Ever Over After (The Over Duet #2)

by J. A. Derouen

  Laurel also had opted to take the morning after pill when her lab results indicated she was not pregnant at this time. That decision had seemed to be the hardest for the Breauxs. They’d cried about it, they’d prayed about it, then had decided together what they’d thought was best. It twists me inside out that the decision had to be made at all.

  “Does it ever get any easier? Celia asks, as she comes to a stop by her car.

  “When it does, then it’s time to walk away. That should never be easy. If it is, then you’re doing it wrong.”

  She nods and presses her lips into a thin line. “I know you make fun of my glitter … and rainbows … and happily-ever-afters, but at least in fairytales, the good guys always win. I need to believe in the dream, so the reality of all of this,” she says, throwing her hands up and waving them in the air, “doesn’t suck the life right out of me.”

  I chuckle as I dig my keys out of my purse. “Yeah, real life has a way of kicking you right in the kidneys, the bastard.”

  I turn away to leave, but Celia calls out to me. “Do you think if your ‘good guy’ had been by your side that day … do you think you would have pressed charges?”

  I frown, a twinge of regret tickling the back of my brain. I hate the myriad of possibilities flooding my mind.

  “Damn, what a loaded question,” I say, running a tense hand down my face. “It pisses me off to admit it—makes me feel less than, for some reason I can’t pinpoint, but I think the answer is yes.”

  “It’s not weak to lean on others, Marlo. You know that.”

  “Logically, I absolutely do. And I had support back then, but it wasn’t from him. It wasn’t really his fault since I never even tried to tell him back then. But I don’t think much would have changed if I had—he was just as broken and probably more lost than I was.” I groan and throw my head back in frustration. “And I’ll be damned if that doesn’t piss me off, too. Who does that? Who gets angry at someone for the choice he never got to make?”

  “Maybe you never called him because you were afraid of how his reaction would have affected you,” Celia prompts, and I scowl at her therapy-ese.

  “Maybe, but I can’t live in the ‘would haves’ and ‘should haves.’ All we have is the present and the future, and all my cards are on the table, face up. Exposed. Let’s see what happens now,” I say, pulling out my phone and lighting up the screen. “Because an early morning exit and no missed calls or texts all day isn’t looking promising.”

  Celia shoots me a sympathetic smile, but it feels more like pity to me. I want to slam my phone into the concrete, curse Ever for making me doubt the raw surrender I’d felt take over every part of me just last night. I’d bared my soul, and he’d walked away with the flimsiest of excuses. I need to understand where his head is to know if his heart is still with me. I climb into the driver’s seat and gulp a shuddering breath. I keep thinking of his promise … praying he’ll come through.

  Give me more of a chance than you think I deserve, so I can prove you wrong.

  Here’s your chance, Ever. Here’s your last chance…

  Ever

  “IF YOU DON’T stop taking out your anger on our dinner, we’ll have ground beef instead of steaks for dinner, young man,” Mom fusses as she lays a hand on my wrist.

  I look down at the butcher’s block and realize she’s right. These steaks aren’t tenderized, they’re macerated. I wince and shrug as I place the mallet on the counter.

  “Looks like I went a bit overboard.”

  “You think so?” She raises an eyebrow and smirks. I look into her hazel eyes, more green than blue today, and crystal clear. Easton and I got our eyes from her, instead of the dark chocolate of my father. I see the oversized wedding ring still sitting on her finger, a reminder of the man she can’t seem to part with completely. Regardless of the ostentatious ring, she has retired her stuffy suits and five-inch heels in favor of blue jeans and stylish boots. Her newer outfits are much more practical for chasing my little cousin, Adeline, around the courtyard.

  “Sorry about that. The marinade will make up for it, I promise.” I release a pent up sigh and refocus on the food. As regret, anger, and unbelievable sorrow swirl around me, cooking feels like the one thing I can control. My emotions feel like a shot gun, the spray clipping everything in its path.

  I’m angry at myself for being a worthless piece of shit back when Low had needed me the most.

