sir,” I mumble. Guilt hangs heavy around me, because he’s right. My mind has been a flurry of confusion and what-ifs, and I’ve been neglecting one of the constants in my life. My dad is a sure-win, an unconditional. Ever, and all that comes with him, on the other hand, plagues me with “what ifs.”

What if he can’t love who I’ve become? What if he can’t look at me after I tell him about Remy? And, even worse, the unimaginable, the one thing that could break me … again. What if I tell him and he doesn’t believe me? In Ever’s eyes, Remy saved him. To Ever, he’s an unsung hero, as ridiculous and vile as the words sound to me. How can I make him believe that the very same man had obliterated me … had changed the entire trajectory of my life? Maybe it’s best if Ever continues to believe he’s the sole reason I left New Orleans. It’s not really a lie—Ever’s blatant dismissal had crushed me back then. That part of the story is completely true, and the rest, namely Remy’s attack, can be filed under the heading of “convenient omission.” He can go on believing the asshole walks on water, and I can spare myself his looks of disgust and pity if I tell him the truth. Everyone wins. Unless Remy and I cross paths, which would be the dreaded spark to my gas-filled house of cards. Everything would tumble down in a fiery ball of flames. And all of this is dependent upon my ability to leave the past in the past. I’d truly believed I could do just that; I’ve been doing it for years. But no matter how long I beat back the burn, the memories are always with me like a rusty screen door, the creaky sound slicing through any semblance of peace. Since Ever reentered my life, I’ve battled so many feelings. Lust, fear, passion, irritation, love … so much love. But not one of those even comes close to approaching peace. My head throbs and my gut rolls with the barrage of unanswered questions… “Marlo Rivers, are you even listening to me?” “Huh?” I ask, my dad’s raised voice tugging me back into the here and now. “Sorry, I spaced out for a sec. What did you say?” He releases a pent up sigh. “I asked how work was going?” “Oh, you know—slinging babies and squeezing boobies.” “And the clinic?” “Swabbing orifices and passing out penicillin.” “A regular Mother Teresa, this one,” he mutters, chuckling under his breath. “What can I say, I’m a woman of the people.” “Oh, you’re something all right. But here’s the real question, smartass.” “Language, Dad,” I warn, turning the tables on him. “Hush it, little girl. The real question, Low, the only question that matters to your old dad is, are you happy? Is my only daughter smiling today?” Leave it to my dad to stump me. I don’t know if it’s intuition, my attempts at avoiding him, or if he hears it in my voice, but it’s obvious he knows something’s wrong. I shouldn’t be surprised; he’s always had a sixth sense about these things. It’s the reason I’ve been avoiding his calls. “I think so?” I answer, cringing at the uncertainty laced in my words. It’s the best I can do right now. “Not really selling it,” he says, sounding concerned. “Talk to me.” I wrestle with what to tell him, knowing a simple brush off won’t work with my dad. He possesses the ability to crack me in half and peek inside, not exactly ideal for someone intent on staying hidden. So, in an effort to divert his attention, I focus on something else that’s been bugging me. “Dad, what if Evelyn never left us,” I say, hurrying to explain myself before he can answer. “What I mean is, if she never took off, do you think you’d still be married?” He makes a strangled sound, half-sigh, half-groan, and sputters. “Well, heck, how should I know? What kind of question is that, Low?” “I’ve just been thinking about it. Don’t get me wrong, Oliver’s great. I just wonder what could have

been, ya know?” “I don’t have a crystal ball, but if I had to venture a guess, I’d say things would have ended up pretty much the same.” He sighs, staying silent for a minute. “Young love has a way of making the world look small and insignificant. There’s no mountain you can’t climb, no ocean you can’t cross—” “No demon you can’t conquer?” I offer. “Sure, that, too. When the dust settles and the years stack up, things look different. That mountain? It’s so tall, it pierces the moon. And that ocean?” “Shark infested?” He barks out a laugh. “Oh yeah. Great whites,” he says, chuckling. “But I would have tried, Low. You’ve gotta know that. I would have given it my all. For you. And for Declan.” “I know, Dad,” I whisper, swallowing back the tears threatening to spill. I don’t doubt for a second he’d throw on some Kevlar and brave the sharks for Declan and me, if that’s what it took. And what if the past hadn’t drowned Evelyn, making her hightail it out of Texas? What if she’d leaned on my dad, her husband, and had found all the healing she’d needed in him—in his arms, in his heart, in our small, but fierce family. She could have told him about the hurt, the ghosts that hover in the background, looming close and coloring everything she touches. He would have loved her anyway. I know it. But instead, the mountain pierced the moon … the sharks smelled blood in the water … and the demons? The demons broke a family in two. “What brought all this on, sugar? You can talk to me about anything, you know that.” His tone is searching, and if I were at home, he’d have me in his lap with his tree trunk arms squeezing me by now. I can almost feel the pressure against my ribs. “I just wonder if the ‘love conquers all’ crapola is just that—a bunch of crap. If you and Evelyn loved each other, it should have been enough, right? But it wasn’t. Because you can’t love the problems away; love doesn’t make obstacles vanish into thin air,” I argue, arms gesturing wildly as if he can see me. “Hold on a minute, Low, it sounds like you’re saying if Evelyn and I couldn’t make it work, then no one can. That’s plain ridiculous.” He sounds frustrated, like he wants to shake some sense into me. Good luck with that. “Love is chock full of road blocks. Hell, life is full of road blocks. There’s no getting around it, and you shouldn’t want to anyway, because the struggle is part of the ride. I want you to enjoy the ride, Marlo. Can you do that for me?” “It’s not that easy, Dad.” I sound childish to my own ears, but there’s no way to make him understand how I feel without telling him things I don’t want him to know. “You don’t think I know that? There’s nothing easy about you, and anyone who spends more than five minutes with you figures that out quick-like. You are lightning in a bottle, girl, and any man lucky enough to snag you should sit back and enjoy the show.” “Ha! Lightning in a bottle? More like dynamite in a foxhole.” Dad howls with laughter, pulling the phone away from his ear. “Hoo, don’t I know it, little girl,” he cackles, catching his breath. I can imagine the flush of his cheeks and his eyes filled with elated tears. “I know better than anyone, and you know what? You’ve burned my ass on more than one occasion, and I wouldn’t trade a minute of it. Don’t let the cynic in you drown out the dreamer.” I scoff and roll my watery eyes. “Oh Marlooooooo, wherefore art thou, Marlooooooooo.” The sickeningly sweet sing-song voice filters through the bottom of the closed door, and I hear a faint giggle follow it. “The tangy pepperoni … the gooey cheese … they cry out for thee.” “I’ll try, Dad, I promise. I’ll even doodle little rainbows and hearts on my notepads,” I say, fanning my eyes and walking to the door. “One of your fellow dreamers is beckoning me for lunch, so I need to go.”

“No time for your old man, I see,” he says with a good-hearted chuckle. “I know, I know, duty calls. Or lunch, and that’s just as important.” “I love you, Dad.” “Don’t let another week pass like that, baby. I love you, too.” “The soda fizzeth, only for you, my dearest Marloooooo!” “Bye,” I whisper into the phone, holding back the laugh as I swing open the door. “Cool it, Cain, before I put my footeth up your—” “Oomph!” The ground shakes as Cain tumbles backward on his ass, right into Sara. A jumble of legs, arms, and laughs greet me as I peek my head out of the barricaded door. “What the hell were y’all doing? Cain, did your monstrous weight kill Sara? Is she still breathing?” I laugh as Cain groans and Sara hops up, lithe as a cat. “This girl knows how to stop, drop, and roll. I’m fine. As for this bumbling idiot, we may need an ice pack or ten. He was bent over, with his mouth to the bottom of the door when you opened it.” Sara nudges Cain’s shoulder with her sneaker, then cups her hands around her lips. “Tim-ber!” He groans again and swipes at Sara’s ankle, but she’s too quick. The groan turns into a growl. “See if I worry about your nutritional state again. Fend for yourself, woman,” Cain grumbles as he rolls on all fours and crawls away. He reaches up and swipes a piece of pizza off the desk before leaning up against it. He tears off a bite and chews angrily. “And to think we’re leaving Mr. Biscuit in your care. He’ll never survive. I’m calling Celia—we’re not going anywhere this weekend!” He rips his cell out of his pocket. He tries to dial the phone while juggling his pizza in the other hand, his bear-like fingers fumbling over the screen. Another groan. “Wait,” I say, narrowing my eyes at Cain. “What did you say about Mr. Biscuit? I’m doing what?” “Watching him? This weekend? Celia talked to you about it?” When I widen my eyes and shrug, he throws up his hands in exasperation. “My dog’s gonna die for fucking sure.” “Celia mentioned it at the hospital,” Sara mumbles under her breath, trying to fill me in on what I’d obviously missed. “She asked you the night Alex had the baby.” “Oh, you mean the night I was a walking zombie and would have agreed to shave off my own eyebrows if anyone would have asked?” “That can be arranged,” Cain says as he shoves the entirety of his pizza into his mouth, freeing both his hands to use the phone. I stalk across the room and swipe the phone out of Cain’s hands. My goodwill nearly takes a hike when I see the text he’s composing. Marlo is a non-dogsitting douchebag. “Pipe down, ya big baby. I’ll watch the damn pooch. I just forgot.” I delete his text and toss the phone at his chest with a little more force than necessary. “Let’s hope you don’t forget to feed him. Or take him for a walk. Or put on his ThunderShirt when you leave.” Sara erupts into a fit of giggles as I stare at Cain. “His thunder what?” Cain pouts, and his eyes get soft. “He wears a ThunderShirt when he’s alone so it feels like someone’s hugging him.” He wraps his arms around himself and squeezes as a demonstration. “Christ,” I mutter, shaking my head. “Hey, Mr. Biscuit is a very sensitive soul. Celia’s damn cat makes his nerves bad.” Cain’s eyes widen, and he sucks in a breath. “She told you about the cat, right?” And that’s when Sara’s giggles morph into an all out laughing fit.



