Remembering Everly (Lost & Found #2) (12 page)

“What about a cat nap?” I’d argued on the plane.

“Nope.”

“Ten minutes? Please?”

“No! Because ten minutes will turn into eight hours and then you’ll wake up at seven at night and be completely turned around.”

“Okay,” I had finally relented. “You win.”

So, I’d done as she’d said, and bypassed the luxury bedding, though it screamed my name as we freshened up in the bathroom, reapplying makeup and changing out of our wrinkled plane clothing. I put on a comfortable pair of jeans and my favorite pair of boots, threw a vibrant scarf around my neck and paired it with a thick wool coat. I was ready to tackle the day.

Or at least I looked like it.

But as soon as we walked out onto the streets of Paris, I’d found myself wide awake—no coffee needed. Although, I did find some. Okay, a lot. A girl didn’t change just because she was in another country.

And this girl needed fuel—the caffeinated kind.

As we made our way through the city, I found myself falling in love with a new side of me—a side I’d never known existed. Growing up, I was never given the opportunity to travel. Summer vacations and weekend trips to the beach weren’t the norm in my world, and as I got older, I’d just stayed in my little bubble of San Francisco.

When I met August, we’d spoken of traveling—the what if’s and future bucket lists, but in the beginning we’d never had the money, and toward the end, there wasn’t enough time because August was always working.

I’d always wanted to make time for this—for culture and art. For people-watching and spending time with the ones I loved the most. Walking down the streets of that ancient city, I realized an entire world existed outside my door, and I wanted to discover it all.

“One day, and you’re already hooked on Paris, huh? Are you sure that isn’t the free wine talking?” Sarah joked, replying to my declaration of love for my newfound home.

“Wasn’t that amazing? Table wine! Freaking table wine, Sarah! For free! Water—eight euros, but table wine is free! God, I love this country.”

She laughed at my outburst and I watched her lift the half-empty glass of table wine she’d been nursing since we’d arrived at the local little restaurant recommended to us by one of our handsome doormen. After walking what felt like miles around Paris today, seeing everything from the Eiffel Tower to Notre Dame, we were just happy to be sitting and off our feet for the foreseeable future.

 “I could see myself living here,” I stated, looking around at the tiny apartments around us. Wrought-iron balconies, flower boxes—it was a perfect space in the middle of a Parisian paradise.

“You say that now, but wait until you see their rental prices. You thought San Francisco was expensive.”

“It’d be worth it.”

“You’ll never leave the city,” she said with certainty, grabbing a piece of fresh bread from the basket the waiter had just brought over.

“How do you know?” I asked, hating that she found me so predictable. I was building a new life. I didn’t want to be seen as ordinary anymore.

“Okay, let me clarify. I don’t see you leaving the city anytime soon.” Each word was spoken through a mouth full of bread. For a ballerina, she really was kind of a mess sometimes.

“Why?”

She washed down her bread with a large sip of wine, placing the glass down in front of her. Looking up at me, she just stared as if it should be obvious. My eyes widened as it dawned on me.

“August? You think I’m staying in San Francisco because of August?”

“I think you will,” she replied.

“You’re crazy,” I said, shaking my head as my arms fell across my chest defensively.

“Well, then leave. When we get home, pack up all your shit and move here. Picture it, Everly. Sit here and really picture it—leaving everything behind. You’d never see him again.”

“I don’t see him now,” I argued.

She shrugged. “Yeah, but this would be permanent.”

My face twisted in disgust. “I hate you. Why are you even doing this? I thought you hated the guy.”

“I hate seeing you unhappy more.”

“So you think I should just jump from one relationship back to another—never mind the fact that he doesn’t want me anymore.”

“You don’t know that,” she said, before adding, “And no, I don’t think you should just hop back into something with August. But I do think you should start being honest with yourself. You didn’t walk away from him because you didn’t love him, Everly. Those feelings don’t diminish overnight. You tried to make things work with Ryan and look where that led you—nearly walking down the aisle with the wrong man. So do us all a favor, take the time to decide what you want. For real this time.”

“Okay,” I agreed, hating the idea of even dedicating one second of thought toward August. But I knew she had a point. There was a reason I was avoiding the issue altogether. I’d thought I had come to terms with it all when I went back to Ryan, but really it was more like putting a Band-Aid on a seeping wound that was now festering out of control.

A Band-Aid could only do so much before infection set in, and I was definitely starting to spike an emotion fever.

We quietly finished our free table wine as we sat by the window and enjoyed the view. People walked their dogs, carried fresh groceries to their little apartments above the shops, and I heard the remnants of conversations pass by as friends met up for meals. It was so similar to home and yet so vastly different.

