OnlyEverYou_SDavis-eBooks

by Davis, Siobhan

  “Zeta.” His whisper drags me out of my head. I realize I’ve been lost in thought, just staring at his mouth. Thank God, I’m not the type to blush, or my face would probably be scarlet right now.

  “What?” My voice sounds all hoarse, like I’ve developed an instant sore throat.

  “Have you ever been kissed?”

  I blink profusely, and my lips stretch into a soft smile. “I’m seventeen not seven, Ryder. Of course, I’ve been kissed.”

  His brow furrows, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You mean sixteen, right?”

  I shake my head. “No, I mean seventeen. It was my birthday last week.”

  “What?” He jerks his head up, sitting upright in the chair. “Why the hell didn’t you say anything?” He looks profoundly unhappy.

  I shrug, straightening up too. “What’s the point? It’s not like you could make me a cake or take me out to celebrate.”

  “Your birthday is definitely something to celebrate, and I … I have a present for you,” he sheepishly admits as his shy alter ego makes a reappearance.

  I tilt my head to the side. “You do? How?”

  His eyes spark to life, and I’m pleased to see a smile forming on his mouth. “I’ll show you later, after you’re done with your session. You’ll be back at your usual time, right?”

  “Of course.” Ryder is almost regimental about time and routine, and anything out of the ordinary really throws him for a loop, I’ve noticed. “Where else would I go?” I reassure him.

  “What was the nightmare about this time?” Dr. Reynolds asks me during our scheduled therapy session. I swear she was a spy or an interrogator in a previous lifetime. Her ability to manipulate me into telling her stuff I had no intention or desire to disclose is hugely impressive even if it worries me enormously.

  Part of me wants to tell her the truth in the hope she might have some insight on my options, but there’s a bigger part of me that’s still too fearful to open up. With her mad manipulative skills, I feel it’s only a matter of time before the inevitable happens.

  “It was the same one,” I lie. “About that night.”

  “Talk me through it again.”

  “I don’t want to. It only puts me in a bad mood.”

  “You need to talk about it. It’s not going away until you process all your feelings related to your mother and that night.” She stands, rounding the desk and hovering over me. “I know it’s not easy to relive these things, but you can’t focus on the future until you’ve dealt with the past.”

  Pain stabs me in the chest. “It hurts too much to relive it, and I really don’t see how it will help. It’s not like it can change what happened.”

  Her facial expression softens, and she walks toward me at a slow pace, grabbing a box of Kleenex from her desk on the way. “Please, sit with me.” She motions toward the couch propped against the wall.

  Perching on the edge of the couch, she smooths a hand over her tailored, black pencil skirt before patting the empty space beside her. I sit down, keeping reasonable distance between us. “I’m going to be direct, because you need to hear this. You come in here, Zeta, and you play a part. This is our fifth session together, and I have no understanding of who you are. I can’t help you if you don’t open up to me. Whatever we discuss in this room is confidential, and you can trust me with anything.”

  “Trust has to be earned. It’s not something that can be freely given.”

  “Have I ever given you any reason to doubt me?” She waits for my reply, but I don’t say anything. Fact is, she’s been nothing but pleasant to me. The reason this isn’t working is all down to me. She sighs. “I’m on your side. I just want to help.”

  “I can’t discuss that night. Not yet. Please don’t force me to.” I pull my knees into my chest, wrapping my arms around my body to ward off the chills snaking through me.

  “I would never force you to do anything you didn’t want to do.” Her earnest expression goes a long way toward reassuring me. “Let’s talk some more about your relationship with your mother. The last time, you told me how sad she was after your father died and how everything changed then. Do you feel comfortable sharing what happened after that?”

