Ever Over After (The Over Duet #2)

by J. A. Derouen

  When an opportunity arises between speakers, I stand and walk to the front of the room. Caroline raises her eyebrows in surprise, and I smirk. It’s odd to have a sponsor of the opposite sex, but I’d felt a connection with Caroline immediately. She’s never been one to care about norms or rules, so she’d agreed. She’s used to me being a wallflower during meetings, only opening up when we meet privately.

  “Hey everybody. I’m Ever, and I’m an addict. It’s been almost five years since I’ve used.” I shove my hands in my pockets, take a deep breath, and settle in. “Some days I feel invincible, my addiction pushed so far out of my mind, it’s like it happened to another person, in another life. That’s why I come here. It reminds me that I’m always one pill away from the hell I created for myself. It tells me, ‘Don’t get cocky. That’s when you falter.’

  “Someone from my past has reemerged, and I have to be honest with myself here. She’s important—really important. She’s someone who I should have made amends with a long time ago, but she had the good sense to get the hell away from me with no forwarding address.” I chuckle humorlessly. “I can’t say that I blame her. I probably would have drug her down into the sewer with me. Back then, her leaving me was for the best.

  “But I’m a different man now, and the truth is, I still owe her an apology. The whole truth is I want so much more than that. It’s not gonna be easy. She’s a fighter on her worst day, a warrior on her best, so she’s gonna give me hell. I welcome it, because it’s one of the things I love most about her.

  “Timing is an interesting thing. Five years ago … hell, even three years ago … I’m not sure my sobriety could handle her rejection. Now, don’t get me wrong, I have no intention of letting her turn me away, but I fully expect her to try. But now—today—I’m ready. So thank you. Thank you to the AA and NA program as a whole, and thank you to each and every one of you sitting in this room. Because of you, I’m strong enough to look her in the eye and say, ‘Do your worst.’ I’m strong enough to show her the man I am. I’m strong enough to fight.”

  And with that, I nod at Caroline, who’s grinning like a fool, and make my way back to my chair.

  I wrangle the vibrating phone out of my pocket, getting snagged on my watch, then the seatbelt. Anyone passing by would think I’m locked in the truck with a hive of bees. It’s bad enough I feel like a stalker, I don’t need to look insane while I’m at it.

  A text from Jeb sits on my home screen, so I unlock it and open my messages. A pic of Jeb and Lana, our market days cashier girl, flashes onto the screen. They’re arm in arm, French fries shoved up both their nostrils. Lana’s giving me the dreaded duck face chicks love so much, but Jeb isn’t even looking at the camera. He can’t drag his eyes away from Lana’s cleavage long enough to say ‘cheese.’ I can’t say I blame him. Lana’s got great tits. You could pack a lunch and store it in the canyon that is her cleavage—she’d even keep the shit warm. His next message pops up while I’m looking.

  Jeb: Lana says, “We miss you.” I say, “Be jealous. Very jealous.”

  Me: Fuck off. And don’t fall in, dickhead.

  I lock my phone and toss it on the passenger seat. I run my hands over my face and sigh, inhaling a deep breath to shake my nerves.

  Her Jeep is in the driveway. A soft top, fire engine red, Jeep Wrangler. Blood red is more like it. We’re talking about Marlo, after all. How fitting. One hundred, no, a thousand, vehicles lined up in a row, and that’s exactly what I’d pick for her. Lots has changed, but some things stand the test of time.

  Low … my Low, is on the other side of that door, curled up in bed, her usual sass kept in check by sweet, sweet dreams. I imagine what it would be like to come home to her. Her eyes closed, lashes like butterfly wings resting on her flushed cheeks—an uninhibited smile playing on her naked lips. She’s got nothing on but a white tank top and panties … the elastic edging of the black silk denting deliciously into her flesh. She’s curled in the fetal position, that fabulous ass rounded and waiting for me to palm it, hard nipples pushing into stretched, white cotton.

  Damn. Damn.