Marlo “CAN I OPEN them yet?” I ask Jeb, and I already hear him tsking. “Patience, patience. Rome wasn’t built in a day.” Jeb chuckles. I groan. Ever crashed at my house last night, although not much sleeping had occurred, and he’d heard the growls of my stomach when we woke up this morning. He’s got a full day and night at the restaurant, followed by a full day at the market tomorrow, but he’d promised to feed me breakfast if I followed him to Moelle. I was dressed and ready in five minutes flat. “Okay, open your eyes,” Jeb says, his voice tinged with excitement. I pull my hands away from my face and inch open one eyelid. On the counter in front of me, he’s placed a tall thin glass of … green goo. Yep, that’s green goo. My lip curls in revulsion. “I thought you were a bartender, not a nutritionist. I’m not interested in some kale and spinach concoction. This body is already in tip-top shape. Just ask your friend,” I say sweetly, blowing a kiss across the kitchen as Ever’s hands dance across the pans on the stove. He winks back at me, and I beam. “She does not lie.” “First of all, you two are gonna make me spew. Make googly eyes on your own time. Second of all, I’m not a bartender. I’m a mixologist. Respect,” he says, beating a fist to his chest. I roll my eyes and sigh. “Do any of your points actually address this horrid drink in front of me?” He ignores my comment and dusts a pinch of spice over the glass. “Touch of cayenne.” Then he stacks pickled okra, pearl onions, and grape tomatoes onto a toothpick and slides it into the drink. “And the garnish for your Bloody Mary, with only the best southern green tomatoes. I bought them fresh and created the mix myself.” I swipe the glass off the counter, and pull a sip from the straw before he finishes talking. The spices are perfect, the mix zesty and quenching, and the slight twinge of vodka at the end surprises me. Jeb raises his hand to me before I can protest. “I only put a dash of vodka in it to keep the integrity of the flavor,” Jeb says, then shoots Ever a pointed look when he mutters “pretentious douche” under his breath. “Promise, Thumbelina couldn’t even get a buzz. I know you don’t really drink much.” “No it’s okay,” I tell him, then stop short, deflating. “I’m sorry, Ever, I didn’t think. Does it bother—” “Not at all. Don’t worry about that. Drinking was never my thing. Besides it’s my problem, not yours.” He smiles, and I do the same, but make a mental note to talk to him. If it’s a problem of his, it’s a

problem of mine. I want us to be a team. I turn back to Jeb and take another sip. “It’s delicious, Jeb. I take back my previous comments. You’re really talented.” Jeb puffs up with each compliment, and his grin grows wider and wider. “I give him shit all the time, because … well, it’s what we do, but I don’t think he gets how talented he is. Some of the drinks he makes are so precise, the flavors so intricate, he adds ingredients with eye droppers. Eye droppers,” Ever says, pride for his friend etched in his face. “You won’t find a better mix of the best ingredients anywhere. What happened to our slacker friend, Low?” “I’m obviously the slacker here,” I say before taking another sip of my drink. “And I’m okay with that. While you two are slaving in this kitchen, I’m gonna see how many Friends episodes I can watch in a row while stuffing my face with buttercream icing straight out of the bowl.” “Pivot!” Jeb hollers in his best Ross impression, and I burst out laughing. Ever slides a plate fit for a queen in front of me and kisses my temple. “Save some of that icing for tomorrow night, yeah?” A shiver runs up my spine, but comes to a screeching halt at the sound of Jeb retching. I give him the evil eye, and he shrugs. “Sorry, sorry, I must have choked on the grits,” he says, then dives back into his breakfast. “It’s a grit, man. Pretty sure it’s impossible to choke on something the size of a gnat,” Ever says with a laugh. Jeb jabs his fork in our direction. “If this shrimp and grits wasn’t the bomb, I’d chuck it. No talk of gnats while I’m eating. No talk of icing either, ya pervs.” The cheap shots and good-hearted insults fly freely through breakfast, and I hang around to help with the clean up. I stack the plates on top of each other and bring them over to Ever at the sink. “Hey Low,” Jeb calls, and I turn around. He lifts my drink in the air and shakes the ice. “You want the dregs, or can I drink the rest?” His question hits me right between the eyes, because I didn’t, not until this very moment, give one thought to drinking the Bloody Mary he’d made for me. A sense of victory quickly follows my initial reaction of dread. No trembling fingers. No short, rapid breathing. No thoughts of control, or the lack thereof. A friend had offered me a drink, and I’d taken the damn thing like nothing. Like a normal person. “You can have it,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around Ever’s waist and resting my forehead on his back as he scrubs the dishes. I suck in a deep breath through my nose, fighting the smile and watery eyes. For once, these are happy tears. I’m not foolish enough to think I’m cured of my compulsive habit, and I’m not naive enough to be oblivious of my surroundings, but I still put a check mark in the “win” column. We’ve been living in our private bubble of slippery skin, tangled limbs, and whispered promises for a few weeks now, but the niggling doubt about my past has continually pulled me away. As much as I want this to work with Ever, the truth about why I left Orleans Academy, and him, feels like an invisible wall between us. Sometimes, I don’t even know it’s there. Other times, I bang on the glass in frustration. This “win” shows me, with time, I can throw a rock and shatter it all to pieces. I just need time. Ever flicks his fingers in my direction, and suds splash on my cheek. “Whatcha doing back there, Low?” I slap his ass and laugh. “Enjoying the view. I need to get out of here, though. Busy day ahead. Ross … Rachel … Phoebe.” “Regina, Regina Phalange,” Jeb says in a girly tone. “Don’t be jealous.” I wink at him, and he scoffs. “Low, as nice as slumber-partying with you sounds, I get hot women drunk as they lean over the bar and swoon at their mysterious tattooed bartender. Thank the good Lord for low-cut dresses and cleavage,”

he says, not looking the least bit apologetic. Ever winces and chuckles. “Hard to believe, but that asshole has groupies. They can’t get enough of him.” I lift up on my toes and press my lips to his. “Tomorrow night … I fully intend on getting my fill of you.” He bites my lips as I pull away. “Icing. Lots and lots of icing.”



Marlo MY BUTT IS numb, my muscles loose and sagging from lack of movement, and the crumbs of my sandwich sit on the coffee table in front of me as I chuckle at Joey wearing every single piece of Chandler’s clothes. An illustrious Friday night in the life of Marlo Rivers. Could I be any more lazy? The thought makes me smile. For once, the idea of domestication and quiet nights at home don’t make my skin crawl. Instead, I’m home while my … gulp, boyfriend … works, enjoying a little “me” time. Tomorrow night, I’ll enjoy a little “him on top of me” time. Or “behind me.” Oooooh, or most definitely “tongue buried inside me.” Yes, definitely that. I hear a knock on the door and frown. It’s way too late for visitors, and I’m not fixing the messy bun on top of my head. There’s a hole in the crotch of my yoga pants to boot, but I don’t foresee any crotch shots in my future, so I stomp to the door as is. I peek past the shade, and see Celia’s toothy smile. I swing open the door and scowl when I see her carrying a howling pet taxi, along with Mr. Biscuit on a leash, tangling himself in her legs. “No solicitors allowed, and I don’t want any Girl Scout Cookies, little girl,” I deadpan and edge the door closed. “Hey!” Celia shrieks, slapping the door with her palm. “You promised me you’d watch them, and we’re leaving first thing in the morning. Don’t you dare back out, Marlo!” “Or what?” I narrow my eyes and purse my lips. “Or I will bring the wrath of Cain down on you.” Her voice is eerie and sinister, and I have a fire and brimstone moment as I take in her glaring eyes and tiny balled fists. “That man’s guts are made of rotten animals, and I will point all those noxious fumes right at you, Marlo Rivers.” Yeah, fire and brimstone gone, and replaced with abject disgust. “Keep your man and his butt away from me,” I say, grabbing the pet taxi holding Celia’s howling cat, Edna, also known as Eddie. “I’ll take the pooch and the kitty.” “Good choice,” she mutters as she untangles herself from Mr. Biscuit and walks inside. “Where are y’all going, anyway?” “Dallas. One of my favorite poets is performing, so Cain surprised me with tickets.” My laughter quickly turns into an unladylike snort at the thought of Cain Bennett at a poetry reading. “Cain? At a poetry reading? Ya think he can hold his rotten animal bowels long enough not to offend the yuppies and lesbians? He knows he can’t wear camo, right? And no dip—there’s no spittoons at poetry

readings.” She scoffs and places a delicate hand on her hip. “Now, you know Cain doesn’t dip.” I raise my eyebrows and wait for her to argue my other points, but she doesn’t. She knows her Neanderthal too well to protest. She knows him and loves him, camo and all. “I’ll put all their food, supplies, and instructions right here on the counter.” She places a huge bag on my kitchen counter with a thud. “Please tell me the hound’s blessed ThunderShirt is in there. I wouldn’t want him to get weepy on me,” I say, with a laugh, as I bend down to inspect Edna. I jump back when she hisses and swats the metal grates with her paw. “Of course it is. It may take them a little while to get adjusted, but they’ll be fine,” Celia says as she unlatches Mr. Biscuit from his leash and I release Edna from her cage. The next few seconds are a blur of flying fur, growls, and hisses. Mr. Biscuit nearly knocks me on my ass in hot pursuit of Eddie. Eddie greets him with a snap of her teeth and a paw to the face before darting down the hall. He runs after her, undeterred by her beating. Celia and I giggle, until we hear a crash coming from my bedroom. Celia’s eyes widen, and I race after them. “I’ll just set up Eddie’s litterbox while you wrangle the kiddos,” Celia calls out, sounding like she doesn’t have a care in the world. “Yeah, sure, leave me with the vicious beasts,” I mutter as I round the corner into my bedroom. Eddie’s perched on top of my windowsill, back arched, fur standing on end, with sounds reminiscent of a bobcat brewing in her belly. Mr. Biscuit, on the other hand, barks and jumps in glee, trying to entice the cat to play with him. I imagine the meeting would be like Freddy Krueger playing with Mary Poppins, so I squat down and scratch Mr. Biscuit behind the ears to distract him. I’m on my ass, French kissing a dog before I know what hit me. “Cut it out, ya big bully,” I grumbled, wiping the drips of slobber from my face. I roll onto all fours and crawl toward the adjoining bathroom. Before I reach the door, I feel Mr. Biscuit fast on my heels. I scramble faster, but he launches his front paws onto my back and commences to humping. “Aw, hell no, you perv,” I holler, swatting him off me and continuing to the bathroom. I find a hand towel under the sink, tie it into a knot, and throw it in his direction. His teeth clamp down on the washcloth, and he forgets all about the licking and humping, thank God. I exhale a breath and look toward the window, huffing when I see Eddie curled in a ball, fast asleep. “Throw me to the wolves, why don’t ya? We girls have to stick together,” I grumble, but she doesn’t budge. A shrill whistle comes from the front of the house, and Mr. Biscuit drops the washcloth and takes off. “What the—” I get up off the floor, and head to the front of the house. Before I make it out of the bedroom, I hear Mr. Biscuit growling and barking. “Call your damn dog off before he takes a hunk out of my calf.” I know that voice … oh shit…



