by S. M. West
“Yeah, thanks.”
Before he can release his hold, I shake him off and follow her into Ma’s space.
We’re now in the narrow hallway of the apartment that was once my home. Standing face to face with Carys, mere feet apart, all I want to do is smile, laugh, and cry. The great memories wash over me, soothing my guilt and regret. I missed this place, my home, my family, and most of all, my woman.
“Talk. You’ve got three minutes, then I want you out.”
She forgets that I know her. We don’t need words for me to see that she’s angry and hurt. It’s in her expression and posture, but there’s also love. Her love for me is as true as the sky is blue.
Even with that, I knew I’d have to work for this. She’s not going to make it easy, and that’s okay. I’ll beg and barter with her. I’ll do anything she wants, as long as she takes me back, or at the very least, gives me a shot. I fucked this up, but once I explain, she’ll understand.
What we have is rare, pure, and true. She won’t walk away from that. At the time, I had my reasons, but no matter how hard I tried to walk away, I couldn’t.
§
Carys
I’M GOING TO BE sick.
Pressing my palm to my stomach, I take in a deep gulp of air, trying to steady my nerves. My insides are a quivering mess. The anxiety of being this close to Evan, having him within arm’s reach, is overwhelming.
I’m vibrating with the intensity of our reunion; it’s physical, all around us. I’d forgotten what it was like with him. That’s not true. I didn’t forget a thing about him, not one damn thing, but I tried.
It’s impossible to erase what it feels like to be this close to him. How our bodies come alive, like the other holds the rhythm to our hearts, the spark to our flame.
I’ve tried to block it out, but now, with Evan here, there’s no denying it. As much as I should hate it, wish that I could hate him, I can’t. I love him, even after all that he did, but that doesn’t mean we have a future together or that I’m willing to give him a second chance.
I’m overwhelmingly glad to see that he’s alive and well, breathing. The not-knowing was eating away at me and while I should be lashing out at him right now, I can’t.
It was one thing to be brokenhearted because he left me, but it was another kind of hurt to wonder if he was dead or alive. Even if we can’t be together, knowing he is in this world, safe, gives me comfort, and that’s all I can think about right now. He’s alive.
“Sweetness, I’m sorry.” His smooth voice caresses my body.
Shivering, I bite my lower lip, wanting a distraction from the ache in my heart. I love the name he gave me, and I haven’t heard it in years. Strangely, it hurts to now hear my nickname from his lips, reminding me of a time when he was mine and I was his.
“I’m sorry for the hell I put you through. I’m back and we’re not over. We’ll never be over.”
His eyes shine in earnest, determination etching every feature, but it makes no difference. He made it clear to me we were at an end and I was not to wait for him. He practically ordered me to move on and said he would do the same. Evan, be careful what you wish for—I’ve moved on.
His strong, taut arm reaches out to me, his fingers attempting to touch me, and despite my body’s instinct to lean in, I force myself to step away. It’s unbearably difficult, but one stroke and I’d be done.
At thirty-five years old, he’s aged somewhat. There are a few more crinkly lines around his eyes, but he’s still insanely gorgeous. The ends of his unruly dark hair curl now that it’s longer than when I last saw him, and it’s definitely longer than the buzz cut he sported when in the Army.
He’s also broader, bigger, if that’s even possible. He’s always been shredded. While in the military, he was taught that his body was a machine and exercise was as essential as breathing.
Standing with him in the tiny hallway, it feels smaller than normal and confirms that he still commands any space he occupies.
“Is that it?”
It’s killing me to be cold, to push him away. My instinct is to forgive him and get back to loving him. That’s all I’ve ever done where Evan’s concerned. In fact, my earliest and fondest childhood memories are of him.
I’ve never told anyone, but truth be told, most of my memories are of Evan, not Ry, my own brother. I love Ry with all that I am, but it’s Evan who captured my heart from as young as I can remember, and he’s never given it back.
I want it back, dammit.