  I shift in my seat, pushing my palm into my lap, mentally chanting to myself to calm the hell down. Nothing like an active imagination and an ill-timed boner to make me really feel like a stalker.

  I swipe the card off the dashboard, my rebuttal to Marlo’s note of warning, and fold out of the car. I look both ways as I cross the street, not for cars, but for nosy neighbors who may call the cops or wrestle the possible robber to the ground. Part of me wishes something would happen. I hope Marlo has people who look out for her.

  A bigger part of me wishes she’d hear me coming and meet me on the porch for an epic showdown … in the previously mentioned tank and panties, if I had my way.

  The need to see her, to run my eyes over every piece of her and remind myself she’s more than a memory, is staggering. There were times when I wasn’t sure. She feels like a lifetime ago … another time … when I was a different person. That’s partly true.

  Back then, even in the deep haze of it all, I could feel my love for Low trying to claw its way out, begging to break free. But the cancer growing inside me, that extreme sense of loss, strangled everything else. In the end, I let the fog envelop me and opted for numb.

  God, I was an idiot.

  I’ll never make that mistake again. Never.

  I wedge my note into the seam of the door and place a palm to the paned glass. I clench my eyes shut and rest my forehead on the door, only for a moment. As much as I want to curl my fingers into a fist and knock, it has to be her. I need her to come to me.

  And when she does, I’ll be ready.

  There was a grouchy Marlo,

  Living in the same zip code.

  She hated Ever something fierce,

  Thought he was a toad.

  She wants his heart to pierce,

  To stab and to slay,

  But what she must know,

  Is he’s not walking away.

  Marlo

  I RUN A finger over the edge of the card that Jeb slid into my hand. Down the side. I turn it upside down, focusing on the pressure drawing across the pad of my finger. The letters are printed black and crisp, so matter of fact. My eyes run over every letter, one by one, for probably the hundredth time.

  Moelle (MWAL)

  A farm-to-table Cajun eatery

  I flip the card over and read the address, phone number, and website like I hadn’t memorized it hours ago. I won’t call the number. I won’t look up the website. I refuse to do it. Why?

  Because, fuck him, that’s why.

  And the note he left me? He’s got to be joking … either that, or he’s forgotten who he’s dealing with. He’ll walk away when I stretch his ball sack over his head and throw him into oncoming traffic. Well, maybe roll away on a morgue stretcher is more like it, but mission accomplished either way.

  Screw him and his ropey forearms, mussed hair, and fancy tacos. They weren’t that good anyway … okay, that part’s a lie, but whatever. He probably walks around smelling like cumin and onions. What’s sexy about that? Absolutely nothing.

  The familiar rap on the door grabs my attention, and I realize the time. It’s almost eight in the morning, and Mike’s just getting off his shift. We both work nights, me as a nurse at the hospital, him as a paramedic, but our shifts don’t always coincide. I have a few much needed days off, and I should be in bed, but my jumbled head blew that out of the water about three this morning. Since then, I’ve been lost in a daze, trapped in my obsessive thoughts. So much so, that I forgot Mike had texted about coming over after work.

  I get up and shuffle across the living room, not giving two shits about my ratty tank top and cut off sweatpants. I flip the lock and trudge back to my chair. I’ve been fucking Mike for nearly a year, so he understands me—he knows I don’t believe in formalities and dating etiquette, like opening the door and sloppy, hello kisses. Because we’re not dating. Yeah, it’s strange, and mos
t people don’t grasp the concept, but I don’t give a shit. My friends think I’m crazy. “You can’t have a one-night stand for a year, Marlo.” My answer? Oh, yes I can and I will. I’m grown, and I’ll do whatever the hell I want to do.

  Mike opens the door and walks into the living room without a word. He’s still in his uniform, shirttails out and buttons undone, exposing the white undershirt stretched over his hard pecs. He scratches his chest and passes me without so much as a glance before plopping down onto the sofa into a languid heap.

  Without even realizing, I resume running the card between my thumb and forefinger.

