Evergreen: The Complete Series: Including exclusive bonus scene! (Evergreen Series)

by Cassia Leo

  She narrowed her eyes. “Is that a compliment or an insult?”

  I laughed as I slung my backpack over my shoulder. “Definitely a compliment. You’re naturally beautiful.”

  Her cheeks flushed flame-red. “My car’s over there,” she said, pointing to a silver Chevy Volt with flashing hazard lights parked in the loading zone. “We’d better get going before they tow me.”

  I tossed my backpack into the back seat with Boomer. Reaching in to grab the latch on the front of the passenger seat, I pushed it back to make room for my legs before I got inside.

  “Thanks for coming out on such short notice,” I said, closing the car door and reaching for the seatbelt.

  Emily looked around and over her shoulder. “I feel a little embarrassed admitting this, but I’ve never actually picked anyone up from this airport before. I… I only got my driver’s license three years ago. I don’t know how to get out of the airport.”

  “No need to be embarrassed about that. You want me to drive?”

  Her face lit up. “Would you?”

  I laughed. “Of course.”

  We both got out and, as we rounded the front of the car, I gave in to the overwhelming urge to reach out and brush her hand with my fingertips. She continued moving toward the passenger side with her hand clutched to her chest, like found treasure, and a gorgeous smile on her face.

  I had to move the driver’s seat even farther back than the passenger seat, which made me wonder, for a split second, if she’d been driving around with another guy in the car. “Where to?” I asked as I pulled the seatbelt across my chest.

  She buckled in and looked up at me with an adorably confused expression. “I thought you were going home.”

  “Do you have somewhere you need to be?”

  She shook her head. “Nope.”

  I sat back and pondered for a moment before I threw out a suggestion. “You told me you moved to Minneapolis when you were sixteen. Have you ever walked all the way down Nicollet Mall until you reached the Mississippi River at nine o’clock at night in the middle of autumn with a guy you just picked up at the airport?”

  A beaming grin spread across her face. “Oddly enough, I have not.”

  I shook my head as I pressed the ignition button. “Well, let me know when you get a chance to do that. I’d love to know how it goes.”

  She laughed as she punched me in the arm, which prompted a deep bark from Boomer. “You’re worse than my brothers,” she said, completely unfazed by Boomer barking at her.

  I rubbed my arm. “No need to resort to physical violence,” I said, pulling the car out into the flow of traffic. “Unless you’re into that sort of thing.”

  She leaned back in her seat and shook her head. “I have a feeling you’re going to get me in a whole lot of trouble.”

  I smiled as I stopped at a traffic light. “I sure hope so.”

  Chapter 5

  Jack

  “I don’t like the location,” I said as I stood next to my truck in an empty parking lot off Murray Blvd. and Tualatin Valley Highway. “I told you I don’t want a property on T.V. Highway.”

  “But you’re close to Nike and Intel,” Tim replied, unable to hide the frustration in his voice.

  This was the eighth property Tim Roche, my property developer, had shown me in the last two days. I could see he was very near the end of his rope and ready to drop me as a client. But I didn’t think I had the fortitude to recover from another bad decision. I needed to get the location of the new office right the first time.

  “It’s closer to Nike. I’d rather be closer to Intel. What’s next?” I asked, sliding behind the wheel of my truck.

  Tim sighed. “I only have two more properties that meet the criteria. One is about a block from where you are now, in the adjacent business park. The other one is almost brand new. It’s a good location, but it will be expensive to buy the building and redesign it to suit your needs. I’ll text you the address.”

  “How expensive?” I asked when I saw the address.

  “About four times what you wanted to spend. It’s on Amberglen. They’re building a ton of apartments for the growing tech community. Commercial real estate in the area is spiking.”

  “Let’s take a look.”

  I forwarded the address to Barry in a separate text. As I pulled out of the lot onto Murray Blvd., a call came in from Barry.

  “What’s up, man? You almost here?” I asked.

  “Yeah, mate. Google says I’ll be there in about fifteen.”

  “See you then.”

  I let out a heavy sigh as I realized it was beyond too late to get out of this business venture with Barry. It seemed like a really fucking stupid idea to go into business with the husband of my cheating wife’s best friend. But Barry was my friend before Drea and Laurel became BFFs. If anyone needed to change their social life to accommodate the new state of our marriage it should be her not me.

  God, my thoughts sounded like the thoughts of a jilted teenager.

  I pulled into the well-manicured business park on Amberglen Parkway, taking in the two tidy brick office buildings and brightly painted parking spaces. There were even a half-dozen chargers for electric vehicles. Construction appeared to be near completion on two trendy apartment complexes across the street. This was a perfect location. It was a good thing my lawyer, Larry Goodman, was in the final stages of negotiating my $244 million buyout package with Halo.

  As I stepped out of the truck, Barry pulled his blue Tesla into a space nearby. Tim’s combover fluttered in the November wind as he approached my truck.

  “It looks perfect,” I said. “But I want both buildings.”

  Tim shook his head. “The other building’s occupied by a medical equipment sales company. Not on the market.”