Ever JEB AND I lock up the restaurant after a busy dinner shift, and I have every intention of heading to my apartment and crashing so I can get to the market early tomorrow. We’re teaming up with Tommy Nguyen for an Asian/Cajun fusion menu, and we’ve got a ton of prep work to do before we open up shop. I get in the car and turn the ignition, and then sit there. Jeb backs up and sees my hesitation and cracks an imaginary whip in the air, laughing. I give him the appropriate finger salute as he drives away. I know I should go home, but I can’t make my car drive in that direction. To my matchbox apartment, all alone, with the pulsating walls, always moments away from closing in on me. That place is so damn stifling. My mind flickers to Low—feet tangled in her sheets, back arched, just begging for me to undress and slide in behind her. There’s no choice. No contest. I throw the car in reverse and head in the direction of her house. When I get to Low’s, there’s a car in the driveway I don’t recognize, but I park on the side of the road, undeterred. We’d agreed we were the real deal. She told me she was in this with me, and I’m not one to hide. I secretly hope it’s a friend of hers, so we can start pushing our relationship into the light of day. That’s been the plan all along, so tonight will start the ball rolling. I bound up the steps and rap twice on the front door, resisting the urge to let myself in. I hope to have an extra key in my pocket soon. Who am I kidding, how about an entirely new address? Nothing would make me happier than giving notice to my piece of shit landlord and moving in with Low. One step at a time. The door swings open just as I raise my hand to knock a second time, and I’m greeted by a wispyhaired, wide-eyed, blonde girl who hits me right about my chest. She’s tiny … pint-sized … and shooting me a skeptical glare. I give her my best grin and extend my hand. She just stares at it, arms crossed, body blocking the door. “Hey, I’m Ever. Is Low here?” I ask, peering over her shoulder. She inches the door closed, blocking my view, and I bite back the irritation. I drop the hand she never saw fit to shake and raise my eyebrows. “Do we have a problem here?” I sound like a dick, but this girl is acting like she’s the gatekeeper to the house I’ve been crashing at

more often than not these days. It sucks to get off on the wrong foot like this, but shit. “I don’t know. Do we have a problem?” she asks, and I toss my hands up in the air. “Who, exactly, are you, and why haven’t I seen you before?” “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m an old friend of Marlo’s. We go way back.” “Marlo doesn’t have old friends.” “And yet here I stand.” We eye each other in a silent stand-off, and I refuse to back down. She’s searching for something as she examines every inch of me with a distrustful eye, but I’m not sure what. “Open the door,” I spit out. My tone is harsh and demanding, my aggravation seeping into my words. And she’s no longer searching. She’s found what she was looking for, and she doesn’t like it at all. She reaches back and grabs the doorknob as she glares at me. “If you think for one second I’ll let you hurt her again, you’re wrong. She may not have pressed charges then, but the statute of limitations is far. From. Up.” She digs her finger into my chest, punctuating each word. “Now leave.” Her words don’t sink in at first, and, when they do, a shot of adrenaline bursts through my system, rushing through my veins, crackling through to my fingers as they curl into steely fists. Press charges? Statute of limitations? What in the hell is going on? I step toward the door, my fury and utter confusion blocking the blonde from vision, my only thought being Low, Low, Low. “What? Where in the hell is she?” I holler. I feel a shove, and then a shrill whistle penetrating my throbbing head. I step forward again, but a piercing pain shoots up my leg before I make it to the door. I look down to find a small dog attached to my calf, snarling like he’s a bloodhound on a manhunt. I try to shake him loose, but he’s locked on and ready for the ride as I fling my foot back and forth. “Call your damn dog off before he takes a hunk out of my calf,” I grunt as I hold onto the doorframe for balance. “What the hell?” I hear Marlo’s voice from inside the house, although I have no recollection of the door reopening. “Ever?” “I’m calling the cops now, Marlo. Stay back,” the blonde bitch hollers over her shoulder as she fiddles with her phone. “The cops? Celia, what the hell are you doing? Get Mr. Biscuit off him!” Marlo rushes past her and grabs the dog by the collar. “Down boy! Get down.” The dog’s jaws finally unlock, and I let out a sigh of relief. Then confusion sets in … followed closely by a gnawing sense of dread.



Marlo EVER DOESN’T EVEN flinch when I pour antiseptic in the gouges Mr. Biscuit carved into his leg. He watches me with a look I can’t decipher. Or maybe I don’t want to. As I try to focus on cleaning his gnarly wound, the possibility of Celia saying too much hovers around us all. “Did I say I was really sorry?” Celia whispers, shrinking back, doing a damn fine job of fading into the background. “You mentioned it,” Ever grinds out. “Maybe I’ll be more likely to accept it once my leg stops throbbing.” Celia lets out a tiny squeak and raises her shoulders to her ears. I turn my attention back to the leg … that happens to be attached to Ever … the man drilling holes in my head with his eyes. “I’m just gonna…” Celia says, pointing to the door and slowly edging that way. “Cain and I are leaving pretty early tomorrow.” I nod my head and give her a shaky smile. She shuffles to the door, but stops when I call out to her. “Good looking out. I didn’t think you had it in you. Never thought a fairy could be so vicious,” I say as she beams. I see Ever scowling in my peripheral vision. “In a totally unnecessary way, though. Maybe ask more questions next time?” She nods and looks back at Ever. “Sorry again. And Mr. Biscuit is up to date on his rabies shot, in case you were—” “Good to know,” Ever growls under his breath. “And congrats on,” she says, pointing between the two of us with a hopeful smile, “whatever’s going on here. Yay!” She raises her fists in the air in celebration, then slowly lowers them at our lack of response, her smile faltering. She points to the door again, and hightails it after kissing Mr. Biscuit goodbye. She’s too focused on getting the hell out of dodge to worry about Eddie at this point. The door shuts behind her, leaving a thick blanket of silence over the room, other than the occasional doggie scratch or clink of Mr. Biscuit’s collar. It’s a loaded type of silence—the type that, with a single shot, will turn into a hail of gunfire and wreckage. Ever rests his hand over my arm, fingers wrapping around and squeezing gently, stopping me from dressing his wound. “Marlo … who hurt you?” The first shot, and it hits me square in the chest. My face pinches at the thought of what he’s asking. I

mash my lips together and fight against the onslaught—the emotion, the tears, the motherfucking shame. God, I thought I was over this all-consuming shame, but the mere thought of telling Ever my deepest secret has it creeping up from the grave where it’s so deeply buried. Crawling out of the depths of my heart. I shake my head, trying to knock my thoughts loose, and shove away his hand. I lay down the bandages and run my fingers along the seams, sealing the wound shut from outside dirt and germs. I’m meticulous, inspecting my work, picking up the bandage wrappers and used cotton balls. Anything and everything to avoid Ever’s gaze. He pushes my hands away and lowers his tattered pant leg. When I turn around, he grabs me by the shoulders and pulls me in between his legs. One of his hands push into my lower back, keeping me close. The other brushes my cheek and wraps around my neck. The confusion and fear brimming in his eyes causes me to close mine. No escape. Nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide. “Who. Hurt. You?” I shove away from him and step back before he can grab me again. I’m in the living room and down the hallway before he grabs my arm. “It doesn’t matter anymore,” I say, slipping into my armor with little effort. “There’s no reason to dredge up the past.” I swipe at dirty laundry littered around my bedroom, collecting my mess in the crook of my arm, a woman on a mission. On the surface, the goal is to clean up my pigsty of a room, but the true mission is to tune out Ever and get back control of this situation. “Don’t do this.” “Do what?” He hovers in the doorway, arms crossed, blocking my exit. Mr. Biscuit hops gleefully at his feet, begging for attention—what a difference a few minutes makes. Edna lets out a garbling hiss from the windowsill. “I see you shutting down right before my eyes, Low. Put down the clothes and look at me.” I turn my back and place the pile on top of the rocking chair in the corner. I rise up, but don’t turn around. I want to blink my eyes and erase the last thirty minutes. I want to go back to Moelle this morning, when Ever looked at me with hunger and love. He’ll never look at me that way again. If I pull off this final mask, this protective facade, all the shame and dirt and ugliness will be written across my face in indelible ink. I’ll be a transparent pane of glass, smudges and fingerprints on full display. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to,” I whisper, head lowered, eyes squeezed shut. “Please.” I hear his approach, but still flinch when he wraps an arm across my chest and drops his forehead to my shoulder. “You don’t get to hide from me, Low. Not anymore.” He presses his lips to my pulse, and a shudder runs through me. “Who hurt you, baby?” A tear falls down my cheek as I grab onto his forearm, digging my nails into his skin. His gentle words break me, and I draw in a deep breath before tearing down the walls with my confession. “H-h-he drugged me. I don’t remember much.” The words feel like battery acid, crawling up my throat and pouring past my lips like the most potent poison. I swallow back the burn and clench my eyes shut. I silently wish I didn’t remember a thing. Not one damn thing. Ever’s arm gets tighter, and he drops his forehead back to my shoulder. His breath sounds raw and ragged. His body rigid and tense. “Much of what?” I shake my head as the tears roll unchecked. The gravel in his voice gets thicker with each question,

and I feel as if we’re falling into a pit of quicksand. A sob breaks loose from me as Ever sweeps an arm under my knees and carries me to the bed. He cradles me as I bury my head in his neck, afraid to look him in the eyes. Terrified of what I’ll see. “Did he hit you?” he asks, running a soothing hand over my unruly hair. His touch is gentle and loving, warring with the feel of his body, as he struggles to be what I need. I shake my head into his neck and whisper, “Not that kind of hurt.” A strangled cry erupts from his throat, vibrating against my cheek. He pulls me in tighter, crushing me to him, as if he’s trying to protect me from what happened long, long ago. “Fuck, fuck.” He presses his lips to the top of my head and leaves them there. I feel his lips trembling on my scalp as he tries to hold it together. At the same time, I give up the useless fight and fall apart. I clutch his shirt in my fists and twist, holding on with all my might as I cry. “It happened … it happened back then, didn’t it?” he asks, as he lays us down on the bed, side by side, forehead to forehead. Looking into his eyes, I see confusion, anger, and unimaginable sorrow. For a moment, I think back to that night in the dorm when he’d lost his brother. It seems horrifically fitting that he’ll lose someone else today. The question is, will it be me or Remy? God, what will I do if it’s me? I don’t know if I can survive it a second time. I nod, and his head sags as his face crumbles. It’s my hurt, but I’ve been living with it for the last eight years. I’ve had time to let it settle in and fester, becoming more like a dull ache rather than a piercing, allencompassing pain. I slide my fingers through Ever’s hair, knowing this revelation is like a baseball bat to the face. His eyelids slowly open, tears swimming as he watches me. “It’s why you left, wasn’t it?” He pulls me into his neck, one arm at my waist and the other cradling my head, bracing for the answer he already knows. “Yes,” I whisper. “Yes, that’s why I left.” “Fuck,” he cries, his voice strangled, the truth after all these years feeling like a torrential downpour of anguish, but somehow bittersweet. Whatever the outcome, however it all ends, there’s nothing left to hide. Instead of feeling dirty and exposed, I feel free. “Who was it, Low? Who in the hell did this to you?” And just like that, the fear creeps back, smothering any feeling of relief from before. This is it. Right here, right now, it’s either the beginning … or the end. “It was … it was Remy.” His body goes rigid, my words delivering a crushing blow, one more on top of a litany of gut punches. He recovers, more quickly than I would have imagined possible, cradling me, kissing my head, grasping at my clothes to get me as close as he possibly can. “I’m so sorry … I’m so sorry … I’m so sorry,” he whispers like a healing chant, like his words can wash away all the bad. And maybe, just maybe they can. I clutch onto him just as tightly, relief flooding through my veins, fear seeping away with every kiss. “Just don’t let go,” I whisper. “Please, just don’t let go.” I feel the shake of his head on top of mine as he releases a strangled breath. “Never.” He pulls away and meets my eyes, expression steely. “You hear me? Never.” My eyes drift closed as he whispers promises and declarations, my heart wrung out and full all at the same time. So many tears … so many emotions… so many years. Can one night wash it all away? When I wake in the morning, Ever is gone.



