* * *
Out of the corner of his eye, Everett could see Mike sit up straighter as they parked next to the curb in front of Monroe Manor, his father's showpiece of an estate. As they got out of the truck and stood shoulder to shoulder at the edge of the sprawling green lawn, there was something freeing about seeing the sold sign staked in the ground.
The smell of flowers and freshly cut grass whirled in the open air, natural and sweet. In all shades of pink, red, and yellow, they were blossoming, almost like they were finally free to bloom without Joseph haunting them.
Everett stood taller, his shoulders squared instinctively.
"Man, the pictures do nothing for this place." Mike cocked his head, and Everett recognized the mesmerized light in his eyes. Like a moth to a flame—you want to look away, but you can't. He felt the same way once.
When he first tried his hand at real estate, the cookie-cutter home designs of suburbia wouldn't do for Everett. Not the closely-packed garage-mahals with their curb appeal suffering at the expense of gigantic garages almost as big as the homes themselves. No, no bungalow, colonial, or Craftsman could measure up in his mind back then. Like Joseph Monroe, he needed his own namesake Antilia or Biltmore to carry on a yet-to-be-determined legacy. It needed to be the same red brick Southern or Georgian style, with shuttered windows and pearly white columns sectioning the home into quadrants. He wanted the clout of owning an impressive eight- to ten-thousand-square-foot home, even if he had no intention of filling its rooms.
Everett was dead set on becoming a man Joseph could see fit to call his son. Since Babs died, and now knowing what it felt like to go home to Sophia, it wasn't about the square footage or the showpiece any longer. He wanted more than beautiful surfaces. He wanted to decorate and fill every room of a simply stated, loving home. He wanted to share Patton Place with Sophia.
Everett inhaled and waved his hand in front of Mike's entranced face. "It's only an illusion. Don't fall for it."
"That’s what you keep telling me." Mike's gaze was unblinking.
Everett watched him glide toward the glossy black door with the brass knocker centered below the peephole. He swallowed back the memories. "Go ahead and knock. I'm right behind you." But he hung back, thinking about how long it had taken him to get here.
By the year Everett turned eighteen, he was no longer the starry-eyed, scrawny kid waiting up for his dad to come back for him. A full-ride academic scholarship to State, a freshly-painted and rebuilt Mustang, and buzz about a promising football career later, he showed up at his father’s house with his chin held considerably higher. He figured if everyone else bought into the hype, maybe Joseph Monroe wasn't exempt.
He went there with an inflated chest, finally believing he was enough. Like the stamp of approval he received everywhere else would somehow translate to the acceptance and pride he so longed to see in his father’s eyes when he looked at him instead of his new family.
So naive he believed he was finally the son a parent couldn't reject.
He bounded up the steps to the only glossy black door in a scarce sea of sensible slate grey and navy blue ones, feeling invincible. He stood on the porch, careful not to rouse the sleepy neighborhood, brimming with eager anticipation. But before he could lift his hand to the knocker, Joseph swung the door open and jumped down his throat, letting him know just how much thinner blood was than water. This man, who happened to share the same bloodline, heavy brow, square jaw, and dusky skin, saw fit to twist the angular lines of his face in loathsome anger. He was the same man, the mirror image. But they weren't family.
At least, Everett wasn't included in his.
Not even close.
Stupidly, after the door shut with him alone on the outside, he made his way to the line in the sidewalk facing the house, plotting and planning what it would take to cross over—to belong there. From then on, until Babs instilled the importance of family and loyalty in him, he navigated his life around the same coordinate on the map.
You’re not him. You wouldn't do that to her, I know you.
"You coming, or what?" Mike asked.
Everett frowned down at his feet cemented on the pavement. There was the line drawn between the sidewalk and the first step to the house. It felt more like a gorge not so long ago. His shoes toed the edge of the line, almost as if he knew it was a point of no return. Like crossing it would have some undisclosed, significant meaning.