“Where do you see yourself in ten years?” I asked Sarah, bringing up the old question I’d once asked August.

“Ten years? Gross. I’d be, what? Thirty-five?”

“I’ll be forty!” I laughed, playfully punching her in the arm. “Baby.”

“Yeah, but forty for you is totally different. I’ll be washed up, clocked out. Hell, even by thirty-five, I won’t be able to find a job beyond teaching ballet to a bunch of snotty-nose kindergartners.”

“Who says that won’t be great?” I challenged her with a tilt of my eyebrow.

“Have you ever taught a bunch of kids?” she shot back.

“No,” I laughed. “But how bad can it be? At least it will be in the field you love. And you’ll still be dancing, Sarah. Maybe it won’t be in front of a packed theater, as a prima ballerina, but it will be something.”

“Yeah, I know. And you’re right. Maybe I’ll even have a couple snot-noses of my own by then,” she said with a wink.

My mouth opened and I nearly dropped the wine glass I had in my hand.

“You can’t be that serious with mystery man?”

“He has a name,” she reminded me.

“Yeah—Miles. That’s all I know about him.”

“Well, he was coming to the wedding, but—”

“Oh, oops.” I bit my lip and giggled.

“It’s okay. We’ll have him over for dinner when we get back and you can meet him then. All the mystery will finally be gone.”

“So, you swear he’s not a blow-up doll?”

Her head fell back as she laughed. “No, definitely not. He’s…special to me,” she explained as her face sobered. “I’ve never met anyone like him.”

“Well, I can’t wait to meet him. And all his rubbery parts.”

“I hate you,” she laughed.

“Right back at you. Can we go to bed now?” I begged, looking down at my empty glass of wine and picking over my plate of food.

“Oh god, yes,” she replied, before adding, “Race you back to the hotel?”

“You’re on, bitch,” I said, throwing down enough euros to cover our bill and a little extra.

I have no idea who made it back first, but I do know I was the first to leap head first into the mountain of pillows that awaited us when we arrived.

We were both snoring exactly three seconds later.

Vive la France
, indeed.

M
agnolia
turned to me as the gates of her parents’ picturesque neighborhood disappeared behind us. Night had fallen, and all I could see through the windows were darkened tree branches as we passed one after another an endless sequence of twisted limbs. We’d stayed much later than planned and were just now making our journey back to the city.

“Ready to go home?” she said brightly, obviously searching for something to talk about to break the silence.

“No,” I confessed, my voice hoarse and vacant.

After visiting someplace so bright and full of energy, the last place I wanted to return to was a home that felt more and more like a tomb with each passing day.

A mausoleum of memories I was desperate to preserve.

“We could go to my place,” she suggested, leaning closer to me as her gentle finger grazed my chest, making her intent clear.

“Okay,” I agreed as Everly’s face flashed before my eyes one last time.

Goodbye
, I silently whispered, giving in to whatever new memories might come.

But I hadn’t made new memories.

Just new regrets.

Spending the night with Magnolia solidified our relationship and gave meaning to whatever was blossoming between us. Now, whatever happened, I knew without a shadow of a doubt I would end up hurting her.

Spending the day with her family, in her perfect world, had made me weak. I’d left that day craving something more, something real than I hadn’t had in months, and Magnolia had been more than willing to give it.

Every touch of her skin against my body felt like a betrayal to my heart and mind. She was a beautiful, giving lover and any man would have been lucky to have her.

But my body, heart, and soul had already been handed over to someone long ago. What else was there to give?

“Am I doing something wrong?” she’d asked, pulling away as a veil of timid nervousness blanketed her features.

“No, I’m sorry. It’s not you,” I tried to reassure her, running a frustrated hand through my hair.

“‘It’s not you, it’s me’? That’s what you’re going for here?” she said with a frown.

“I know it’s a cheesy line, but in my circumstances, it’s true.”

She rolled on her side, tucking the sheet around her, giving me space to speak.

“My illness wasn’t the only reason I broke things off with you,” I confessed.

Understanding blossomed across her face. “There’s someone else.” She looked down at the pillow as her fingers began weaving an invisible pattern across the fabric. Reaching down, I touched her chin and angled it upward.

“Yes, there was.” Taking a deep breath, I added, “Still is, at least for me. I’m still trying to get over it.”

“Do you want her back?” she asked timidly.

“It doesn’t matter.” I shook my head.

A single nod was all I got in response.

I don’t know how long we lay together, side by side in bad, each waiting for the other to make a move, or to say something. It felt like an eternity.