Marlo FIVE TEXT MESSAGES, three voicemails, and more calls than I care to admit, and Ever is a fucking ghost. I sit in the middle of my disheveled bed, completely dumbfounded, fisting the note he must have scribbled before he left. That man and his goddamn notes. “Well, what did he say, Jeb? I can’t imagine he left his restaurant behind and just vanished,” I say, irritated, exhausted, and downright pissed. After everything that had happened last night, after all I’d shared with him, to wake up to an empty bed feels like a slap in the face. Last night was so freeing—like a year’s worth of therapy crammed into one gut-wrenching conversation. But now, the morning after, I sit here alone and lost. How can he just walk away … again? “First of all, Cruella, Moelle is not his restaurant, it’s our restaurant, and I’m perfectly capable of running this place on my own,” he says with a dejected sniff, the sound of clanging pots in the background. “Well, with the help of some guest chefs, but that’s beside the point. I lined these guys up within hours, because I’m a rockstar restauranteur. Turns out a guest appearance at Moelle is a much coveted position.” I groan and fall back onto my pillows, exasperated. Eddie takes that as an invitation to curl into my side and purr. I give her a little scratch behind the ears, and she swipes at me when I stop. After several failed attempts, Mr. Biscuit finally jumps on the bed and settles in on the side opposite of Eddie. Well, I guess I’m not alone anymore… “Not important right now, Jeb. You know I think you’re great,” I say, hearing a mumbled, “Fucking skippy,” through the phone. “What did Ever say when he called you?” “He only said there was something he had to do right away. That there was no way around it, and I needed to cover for him. I said I would, because I know my boy, and he’d never take off if he didn’t have a good reason. He lives and breathes this place … well, and you, of course. You and Moelle are his top priorities,” he says, matter-of-factly, then stops. “Hold on, there’s nothing wrong here, so I know that’s not the issue. So this has got to be about you. What the hell happened, Low?” I let out a frustrated sigh, not excited in the least about Jeb turning the questions around on me. I pinch the bridge of my nose, wishing this throbbing behind my eyes would just let up. “Let’s just say the shit finally hit the fan. I thought we were good. I mean, really good, when we fell asleep last night, but then I woke up to him gone and this fucking note.” I raise the fist holding the note in the air and shake it, cursing the paper it’s written on.

I hate leaving you, but there’s something I have to do. I love you, Low. So fucking much. “Honestly, who really knows? I love him like a brother, you know that, but he can be a broody motherfucker when he wants to be. I know you don’t want to hear it, but you may have to wait this one out. Let him do what he’s gonna do and see where the chips fall.” The clanging gets louder, and I hear shouting in the background as I let out a frustrated groan. “Look, I need to run, Low. Keep me updated, yeah? And I’ll do the same.” “Sure,” I say, then call out to him before he hangs up. “You don’t think he would … he wouldn’t take any drugs, would he?” “Hold on,” he says, and I hear his muffled orders as he presumably covers the phone on his end, then it gets quiet. “Sorry, I had to step away. Look, I guess there’s always a chance, but I just don’t see it. He’s solid, Low, and I mean that. Just … have some faith and give him some time. I don’t know what’s going on, since you haven’t told me, but I know Ever. He’ll get through whatever this is.” When I think of the man I know now, I tend to agree with Jeb. He’ll get though this. But the question is, will we? “Thank you so much for watching our babies. Cain refuses to kennel Mr. Biscuit, and Eddie is persona non grata at the boarders,” Celia says as she gathers up her pet supplies. “The boarder won’t take her?” Celia shakes her head and shrugs. “Something about her incessant hissing and howling affecting the calming atmosphere for the other animals. Messing with the doggie milieu, if you can believe it. Eddie’s just … easily excitable.” That’s a nice way to put it. “Well, I have to admit, they weren’t all that terrible. Definitely better than I thought they would be, after their exciting entrance,” I mutter with a smirk. “Um, Marlo, why does Mr. Biscuit have his ThunderShirt on?” “Turns out my presence isn’t soothing enough for the hound. He wore that damned ThunderShirt the entire weekend.” “Oh my,” Celia whispers, as she crouches down to pet her frazzled dog. “I can’t imagine why I’d be a ball of nerves this weekend, can you, Celia?” Celia sighs and stands up, shoulders slumped. “I guess it’s time to pay the piper,” she says, looking away guiltily. “I’m sorry for making such a scene Friday night. I thought … well, it doesn’t matter what I thought, since I was obviously wrong. It was my mistake, and I apologize.” “You’re forgiven,” I say, not making her sweat it for even a second. While it sucks the way it all went down, Celia had given me the shove off the cliff I’d desperately needed. No matter how things turn out, I’m glad everything is out in the open with Ever. Celia nods, then purses her lips and narrows her eyes. “So … who is he? I thought he was the bad guy from your past, but I was obviously mistaken.” “Yeah, you most definitely were. Well, you know there’s usually a good guy and a bad guy in every fairytale. He’s the good guy … or at least I think he is now. Back then, he was the lost guy, but that’s a story for another day.” “Hmmm … this is interesting,” Celia says, circling me, arms crossed with a finger to her lips. “My pessimistic friend, just referenced her fairytale life. I think I may pass out from the shock.” “Hold on—” “Bup, bup, bup,” Celia interrupts with a shake of her finger. “Just let me enjoy this moment. Let me

savor the glitter and rainbows.” “Christ,” I mutter under my breath, cursing myself for saying too much. “Don’t get all broody with me, Marlo Rivers. That man is F-I-N-E, fine,” she says with a girly squeal, and I cringe at the sound. “He’s the reason spayed kitties howl. It’s not about the babies … It’s all about the boom boom.” “Okay, stop right there. You are dangerously close to killing me with the girly talk. D-E-A-D, dead,” I say, as she giggles, her tiny body vibrating with excitement. “Girl, you are too much.” Before she can respond, both of our phones start ringing. I grab mine first, seeing the main hospital line blinking on the screen. I know it’s my manager, going through the employee list, asking for help. “Sorry Shonda, I can’t pick up overtime today. I’ve got a lot going on at home right now.” “Hey Caroline, what’s up?” I hear Celia say beside me. “Marlo, this is Evie from the emergency room. I have you as the SANE nurse on call this weekend. Is that right?” “Oh, hey Evie. Sorry about that—I thought you were my manager on labor and delivery. Yes, you’re right, I’m on call. What’s up?” As Evie continues talking, I meet Celia’s gaze and know she’s receiving the same information. We both gather our things, including Eddie and Mr. Biscuit, and head for the door. It looks like it’s going to be a long day.



Marlo EVIE GREETS US at the entrance of the ER and brings us into the nurses’ station before handing us a file. “Laurel Breaux, age 25, married and living with her husband in the condos on Hebert Street. She went out for her usual morning run, and kissed her husband goodbye in the parking lot when she got back— regular weekly basketball game. The guy walked right in. She must have forgotten to lock the door before she went upstairs to take a shower, she says. He pulled her out of the shower by her hair and roughed her up a bit. Wore a mask the entire time. He pushed her to her knees and tried to make her perform oral—” Evie stops and mashes her lips together. She inhales deep and blows it out slowly, shaking her head. “Anyway, she was crying too much and had started screaming, so he gave up on that idea and covered her mouth instead. He raped her … he did not use a condom … and I’m hoping you two can keep it together for her better than I can, because I’m a damned mess.” Evie’s eyes flood with tears, and Celia grabs her hand. “Now you know better than that, Evie. Compassion for your patients is what makes you a great nurse. There’s nothing wrong with that.” Evie nods and tries to pull herself together as Celia looks behind her. “Where is she? Is her husband with her?” Evie shakes her head. “He’s in the back hallway with the police. They’re just having a preliminary discussion. No one has questioned the victim yet. They called in one of the female detectives on the force, in an effort to make Laurel more comfortable.” “Good call,” I mumble, although I know nothing will be of much comfort to Laurel today. Or for a very long while, for that matter. “Ready?” Celia asks, and I nod, knowing I’ll never be fully ready for what’s behind that curtain, but pulling it together, anyway, for Laurel. “Do I have to talk to the police?” Laurel asks, her voice shaking as she clenches her eyes shut. “I don’t think I can do it.” Her dark hair is clumped and matted on top of the pillow, still partially wet after being dragged from the shower. Her hands fist into her sheet, her scratched and bloody knuckles on full display—defensive wounds. Her lip hasn’t stopped trembling since we walked in. Celia had taken the lead when we’d approached Laurel, as she often does, comforting her and doing