  I’m furious with my father for the way he’d handled my mother … me … Easton.

  And I’m downright murderous about Remy. I would have already confronted him if I wasn’t afraid I’d kill him on sight.

  Old and familiar hurts swirl with fresh wounds, and I’m left reeling.

  “You didn’t say much at the cemetery today,” she prompts, and then continues when I don’t respond. “That’s not like you, Ever. You always talk East’s ear off. Then and now.”

  “Yeah.” I give her a humorless chuckle. “I just wasn’t feeling like it today.”

  She giggles as she pulls the makings of a salad out of the fridge. “From the time you discovered your voice box as a baby, you never gave him a moment’s peace. And he loved it. He’d watch you like the sun and moon rose in your ass.”

  “It did,” I joked.

  “Right.” She laughs and brushes her fingers through my hair, pretending to fix it as her gentle eyes run over my features. “For Easton, that’s the God’s honest truth. You’d prattle on about every single thing, and he’d soak it all in with the biggest smile on his face. But today you held back. Why, son?”

  I place both palms on the counter and hang my head. I keep an ongoing conversation with Easton in my mind all the time, not just when I visit his grave. Talking to my brother is the most natural thing in the world to me—more instinctive than breathing. No matter how many years he’s gone, I doubt that will ever change. It sounds crazy to some, but not even death can severe the bond between us. But I’ve been silent for days, and for good reason.

  “It’s important to me that the decisions I make, the man I am, honors East. I want to make him proud in everything I do, because, in a way, I’m his legacy.” I turn my head, cheeks burning, unable to meet my mom’s gaze. “I had nothing to say today, because, for the first time in a long time, I’m ashamed.”

  Her face crumbles as she wraps an arm around my waist, squeezing me tightly as she shakes her head. “What in the world are you talking about, Ever? You’re a good man, a hard worker, a loving son. Why would you say that?”

  I search her eyes for an ounce of rebuke, but come up empty. I find nothing but understanding, and I can’t hold it in a second longer. I feel like an overstretched helium balloon, ready to pop from the pressure of the past … of my mistakes. So I tell her everything I’d learned from Marlo. I confess how the sins of my past ruined more lives than I had realized.

  I tell her about Marlo—the girl I’d loved back then and the woman I tried to win back. I confess how I left her … again. Yes, I came here to face the demons of our past, but I’m not sure Marlo will see it that way. She listens without judgment, expression open and caring, fingers laced with mine. It’s easier than I thought it would be to admit these things to her. I think it’s a testament to the current state of our relationship. It may have taken many tragedies and missteps, but I believe my mom and I have finally reached the point of unconditional love. Most mother-son relationships start there—we took the scenic route.

  “She sounds like a beautiful, strong woman. You’re very lucky,” she says with a smile, and squeezes my hand. “And so is she.”

  I scoff and shake my head. “Yeah, she’s real lucky. I’m partly responsible for one of the darkest times in her life.”

  “There’s a big difference between the neglect of a boy and the malice of a man. You don’t have a malicious bone in your body.”

  I nod, giving her that. No, my actions weren’t malicious, but tell that to the eighteen-year-old girl who had been attacked while I’d
ignored her and pushed her away. I’d drowned myself in pills and never gave her a second thought. That doesn’t exactly sound like a man who deserves redemption.

  “How can she ever forgive me?” I ask, praying for an answer that means I can have her. We can’t have made it this far only to lose again. “Sometimes I think I’m crazy for thinking I can have it all … have her. Maybe we’re like an old bicycle in the back of the garage. We keep trying to pick up where we left off, but we can’t. The gears are too stiff and rusted. We’re something to admire, but nothing that could ever work.”

  “Never underestimate another person’s ability to love … and forgive. You’re the perfect example.” She laughs when my face scrunches in question. “How in God’s name were you able to forgive me after the hell I put you … our entire family through? How were you able to accept me back into your life?”

  Her eyes brim with unshed tears, and I squeeze her closer. “You’re not that person anymore. You were sick, Mom.”