“No, that’s not it.” He smirks, implying he sees through my carefully constructed veneer of indifference. That’s the thing—he knows me, even with these years apart. “We’ve got to talk. I have way more to say to you.”
“Well, I don’t want to. Not right now. I want you to leave.”
Without waiting for a response, I turn toward the kitchen, and his large hands grasp my waist. I gasp at our contact, not anticipating his touch that wallops my insides and throws me off balance.
Being in his arms reminds me of our past, all the times we were close, intimate. The memories mentally beat me black and blue, bruising my heart with all I’ve longed for but feared I’d never have again.
Before I’m able to react or form a coherent thought, he smoothly lifts me onto the counter. Ensnaring my wrists in one of his large hands, he pries my legs open and wedges himself in between. Shit. Evan’s take-charge attitude causes my stomach to churn and my heart to hammer as my nerve endings sizzle and overwhelm my senses.
“Listen to me.” His voice is gruff as he leans in close, our lips almost kissing.
With his warm, minty breath stealing mine, his eyes twinkle with the playfulness and compassion I’ve missed so much. His heady masculine scent sparks my arousal, and my body’s betrayal infuriates me as I tighten my legs around his waist.
His lips widen into a shit-eating grin, as I continue to clench around his body while he thrusts himself into the apex of my thighs. My eyes widen and my mouth opens as his hard bulge rubs where I want him the most, but shouldn’t.
“Stop it.”
I stiffen, fighting the pleasurable sensation of his erection rocking into my most sensitive spot. Heat gathers low in my belly as the delicious friction of our connection creates a fierce ache in my core.
“Then loosen your hold.” He chuckles, although his throaty response reveals he’s faced with the same need I’m battling.
My legs relax and he retreats. His absence leaves me cold, but clears my head and only makes it more pressing that Evan leave because I’m unable to keep my wits around him. I’ve moved on and he needs to leave me alone. Gently pushing on his chest, I try to distance not only my body, but also my mind. Of course, he doesn’t budge.
“Van.” He winces at the name I’ve deliberately called him, a name I’ve never used before. “I’m happy that you’re back. Ma’s missed you, Ry, Tripp, they’ll be so glad to finally have you back, but we’re over. Let’s just be friends.”
As the words leave my mouth, I want to vomit all over them or shove them back in. Let’s just be friends? What the hell?
“What about you, Sweetness?” He’s unfazed by what I said. “Did you miss me?”
“Carys,” Ma calls. He glances over his shoulder, then back to me, his excitement evident in his eyes.
“In here,” I say, pushing him away.
This time he readily moves, and I jump down from the counter. Before I can reach my mother to prepare her, she’s in the kitchen. Cries of shock and glee fill the air at the sight of Evan in the flesh. Like me, she drops the bags in her hands and runs into his arms without hesitation.
His deep, hearty laugh as he kisses and twirls her around makes me weak in the knees. That, coupled with the slickness between my thighs, leaves me unsettled and tight with tension. His being here batters at my fortress. I need to keep the walls intact and him out.
“Oh, my lord, Evan James Hart! I’ve prayed for the day I’d lay eyes on you again. Let me look at yo
u.” Her hands cup his scruffy jaw and he lovingly peers down at her.
“Ma, I’ve missed you.” He kisses her on the cheek.
“I’ve missed you, too, my dear boy. Let me fix dinner and you can tell us where you’ve been.” Releasing him, she gathers the grocery bags from the floor.
“Ma, I have to go.”
I must leave. I can’t stomach dinner with them. It’d be reminiscent of the way it used to be before he left me, and like a shovelful of dirt, those memories would bury me in the past. I can’t do this, can’t be near him.
“What?” Ma stops mid-task, her gaze narrowing on me. She’s shrewd and knows why I must go. “Aye, my dear. You go on then.”
With a grateful exhale, I avert my gaze to the floor. She knows our history. She had a front row seat to how our childhood friendship morphed into more, and she was there when he left me. Most importantly, she was there after Evan, as I picked up the pieces of my heart, my life, and tried to start over again.