  “Everything’s for sale. I want them both.”

  Tim sighed. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Barry squinted his eyes against the bright overcast clouds as he approached. “This will cost an arm and leg. You sure you want to take on that kind of risk, mate?”

  I cocked an eyebrow. “Why? Have you heard rumblings of someone wanting to take me for all I’ve got?”

  Tim clapped me on the arm. “I’d better get going so I can start working on the proposal. I’ll call you if I need anything.”

  Barry shook his head. “I’ve heard no such rumblings,” he replied, slipping his hands into his pockets as he looked at the buildings. “Laurel’s staying in the guest room, you know? Thom and Colin are over the moon about it. I… don’t know what she’s planning to do with the baby, but one thing is for certain. From what I’ve gathered, Laurel was too drunk to know what or who she was doing that night, mate. And… the baby’s one hundred percent yours.”

  My stomach lurched at this news. “One hundred percent mine? How do you know that?”

  “Drea says he told Laurel he can’t have kids. Got snipped a couple years ago after a close call of sorts.”

  “A vasectomy? How old is he?”

  Barry shook his head. “That I don’t know, mate.”

  My head spun with all the scenarios I’d been playing in my mind for the past few days: Laurel and I back together; me raising another man’s child; me refusing to raise another man’s child and being no better than Laurel’s father; me breaking up with Laurel and sending her straight into that motherfucker’s arms, only to find out the baby is mine. None of the scenarios I imagined included finding out the baby was mine this early. Then, a horrifying thought entered my mind.

  I glared at Barry. “What do you mean you don’t know what she’s planning to do with the baby?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve heard her talking to Drea. Seems she isn’t sure she can hack it being a single mum and all.”

  A drop of rain fell on my cheek as I tried to imagine how I got to this point. How did we get here? Did Laurel seriously expect that she would have to raise our child alone?

  I clenched my teeth as I digested this thought,
then I took a deep breath and nodded as I let it out slowly. “Thanks, man,” I said as my mind scrambled for an excuse to leave. “I’ve got some errands to run, but we should grab a beer tomorrow. I’ll text you later.”

  “See you later, mate.”

  As I stepped inside the Columbia Gorge Hotel, I was once again reminded of the last time I was here with Laurel. There were at least a dozen other lodging choices I had in Hood River, but I told myself that I came back here because of the familiarity, something I desperately needed now. But this time I stopped in the middle of the lobby and considered turning around. I didn’t need the suitcase Laurel packed for me and had Drea deliver to the hotel.

  Then, as I stood in the middle of the warmly lit lobby, surrounded by the scent of freshly cut flowers, an infuriating thought came to me. If Laurel was too drunk to know what or who she was doing that night, didn’t that mean she was too drunk to consent?

  “Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Stratton?” the man working the front desk asked cheerfully.

  I shook my head, then corrected myself and nodded at him. “Yes. Can you check me out and have someone courier my things to my home address? You can charge the courier to the room. I have somewhere I need to be.”

  It was about time I confronted that motherfucker.

  As I sat in traffic on I-84, I began to wonder what the fuck I planned to get out of a conversation with Isaac. Did I plan to ask him if he took advantage of my wife? Was that supposed to be the opener for an adult conversation? Or was I just going to attack him without any proof that he’d done anything at all?

  What the fuck was I doing?

  I shook my head and started making my way to the nearest exit. I was sliding into the same fucking patterns as before: revenge before justice. Had I not learned a single thing from the turmoil Laurel and I had endured?

  I punched the steering wheel. “Fuck!”

  The sedan in front of me honked their horn in response. Ten minutes later, I finally navigated my way through the traffic and exited the freeway near the Troutdale Airport. I hung a left and got right back on I-84 going east, back to Hood River. Traffic was clear, but my mind was a tangled mess.

  I thought about Halo and all the reasons I’d decided to leave. Ultimately, I didn’t like being an information broker.

  I knew the apps we made at Halo were not the product we were selling. The users of the apps were the product. The apps were free. We sold data collected through our apps to public relations and advertising agencies.

  We had a behavioral psychologist on staff who helped us hone in on the inner workings of the minds and habits of our users. Our job wasn’t to make great apps. Our job was to figure out how to get users to click on more ads and hand over more of their personal information.

  The more data we had on our users, the more accurately the users could be segmented into increasingly specific target groups. The more specific the target, the more valuable the data was to the companies that bought it. And since Halo was a social networking app that used scientific research to help people communicate more effectively, our data was in very high demand.

  But I didn’t want to spend my life trying to figure out how to get some poor soul to click on an ad or log into their new dating app using Halo. I didn’t want to lure someone in with the promise of never sending another cringe-y text message, just so I could glean targeting information from the content of their messages and profiles and GPS data.

  I left Halo because it became something very different than what I created, and it took two years of distancing myself from the company to finally open my eyes to what we’d become. Was I going to leave Laurel for being a different person than the one I married? Wasn’t that what marriage was about, staying with someone through all the changes, the good and the bad?