her therapist gig. My certifications qualify me to counsel rape victims, too, but my talents in that respect pale in comparison to Celia. I don’t know how she does it, but she knows when to be strong and when to let go and cry with her patients. Today, she cried. I take a step closer to the bed and sit in the chair beside Celia. Laurel pins me with her hollow gaze, the life and fight sucked right out of her. For a long time, today will define her. I imagine that, like me, it will always be a part of her in some small way; but hopefully one day, it’ll become a footnote rather than the main story. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, Laurel. You can be treated and walk out of here, if that’s what you want. But I’d like to talk to you about collecting some samples, taking a few photos,” I say, and she’s shaking her head violently before I finish. “Nothing has to come of it, I promise, if that’s what you want. The evidence can be filed, and that’s all, if you decide you don’t want to press charges. But what if you change your mind in a month, six months, a year? This evidence can only be collected now. I don’t want you to make an irreversible decision today. Will you just think about it? Only Celia and I will be in the room.” “Honey?” The curtain pulls open, and a man, presumably Laurel’s husband, steps inside. He rushes to the bed, grabs her hand, and lays a hard kiss on the inside of her wrist. She pulls him closer and buries her head in his chest as he runs a soothing hand down her back. His face crumbles as Laurel releases a muffled sob. After gaining some semblance of composure, he nods at both of us. “I’m William, Laurel’s husband. Are you the rape counselors?” “Yes,” Celia says with a gentle smile. “I’m Celia Lemaire, and I’m a therapist. This is Marlo Rivers, and she’s a SANE nurse.” William shoots me a curious look, so I explain. “Mr. Breaux, I’m here to help Celia in any way I can, and also to perform Laurel’s medical examination. She’s experienced unimaginable things today, and I’m so sorry for that. I can promise you, I’ll do my best to assess her physical injuries in a way that I don’t add to that trauma needlessly, while also obtaining necessary evidence should she decide to press charges,” I explain. Laurel is shaking her head before I even finish. “No, please, William. I don’t want to press charges.” He pulls away and cradles her face. “Honey, why? Whoever did this needs to pay,” he spits out, his voice cracking with emotion. “I can’t,” she sobs, fisting his shirt in her hands. “Everyone will look at me and know. Know the disgusting things he did to me.” She tries to shove her head into his neck again, but he stops her. “Look at me, Laurel. You have nothing to be ashamed of. You did nothing wrong, and when I look at you, I see the bravest woman I’ve ever known. Don’t you hide—from me or anyone else. You hear me?” I take Laurel’s silence to mean she’s thinking it over, and move on to the next sensitive topic. “Since your attacker didn’t use a condom, pregnancy may be a concern. The morning after pill is available to you, should you choose to take it, Laurel. I want you to know, there’s no right or wrong answer, here, and should you opt to take the pill, I’ll go over all the side effects of the medication with you.” “We’ve been…” William starts, and then looks down at Laurel. “We’ve been trying to get pregnant. What if she’s … what if she’s already—” I nod and give him a reassuring smile. “One of the tests I’ll perform will be a pregnancy test. If it’s positive, we’ll know Laurel was pregnant prior to the attack, and you would be the father. If Laurel’s attack resulted in pregnancy, we wouldn’t know that for a while yet.” They huddle together, him powerful and protective, and her, weak and battered, but far from dead.

She’ll get through this, and she’ll borrow from William’s strength until she replenishes her own. It’s not always this way—not everyone knows how to be what their partners need. As I watch them clinging to each other in grief, I wonder about the chance I didn’t give Ever to stand by me all those years ago. Would he have rushed to my side, or was he too lost to see anything past his own pain? Could I have been the wake-up call he’d needed, years earlier? I shake my thoughts away, knowing “what-ifs” only fester and burn. Nothing good comes from dwelling on what will never be. “Can we have some time to discuss things in private, please?” William asks, and Celia and I stand. “Of course, take all the time you need. We’ll be here,” Celia says. We’re halfway to the nurses’ station when a gut wrenching cry erupts from behind the curtain. She’s letting go, giving the pain to him. I only pray that William can take it. The sun lowers behind orange and purple tinged clouds as Celia and I trudge through the hospital parking lot. A vending machine sandwich and Doritos toss in my stomach like a wayward bowling ball. It’s a far cry from the shrimp and grits of yesterday, but desperate times and all that. At the six-hour mark, Celia and I had to forage for food. It had been a long day, but we’d made great progress in Laurel’s case. After a long conversation with William, she had agreed to be examined and allowed me to collect samples for the police department. With both Celia and her husband at her side, she had given a statement to the police, and, with any luck, my samples will yield a DNA sample of her rapist. The day had been a struggle, to say the least, but Laurel took the first step today. That’s all anyone can ask of her. Laurel also had opted to take the morning after pill when her lab results indicated she was not pregnant at this time. That decision had seemed to be the hardest for the Breauxs. They’d cried about it, they’d prayed about it, then had decided together what they’d thought was best. It twists me inside out that the decision had to be made at all. “Does it ever get any easier? Celia asks, as she comes to a stop by her car. “When it does, then it’s time to walk away. That should never be easy. If it is, then you’re doing it wrong.” She nods and presses her lips into a thin line. “I know you make fun of my glitter … and rainbows … and happily-ever-afters, but at least in fairytales, the good guys always win. I need to believe in the dream, so the reality of all of this,” she says, throwing her hands up and waving them in the air, “doesn’t suck the life right out of me.” I chuckle as I dig my keys out of my purse. “Yeah, real life has a way of kicking you right in the kidneys, the bastard.” I turn away to leave, but Celia calls out to me. “Do you think if your ‘good guy’ had been by your side that day … do you think you would have pressed charges?” I frown, a twinge of regret tickling the back of my brain. I hate the myriad of possibilities flooding my mind. “Damn, what a loaded question,” I say, running a tense hand down my face. “It pisses me off to admit it—makes me feel less than, for some reason I can’t pinpoint, but I think the answer is yes.” “It’s not weak to lean on others, Marlo. You know that.” “Logically, I absolutely do. And I had support back then, but it wasn’t from him. It wasn’t really his fault since I never even tried to tell him back then. But I don’t think much would have changed if I had— he was just as broken and probably more lost than I was.” I groan and throw my head back in frustration. “And I’ll be damned if that doesn’t piss me off, too. Who does that? Who gets angry at someone for the choice he never got to make?” “Maybe you never called him because you were afraid of how his reaction would have affected you,”

Celia prompts, and I scowl at her therapy-ese. “Maybe, but I can’t live in the ‘would haves’ and ‘should haves.’ All we have is the present and the future, and all my cards are on the table, face up. Exposed. Let’s see what happens now,” I say, pulling out my phone and lighting up the screen. “Because an early morning exit and no missed calls or texts all day isn’t looking promising.” Celia shoots me a sympathetic smile, but it feels more like pity to me. I want to slam my phone into the concrete, curse Ever for making me doubt the raw surrender I’d felt take over every part of me just last night. I’d bared my soul, and he’d walked away with the flimsiest of excuses. I need to understand where his head is to know if his heart is still with me. I climb into the driver’s seat and gulp a shuddering breath. I keep thinking of his promise … praying he’ll come through. Give me more of a chance than you think I deserve, so I can prove you wrong. Here’s your chance, Ever. Here’s your last chance…



Ever “IF YOU DON’T stop taking out your anger on our dinner, we’ll have ground beef instead of steaks for dinner, young man,” Mom fusses as she lays a hand on my wrist. I look down at the butcher’s block and realize she’s right. These steaks aren’t tenderized, they’re macerated. I wince and shrug as I place the mallet on the counter. “Looks like I went a bit overboard.” “You think so?” She raises an eyebrow and smirks. I look into her hazel eyes, more green than blue today, and crystal clear. Easton and I got our eyes from her, instead of the dark chocolate of my father. I see the oversized wedding ring still sitting on her finger, a reminder of the man she can’t seem to part with completely. Regardless of the ostentatious ring, she has retired her stuffy suits and five-inch heels in favor of blue jeans and stylish boots. Her newer outfits are much more practical for chasing my little cousin, Adeline, around the courtyard. “Sorry about that. The marinade will make up for it, I promise.” I release a pent up sigh and refocus on the food. As regret, anger, and unbelievable sorrow swirl around me, cooking feels like the one thing I can control. My emotions feel like a shot gun, the spray clipping everything in its path. I’m angry at myself for being a worthless piece of shit back when Low had needed me the most. I’m furious with my father for the way he’d handled my mother … me … Easton. And I’m downright murderous about Remy. I would have already confronted him if I wasn’t afraid I’d kill him on sight. Old and familiar hurts swirl with fresh wounds, and I’m left reeling. “You didn’t say much at the cemetery today,” she prompts, and then continues when I don’t respond. “That’s not like you, Ever. You always talk East’s ear off. Then and now.” “Yeah.” I give her a humorless chuckle. “I just wasn’t feeling like it today.” She giggles as she pulls the makings of a salad out of the fridge. “From the time you discovered your voice box as a baby, you never gave him a moment’s peace. And he loved it. He’d watch you like the sun and moon rose in your ass.” “It did,” I joked. “Right.” She laughs and brushes her fingers through my hair, pretending to fix it as her gentle eyes run over my features. “For Easton, that’s the God’s honest truth. You’d prattle on about every single thing, and he’d soak it all in with the biggest smile on his face. But today you held back. Why, son?” I place both palms on the counter and hang my head. I keep an ongoing conversation with Easton in my

mind all the time, not just when I visit his grave. Talking to my brother is the most natural thing in the world to me—more instinctive than breathing. No matter how many years he’s gone, I doubt that will ever change. It sounds crazy to some, but not even death can severe the bond between us. But I’ve been silent for days, and for good reason. “It’s important to me that the decisions I make, the man I am, honors East. I want to make him proud in everything I do, because, in a way, I’m his legacy.” I turn my head, cheeks burning, unable to meet my mom’s gaze. “I had nothing to say today, because, for the first time in a long time, I’m ashamed.” Her face crumbles as she wraps an arm around my waist, squeezing me tightly as she shakes her head. “What in the world are you talking about, Ever? You’re a good man, a hard worker, a loving son. Why would you say that?” I search her eyes for an ounce of rebuke, but come up empty. I find nothing but understanding, and I can’t hold it in a second longer. I feel like an overstretched helium balloon, ready to pop from the pressure of the past … of my mistakes. So I tell her everything I’d learned from Marlo. I confess how the sins of my past ruined more lives than I had realized. I tell her about Marlo—the girl I’d loved back then and the woman I tried to win back. I confess how I left her … again. Yes, I came here to face the demons of our past, but I’m not sure Marlo will see it that way. She listens without judgment, expression open and caring, fingers laced with mine. It’s easier than I thought it would be to admit these things to her. I think it’s a testament to the current state of our relationship. It may have taken many tragedies and missteps, but I believe my mom and I have finally reached the point of unconditional love. Most mother-son relationships start there—we took the scenic route. “She sounds like a beautiful, strong woman. You’re very lucky,” she says with a smile, and squeezes my hand. “And so is she.” I scoff and shake my head. “Yeah, she’s real lucky. I’m partly responsible for one of the darkest times in her life.” “There’s a big difference between the neglect of a boy and the malice of a man. You don’t have a malicious bone in your body.” I nod, giving her that. No, my actions weren’t malicious, but tell that to the eighteen-year-old girl who had been attacked while I’d ignored her and pushed her away. I’d drowned myself in pills and never gave her a second thought. That doesn’t exactly sound like a man who deserves redemption. “How can she ever forgive me?” I ask, praying for an answer that means I can have her. We can’t have made it this far only to lose again. “Sometimes I think I’m crazy for thinking I can have it all … have her. Maybe we’re like an old bicycle in the back of the garage. We keep trying to pick up where we left off, but we can’t. The gears are too stiff and rusted. We’re something to admire, but nothing that could ever work.” “Never underestimate another person’s ability to love … and forgive. You’re the perfect example.” She laughs when my face scrunches in question. “How in God’s name were you able to forgive me after the hell I put you … our entire family through? How were you able to accept me back into your life?” Her eyes brim with unshed tears, and I squeeze her closer. “You’re not that person anymore. You were sick, Mom.” “And you’re not that broken eighteen-year-old boy anymore, either. You’ve changed, become someone who makes all of us proud.” She taps my side gently and shakes her head. “Not to mention, the bulk of the blame isn’t yours to accept. Deep down I think you know that.” At her words, the simmer in my gut switches to a hearty boil, the mere allusion of Remy making me see red. I keep replaying all the snide comments, ugly sneers, and questionable actions that had seemed suspect then, but now feel like the word “guilty” tattooed on Remy’s forehead for anyone who’d cared enough to look. I had foolishly pushed away my gut instinct and carried on.

