Ever Over After (The Over Duet #2)

by J. A. Derouen

  She hands me a taco wrapped in foil, and honestly, nothing about this says wedding to me. And then I unwrap it and take a bite.

  Oh. My. Wow.

  “You’re eating the…” Sara rifles through the tray and lifts up a small card. “Fried speckled trout taco with salsa ravigote, mixed greens, and spicy cornichon.”

  “Exqueeze me?” I say, barely swallowing before diving in for another bite. Food like this isn’t meant to be savored. It should be devoured with the enthusiasm of a pack of ravenous dogs. “What are all those words you just said, because you lost me at ‘ravioli.’”

  “I’m sorry, now that I look again, it’s called: ’Shut Up and Eat It ‘cause It’s Amazing.’ Sound better?” She raises her eyes in question and fans herself with the card.

  “Makes sense to me as long as I can keep eating.”

  And I do. We plow through the fish and move on to the braised brisket with crème fraiche, arugula, and habanero salsa. That description is courtesy of another card. I’m going to call it Brisket Taco à la Bomb.

  Dessert? Pumpkin praline flan. Don’t knock it ’til you try it. It’s delicious.

  We’re all sprawled out on the picnic blanket, even Lily and Gage, looking like the mice from Cinderella. Flat on our backs, shirts rising up over our round and swollen bellies. Gage even burps to complete the effect. I’m drunk on food.

  Ever’s food.

  Even in high school, he was an excellent cook. But this? This? Transcendent. He has left the realms of normal cuisine and entered food nirvana. And I’m betting this is a basic example of what he can do. It would have to be, to serve in an outdoor kitchen/market setting. What can he accomplish in a commercial grade kitchen?

  “It’s settled, Sara. After the wedding ceremony, you and Adam are having a fiesta. I don’t see any way around it. I’ll bring the maracas; you order the tacos. And don’t forget that flan, or I’ll throw you in Mexican prison.”

  Sara laughs. “Not happening.”

  “Mariachi bands are romantic.”

  “Maybe if you’re on vacation in Cozumel, but not at a backyard fiesta. Put away the piñata, chica.”

  I push up to my elbows and glare. “Then you’re coming back with me next week for my taco fix.”

  She has to come with me. It’s not like I can order them myself. I can’t show up at Ever’s booth, smooth as you please. She can be my taco dealer. My mouth waters at the thought.

  “It’s not Mexican every week. They switch it up depending on the chefs collaborating with them. I think Jeb said they’ve done Japanese, Italian, dim sum … it’s always different.”

  “That makes me irrationally sad,” I say, and it’s true. I need these tacos in my life, at least weekly, if not more.

  Leave it to Ever to screw with my food cravings.

  “Do you mind waiting while I change Lily and Gage into dry clothes? I know it’s getting late,” Sara says, wincing and clasping her hands to her chest.

  I wave her off and smile. “No worries.” I eye the basket at her feet, and my stomach lurches at the thought of what I’m about to do. “How about I return the picnic basket while you’re changing them. Save us some time.”

  She exhales a breath of relief. “That’d be great. Thanks. The booth is called Le Poisson Delicioso. Meet you back here?”

  I nod and grab the picnic basket, heading in the direction I saw Sara walk earlier. The farther I trudge into the market, the thicker the crowd becomes. With every step I take, the stronger the aroma of Mexican heaven becomes.

  I step off to the side and rifle through my purse for a pen. I pluck one of the menu cards out of the basket weaving, and get to work. After a few tense moments of pen chewing, it comes to me, and I start scribbling. When my note is complete, I fold the card stock in half and wedge it into the top of the basket, where it surely won’t be missed. I rise, ignoring the buzzing gnats in my belly, and keep walking.

  The mile-long line of peckish looking patrons tells me I’m going in the right direction. They need their taco fix, too. I grip the basket in my hands, momentarily frozen. I’m not close enough to see his face, but I’d know that posture anywhere. He’s leaned over the counter, chatting with customers, apron pulled down and folded at the waist and sleeves pushed up to his elbows. I close my eyes and go back in time, picturing those exposed forearms cutting, slicing, cooking for me. That easy smile that came from doing what he loved most. Cooking always allowed him a brief escape from the broody cloud that hovered over him. I guess some things never change. A crowd separates us, and still, he slays me.