  I wet my dry lips, nodding. “I was six when my dad was killed in Afghanistan. I remember feeling so sad and wanting my mom to comfort me, but she just sat around in her pajamas all day, crying. Then we had to move, and we relocated to a new town where we knew no one. I was so upset because she took me away from all my friends. I started at a new school, and I hated it because the kids had all grown up together and I was the outsider. They made fun of me because my mom showed up at the school gates in her slippers and PJs, usually drunk and babbling shit no one wanted to listen to. No one wanted to play with me, and I was ostracized. I used to cry myself to sleep every night, praying she would hear me and come comfort me. But she never did. I might as well have been invisible.”

  “How did that make you feel?”

  I shrug, briefly pursing my lips. “Lost. Scared. Lonely. Unlovable. Unloved.” The words glide off my tongue without hesitation, because that pain is always with me. Piercing pain presses down on my chest. I might have only been six or seven, but the feelings were so intense I have no trouble recalling them again.

  “Did things change when she met your stepfather?”

  Every bone in my body turns rigidly still. Bile floods my mouth and my stomach churns violently. “Yes, but not in a good way.”

  Her eyes penetrate mine, and she holds my gaze as she asks her next question. “In what way did things change after he came into your life?”

  I draw a huge breath, carefully composing my words. It’d be so easy to let it all pour out, but I’ve got to be cautious until I know I can trust her completely. “He was very controlling, and Mom just let him get away with it. Of course, he wasn’t like that at the start. They dated, and he romanced her good. At first, things were looking up. She didn’t drink so much during the day, and she stopped going out in her sleep clothes. She made an effort to shower and look presentable, and she started paying more attention to the house and to me. But then she moved him in, and gradually, she started changing again.”

  “How old were you then?”

  “I had just turned eleven.” I pick at a loose thread on the hem of my polo, fighting the surge of unpleasant memories.

  “Is your stepfather the reason your mother turned to prostitution?”

  My mom’s sordid lifestyle had featured heavily during the court hearing, so she’s aware Mom sold her body for money. Gulping over the painful lump in my throat, I nod.

  “When did you realize she was sleeping with other men for money?”

  “When kids at school started teasing me about it. I’d often come home from school to find strange men leaving the house, and when I asked her, she’d say they were friends of my asshole stepdad. But as I got older, I realized they were men who were paying her for sex.”

  “How did that make you feel?”

  “Ashamed and confused. I tried talking to her about it, and she was horrible to me. Told me I was a naïve little girl who didn’t understand. After that, she didn’t try to hide what she was doing, and more and more men were hanging around the house. I saw stuff I didn’t ever want to see. And it wasn’t just sex. They were all abusing drugs and alcohol, and our house became known for wild parties and raging orgies.”

  “How did that impact you at school?”

  I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to ignore the memories swamping my mind. I’m tightening my fists into balls when I find the courage to reopen my eyes and continue unloading. “I was propositioned constantly by boys. They seemed to think it was acceptable to grab and grope me, and I was always fighting them off. But the girls were the worst. They disliked the attention I got, and they bullied me and picked fights all the time. I was constantly in the principal’s offic
e for fighting even though I never started a single fight. It was always self-defense.”

  “Why didn’t you tell anyone what was going on?”

  “I did. I told the principal, and you know what she did?” I bark out a laugh. “She called my mom and stepdad in for a meeting and made me tell them everything I’d told her. They refuted it all, of course, and told her a bunch of lies regarding my unruly behavior and how they were struggling to tame my wild ways.”

  Anger churns in my gut. “The principal swallowed it all and told me to never darken her door with such heinous lies again. It didn’t seem to matter that I was top of all my classes, didn’t screw any of the boys, and that I never started any fights.” My breath oozes out in painful spurts as renewed anger fuels the blood flowing in my veins. The system has constantly failed me, so is it any wonder I lied under oath? They would never have believed me even if I’d told the truth.

  Anger underscores my words as I tell her how it went down. “The principal had her mind made up that I was the troublemaker, and nothing I said swayed her mind. Mom was furious with me, and she locked me out of the house for a few days, forcing me to sleep in the garden shed. After that, I gave up on adults. What was the point telling the truth when no one ever believed me?”