God, what a damned fool I’d been. “Yeah, that’s the next stop on this little trip home. I honestly don’t know how I’m going to resist the urge to lunge across the table and rip his throat out,” I say through gritted teeth. When I see her resigned expression, I shake my head furiously. “Do not say one word about forgiveness when we’re talking about Remy, Mom, or I will lose my shit. Some people don’t deserve forgiveness.” “You’re absolutely right.” She nods, her lips pressed in a thin line. “He doesn’t deserve your forgiveness, and he most certainly doesn’t deserve Marlo’s. But the two of you deserve peace. After all this time, I want you to be at peace, Ever.” “I thought I was … until this. Now I don’t know how to go on from here.” I reach for the marinade brush and bowl, but she stops me before I get very far. She takes the brush from my fingers and places it on the counter. Maneuvering between me and the counter, she grips me by the shoulders. “I’ve spent nearly two decades of my life tormenting myself and everyone around me, so trust me when I say I know what I’m talking about. There comes a time in life where you make the decision to either nurture the pain … or let it go. One is much more gratifying than the other.” She places her palms on my face and draws me closer, kissing my cheek hard. “Say what you have to say to him, and then let it go. Then help Marlo do the same—whatever that means for her. It could mean pressing charges, or maybe not. Only she has that answer. Whatever she needs to live free and easy, you help her do that, you hear me?” “Yeah, Ma, I hear you.”



Ever I SLIDE MY license back into my wallet and empty my pockets into one of the silver bowls sitting on the counter. I don’t have anything of consequence, as I’m well-versed in the rules and regulations of this place. After enduring the usual pat down and metal detectors, all while my nerves zing and crackle beneath my skin, I’m ushered forward as the metal bars sound and then roll open. I step into the cavernous hallway, the sound of my shoes ricocheting off the cinder blocks, and a shiver runs down my spine as I think: This could have been me. Not long after I’d gotten clean, Remy was arrested with three bricks of marijuana and enough crystal meth to blow up a city block. This significant offense turned into serious jail time when the stupid fuck had decided to cross state lines. He probably could have sung for the cops and reduced his sentence, but he knew he wouldn’t last a week in prison if he snitched. So the judge handed down twenty years, and since Remy does a shit job of keeping his nose clean, I don’t expect he’ll be out a day sooner than that. Shit, he could very well get time added on for bad behavior, and I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised. I enter the visiting area and grab a chair at one of the empty tables, ignoring the mini family reunions popping up all around me, keeping my eyes trained on the door. I lie in wait, ready, fucking hungry for Remy to walk through the entrance and sit across from me. The restless energy courses through my body in the form of ticks and flinches. I open and close my fists, shake them out, and wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans, over and over again. I crack my neck and try to loosen my clenched jaw. The longer I wait, the more enraged I become, the thrumming in my ears going from a faint whoosh to a loud roar, blocking out all rational thought. My blood creeps through my veins like battery acid the more I think of Remy being within ten feet of Low. Moments, looks, conversations between us speed through my brain on a continuous loop of “What the hell?” and “How could I have been so foolish?” Perspective is a funny thing … what I’ve always known as fact is now fluid and malleable. Black is white, up is down, and Remy is, always has been, my enemy. The betrayal burns deep. Damn, I need to get it together, and quick. I clench my eyes shut and battle to keep my temper in check. I think of Marlo … her soft curls … her silver tongue … and that round, perfect ass. My lip quirks up into a semi-smile when I think of spanking her, and I want to kiss the scowl off her pretty face. I think of how far we’ve come … her words of love. I need you, Ever. I love it when you call me Low. As long as you stay.

As long as you stay. As long as you stay… As if I could ever leave her. My body relaxes, if only slightly, and I unfurl my hands in my lap. I can rage in the parking lot like an unhinged lunatic when this is over. I need to keep my barely contained cool for now. I feel his eyes on me before I actually see him, so I look up and meet his gaze. He looks the same as always—standard issue coveralls, limp and greasy overgrown hair, and deeply grooved pockmarks along the hollows of his cheeks. The ever-present pity I usually feel is replaced with searing hatred. My lip curls before I get a hold on my expression, and Remy lowers himself in the chair across from me. I keep my face stoic, my eyes void of emotion, and watch. I study him and wonder how in the hell did I miss it? How could I have been so blind to who this man is, deep down to his filthy soul? His expression changes, morphs into stone, with the slightest tinge of a smirk tugging at his lips. His eyes are hungry and black in a way that would be a sure sign of being high in most people. In Remy’s case, it’s just another indication of the soulless man he is. “You know,” he whispers, and I swear, the bastard looks gleeful. He looks like a cat playing with his prey. The sick, demented bastard is enjoying this. I say nothing. Not one word. I don’t trust myself to speak, afraid anything I say will swiftly turn into action, mainly my fingers wrapping around his scrawny neck and squeezing every bit of life out of him. Feeling his pulse slow, then stop, under the pressure of my palm would feel cathartic … the best kind of karma. I can’t erase what he did to Marlo, but I can make him hurt—deep down, I want him to bleed for what he’s done. “Honestly? I’m fucking relieved. It’s about time you figure out my little secret,” he says, resting an arm over the chair beside him, trying to appear casual and unaffected. He can play that game all he wants, but I see the set of his shoulders hardening like setting concrete, and the incessant shaking of the leg set on top the knee of his other leg. He can’t keep still, and I enjoy his misery, although he’s not near miserable enough for my liking. “You know, you were there. That night?” His smirk curves into a full-on grin when he sees the flicker of fire in my eyes. He nods his head, slow and smug. “Yeah. Told her you left with another girl when you were passed out down the hall, being the useless piece of shit you were. Probably still are.” He shrugs one shoulder, drawn out and deliberate, like he wants the moment to last—as if he wants to savor his win. My teeth sink into the side of my cheek, the acrid taste of blood touching my tongue as the sting of self-inflicted pain distracts me from lunging across the table. I dig my nails into my pants leg until my fingers tremble under the pressure of inaction and fury. I look down, scrutinizing the lines my nails etched into the material, feeling like those slashes are the perfect metaphor for my sanity at this point. I’m dangling off the cliff, fingers digging into the crumbling rock. I was there. I was there. I was fucking there. “I’m sure she painted herself as the perfect little victim, but don’t believe it. She was drunk, yeah, but she—” “Shut up,” I growl through clenched teeth. “Can’t handle the truth about your slutty little girlfriend? I’m not sur—” I lean across the table, nearly lifting up out of my seat. “I said shut the hell up.” Remy shakes his head and continues smirking. While I sit here, feeling like my body has outgrown my skin, like I may explode at any second, he looks downright pleased … victorious. “What? Want me to say I’m sorry? Beg for your forgiveness? Never. Gonna. Happen.” He seethes, contempt seeping into his posture … his clenched fists … his disgusted snarl. “You both got what you

deserved back then. Exactly what you deserved.” “You can try to color this any way you want, but the truth is you raped Marlo. Fucking Marlo, Remy?” He opens his mouth, ready to spew whatever bullshit he’s dreamed up, but I wave him off. I want answers. “You’re not a friend. You never were, so why in the hell did you pretend to be? Why did you help me get clean? Jesus, I’ve spent all these years being thankful for you. Visiting you in here, like a fool.” “I didn’t help you get clean. I kicked you out of my house because I got tired of looking at you. At first, it was fun to see how far the mighty had fallen. Then it was just pathetic.” He curls his lip in disgust, like I’m the one who’s revolting. “Ever, the all-American rich boy. Every guy wants to be him, and every girl wants to be with him, right? No girl would choose a piece of trash like me when they could have you, right? Except, I got the girl this time. I sealed the deal when you couldn’t.” “Do you hear how completely unhinged you sound? Did you really commit rape because you were jealous?” I shake my head violently and push the chair away from the table. I need to get as far away from him as possible—another galaxy would be preferable, because otherwise I can’t be responsible for my actions. “You nearly broke her because she chose me over you? You are exactly where you belong, you dirty piece of trash.” “Fuck you, Ever,” he grits out, anger dripping from his words. Anger, and still, after all this time, jealousy. “Fuck. You.” I rise up, looking down at him with narrowed eyes and flared nostrils. I look down my nose at the despicable person he’s become—or rather, always was. “This is the last time I’ll make the drive to this God-forsaken place to see you. I’m making it my mission to convince Low to press charges against you, because nothing would make me happier than for you to have the title ‘rapist.’ You know what happens to rapists in prison, don’t you, Remy?” Now I’m the one smirking. “Of course you do.” “Go to hell,” he whispers, and I see his temper simmering, threatening to erupt at any moment. “You first,” I say with a taunting wink. “Now, go on back to your six-by-eight cage. Stare at the four goddamn walls for a few more decades while I secretly pray you get shanked in the chow line.” He jolts up to standing and slams his palms on the rickety table. The room quiets and the guards charge forward, grabbing his wrist and pulling it behind his back with a brutal jerk. “What’s the problem here?” one of the guards asks, putting more pressure on Remy’s arm. He lets out a grunt and bears his teeth in my direction, like the animal he is. I raise my hands passively and smile at them, backing away. “No problem, officers, I was just leaving,” I say, with a saccharine smile, then flit my eyes to Remy. “Have a nice life. Or don’t. I don’t really give a shit.” I waltz out of the visitation room with a calmness I don’t actually feel, but I’ll be damned if I give Remy the satisfaction of seeing my frayed nerves overcome me. I step outside, the ruthless sun beating down on my shoulders. It seems fitting on this merciless day. I pride myself on being a good man—a man who asks for forgiveness when I’ve hurt others and gives it freely to those who have hurt me. But there are some things that can’t be atoned for. Sins so heinous, the only answer is to cut the person out of your life. From this day forward, Remy Rodrigue is a ghost. Now it’s time to go home … time to see Low.