  “Babe, I’m exhausted. Why don’t you come on over here and hop on,” Mike says, slapping his lap suggestively and letting his head roll onto the back of the sofa.

  I flip the cursed card into my purse and focus my attention on Mike. He’s what’s easy. He’s no frills, no questions, no hassle. That’s exactly what I need … isn’t it? Then why do I find the thought revolting all of a sudden? I push the thought away, knowing exactly what’s making me question everything. Or who is making me question everything, is more like it.

  I laugh at his comment, albeit forced. “Oddly enough, that request doesn’t bother me in the slightest. What does that say about me?”

  He rolls his head in my direction and opens one eye. “It says you know your man is tired and you’re willing to accommodate him. Nothing wrong with that.”

  He hits his lap again and shoots me what I can only guess is his come hither stare.

  “Now that statement? It bothers me a whole helluva lot. You are not mine, and I’m definitely not yours. You know the deal, Mike. Nothing’s changed.” I let out an irritated sigh, stand up, and walk into the kitchen.

  I watch him from across the bar, and it’s obvious I’m not the only one that’s aggravated. He hasn’t made the boyfriend play in months and I honestly thought he was over it. I thought we were on the same page, had been for a while now. The more I think about it, I’m not even sure if that page is still available. My head is a hot mess, and my gaze keeps flitting to a stupid card burning a hole in my purse.

  That. Damn. Card.

  “Let’s be real here, Marlo,” Mike says, pulling me back into the here and now. What I wouldn’t give to avoid the here and now? “Who else are you fuckin’ besides me? Last I checked, it was me, and me alone. Why deny what’s obviously already happening.”

  I release a weighted sigh, determined to set him straight.

  “Mike, don’t mistake good hygiene for love and affection. I’m a nurse, for Christ’s sake. I mean, germs…”

  I have the decency to wince, but nothing good comes from giving illusions and false hope. I’ve learned that lesson the hard way. Mike and I have had a good run, longer than most, but now I see the writing on the wall. I’m sure he does, too, which makes this all the more uncomfortable. He’s put on his relationship hat one too many times, and it’s obvious he wants more. I have nothing else to give him, so I’m doing him an ultimate favor.

  I’m ridding him of me.

  He stands up and stretches, acting unfazed by my comments, but the hard line of his jaw gives him away.

  “I think that’s my cue,” he says, tagging his keys off the coffee table and sauntering toward me and the front door. “One day, Marlo Rivers, you’re going to wake up and realize you pushed away every good thing in your life. You’ll have nothing and no one, and it’ll be too late to go looking for ghosts of Christmas past. When that happens, make sure you think of me. Cause I can guarantee you, I won’t be thinking of you.”

  His words hit me right between the eyes, a fiery ball of flames launched from a seemingly harmless toy gun. I didn’t think he had the power to hurt me. It’s not like I love him. But the truth in his words burns deep.

  I’ve had nothing and no one for as long as I can remember. I’ve pushed everyone away and kept my steel walls erected long before Mike came along, and I’ll be doing it long after he’s gone. Nothing will change that.

  “I never meant to hurt you,” I say, and he scoffs. “You’ve been a good friend to me.”

  He opens the door and shakes his head. “We were a lot of things, Marlo, but we were never friends.”

  The door slams behind him, and I don’t know if it’s what he said, how I feel, or my fear of what’s to come with Ever, but I’ve never felt more alone in my life.

  His grasp on my hip loosens, only to move up my stomach and savagely grab my breast. Shards of light converge into one blazing beam, centering on bruising pain, bringing focus back to what I want to so desperately forget. I give my head a futile shake in an attempt to rattle my thoughts, scatter the images as they break my heart, steal my soul.

  What will be left when it’s over?

  I whimper, and my nipple sears in fiery pain, in what feels like ripping skin.

  “I thought I told you to shut up,” he growls, droplets of spit splattering against my neck as he writhes on top of me.

  Make it stop.

  Make it stop.

  Please, God, someone make it stop.

