Everly After by Rebecca Paula Read Free Book Online

having a conversation. “Can you stand up?” I don’t know why I bother. I know the answer. “Well, you’re going to.”
    I hook my arm around her and lift her until she’s upright. I fumble for my keys as she rolls her weight against my body. Pushing open the door, I slide my other arm under her knees, carrying her over the threshold.
    For once, my flat feels overwhelming instead of small. Or maybe I’m the one who feels small as I search for a place to set Everly down.
    Her head tips back, her right arm swinging against my waist in an unnatural rhythm. Before the room has the chance to close in around me, I decide on the couch. I don’t want her in my bedroom. I don’t want her to wake up and wonder what the hell is going on. I’m not that kind of guy. But there’s a part of me that thinks she knows someone who is, and I get angry again. My life is messed up enough without having her crash into it as well.
    I lay her on the couch and take off her heels, watching to see if she registers that my hands are wrapped around her ankles. She doesn’t move and doesn’t say anything, which only makes me furious. I prop her up on some pillows and find a quilt to drape over her.
    I watch from my kitchen for a bit, standing far away, as though she’s poisonous. My mug of tea is burning my palm, but I stay there until I finally snort in frustration and stride over to the couch. I remove her sunglasses and place them on the table next to the glass of water I have there for when she wakes up.
    I see you , I want to say. But I don’t. For once, I take a page from her book and remain silent. I close my bedroom door behind me and lose myself to my writing instead.
     
    Everly
    I wake up but keep my eyes closed, pretending that if I stay still, nothing will change.
    “Why are you here?”
    If Beckett didn’t hate me before, he does now. I hear it in his voice.
    No clue.
    “You weren’t home,” I say in an ugly croak. It’s a good enough answer, I suppose, even if it is a lie. I open my eyes and sit up, even though my head feels like it’s going to split in two.
    I’m fine . Those two words repeat in my head over and over as I gulp down the glass of water. They’ve been my mantra for some time now. I don’t want him to see me this way, so I pretend. I’ll be okay. I am okay. I’m fine.
    I catch a peek at an unmade bed behind Beckett. He stands outside what must be his bedroom, arms crossed. “I wasn’t home because you didn’t show up for your shift. I’ve been busy covering for you.”
    For a minute, my resolve melts, and I fold in half, cradling my head in my cold palms. I want to scream, but I blow out a rush of air instead and sit back up, gripping the couch cushions tight. “I didn’t ask for you to do that.”
    Beckett rubs a hand over the scruff of his face as he studies me. That intense look of want is gone now, replaced with hate. And maybe a little disgust and pity, too.
    I want none of it.
    “Sorry. I’ll leave.”
    I stand and instantly regret it. I swallow back the vomit in my throat and bring the glass into the small kitchen. Maybe I should wash it out so I’m less of an inconvenience. My hand is on the faucet when I hear him talking on the phone in the other room. He’s speaking in French, and I think maybe he forgets that I’m fluent. Then I hear what he says and the smooth laugh that follows. I shouldn’t be listening. A blush climbs to my cheeks, as if I didn’t wake up earlier in bed with Hudson and another girl. Earlier when? I don’t know. Maybe this morning or yesterday. It’s getting harder to keep track of the days.
    I want to hear Beckett speak to me like he does now on the phone. I want him not to hate me. I’m not even sure why. I’m used to people hating me and using me and hurting me. I’m not used to people worrying about a harmless skinned knee or setting a glass of water out for me when I wake up hungover.
    I turn on the faucet and scrub the glass clean as if I’m