He balled and unballed his fists, cracking his knuckles as he shifted on his feet. Strangely, his heartbeat was steady at a comfortable rhythm. Everett couldn't get Mike's eye-rolling comment out of his mind.
He's been dead for two years. What's he going to do, call the cops? Babs?
The loud rap of metal on metal ripped him out of his thoughts. He lifted his chin to find his friend inspecting the structure up close and personal. Then Mike turned to look at him, his brows bobbing with excitement. "They don't even have a doorbell." He snickered. "Old school all the way."
Everett smiled back absently.
I knew you loved her. Now I know just how much.
He stifled a grin at Mike's amusement and remembered why he was there. He never replied to his half-brother, but assumed the invitation was still good. Along with taking all his own belongings, Joseph stole Everett's dreams. Or, at least the dreams Babs tucked away in a small wooden box for him. She said it wasn't fair for only girls to get hope chests. It was just how she was, fair and full of life and love. Babs called it the dream-catcher because she said boys needed a place to put their dreams too. He just hoped it would help him catch his new dream.
Right now he would give anything for some advice from his grandmother. She would know what he should do about Sophia. Babs would know how to unbreak Sophia’s heart. How to show her how much she meant to him. Somehow let her know crossed lines didn't always have to be about the end—it could be a new start.
With the thought firmly rooted in his mind, Everett crossed the line on the sidewalk. When the door opened, he almost staggered back. His muscles tightened and the sound of his heavy heartbeat thudded in his ears.
Mike's eyes moved back and forth between Everett and the man at the door, who could only be Joseph Jr.
The similarity was uncanny, as if time ticked backward. As if history was rewritten and he was eighteen again, standing in the same spot, waiting for his father's welcome. The man stepped out into the setting sun, and the glare highlighted the warm, dark brown lines of his arched brow and square jaw. If Everett didn't have a certified copy of his father's death certificate filed in his cabinet at home, he wouldn't believe his own eyes.
"Everett?" Joseph Jr. asked, with the same husky rasp to his voice as their father.
When Everett said nothing, the man moved in closer. "I'm Joseph. Joe junior," he clarified with a shrug. "You got my message, then. I'm so glad you finally came. And I know you're here for your grandmother's box, but you're welcome to stay for a while."
Welcome.
The word hung in the air, buoyant and shocking, an unassuming olive branch. Everett took a deep breath and nodded his thanks for Joe's invitation before he walked into the house.
Chapter Nineteen
"You didn't hear the doorbell ringing? You have a guest," Mom roared, at the same time enunciating each word. "Now drag yourself up off the sofa and snap out of it, dammit."
She clapped her hands together right next to the one of Sophia's ears not glued to the sofa cushion. Her eyes fluttered in the direction of the door.
A guest?
Against her will, her heartbeat sped up. She tried not to let her excitement show, but already she could feel the heat crawling up her neck to her cheeks. "Who is it?"
"Well, if I knew, I would have said the name," her mom replied with a heated glare beneath a pair of expertly shaped raised eyebrows. "Why don't you go find out?"
Sophia eyed her mom suspiciously, as if this was some elaborate ruse to get her up off the couch. There was no way Everett would show
up after the way she left things. He’d called too many times to keep count, and with what little dignity Sophia stashed away, she ignored and deleted each and every one of his messages without listening to them.
Horror-movies-and-ice-cream was one thing, but she wasn't a complete masochist.
Other than his declined calls, Kara called to check on her, but there hadn’t been a peep out of Austin. She guessed he was either pleased with his handiwork—having effectively shoved a giant monkey wrench into her relationship with Everett—or gearing up to defend himself against the impending fraud and embezzlement charges.
A teensy giggle bubbled up inside her.
If she was going down, she would by God take everyone else involved in the farce down with her. She came all the way to Portland to start over, and somehow, in record time, she managed to lose her house, leave her new restaurant plans in limbo, and get her heart broken again. As if the job wasn't done right the first time around, she enlisted the first guy she met to really get in there good and crush it all the way.