  CHAPTER 7

  Ryder

  Zeta is uncharacteristically quiet when she joins me after her therapy session. I’m guessing it was a grueling one, and I empathize. I’ve spent hundreds of hours in therapy, and opening up old wounds that continue to fester is never easy.

  Dr. Blaufeld is aware of my real history, and he has tried diligently to help me move past my self-loathing and anger, but it’s an impossible task. I don’t see how I can ever forgive myself for what I orchestrated. And I don’t believe I deserve to be forgiven. That’s the crux of the matter and the main argument between me and the good doctor. He tells me I need to forgive myself in order to love myself and if I can’t love myself, then I will never be able to love someone else.

  But he just doesn’t get it.

  I don’t deserve any of that.

  I’m not worthy of love, and I shouldn’t be entertaining this so-called friendship with Zeta, because we’re skating on thin ice, and we both know it’s way more than that, and she deserves so much better than me.

  I look over at her, and it’s clear she’s a million miles away. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes distant, and it’s obvious she’s not really present. My desire to erase her sadness and eliminate her pain is the main reason I stick to my plan despite the competing desire that says I should let her go and end this before we both get hurt.

  “Hey.” I gently cup one side of her face, forcing her gaze to mine. Her skin is so soft and smooth under my touch that I struggle to draw my hand away, but I do, because she doesn’t like to be touched, and I’m crossing too many boundaries with how often I’m touching her lately. “You want to talk about it, or you want me to help you forget about it?”

  She has the saddest expression on her face, and I’ve never wanted to pull her into my arms and comfort her as much as I do right now. “Help me forget?” she whispers, scooting a little closer to my side.

  Despite my better judgment, I lean down and press a soft kiss to the top of her head. Her hair smells like the standard issue shampoo, but on her, the sickly strawberry scent smells pleasant, not nauseating. She doesn’t push me away, and I continue to rest my chin on her head, with her pressed up beside me, enjoying the close human contact, until I notice Lopez and Torres staring at us. Reluctantly, I pull away, sliding my guitar over my shoulder, and I start plucking the strings, limbering up.

  “I wrote this for you,” I tell her quietly. “Happy birthday, Zeta.”

  I keep my eyes pinned on hers as I play her the song. I don’t sing to her, except in my head, because the words are too personal, and they’ll give my feelings away. Plus, if I start singing, I’ll garner the attention of the room, and I don’t want anyone listening to this but her. By now, everyone is used to me sitting in the far corner, strumming away, and most of them have learned to tune me out. Young regularly joins us, and a couple of the other guys sometimes hang out with us, but mostly, we’re left to our own devices which suits me perfectly.

  I pour my heart and soul into the music, humming along softly, never taking my eyes from hers. So many emotions flit across her face as she dutifully listens. Her eyes seem sunnier, and my heart soars as her mood elevates. I have her full attention and it’s a hugely private moment despite our surroundings. She peers deep into my eyes, and I drown in the exquisite depths of her beautiful brown eyes, that reddish-amber hue flaring brightly as we cocoon ourselves in a solitary bubble where nothing or no one else exists.

  I imagine we’re sitting cross-legged on an empty beach as I play. Waves are lapping the shore behind us, and the sound is the perfect accompaniment to my guitar. She’s wearing a casual white sundress that billows in the gentle breeze. She’s wearing no makeup and her hair is long and loose, like it is now, blowing softly across her exuberant face. Sun glints off her face highlighting her natural beauty and I sing my heart out, not worried in that imaginary setting about anyone else hearing. When I’m done, she throws herself at me, wrapping her arms around my neck as she brings her lips down onto mine. Her mouth is soft and warm against mine and I wind my fingers through her hair, pulling her face even closer, desperate to get as close to her as possible.