  “Who would have thought? Who would have fuckin’ thought,” he rasps as his body jerks me into the headboard with every horrid thrust. “That Ever was too much of a pussy to seal the deal.”

  His laugh is wicked and haunting. The sound physically wrenching the tears and cries from me, as if it’s the only way to defend myself, fight against what he’s doing to me.

  And it is. And it’s useless.

  I feel his lips curl into a smile at my ear as he whispers, “You being a virgin makes it that much sweeter.”

  I lurch up to sitting, my eyelids flying open and my lungs gasping for breath.

  “I can’t … I can’t,” I whisper, gripping my throat, my chest, curling my fingers into the flesh over my hammering heart.

  I can’t fucking breathe.

  My cheeks are soaked.

  My sheets are freezing, wet from my sweat-slicked skin.

  A strangled cry rips from my constricted chest, and my balled fists slam into the mattress, over, and over, and over again. The fury boiling my blood courses through me like an ill-timed tidal wave.

  It’s been years.

  Years.

  I can’t even recall the last nightmare; it’s been so long. After all this time, it kills me to know those feelings still live and breathe inside of me. I thought they were gone. I know they were gone.

  Until Ever Montgomery showed his face again, that is.

  And he can leave just as quickly as he came, as far as I’m concerned.

  Marlo

  “MA’AM, I SINCERELY apologize for my puffy loaves of bread,” Alex says to the pedicurist as she examines her feet in displeasure. “No one should be exposed to the horridness that is my feet, but I’m hoping my fat piggies won’t be so ugly with a splash of color. And the good Lord knows I can’t bend over this big belly and reach my toes. I can’t wear anything but slip-on shoes at this point because I can’t reach to tie anything else.”

  She places a hand over her eyes and shakes her head in exasperation. The overwhelmed pedicurist pats Alex’s leg, while looking at all of us for reinforcement.

  Sara jumps to the rescue. “I’m sure West would help you put on your shoes if you’d ask him. I’ve seen the way he fusses over you. It’s so cute, it’s just—”

  “Nauseating?” I chime in, trying to be helpful. I shrug when I’m met with scowls.

  It’s not like I’m lying. Frankly, the whole lot of them test my upchuck reflex on a daily basis. Out of our foursome, I’m the only one left with a bit of sense.

  Lately, I can’t deny I’m harboring some irrational animosity toward both of them, seeing as their wedding brought holy terror raining down on my life in the form of Ever Montgomery.

  Their gain was definitely my loss … or my onslaught of long, buried emotions, at the very least.

  These fools are pairing off two by two like it’s the great flood and Noah’s waving them into the arc. Exce
pt for me, of course. I refuse to be swayed by a pretty face and a swinging dick.

  But hey, I’m happy for them, all of them. I hope they all ride off into the sunset together with their wedding bands and bulging pregnant bellies. But if things don’t work out, I may have to sew my lips together to keep from telling them I told you so, because … well, I did tell them so. Every single one of them.

  But nobody listens to little, old Marlo. “Marlo, you’re so crazy. Who in their right mind doesn’t believe in love?” Yeah, just wait until they’re bawling into their Wheaties and asking me where the hell they went wrong.

  Celia swats my leg and shakes her head. “Not nauseating. Totally sweet. Right, Marlo?” she prompts, raising her eyebrows and pursing her lips.

  I nod solemnly. “Yes. Sickeningly sweet.”

  “Marlo!” Sara shouts, throwing a fistful of cotton balls at my head.

  I grab each and every one of them and shove them in my mouth. “What? I didn’t say anything.” I mumble over the cloud of white tumbling past my lips and pushing on my cheeks.

  They all giggle at my antics and roll their eyes. Even Alex seems to have forgotten about her clodhopper, swollen feet, so I call that a win. These days, it’s always three against one, me being the odd bitch out, so I take my wins where I can get them.

  Sure, life keeps moving and people change, but it would be nice to have one friend who hated love and relationships as much as I do. It gets a little lonely sometimes. Everyone else is sails up, careening toward the future, while life drags me, kicking and screaming, into the bowels of my past.