  I push my sunglasses up on my nose, wishing I could nail them in place, wear them as a permanent mask. It’s funny how a piece of plastic is the only thing standing between me and my past. Maybe funny isn’t the right word. Terrifying is more like it. With one glance, I morph into that broken girl he threw away. I guess part of her will always live in me.

  I swallow the nerves, beat back the bile churning in my belly, and square my shoulders. It’s time to do this. I step forward one step … two steps … and falter.

  And this is when I realize I have no plan to speak of.

  I don’t want to get any closer and risk him seeing me. I sure as hell don’t need to see him either. A closer look won’t help one damn thing. I don’t want to talk to him directly. I don’t want one more memory to force it’s way back into my steely brain. The brain I’ve conditioned to forget Ever Montgomery at all costs.

  I don’t want any of this.

  What the hell am I supposed to do now?

  “Well, if it isn’t Low Down Dirty Shame, resurrected from the dead,” I hear the all too familiar voice say from behind me, and my spine turns to steel. “I mean, surely you were dead, since you disappeared into thin air. That’s the only explanation, right?”

  Humor colors Jeb’s voice, but I’d have to be a fool to miss the cutting tone buried just under the surface. I don’t blame him. I didn’t just leave Ever all those years ago. I left all of my friends with barely a word. I didn’t spare a single one for Jeb, so he has every right to be pissed.

  I spin on my heel to face him, and I can’t help the smile from tugging at the corners of my mouth. He thinks I’m the one who died, but seeing him after all these years feels like he’s the one who just came back to life. Green eyes bright and dancing, he stands there, arms loaded with a box of supplies, surveying me. After his blatant and thorough perusal, because Jeb does nothing half-ass, I raise the edge of my sundress a smidge and curtsy.

  “You can’t kill mean, Jeb, you know better than that,” I say, grinning.

  He lets out a throaty laugh and drops the box at his feet. He extends his arms to me, now heavily tattooed in bright and vibrant colors, and winks.

  “C’mere, girl. It’s been too long. I need to squeeze you.” His voice drips with affection, and my nose burns as I push back happy tears.

  I drop the basket beside me and crawl into his embrace, melting into the familiarity of him. How a hug from someone I haven’t seen in almost a decade can feel so comforting, I’ll never know. But when he squeezes tight and kisses my temple, I feel the break. A crack in the facade. A rip in the stitches.

  And that’s when I know with utter certainty I need to stay the hell away from Ever Montgomery. If Jeb can invoke these emotions inside me, Ever will be a tidal wave of which I’ll never surface.

  He pulls away just far enough to meet my eyes and smiles. “Tell me all of it. Every single thing I’ve missed. And don’t you dare leave out the naughty parts.”

  I throw my head back and laugh. Fucking Jeb.

  “Me, naughty? Never.” And we both burst out laughing. “How about this? I’ve been nice more often than I’ve been naughty. We’ll leave it at that.”

  “Ah, sweet, sweet Low. You know I can’t do that,” he says, his voice low and knowing, too knowing for my liking, and I look away. “I knew it was a matter of time until you two collided again. I have to admit, I’m oddly relieved. Let’s get this shit ove
r with and move the hell on.”

  He steps away and tugs on my arm, obviously trying to pull me toward the booth … toward Ever. I pull back and step away. Jeb and I obviously have very different ideas on how today is going to play out.

  “This is as far as I go, Jeb. There’s a crowd between us right now, and even that may be too close. You need to tell him to stay away from me.”

  I lift up the picnic basket it and shove it in Jeb’s direction. He tilts his head and watches me, as if he’s waiting for the punch line.

  “I’m not doing this … whatever this is. It was all a million years ago, and I’m not dredging up old bones. You need to get him to keep his distance,” I say, shoving the picnic basket at him again, prompting him to take it.

  “I’ll tell him, Low, but it won’t do a damn bit of good.”