  “It’s beautiful.” Zeta’s awe-struck voice drags me kicking and screaming out of my daydream. Disappointment slams into me and I could cry at the loss of that imaginary kiss.

  Fuck. I’ve got it bad.

  Rapidly composing my features, before she guesses where my head went to, and runs away screaming from the crazy dude daydreaming of serenading her on the beach, I drape my arms on top of my Fender and smile. “Did you genuinely like it?”

  “Like it?” Her eyebrows climb to her hairline. “I absolutely loved it. I can’t believe you wrote that for me. Thank you so much. It’s the best birthday present anyone’s ever given me.”

  “While that makes me unbelievably happy, I’m seriously hoping that’s not true.”

  A look of abject sorrow sweeps over her face, and I know she’s telling the truth. Fuck. I hate that her background seems as lacking as mine. “I’ve got another present for you,” I blurt, totally improvising. I just want to put a smile back on her face.

  “You do?”

  Removing my guitar, I rest it carefully beside the wall and tentatively open my arms. My heart is somersaulting in my chest, and my stomach roils with nerves. The look on her face is priceless. She looks half mesmerized, half terrified, and I can relate. “Everyone deserves a hug on their birthday. Come here.” She looks anxiously at me, biting down on her lower lip in a totally sexy way. “I don’t bite, Zeta. It’s a hug. That’s all.”

  Her chest inflates, and an exuberant smile creeps over her lips as she scoots over, softly laying her head on my chest. My arms go around her as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. When her hands slip around my waist, encircling my back, a little sigh of contentment escapes my mouth before I can stop it. I rest my chin on top of her head, savoring the warmth of her body flush against mine.

  If there were awards for best hugger, Zeta would win, hands down. Her hold on me is firm yet tender, and as she slowly runs her hand up and down my spine, I allow myself to fall.

  My heart is ricocheting around my chest like it’s dancing a tango. With her ear pressed so close, I’m sure she’s aware of every overactive beat, but I don’t care. She’s finally in my arms, and it’s everything I’ve been dreaming about.

  “Aw, isn’t this cute.” Valeria’s sneering comment brings me harshly back down to Earth. Lopez, Torres, Sam, Camila, and Sofia stand over us, and I fucking hate this damn place and the complete lack of privacy. Zeta slowly eases off me, and I want to ram my fist into Lopez’s face and wipe t
hat smug, condescending look from it. Zeta climbs to her feet, and I follow suit. “Puppy love at its finest,” Valeria adds in a derogatory tone.

  “Don’t you have places to be and people to screw,” Zeta retorts.

  Lopez chuckles. “You’ve got some fire in your belly, baby doll.”

  “Do. Not. Call me that.” Zeta glares at him. “I’m not your baby or your baby doll or your anything.”

  His eyes move slowly over her body, and my hands ball up at my sides. A familiar surge of anger creeps up on me, and I know I won’t be able to keep it in check if that douche keeps leering at my girl.

  “How ’bout you and me take this someplace else, and I’ll give you a birthday present you’ll never forget.” Thrusting his hips forward, Lopez grabs hold of his crotch, making sure the offer is crystal clear. Zeta glances up at me, and I tell her with my eyes that it wasn’t me. I would never tell that asshole anything about her.

  “Are you for fucking real right now?” Valeria fumes, slamming her hands into Lopez’s chest.

  “Get lost, V,” Lopez says, not taking his eyes off Zeta. “I never promised you exclusivity.”

  A cunning gleam flickers in Valeria’s eye as she spins around, facing me. Before I’ve had the chance to consider her next move, she’s on top of me, her ugly mouth slanting against mine while she presses her tits into my chest.

  I push her off me the same time Zeta grabs hold of the back of her polo shirt. Losing her balance, Valeria’s arms flail about as she falls back, taking Zeta with her. Zeta’s head slams into the ground with an audible thud as she lands first with Valeria sprawled on top of her.