She wanted me to wait for him, but as time wore on, she stopped mentioning him. While she believed he’d return, she gave me the space to figure out what I wanted.
I wonder what she’ll do now that he’s back. I shudder—I can’t handle her meddling, which she’s not above doing. I’ll never get back together with Evan Hart. Never. We’re over.
“Thanks, Ma.” With a quick kiss, I’m out the kitchen door.
“Sweetness.”
Peering over my shoulder, my breath catches. He’s leaning out the doorway with his arms bracing his weight on the doorframe, the very same thing he used to do when we were younger.
“What?” My voice cracks.
“You have to eat. Stay.”
“I can’t. My boyfriend’s waiting for me.” I fire my only shot, hoping to hit my mark.
Then
Evan ~ 11 years old
LIGHTNING CRACKLES ACROSS THE sky as the damp, thick air sits heavy around me. A storm is brewing and it’s like someone’s turned on an outside light. With the added glow, she’s easy to spot under a tree in the park—not the smartest place to be with lightning.
Almost immediately, we’re plunged back into semi-darkness as earsplitting thunder claps. She doesn’t flinch, oblivious to the approaching storm and me.
Curled into herself, she’s small, lost, unlike the mighty girl she is. Her hands are muddy from ripping out blades of grass, and my heart pangs at how she must feel, how I feel.
A fine mist of rain begins to fall as I crouch and wrap my arm around her. Wordlessly, she burrows into me, her head on my shoulder.
“Hey, how are you doing?”
As she raises her head, her lips curve into a faint smile. It’s nothing like the typical beam of happiness I crave, and grief dampens the usual glimmer in her eyes. There’s only sadness.
There’s a deep ache within me, as if my heart’s been ripped from my chest, and seeing Carys like this deepens the burning pain.
“Do you think they see us?” she asks.
“Who?”
“Pops, and your parents. Do you think they can see us right now?”
“I don’t know.”
While I could lie to reassure her, I won’t. I’d never lie to her, even though I’d do anything to take her pain away.
“Do you believe in heaven?”
“I’d like to, but I’m not sure it exists. Kind of hard to believe after everything…” My voice fades, unable to finish for fear of losing it.
“Ma does. She tells me Pops is in heaven, looking down on us. She says he’ll always watch over us and one day real soon, we’ll see him again. Do you believe that?” Hope and longing lace her words.
“I’d like to.” I hope it’s true.
“Yeah, me too.”
Taking her cold hand, I squeeze before bringing her fingers to my lips and gently blowing to warm them.
“I don’t know what to do.” Her voice is thoughtful, yet anxious.
“What do you mean?”
“Ma hasn’t cried. She’s being strong, for us. I want to help her, but I don’t know how, and Pops… I can’t believe it.” The tears stream down her cheeks. “I know it’s stupid. We buried him. He’s dead, but… it doesn’t feel like it. It’s like he’s away or at work.”
I nod, clueless as to what to say to comfort her. I’m angry, and I don’t understand that either.
“How are you?”
“Fine.”
“Evan, tell me the truth.”
“I guess I don’t believe it either. It’s been five days, but I still think I’m going to see my mom and dad, and Uncle Adam. I want to see them again.”
Her cold palm brushes my cheek with a small, sweet smile for me. Carys is my best friend’s little sister, but she’s always been more than that to me. I don’t have a name for it, and when I try to find one, it frustrates me.
Even with her being three years younger, she’s never been annoying or just a girl to me. I don’t see her that way. It sounds silly, even to my own ears, but she’s always just been mine.
While we’re not related, our families are close. Both my father and Carys’s came over from Ireland as young boys with their families. They met on the boat and from that point on, we’ve been like family.
From the day I held Carys as a baby, felt the small bundle of sweetness in my arms, a peacefulness came over me. I felt like I’d always known her. An instant bond, one I never questioned; it’s natural, easy, and comforting.
But as I grow, I have these new thoughts and feelings about her. They’re confusing, at times strong. She’s larger than life, sweet, brave, and caring. Being near her makes things better, easier, more fun.