  As I approached our house in Hood River, I was surprised to see my suitcase on the step right next to the front door. The hotel concierge was very quick about getting my things sent to the house. I’d have to make sure to send the desk clerk a nice gratuity.

  I pulled my truck into the garage and hit the button on the remote clipped to my visor. Turning off the car, I sat in the truck for a while, trying to make sense of everything: Laurel’s vows, Brandon’s adoption, Beth and Mark’s divorce while Laurel was at OSU, my wedding vows, the murders, the breakdown of my marriage, Laurel leaving, the hate-fuck, telling her I wanted a divorce then disappearing.

  I shook my head as I realized I was partly to blame for what happened between Laurel and Isaac. How could we endure all that and still love each other? I couldn’t even imagine a life without Laurel. Losing her wasn’t an option.

  I wasn’t fighting for my marriage when I left for Boise last month. I wasn’t even fighting for justice. I was just fighting. It had been me against the world for the last two years and I was just so fucking exhausted.

  I let out a heavy sigh and called Jade, who answered on the second ring. “Jade, I need you to compile a list of therapists in southwest Portland who specialize in grief counseling. Send me the list from your new email address.”

  “Sure thing. Is everything okay?” she replied in her usual cheery tone.

  I was silent for a moment as I contemplated this question. “Yeah… Yeah, I’m okay.”

  I wanted to call Laurel and share the epiphany I’d just had. I wanted to ask her if the baby was really mine, and to tell her that there was no way I would let her raise our child alone. I wanted to hold her and tell her that we’d get through this. But every time I looked at her name on my phone, I kept imagining her with him.

  I wasn’t ready. I might never be ready to be with Laurel again. But after everything we’d been through, I couldn’t just give up on us. I was going to fight like hell for my marriage this time. And I wasn’t going to do it by confronting Laurel or declaring war on the world.

  This time, I had to battle myself.

  Just me against my demons. An all out heavyweight brawl. And I had no intention of going down without one helluva fight.

  Part 2

  WHERE FLOWERS BLOOM

  “And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took blossom.”

  - Anais Nin

  Chapter 6

  Laurel

  The gym at Hood River Valley High School still bore the faint smell of scorched cinder and ash from the residents who’d sought shelter here during the late-summer wildfires. A table was set up near the entrance with a coffee urn, four pitchers of ice water, and two boxes of donuts. I poured some water into a paper cup and took a seat in the circle of chairs, which had been set up around the basketball key. This must be the gym where Jack practiced with his high school basketball team.

  I counted six people already seated. Three more stood to the side of the refreshments table and two more women entered after I did. Including myself, that was a dozen people for fifteen chairs. I hoped the group leader didn’t make us wait too long to start the session. I arrived two minutes before the start of the meeting so I wouldn’t have to make small talk.

  I took a seat next to a black gentleman who was busy doing something on his phone. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties. In fact, almost everyone here appeared to be in their thirties or forties. For some reason, I expected a grief group demographic to skew older. It was depressing to see so many people my age suffering the loss of someone they loved.

  An Indian woman wearing a maroon cardigan and gray slacks stood behind the chair at the top of the key, grabbing the back for support. “Is everyone ready to begin?” she said, raising her eyebrows as she smiled at the group of three men chatting by the refreshments table.

  They quickly joined the group and took a seat across from me. The oldest of them couldn’t be more than fifty years old. Sandy brown hair stuck out the edges of his red and white trucker hat as he crossed his arms and sat back in the plastic yellow chair.

  I tried to keep my focus on the Indian woman, but I kept glancing around the grou
p, searching for something I recognized: a clenched jaw, red-rimmed eyes, fidgety hands, incessant foot-tapping. They were all there. The same symptoms in varying degrees, with different faces, different stories.

  “Thank you all for coming today. My name is Dr. Anika Jindal. You may call me Anika or Doctor or Dr. Jindal. Your choice,” she said, not taking a seat in her chair yet. “I will not make anyone sign in today, since I’ve found that the first session is more of a survey. Members usually decide if group therapy will work for them in the first session. Many will not find this medium agrees with their personality, and that is totally okay. Next week, we will start signing in. Does that sound okay?”

  A soft murmur of agreement rolled through the circle and Jindal nodded decisively.

  “Very good. Then, let’s begin,” she said, finally taking a seat in the chair. “First, I want to start off by telling you the purpose of the group, then we can start introductions.”

  A woman with long black hair raised her hand. “Can I ask a question?”

  “Yes, please, go ahead,” Jindal replied genially.

  “Will this meeting always take place at eight p.m.? Because I have to put my kids to bed at 8:30 and my husband gets a little stressed out if he has to do it alone.”

  Jindal smiled. “Yes, I’m afraid so. I’ve found that seven p.m. is often too early for most working people, so we only schedule group sessions for eight p.m. now. I’m very sorry if that conflicts with your schedule. Is there someone else who can help your husband in your absence?”

  The woman sighed and shook her head. “No. My… My mom is gone. That’s why I’m here. I’m sorry. I can’t stay.”