Now Mom snapped her fingers a couple of times, signaling for Sophia to hop to it.
"I'm going. Good lord," Sophia said, rolling her eyes as she levered herself up off the couch.
As she stood, sliding her feet into her slippers, she was suddenly aware of the fact she was basically stewing in her own filth. She hadn’t showered in two days. Frantically, she combed her fingers through her hair, smoothing the flyaways as she moved slowly down the hallway to the door. A messy ponytail wasn't so bad, but she was pretty sure her mean case of raccoon eyes nicely accented a pair of chapped lips and stained hot pink fleece pajamas.
Seriously? The timing can’t be worse. If it is Everett at the door, it would just be typical.
Going back to square one with a vengeance.
By the time she reached the cracked-open door, Sophia's heart was basically doing speed cycle on crack. Her breathing swished and swashed and thwacked in her ears until she was at the entry. But her heart plummeted fast and hard into the pit of her stomach, and from the way her shoulders slumped almost instantly, she couldn't deny the weight of the letdown.
It wasn't him.
A breath she was holding leaked slowly out of her chest. "Hi."
"Hey." Zora beamed a genuine, if tentative, smile. Sympathetic as it might have been, it wasn't hard to see Zo recognized how Sophia deflated at the sight of her.
Her heart was set on someone else.
Here Sophia was, standing in the doorway with the sister of the man she was in love with, her would-be sister-in-law, and all she could think about was...what?
Zora had been a genuine friend to her from the get-go. Heaven forbid Sophia be thankful to have someone sane to talk to—someone who wasn't trying to rush her back to Vegas for their own selfish reasons. Like a grade-A ingrate, Sophia met Zora with a giant Fuck Off sign stamped on her forehead.
Unsure what else to do, she offered a conciliatory shrug and a weak smile. Basically an awkward I'm sorry for being a douchebag to you. Zora stepped backward, the way people do when they feel like they're imposing, and Sophia immediately felt like a complete asshole. It would be a swift blow to anyone's ego.
"I'm so sorry. I don't know where my manners are. Would you like to come on in?" Awkwardly, she went in for a forced hug, then grabbing Zora's hand and leading her into the house.
"No. You were expecting—"
"No. Well, yes, but...I promise. Don't worry about it." Sophia waved the idea away before Zora could verbalize all the knots tangled up inside her. She nodded her head in the direction of the living room. "You must think I'm so rude. Please come in. I insist."
"I can't." The words came out on a low breath. Traces of fear and pain stained the words like there was undoubtedly more behind them. It wasn't like an I hate to impose, but ask me again and I'll concede type of response. The firmness in those two simple words felt more like a physical incapability.
What's more, there was an unmistakable tinge of remorse Sophia couldn't overlook.
She glanced over her shoulder into the living room, and paused for the slightest moment, hoping to get a glimpse from another perspective. Her study lingered on the clean lines of the white built-ins balanced by the soft curves of the off-white sofa and Mediterranean blue accents.
There was nothing.
When Sophia returned to Zora, she remained cemented on the steps, unwavering, frozen in place. Her lips were pressed in a thin, polite smile, but there was pain behind her gaze.
It was then it hit Sophia.
What was Sophia really losing in this house? An unsteady home built on lopsided promises and lies? The memories of Ainsley? She would never be without those memories. There was nothing left for her here. She couldn't say the same for the woman standing before her, the quiet fire and peacemaker. Zora was her brother's keeper. She was the woman who befriended Sophia.
No, she couldn't say the same for Zora, or for Everett.
There was still a chance for them to hold onto the good.
"Zora, when’s the last time you were here?" she asked tentatively and pressed her hand to her heart. She studied her friend for the briefest time, and in that moment, the way Zora’s eyes turned up innocently, open, Sophia could almost see an endearing, childlike expression. The same mesmerized, melancholy stare she saw in Everett's eyes.