“Look, I don’t know where this is going to take us, but for now—let’s just be this. Okay?” She leaned forward, kissing me long and slow, easing my loneliness with every touch, until I was drowning in her warmth. No other words were spoken.

I didn’t think for the rest of the night. I just acted on impulse.

When I awoke the next morning to her hands slowly creeping along my chest, to her asking if I wanted a cup of coffee, I nearly bolted from the apartment and fled to the streets half-naked.

Dear God, what had I done?

I knew logically I hadn’t done anything wrong. I was a single man. It was logical for me to move on after a breakup. But why did I feel like a married man waking up in the wrong bed?

My heart ached at the memories of Magnolia’s hands on me, and as much as that touch had helped soothe my loneliness, it only made things worse in the aftermath.

Because she wasn’t Everly.

I hadn’t moved an inch since I’d returned home this morning. After declining breakfast, a dickish move on my part but one that was desperately needed, I’d fled Magnolia’s apartment and found my way back to my own place by cab.

Seeing her make coffee and attempt to assemble some sort of breakfast for me this morning had just been too much. It made it too real—brought back too many precious memories—and right now, I needed to be back home.

Surrounded by the ghosts of my past.

Magnolia’s mom may have said a house is only a building, but for me, it was all I had left. And right now, I needed to fucking drown in it.

Laying back on the couch, I let the memories bury me, collapse over me, one after another. Everly’s smile, her laugh as we’d chased each other through the house…the way she’d looked when we made love. The memories were few and far between, filled with expansive gaps, but they were enough.

They would always have to be enough.

Just as my eyes fell shut, the doorbell rang.

Slowly rising, I twisted and stretched, relieving the tension in my back and neck as I walked to the front door. Expecting a long overdue visit from Brick, I didn’t even bother looking through the peephole to see who was waiting for me on the other side.

When I opened the door, I was nearly knocked over by shock.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I asked Ryan after rubbing my eyes to make sure I was actually seeing him standing at my front door.

“Wondering what the hell is wrong with you,” he muttered, pushing past me.

“Please, come in,” I joked, watching him wander down the hallway toward the living room. I followed, still wondering what the hell he was doing here. He wandered around the room, looking at several framed pictures on the walls before settling into the chair on the opposite side of the room.

“Shouldn’t you be on your honeymoon?” I asked, trying to sound as neutral as possible, but failing miserably. The venom in my voice was unmistakable as I glanced down at his left hand.

No ring.

“It’s not me she wants,” he answered, settling into the plush chair as if preparing for a long journey. With a huff, I decided to join him, favoring the couch.

“She left me,” I reminded him. “And chose you.”

“Only because she thought it was the right thing to do at the time. As did I.”

He was dangling hooks, casting them out into the vast sea of my curiosity faster than I could comprehend. I had so many questions; I didn’t know which to ask first.

Or if I should even ask them in the first place.

Nothing had changed. I still worked for a madman who burnt down buildings, killing innocent people when he got angry, and who was working on a one-way ticket to the slammer.

No good could come from being associated with me, and yet I still wanted to know why. Why hadn’t she married him? Why wasn’t she here?

“In the end, we weren’t right for each other. We never were. I mistook friendship for love, believing that if you got along with someone well enough, that equated to the same thing as passion. It doesn’t. I should have known that the minute she left and went straight into your arms, seeking something more. Something I couldn’t give her.”

I opened my mouth to say something…anything. But all that came out was air.

“She still wants you, August.”

“Did she tell you that?” I asked, lunging for that single hook he dangled in front of me.

“No,” he answered. “She doesn’t have to. It’s written all over her face, etched in every movement of her body and fragile line of her soul. She’s yours whether either of you know it or not.”

“So what’s the point in coming here, Ryan? Is this your good deed of the day? Is this your way of making yourself the better man? Again?”

Ryan had always had a way of making himself the hero of the story. I was usually the villain—a role I’d earned on multiple occasions.

“This isn’t about me. It’s about Everly. I may not love her the way I thought I did, but I still love her. And I always will. She’s special, August, and you of all people should recognize that.”

“I do,” I nearly spat.

“Then why are you sitting around here doing nothing?” he roared, rising from his seat. It was the most anger I’d ever seen from the man. It was like hearing a menacing growl unfurl from a harmless-looking kitten, and suddenly realizing that the tiny creature with the sharp fangs and pointy claws was actually capable of vast danger.

“It’s complicated,” I replied.

“Than un-complicate it.”