“We were supposed to go to the ballgame tomorrow.” Her father always made it a point to spend time with his children, together and one on one.
“That sucks.”
“Yeah, I wanted to go. Pops is the best. He lets me get whatever I want, cotton candy, Coke, you name it, and we don’t tell Ma. It’s our secret.” She smiles almost as big and bright as I’m used to, but then it shrivels and vanishes, likely when she remembers he’s gone forever. “I miss him so much.” Her voice cracks as a lone tear slips from her eye.
“I know — me too. I miss them all so much.” It’s difficult to speak with the growing lump in my throat.
“Is it silly that we miss them so much already? Evan, I don’t know how to do this.”
“Hey, Sweetness, come here.”
Wrapping my arms tight around her, I kiss the top of her now-damp head. Though we’re close, it’s not usually physical like this, but it’s not every day that your parent dies. The even weirder thing is, our closeness doesn’t make me feel strange or stupid. It feels right… good.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Ry, Tripp, and Griff running toward us, all in their suits, like me. Patrick — or as we call him, Tripp — and his younger brother, Griffin Townsend, are part of our close-knit group. Tripp’s the same age as Ry and me, and Griff’s close to Carys’s age.
Ry and I share a look. He’s in as much pain as we are, going through a great loss, but protecting his sister is important to him. He’ll be strong for Carys and his ma.
Sitting down on the other side of Carys, he pulls on her free hand, and she glances at her brother and willingly slides into his arms. Before fully giving in, she searches my eyes for something. I squeeze her hand to let her know I’m not going anywhere.
“You okay?” Ry asks his sister.
Griff and Tripp gaze down at the three of us seated on the damp grass. With their matching blond hair and blue eyes, it’s like looking at two versions of the same person. They’re worried, so much so that Griff’s biting on his lip and fidgeting from side to side.
This is the first loss we’ve all had to face. Before, tragedy was just a word, without true meaning. Now, I fully understand, more than I’d ever hoped to. We’re all stumbling through this, not sure what to do or say.
They act uncertain, like they don’t know if they should
be here. I catch Tripp’s eye and nod, reassuring him that we need them.
“Yeah,” Carys says.
“Ma’s looking for you. We should get back. Come on, let’s go.” Ry rises, taking her with him.
Standing, I brush my wet behind as best as I can. Carys’s now-muddy black dress and pink leggings streaked with dirt bring me back to earlier in the day, when her mother was getting us ready for the funeral.
As usual, Aunt Siobhan, her mother, and Carys had words. Carys didn’t want to wear a dress, and definitely not a black one. She wanted her pink leggings and her Han Solo and Chewbacca Star Wars t-shirt.
The two of them bickering calmed me—something normal during all the sadness and scariness. It didn’t end well for Carys—she had to wear a dress—but no surprise, she also got her way, slipping on her pink leggings and t-shirt underneath.
Aunt Siobhan gave in the minute her daughter told her the shirt was for Pops. He loved Star Wars, and the shirt was a gift from him. Carys was wearing it for him.
“Hey, let’s go back and play,” Tripp says.
“I don’t feel like playing,” she says.
“We could play Zelda or Super Mario!” Griff says, his eyes lighting up with excitement.
“I’ve got a better idea,” I say, and Carys earnestly gazes at me. “Let’s play the Turtles and you get first pick.” I point to Carys.
“Really?” A flicker of joy crosses her face.
We play the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles a lot, both the video game and, in this instance, with costumes with full gear and weapons, which we scored for Halloween. We like to act out our own made-up stories. Usually the boys pick who they want to be first, which means Carys is always April, if we let her play at all. Letting her pick first is huge.
“Only if I get to be Leonardo!” She’s now standing tall, no longer needing the support of her brother, but she’s still holding my hand.
“Of course you do. You want to be the leader so you can boss us around.” I chuckle with a wink.
“No, it’s the katana.” She smirks, one hand now on her hip. “But I like Michelangelo, too. We both like cheese pizza.”