  “I go by Marlo now. No one calls me Low anymore.”

  He narrows his gaze and tags the picnic basket from my grasp. He shakes his head, and his disappointment bothers me. I wish he could see I’m being the strong one. I’m keeping the wobbling foundation from crumbling around us. It’s obvious Ever and I have both moved on, and nothing good can come from unearthing the past.

  “I’ll pass on the message, but don’t expect it to do much good. I have a feeling keeping the two of you apart will be like keeping two high-powered magnets from colliding.” He looks me up and down, less perusing and more judgmental this time. He pulls a card from his pocket and pushes it into the palm of my hand. “You being here right now proves my point. You can’t stop a storm that’s already brewing, Marlo, no matter how hard you try.”

  “But I have to try. I mean, you get that, right?” I give him a pleading expression as he steps away from me. “I don’t need my past and present to meet. I’d bet my ass they won’t play nicely.”

  “I’ll give you that … for now. But make no mistake, there’s an expiration date, and that’s got nothing to do with me.” I turn to leave, and Jeb calls out to me. “I don’t know what he did all those years ago, and I don’t care. But I didn’t do a damn thing. Maybe you should think about that.”

  It’s a slap in the face, but one I deserve, so I take it. My friendship with Jeb was collateral damage, and I wish like hell things would have been different. There are so many things I wish, but that’s a train of thought I squashed years ago. I’ll never get back what’s been ripped away from me, and I’ll never be who I once was. The girl Ever’s searching for no longer exists.

  I force a smile and give Jeb the one thing I can offer. It’s all I have left, so it’ll have to be enough. “I’m sorry, Jeb. I’m sorry for so many things.”

  And then I walk away.

  Ever

  GREASE COATS EVERY exposed piece of my skin, and the rivulets of sweat drip down the curve of my lower back until they tickle my ass crack.

  How the hell did I end up in such an illustrious profession?

  I take a pinch of the brisket dregs out of the pot, because dregs are all that’s left, and toss it into my mouth. Yeah, it may be draining and thankless at times, but there’s one thing about my job I can’t deny: it’s fucking delicious.

  “Bled us dry again, huh?” Jeb says, clapping a hand on my shoulder and peering into the empty pot. “We’ll have to set up another pop-up with Eduardo. This is our most lucrative collaboration, if the leftovers, or lack thereof, are any indication.”

  “The till agrees. A quick count of the cash and charges says we killed it. Eduardo’s chomping at the bit for a repeat, so we’ll set something up next month.”

  “Why wait so—”

  I throw up a hand and stop him. “Don’t get your panties in a twist. We’re all booked, man. No worries, you’ll be mixing your specialty margaritas again in no time. We’ll schedule him for our first open weekend.”

  “Fine,” he says, whining like a petulant child, and I sigh. “I guess that gives me some time to try some new tequila infusions.”

  Before I say anything, he drops a basket on the table. I raise an eyebrow in question and he sighs.

  “We had a visitor today. Or more of a snooper, really,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, cringing.

  I shrug my shoulders, clueless to what he’s getting at, and he points to the piece of paper sticking out of the top of the basket.

  “I believe that’s for you.”

  I pull the paper from the basket and unfold it.

  Ever had a little brain,

  His thoughts were fuzzy as snow.

  He tried to go where Marlo went,

  But her answer was abso-fucking-lutely NO!

  I burst out laughing, and my face hurts, actually hurts, from the huge grin pulling at my cheeks. The laughter dies in my chest, leaving behind the all familiar ache—a yearning so much a part of me, it’s changed the beat of my heart, the direction of my soul. Who am I kidding? My fucking soul has been hunting her for years.

  “God, Low,” I say, shaking my head and tapping the card on my fingers.

  “I wouldn’t be laughing, man. I talked to her.”

  “And?”

  I pull the word from my throat, push past my corrupted lungs and clenched teeth, knowing I won’t like what he has to say. Because my Marlo is full of piss and vinegar ’til the bitter end. I’d expect no less. I’d be disappointed with less.