“It’s not that easy! Look, she walked away from me. She. Left. Me.” I stood up, frustrated by this entire conversation. Didn’t he understand that given the chance—a change in circumstances, I would run to Everly in a heartbeat?

“Yes, but why? What did you do to drive her away? She didn’t leave because she stopped loving you, I know that much.”

“What makes you so sure? I am known to be kind of an asshole,” I replied with a touch of dark humor.

“She calls your name out in her sleep.”

That one sentence gutted me to the core. I had no witty comeback. Nothing. I just sat there dumbfounded until he continued. I felt myself crumble back to the cushions of the couch.

“She has ever since I’ve known her. At first I thought it was just a PTSD thing—getting over the trauma of you.”

I winced at the mere thought.

“But every so often she’d murmur things like, ‘I’m sorry, August…so sorry.’ I thought about asking her about it, but I figured she’d been through enough, so I let it go. You were not something either of us wanted to talk about—a big black void in our relationship until you actually woke up, and then it was like this giant elephant neither of us could get around. After you awoke, the dreams increased and suddenly she was calling out to you almost nightly. I tried to tell myself it was just the shock of having you back in her life, but deep down, I knew better. As time went on, it only got worse. Eventually I had to come to terms with the truth—that she was still love with you. She always had been. I was just a place holder until you came back.”

“I don’t know what to say,” I answered honestly.

“I’m not looking for an apology,” he said. “In a way, I guess we both used each other without realizing it. I wanted a relationship. I was nearly starving for someone in my life and when I saw her in that coffee shop, I knew she was the one I wanted. I didn’t take no for an answer, kept at her until she caved to my demands. I should have known then that we weren’t right for each other. You shouldn’t have to drag the woman of your dreams into your happily ever after. She should come willingly.”

“And that’s why you’re here now? You think I’m that guy for Everly?”

He nodded, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Haven’t you always been? I mean, I don’t know much about you two in the past, and I know things haven’t always been easy, but I do know one thing. No matter what happens, you two always find a way back to each other. Eventually, Everly is going to need to find her way back to you. You need to be there when she does.”

“What’s in it for you?” I asked wearily.

“Knowing she’s happy? That’s all I need, believe me.”

I eyed him with disbelief as we made our way toward the front door. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t find any ulterior motive when it came to Ryan. He was a dying breed—the last of his kind. The gentle giant, a class-act gentleman who carried his heart on his sleeve and cared with every fiber of his being. I knew, had he actually married Everly, that he would have given everything to her, simply because of the promise he’d made and the principle behind it. He would have loved her as much as he could have and never wandered. It was just the type of man he was. I remember Everly telling me he’d been raised by older parents and part of me wondered if his blast-from-the-past mannerisms and notions were a nod to them.

Whatever the reason, I respected the hell out of him. Even if I couldn’t do any of the things he asked of me.

Despite how much I wished I could.

“So, if you’re here, does that mean Everly went on your honeymoon alone?” I joked as we reached the door.

“No,” he answered with a smile, “She went with Sarah.”

“Ouch,” I replied with a shake of my head.

“It’s fine. I was happy to give it to her. Especially after I got this,” he said, pulling his phone out of his pocket to reveal a photo he had saved. Holding his phone out in front of him, he showed me a photo of Everly sitting in a tattoo parlor, her bright eyes gleaming as she smiled for the camera. All of her beautiful red hair was pulled to the side to reveal her bare shoulder, where a single new blackbird had been etched into her skin. Just outside of its cage, the bird’s great wingspan in mid-flight was gorgeous as she flew away from her prison.

“She’s free,” I found myself saying.

“Yeah, I guess she is.”

She was making memories and discovering her own path around the world. It was all I’d ever wanted for her.

“That’s my girl,” I murmured as my face lit up in a smile. “That’s my girl.”

It was late.

My weekend events had left too many things to do and not enough hours to complete them. Leaning back in the uncomfortable leather chair that had probably cost more than most people’s mortgages, I looked across the darkened office, noticing the dust that had accumulated on the equipment I’d once prized above all other possessions.

I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d taken a photograph.

After Everly left, I’d lost the will to even touch a camera. What was the point? Photos were to capture cherished memories.

I no longer had any.

My favorite room in the house had become my prison. The one place I’d gone to for sanctuary was now nothing more than another place to push around papers and crunch numbers.

It was my personal form of hell.

Whatever part of my brain that had enjoyed doing this in my former life was obviously gone, lost in the shuffle—that battle of new and old, the modern and outdated me.

Some things remained the same, like the way I wore my hair and the type of toothpaste I preferred, while others parts of my personality felt as if they had become vastly different.