  “And you’re not that broken eighteen-year-old boy anymore, either. You’ve changed, become someone who makes all of us proud.” She taps my side gently and shakes her head. “Not to mention, the bulk of the blame isn’t yours to accept. Deep down I think you know that.”

  At her words, the simmer in my gut switches to a hearty boil, the mere allusion of Remy making me see red. I keep replaying all the snide comments, ugly sneers, and questionable actions that had seemed suspect then, but now feel like the word “guilty” tattooed on Remy’s forehead for anyone who’d cared enough to look. I had foolishly pushed away my gut instinct and carried on.

  God, what a damned fool I’d been.

  “Yeah, that’s the next stop on this little trip home. I honestly don’t know how I’m going to resist the urge to lunge across the table and rip his throat out,” I say through gritted teeth. When I see her resigned expression, I shake my head furiously. “Do not say one word about forgiveness when we’re talking about Remy, Mom, or I will lose my shit. Some people don’t deserve forgiveness.”

  “You’re absolutely right.” She nods, her lips pressed in a thin line. “He doesn’t deserve your forgiveness, and he most certainly doesn’t deserve Marlo’s. But the two of you deserve peace. After all this time, I want you to be at peace, Ever.”

  “I thought I was … until this. Now I don’t know how to go on from here.”

  I reach for the marinade brush and bowl, but she stops me before I get very far. She takes the brush from my fingers and places it on the counter. Maneuvering between me and the counter, she grips me by the shoulders.

  “I’ve spent nearly two decades of my life tormenting myself and everyone around me, so trust me when I say I know what I’m talking about. There comes a time in life where you make the decision to either nurture the pain … or let it go. One is much more gratifying than the other.” She places her palms on my face and draws me closer, kissing my cheek hard. “Say what you have to say to him, and then let it go. Then help Marlo do the same—whatever that means for her. It could mean pressing charges, or maybe not. Only she has that answer. Whatever she needs to live free and easy, you help her do that, you hear me?”

  “Yeah, Ma, I hear you.”

  Ever

  I SLIDE MY license back into my wallet and empty my pockets into one of the silver bowls sitting on the counter. I don’t have anything of consequence, as I’m well-versed in the rules and regulations of this place. After enduring the usual pat down and metal detectors, all while my nerves zing and crackle beneath my skin, I’m ushered forward as the metal bars sound and then roll open. I step into the cavernous hallway, the sound of my shoes ricocheting off the cinder blocks, and a shiver runs down my spine as I think: This could have been me.

  Not long after I’d gotten clean, Remy was arrested with three bricks of marijuana and enough crystal meth to blow up a city block. This significant offense turned into serious jail time when the stupid fuck had decided to cross state lines. He probably could have sung for the cops and reduced his sentence, but he knew he wouldn’t last a week in prison if he snitched. So the judge handed down twenty years, and since Remy does a shit job of keeping his nose clean, I don’t expect he’ll be out a day sooner than that. Shit, he could very well get time added on for bad behavior, and I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised.

  I enter the visiting area and grab a chair at one of the empty tables, ignoring the mini family reunions popping up all around me, keeping my eyes trained on the door. I lie in wait, ready, fucking hungry for Remy to walk through the entrance and sit across from me. The restless energy courses through my body in the form of ticks and flinches. I open and close my fists, shake them out, and wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans, over and over again. I crack my neck and try to loosen my clenched jaw.

  The longer I wait, the more enraged I become, the thrumming in my ears going from a faint whoosh to a loud roar, blocking out all rational thought. My blood creeps through my veins like battery acid the more I think of Remy being within ten feet of Low. Moments, looks, conversations between us speed through my brain on a continuous loop of “What the hell?” and “How could I have been so foolish?” Perspective is a funny thing … what I’ve always known as fact is now fluid and malleable. Black is white, up is down, and Remy is, always has been, my enemy. The betrayal burns deep.

  Damn, I need to get it together, and quick.

  I clench my eyes shut and battle to keep my temper in check. I think of Marlo … her soft curls … her silver tongue … and that round, perfect ass. My lip quirks up into a semi-smile when I think of spanking her, and I want to kiss the scowl off her pretty face. I think of how far we’ve come … her words of love.