"He told me how your grandmother raised the two of you in this house. I know what it's like to lose someone you've centered all your hopes around." Sophia leaned against the doorjamb and let her chin graze her collarbone. "For what it's worth, I'm glad you're getting her house back."
They stood there on two sides of the same line drawn in the sand. But it wasn't the least bit awkward. Somehow, it was like they both said everything that needed to be said. Still, neither one of them moved to turn and close the door, or walk down the steps and drive away.
Sophia watched a bird perch right down on one of the potted topiaries framing the door. Its grayish-blue feathers contrasted in a ray of sunlight, only more vibrant in the backdrop of the red-bricked pavement. A faint breeze ruffled them slightly, but the tiny little thing continued pecking away, somehow unfazed by its surroundings and the presence of humans.
The corners of Sophia's mouth tugged upward.
This too shall pass.
Zora cleared her throat, interrupting Sophia’s musings. When she looked up and followed Zora’s line of sight into the house, she felt the tension come flooding back. Sophia ran her fingers over the length of her tousled ponytail.
"Does he know?"
Sophia shook her head hesitantly, still focused on her suitcases lined up by the entry table.
"Are you going to tell him you're leaving?" All traces of empathy drained from Zora's tone, replaced by the unmistakable smear of judgment. She was protecting her brother.
On a half-squint, half-wince, Sophia shrugged. "It's better this way. Trust me, we were headed for the exit anyway."
"Better for who?" Zora jerked her head back, a smirk quivered at the left corner of her mouth. "I've seen you two together. You don't have to convince me. I know love when I see it, and you guys have it. I saw the way he looked at you."
Now Sophia did look at Zora, square in the face. She said, "have it," not "had it." She hadn’t used the past tense. She believed it was still there, still strong, despite everything.
When she met the pointed stare aimed at her, she knew there was no sense denying the truth. Tears stung her eyes. Before she could say a word, Zora yanked her into a tight, urgent hug. Her lean, taut arms roped around her and knotted in place.
"What time's your flight?" she asked. Her voice was thick with the tornado of emotions they shared.
On a stuttered breath, Sophia whispered she was leaving early in the afternoon the following day.
* * *
"What are you going to tell her?" Mike asked as they arrived back at Everett's house. "I mean, where should I say we were?"
Most of the drive home, Everett w
as in a daze and, frankly, unwilling to talk. What in the hell was there to say, anyway, when he couldn’t really work out the magnitude of what just happened?
"Don't say anything," Everett muttered as he climbed the stairs and dug the key out of his coat pocket. He pivoted to Mike before turning the key, straight-faced and even-toned. "I got what I went there for. Nothing happened, so just chill. My sister will get over it. Plus, she's the one who called all wired up. This is probably just another one of her little fire drills."
Mike entered first, looking guilty as all hell. Damn, what a mistake it had been to take him along. Everett always knew the guy couldn't hold water, but he always seemed to have the best of intentions. Lately, though, his inability to keep his pie-hole shut appeared to be directly related to his proximity to Zora.
When is he going to finally just admit it so we can skip to the good times?
Everett let the door shut behind him and shot Loose Lips a play it cool look. Hopefully, a few-decades-long friendship would override his friend's played-out efforts to get in good with Zo. He’d barely set the wooden box on the entry table when Zora started yelling for him to come into the living room.
"What took you so long?" By her tone and perma-raised brows, he could tell she was annoyed.
Long? With everything Joe told Everett weighing on his mind and his lead foot, it only took twenty minutes to get back. She was wrong, but it seemed fruitless to argue the point. "Had some things to take care of. What's so damn important? What can't wait this time?"
"We have to talk, like now. We don’t have much time." She patted the couch cushion beside her and shifted, so she was facing him when he sat.
"Okay. And? I'm here. So talk."
Zo scooted closer. Their knees were practically touching as she sat up straight with a sharp intake of air, as if readying herself. How did she know Everett had gone to Joseph's house? As if on some cellular level she could feel his betrayal—his broken promise.
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