Ever I INCH MY foot off the accelerator for the hundredth time, trying to stay somewhere in the vicinity of the speed limit when every cell in my body screams for me to go, go, go. I can’t get home fast enough. When I pass the Providence city limit sign, I’m belting out tunes like I’m Tom Cruise in Jerry Maguire, windows rolled down and thumbs drumming the steering wheel. I can’t remember the last time I’d felt this free … maybe never. It’s as if the chalkboard has been wiped clean. All the ugly secrets plaguing our past have been uncovered and thrown away, nothing left but how we feel about each other. How we’ve always felt about each other. There’s no one else, no other person who owns me the way Low does. I more than love her. I need her. I turn onto her street and frown when I see her empty driveway. I didn’t call on my way home because I didn’t want to hash this out over the phone. Leave it to Low to mess up my grand gesture by not being home. Stubborn ’til the bitter end. Well, shit… I fumble for my phone and dial Jeb, hoping like hell he’s got some idea of where she might be. If not, I’ll scour the town. The hospital, the clinic, Alex’s art gallery—I’ll make the rounds if I have to. Jeb picks up on the second ring. “Yo, asshole. Decided to come home and help me run our restaurant? Or are you still gallivanting … or soul-searching … or whatever the hell you’re doing?” “I’m here. I’m back, I mean, but have you—” I stop and huff out a frustrated sigh. “Do you know where Low is?” I hear a low chuckle through the phone, but he doesn’t answer my question. “Jeb, I’m serious, man. Do you know where she is?” “I think you better head in to Moelle and see for yourself.” I make it to the restaurant in ten minutes flat, paying no mind to my lead foot this time. The restaurant doesn’t open for another two hours, so the parking lot is empty except for two very familiar vehicles. I pull in and park next to Marlo’s Jeep, barely pulling the key out of the ignition before jumping out of the car.

I swing open the unlocked door, and bound forward, searching the room like a man on a mission … or a mad man, depending on how you look at it. When my eyes settle on Marlo perched on a barstool, I exhale and grin. My smile wavers when I see her expression. She doesn’t look nearly as happy to see me as I am to see her. “Good to have you back,” Jeb says, and my gaze moves to him wiping the bar. I didn’t even notice him there until he spoke. I nod once, giving him a forced smile. He points to the kitchen. “I’m just gonna…” I nod again, and watch him shuffle away with raised eyebrows and a leery smile, silently telling me I have my work cut out for me. The kitchen door swings shut, and I turn back to Marlo. I step forward, ready to wrap her in my arms, shove my face into her hair, and breathe in all that is her, but she raises her hands in protest. I can’t lie, it stings, but I hang back. “You don’t get to walk away from me without a word,” she says, shaking her head. “Not anymore, Ever.” I nod, knowing how it must have looked to her. I hadn’t been able to tell her my plans before, because I knew she would’ve tried to talk me out of it. I didn’t want to upset her or worry her needlessly. I’d also needed to calm down. The last thing Low needs is to see me turn into a caveman and punch a hole through the wall. I’d needed to sort my own feelings so I could be the rock she needs—so I could love her and protect her the way she deserves. The way she’s always deserved. “I’m so sorry, Low, I—” “I’ve been thinking about it, Ever, and I’ve decided some things. Things I need you to know,” she interrupts, squaring her shoulders and leveling me with her eyes. “You don’t get to quit me.” “Quit you? Why would you—” “You don’t get to just walk away when I tell you things you don’t want to hear. For your five-year meeting, you stood there, holding that all important chip, and you gave it all to me. You gave me the ugly … the hard. And I took it. I took it, and I love that part of you just as much, if not more, than everything else you’ve given me. Last week, you learned I have ugly things living inside of me. And you, Ever, you are going to take it.” I hear the hitch in her voice, the wretched sob begging to break free, and it undoes me. I’m on her in a split second, body pressed close and fingers entwined in her hair. She reaches up and grips my wrists, clenching her eyes shut. “I’m not giving up on you, and you don’t get to give up on me. You lost that right the second you decided to walk back into my life.” “Baby,” I whisper, as I press my lips to her hair. Dropping my forehead to hers, I brush my nose against hers. “I’m right here. I’m in this with you. I’ll take anything you want to give me. It’s me and you, Low. Yeah?” She opens her eyes and searches my face. She looks for an ounce of indecision, which she won’t find, and I lose myself in her sea of emerald green. She nods hesitantly, wanting to believe me, hoping I won’t let her down like I have so many times before. I brush the apples of her cheeks and press my lips to hers. When I move away, her lips follow mine, and I smile. “I’ve pushed away and fought against every single thing in my life. I’ve finally found the person I want to fight for, and you think I’m going to just walk away? I’m a better man when I’m loving you. I don’t think I can stop, even if you begged me to.” A tear spills over, and she laughs, pushing her thumbs under her eyes, wiping away the sadness to make way for the joy. “I was going to cause you bodily harm, you know? You were gonna sing like a choir boy, and future children would have been questionable at best,” she says with a laugh. “Junk punch times ten was on the menu.” “Hey, watch what you’re calling ‘junk.’” “Whatever.” She chuckles as she wraps her arms around my neck, pulling me closer. She scoots to the

edge of the stool and widens her legs, fitting me between them. “I love you, Ever. More than I thought was possible.” “I’ve always loved you, Low. Even when my head was too jumbled to catch up with my heart. Let’s go home, baby.” I lift her off the barstool, and she wraps her legs around me. My lips are on hers, and I’m halfway to the door when I hear Jeb calling out. “Nah, don’t worry about me. I can hold down the fort for one more day. That’s me, good old, reliable Jeb,” he says, his head peeking out from the kitchen door. Marlo giggles, and I wave a hand of thanks. “I owe you, man. I owe you big.” “I’ll be sure to make my repayment interesting,” he calls out as the door shuts behind us. “We should be afraid of him, Low,” I laugh against her lips. “Very afraid.” I run a finger down the curve of her spine, making her shiver and hide her face in the pillow. She peeks over her arm, her eyes dancing as she laughs. I grab her waist and pull her closer, my lips following the path of my finger. “Stop trying to distract me with the sex,” she says, her lips pursed in determination. “I may love the hell out of you, but you still have some explaining to do. That junk punch isn’t completely off the table yet.” I sink my teeth into the delectable flesh of her ass and she yelps. “After what just happened in this bed, you’re still willing to call it ‘junk’? I just defiled you, woman.” She cranes her neck and levels me with her eyes, so I flop down beside her and slap on a serious face. A goofily happy serious face, but serious nonetheless. “So you went to see Remy?” I nod. “In prison?” I nod again. She blows out a breath and shuts her eyes. “Some things in life are inevitable, aren’t they? He was going to end up in jail one way or another, wasn’t he?” “He was,” I agree, reaching out and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. I run my finger down the curve of her neck and kiss her shoulder. “You know, you can put him away for even longer. I’ll be with you every step of the way. We’ll get the best lawyer from my dad’s old firm.” She rests a hand on my arm and smiles. “Thank you,” she says, her voice calm and peaceful. “I love that you would do that for me, but I don’t want to go back down that road. I want to focus on my future … our future. Remy has taken enough away from me. I won’t let him have one more thing.” “I want him to pay,” I say through clenched teeth, feeling the burn behind my nose … squeezing my chest. “I want him to pay for what he did to you.” “I want us to heal. That’s what I want, Ever. That’s what I need.” She runs her thumb over my forehead, smoothing out the tension. “I want to focus on the years we have ahead of us instead of the ones we missed. I need to let the pain go … I think I already have.” I shut my eyes and listen to the steady rhythm of her breath—never has such a faint sound been so magnificent. Never has something barely audible screamed so loudly in my head. And isn’t that the beauty of it all? Somehow, after all the missteps, heartbreak, and regret, we are able to take the frayed edges of our past and braid them into a future full of love and hope. Whatever happened before, whatever happens going forward, we’ve got each other. “Then let’s look to the future. I can do that … I can do anything for you.” She runs a finger down the length of my back, much like I just did to her, her eyes following the path

down, down, down. She purses her lips in concentration and slaps her hand on my ass with a giant smack. I bolt up and straddle her, grabbing both of her wrists in my hands and pulling them over her head. I bury my face in the back of her neck and nibble. “Oh, you’re gonna pay for that one,” I laugh, as she hides her face in her pillow and squirms underneath me. “I hope so,” she tosses back with a giggle. Then she stills underneath me. “What about you? What do you want, Ev?” “I want you naked and wet … always. I want you to suck my dick to the quick,” I tease, eyes brimming with mirth. She barks out a laugh accompanied with a fair share of name calling. “What was that? Did you say you want the same thing?” “He’s got jokes,” she mutters. “A man wants what he wants,” I say with a shrug. I brush her hair off her neck and run my thumb down her earlobe. “And I want nighttime walks longer than my legs can carry me and bear hugs tighter than my lungs can stand. I want all those things with you. It’s always been you, Low.” “Since I love you to the point of goddamn distraction, that’s a good thing.” She smiles and squirms underneath me. “About the first two things—I’m both naked and wet … so what are you gonna do about it?” Her taunt spurs me into action, releasing her wrists and jerking her hips up to kneeling. I thrust into her from behind as I curl my front against her arched back. Her head rolls back to meet my eager lips, and finally … finally, she gives it all to me. And I take it.



Marlo Three months later “WHO’S GOT THE roast beef, debris-style,” I shout across the bar, waving a po’ boy wrapped in butcher’s paper. Caroline’s hand shoots up in the air, and she rushes to me. “Oh, me, me!” She grins while she inspects her prize, the gravy already seeping through the paper. “Adventurous one, aren’t you?” I mutter with a laugh. “I like to stick to the classics,” she says, her tone haughty and teasing. “I like to think I’m a classic myself.” She winks at me, and saunters back into the crowd. A crowd of our closest family and friends—I’m not sure when two surly asses like Ever and me accumulated so many amazing people, but here they are, filling up Moelle’s dining room while the sign on the door stays flipped to CLOSED. This get-together has been a long time coming, my dad getting antsier by the day when his little girl wouldn’t come home for a visit. It’s not like it had been intentional. From the day Ever had returned from his trip of redemption, as I like to call it, he never really left my house again. Little by little, his belongings began showing up around the house, until finally, his apartment was empty and his lease gone. So with work, spending time with my new roomie, and more than occasionally baking for Moelle, a trip home just never inched up on the to-do list. The old man packed a bag and told me he was coming to me, like it or not. I only wish Nana and Declan could have made the trip, too. Nana stays close to home these days, although I hate to think of her needing to do that, and veterinary school at Texas A&M is no joke. Dad keeps taking pictures of Ever and me with his new smartphone to show Nana and Declan when he gets home, but most of the pics are of the bottom half of his face, with an unspeakable view straight up into his cavernous nostrils. Technology and Dad do not get along. Once I told Evelyn about Dad’s visit, and my new relationship status, she had the car packed and Oliver in tow before the day’s end. I can imagine her shoving him out of the door, chattering his ear off, while he’d balanced her pile of suitcases. When Ever had hung up with his mom only a few hours later, he’d shrugged and shot me a nervous smile. “Looks like the party is growing.” So we’d decided to make it just that—a party. A big, honking, meet the family, friends are invited, too,