  I need you, Ever.

  I love it when you call me Low.

  As long as you stay.

  As long as you stay.

  As long as you stay…

  As if I could ever leave her. My body relaxes, if only slightly, and I unfurl my hands in my lap. I can rage in the parking lot like an unhinged lunatic when this is over. I need to keep my barely contained cool for now.

  I feel his eyes on me before I actually see him, so I look up and meet his gaze. He looks the same as always—standard issue coveralls, limp and greasy overgrown hair, and deeply grooved pockmarks along the hollows of his cheeks. The ever-present pity I usually feel is replaced with searing hatred. My lip curls before I get a hold on my expression, and Remy lowers himself in the chair across from me.

  I keep my face stoic, my eyes void of emotion, and watch. I study him and wonder how in the hell did I miss it? How could I have been so blind to who this man is, deep down to his filthy soul?

  His expression changes, morphs into stone, with the slightest tinge of a smirk tugging at his lips. His eyes are hungry and black in a way that would be a sure sign of being high in most people. In Remy’s case, it’s just another indication of the soulless man he is.

  “You know,” he whispers, and I swear, the bastard looks gleeful. He looks like a cat playing with his prey. The sick, demented bastard is enjoying this.

  I say nothing. Not one word. I don’t trust myself to speak, afraid anything I say will swiftly turn into action, mainly my fingers wrapping around his scrawny neck and squeezing every bit of life out of him. Feeling his pulse slow, then stop, under the pressure of my palm would feel cathartic … the best kind of karma. I can’t erase what he did to Marlo, but I can make him hurt—deep down, I want him to bleed for what he’s done.

  “Honestly? I’m fucking relieved. It’s about time you figure out my little secret,” he says, resting an arm over the chair beside him, trying to appear casual and unaffected. He can play that game all he wants, but I see the set of his shoulders hardening like setting concrete, and the incessant shaking of the leg set on top the knee of his other leg. He can’t keep still, and I enjoy his misery, although he’s not near miserable enough for my liking.

  “You know, you were there. That night?” His smirk curves into a full-on grin when he see
s the flicker of fire in my eyes. He nods his head, slow and smug. “Yeah. Told her you left with another girl when you were passed out down the hall, being the useless piece of shit you were. Probably still are.”

  He shrugs one shoulder, drawn out and deliberate, like he wants the moment to last—as if he wants to savor his win. My teeth sink into the side of my cheek, the acrid taste of blood touching my tongue as the sting of self-inflicted pain distracts me from lunging across the table. I dig my nails into my pants leg until my fingers tremble under the pressure of inaction and fury. I look down, scrutinizing the lines my nails etched into the material, feeling like those slashes are the perfect metaphor for my sanity at this point. I’m dangling off the cliff, fingers digging into the crumbling rock.

  I was there.

  I was there.

  I was fucking there.

  “I’m sure she painted herself as the perfect little victim, but don’t believe it. She was drunk, yeah, but she—”

  “Shut up,” I growl through clenched teeth.

  “Can’t handle the truth about your slutty little girlfriend? I’m not sur—”

  I lean across the table, nearly lifting up out of my seat. “I said shut the hell up.”

  Remy shakes his head and continues smirking. While I sit here, feeling like my body has outgrown my skin, like I may explode at any second, he looks downright pleased … victorious.

  “What? Want me to say I’m sorry? Beg for your forgiveness? Never. Gonna. Happen.” He seethes, contempt seeping into his posture … his clenched fists … his disgusted snarl. “You both got what you deserved back then. Exactly what you deserved.”

  “You can try to color this any way you want, but the truth is you raped Marlo. Fucking Marlo, Remy?” He opens his mouth, ready to spew whatever bullshit he’s dreamed up, but I wave him off. I want answers. “You’re not a friend. You never were, so why in the hell did you pretend to be? Why did you help me get clean? Jesus, I’ve spent all these years being thankful for you. Visiting you in here, like a fool.”