  Just the thought of her being so close, so damn close, has my blood thrumming through my veins. Knowing that wakes something inside me long thought dead.

  “She wants you to stay away,” Jeb says in a low tone, sounding apologetic. “Man, I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you, but I think she’s content to leave the past where it is.”

  “Nothing to be sorry about. It’s not like I’m gonna listen to her, anyway.” I chuckle, and clench my jaw, swallowing the hurt and reminding myself this is par for the course with Low. “Does she really think I’ll give up that easily?”

  I slide the note into my pocket, leaving my hand clenched around it, pressing the crisp edges against my thumb.

  So close. So damn close…

  “It’s been a long time, Ever. I’m sure she remembers that boy who used to give up every other day and twice on Sunday.” Jeb winces and shrugs, probably expecting me to deny it or take a swing at him. But I don’t do either.

  “That’s fair.” It sucks, but it’s fair. “What she’s got to know is this little note won’t do a damn thing to deter me. If anything, it spurs me on. She’d have done better to ignore me. But now? Game on.”

  “I don’t know, man, this may be a crash and burn scenario,” he says, half in our conversation, and half watching a short skirt and tits saunter by the booth. Some things never change.

  “Why don’t you let me worry about that, okay?”

  I get back to clean up as the swaying skirt reels Jeb in like a fish hooked on the line.

  “Hey, we’re celebrating tonight. Drinks on us for the staff. Ya coming?”

  I’m shaking my head before he finishes. He knows better than that, but he keeps on including me. He never pushes, but he always lets me know what’s going on.

  “You know I can’t. Take what you need from my cut to cover half, and we’ll talk tomorrow?”

  Jeb gives me a terse nod, and follows the skirt, giving me a few minutes to myself. I can tell he’s concerned, worried I’m dredging up shit better left alone. I’m not sure how long it’ll be before he trusts that I’m solid.

  Does Marlo have the power to unravel me? Without a doubt. There’s no question in my mind that she could be my undoing.

  But I also know she’s worth the risk. She’s worth it all.

  “God grant me the serenity

  To accept the things I cannot change;

  Courage to change the things I can;

  And the wisdom to know the difference.”

  Even after all these years, hearing those words recited in unison, a collection of wayward souls coming together for the purpose of holding each other up—it calms me. A lot can be said for knowing
right now, even if only for this hour, I’m completely safe from myself. It’s a welcome feeling, but tonight’s the first time in a long time where I actually need it. This is a new home group for me, since I only moved to Providence a few months ago, but I already feel comfortable here.

  After introductions, Caroline, the group leader, and, coincidentally, my sponsor, greets everyone and opens the floor to the group. I see her eyeing a girl in the front row, giving her a gentle push to share, and the girl folds without much effort. She stands and walks to the front, standing beside Caroline. Caroline rubs a soothing hand over her back as she gulps a frightened breath.

  Her face is dull, with sunken eyes and stringy hair, and it’s obvious she’s new to the program. Or she’s taken a hiatus, at the very least. Her lips tremble and she shuts her eyes as a tear slides down her cheek.

  Fuck, I remember that feeling. I never want to experience it again.

  “My name is Raven, and I-I’m an … alcoholic,” she whispers, finally opening her eyes. “I got out of detox five days ago.”

  She looks out into the crowd, then drops her head, using her fallen hair as a shield.

  “Hi Raven,” the group says to her, and she gives us a watery smile as her chin trembles with the effort of holding it together.

  “My life is a mess. I’ve thrown away every single person who gave a single shit about me, and I’m not sure how I’m going to put the pieces back together. But I figure coming here is a good start. I’ve been here before … too many times to count. But today’s different. I want it—I want my life back. I want to live more than I want to drink, and I figure that’s the most positive thing I can say right now. So thanks.”

  I hang back and listen to the others who choose to share, taking in their words and picking out the parts that speak to me. I see a part of myself in each of them, can relate to their struggles as well as their victories. For Raven, getting through tonight without chugging a bottle of vodka is a win. It’s been a long time since my sobriety has felt that tenuous, but it serves as a reminder of how far I’ve come over the last few years.