party. And what happens when a chef and a baker decide to throw a party? A shit-ton of food, that’s what. Throw in their mixologist best friend? Everyone’s got full bellies and floating heads. “What the hell did y’all put in this flamin’ chicken po’ boy, man? Liquid hot magma?” Cain calls out before downing his bottle of water. “I had Ever get fiery flames, straight from the pits of hell, just for you. I wanted to see you cry like a little bitch,” I say with a laugh. “Language,” my dad mutters, giving me evil, yet loving, eyes from the end of the bar. “It hurts so good. So damn good,” Cain says as he rubs his chest and dives in for another bite. I notice Caroline sitting next to my dad, and I get his attention and waggle my eyebrows in her direction. “Christ,” he mutters, shaking his head. Ever has caused quite the transformation in me. In a short time, I’ve gone from a non-believer to a card-carrying member of the Unicorn and Glitter Club. Love will do that to a girl. My dad is lucky he lives a state away. Otherwise, I’d be fixing him up with the ladies of the quilting club on the regular. I might actually get Nana set up with that particular project… “Darling, what is this sauce on my fried shrimp? It’s to die for,” Evelyn croons as she feeds a shrimp to Oliver. He bites the tail from her fingers and moans in pleasure. “S’good,” he says as he nods his head. “Bacon pepper jelly.” Ever wraps an arm around my waist and kisses my temple. Evelyn’s eyes soften as she watches. “That, with the crawfish boil sausage, and pepper jack cheese? By far, my favorite po’ boy.” “My favorite po’ boy is the Dirty Bird,” I offer with a giggle, just as Ever’s mom walks up. “I think you just like saying Dirty Bird,” he laughs. “Guilty.” I shrug, feeling no shame. “Marlo, I may have swiped a cupcake or three off the dessert table, and I’m just blown away. You are so talented, dear,” Sherry says, with a sweet smile. “Thank you,” I reply, trying my best not to appear stiff and forced. It’s difficult to open up and accept Ever’s mom, knowing all the things that have happened in the past, but I’m trying. For Ever, I’m trying. There are things I’ve asked him to leave in the past, and he’s asked the same of me. “Have you considered working at Moelle full time? People would come just for the dessert,” she says, looking to Ever for reinforcements. I shake my head. “Nah, he and Jeb have tried to convince me, but I’m more of a pop-in employee. Baking makes me happy, but nursing makes me whole. I can’t leave one or the other—I need both.” “How lovely,” Sherry whispers under her breath, her gentle eyes watching both of us intently. I’ll get there with her, I know I will. It’s just going to take me some time. It’s difficult to forgive her for the pain she’s caused Ever over the years, “Low, why aren’t you over there, getting in on the baby action?” Jeb asks, as he points his Abita beer in the direction of Alex, Sara, and Celia. All three of them are huddled over a starry-eyed Lily as she holds baby Avery. Her legs dangle and swish off the chair as she shoves a pacifier into the baby’s mouth, none too gently. Avery lets out a yelp. West hovers nearby, tensing as he watches. His hands fist at his sides, ready to scoop up his daughter and run at the slightest inkling of danger. “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay, baby,” Lily croons as she rubs the flat of her hand down Avery’s ruffly dress. The three women sigh. “Aren’t your ovaries weeping with joy right now?” Jeb asks with a chuckle, and I swing my glare in his direction. “One point of domestication at a time, Jeb,” I warn.

“Gotta treat her like a wild dog, man. She only just started eating food out of my hand. Don’t scare her off completely,” Ever jokes, and I jab him in the ribs. He thinks I don’t know about his and my dad’s little talk. He doesn’t realize I saw them standing on the porch for much longer than it takes to talk about the weather. I may be the equivalent of a “wild dog” in relationship-land, but I know “the talk” when I see it. And since neither of them returned with any black eyes or bruises, I assume it went well. Now, the only question is when. If I know Ever at all, the sexy jerk is going to make me sweat it. Ever raises a high ball glass and clinks a fork to its side, shooting me a mischievous wink as the crowd turns their attention to him. He hops on top of the bar and peers down at me. “I’m gonna say a few words.” He raises his eyebrows in challenge and reaches a hand down to me. “You wanna join me?” I grab his hand and let him heave me up beside him. I wrap an arm around his waist and slap his chest. “I’ll stand here and look pretty, but it’s all yours, big boy.” He chuckles, and his eyes crinkle as he looks down at me. Is that a look of amusement … or the look of a man getting ready to pop the question? My skin sizzles with awareness and nerves. I think I might throw up. “Thank you for joining us today to celebrate family and friends. I have to admit, it’s a little frightening to know that this group, collectively, could annihilate both of us with the secrets you hold. Be kind, people, be kind,” Ever chuckles, then turns his gaze to the back of the bar. “And Jeb, whatever you do, don’t you dare say a word to my mom.” Jeb motions like he’s zipping his lips, then blows a kiss to Sherry in the same breath. “S’all right if I have a chat with Low’s dad?” “Nope! No way,” I warn, as everyone erupts in laughter. When the laughter dies down, Ever squeezes me close to his side and refocuses on our friends. “But seriously, thank you all for being here today. Mom, Mr. Rivers, Mr. and Mrs. James, thank you for making the trip,” he says, gesturing to our parents. “Like you could keep us away,” Dad hoots, and a chuckle ripples through the room. “Wouldn’t dream of keeping you from your daughter, sir,” Ever replies, then presses his lips to the top of my head. “When Marlo and I realized a small caravan would be showing up to visit us this week, I knew I wanted to have a get-together at the restaurant. Having all of you here with us, is perfect, really.” “Moelle is French for ‘marrow.’ I named this place at a time when I was lost. Jeb, being the easygoing guy he is, just shrugged and went along with it, but I never explained to him the ‘why’ behind it. The reasoning is actually two-fold.” He stops speaking and turns to his mother, giving her a small, sympathetic smile. “When my brother Easton died, the crushing grief marked me in an indelible way. I let the hurt sink deep into my bones. What I didn’t realize, what I couldn’t understand at the time, was while Easton may not be here, he’d always be with me. The memory of Easton, not the pain of losing him, is what lies deep inside me. That’s the marrow of me—the man I am.” I turn into Ever, curving my face into his chest for the smallest bit of privacy, because this man … God, this man. He’s hurt more than his share and loves twice as hard. I’ve looked at the wooden placard affixed to the outside of the restaurant a thousand times, and never understood how much it means to him. How much of his heart he’d laid bare for the world to see. “So when I moved to Providence, searching for the girl who’d burrowed herself so deep inside of me that eight years felt like a blink of the eye, I couldn’t think of a more fitting name. It represents the love I have for both my brother and Low. It honors what I’ve lost while embracing the incredible future I see ahead of us. Thanks to all of you for being here today to celebrate with us.” “Babe, what are we celebrating?” I prompt, nudging him in the ribs, trying to quell the hopeful feeling brewing inside me. Is this the moment? Will there ever be a more perfect time than now?

When I see the smirk pulling at his lips, the taunting amusement in his eyes, I’m sure the answer is no. Hell. No. I’m gonna strangle this bastard before he gets the chance to pop the question. “We’re celebrating family,” he says with a gentle peck on my lips, then turns back to the crowd. “To family!” “To family,” they call out with a raucous cheer, and they all drink while I “accidentally” grind my boot heel into Ever’s big toe. “Ouch!” “Oops,” I say demurely, batting my eyelashes and shrugging.

Ever “I HAVE TO say, that’s the most bizarre bouquet I’ve ever seen.” I chuckle and eye the spray of pixie sticks sitting on Marlo’s lap. I shift the car into park and turn off the ignition, focusing all my attention on the gorgeous woman sitting beside me. She fingers the blue bow holding the candy together and smiles. “Don’t you mean the most amazing bouquet? It’s important to always honor people’s candy preference, Ever. For your future reference, mine is—” “Pop Rocks. You think I don’t know your favorite candy?” I scoff, grabbing her knee and squeezing until she squeals. “It’s an explosion in your mouth. Who doesn’t love that?” she giggles. “That right there,” I say, smashing my lips to hers before turning away and opening the car door. “It says a lot about you.” “Touché. Just like your favorite candy being Milk Duds says a lot about you.” She shrugs when I grip my chest from the blow of her fatal words. “I didn’t tell you to pick such an awful candy.” “I’ll remember that when I see your grubby fingers creeping into my box.” She smiles and looks down at the bouquet in her lap. The laughter between us dies and her eyes soften. “Pixie sticks … Easton had it right.” I nod slowly and press my lips together. “That statement is truer than you will ever know. Ready?” She climbs out of the car and meets me in front, clasping my hand and squeezing. I tug her forward, listening to the faint sound of birds chirping in the distance and the crushing of gravel under our feet. I focus on the sweet pressure of her hand in mine and the feel of a velvet box pulling against the pocket of my jeans. Marlo’s hints about getting engaged are getting a bit scary. Hell, I can’t really call them hints—more like blatant threats on my life and manhood. If I don’t get down on one knee, and soon, she may make good on that promise to have me singing like a choir boy. I shift uncomfortably at the mere thought of it. But I couldn’t ask her to marry me without taking her to see Easton. I just couldn’t do it. Who the hell proposes to his girlfriend at the cemetery? A man who’s lost more than he should have and wants to savor all that’s left. Easton Christopher Montgomery January 15, 1990 - November 1, 2007 Loving Brother and Son

I brush off the stray pine needles and run a thumb over his name. When I step back, Marlo leans forward and balances the candy on top of the tombstone. She moves next to me, curling into my side and snaking an arm around my waist. I run a hand down her hair and press my lips to her forehead. Everything about this day is bittersweet. The feeling of overwhelming joy and intense longing war within me. “Easton.” The words are barely a breath. I clear my throat, and make the conscious decision to choose overwhelming joy. It’s what he’d want for me … for us. “I’d like you to meet Low.” Lifting up on her toes, she presses her lips to my temple. She lets me go and rests her head in the crook of my neck. “Easton,” she whispers, then sighs, melting into my side. “It’s great to finally meet you.” In this moment, two battered souls searching for happiness is enough. It’s every single thing. There’s only one thing left to do, so I step away from her embrace and drop to one knee. And the look of adoration and simmering fire in her eyes says more than any words ever could. Every. Single. Thing.

J.A. DEROUEN RESIDES IN South Louisiana with her husband, son (aptly nicknamed “The Professor”), and her furry friend, Scout. She has earned bachelor’s degrees in psychology and nursing. When she’s not writing or inhaling romance novels by the stack, she works as a women’s health nurse. She’s been an avid reader and daydreamer since childhood, and she’s never stopped turning the page to get to the next happily ever after. You can find J.A. Derouen online at: Newsletter Sign Up http://bit.ly/1UEzjhu Facebook Author Page www.facebook.com/JADerouen Facebook Group www.facebook.com/groups/JAsJezebels/ Instagram @jaderouen Twitter @JADerouen1 Goodreads https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8184871.J_A_DeRouen Now Available: HOPE OVER FEAR (Over Series #1) Amazon - http://amzn.to/1J8QYp1

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