by Skye Darrel
I sit out of the water. “Everett, there’s nothing you can do for me. The hospital is more important. Yvonne and those kids—”
“Goddammit April.” He touches my face. “I know you care about those kids. I know you care about the hospital. But forgive me, I care about you more. You are my priority.”
I bite my lip. “Are we leaving tonight?”
“No. Get some sleep. We'll pack up in the morning. My father can wait.”
Everett stays with me until the bath cools. He helps me towel off before we go back to bed.
Time passes slowly, but I can't fall asleep again. Neither can he. I play my fingers over his chest as his hand works through my hair, the hours passing by in the dark. A new day dawns behind the curtains. I wish we could stay in bed.
“Whatever happens,” Everett says, “I’m not leaving you.”
“Okay.” But if I know anything, it’s how fast life can change.
We climb out of bed and dress in silence. We pack fast, eat a cold breakfast, and carry our bags to his Audi. I look back one more time at the lodge.
“Think we’ll come back someday?” I ask.
Everett kisses my hair. “Of course. We can't leave your heart unfinished. We'll come back every year, Princess. When we turn wrinkled and gray, I will build a cottage on this mountain and take up birdwatching. You can knit sweaters. Our grandkids will visit.”
I bite down a smile. “Knitting sounds boring.”
“Camping then. You seem to enjoy that.”
“Get in the car and drive, mister.” I admit Everett has a knack for making me believe the impossible. If only for a little while.
◆◆◆
WE DON’T TALK on the road back. It’s Saturday. Traffic is light. I stare out my window, watching the trees and fields blur past, the mountains receding with every mile. We reach the suburbs after an hour, and Everett parks outside my parents’ house.
He hands me my backpack from the trunk.
“Listen,” I say. “There's an ALS support group I go to every Friday. Sometimes people bring their spouses and family. I'm the only one who's never introduced anybody. Besides my parents, I mean. It'd mean a lot to me if—”
“I’ll be there.”
I hold his hand, my fingers intertwining with his. “Thank you.”
“Least I can do after what you did for me at the lodge.”
“Um, what?”
“You gave me the most amazing blowjob a man could ask for.”
I slap him lightly across the cheek. “Clown.”
“I'll be there,” he says again. “Whatever you need me to do, whatever you want, I'll do it.”
“Thanks.”
I watch him drive off before I head inside. The house feels empty without my parents, who won’t be back from Hawaii for a few more days, but for once, I don't feel lonely by myself.
I struggle on the stairs. My legs feel weak, and I get cramps in my calves. Step by step, with one hand on the wall, I trudge into my room and drop onto the bed.
So tired.
My symptoms are definitely getting worse. I schedule an appointment with Dr. Greene, the neurologist who's been overseeing my care since age fourteen. Five years ago, he was the one who sent me to St. Jude Children's for testing. I should thank him because if he hadn't, I might've never met Everett.
I should thank Camila too for getting nabbed by Royce security.
Funny how life works.
I text Yvonne and let her know I’m back, that I’ll be visiting her tomorrow. Hope she’s doing better than I am. Yvonne sends back heart emojis.
Chapter Twelve
EVERETT
I’m in war mode by the time I arrive at Royce Innovations. Ready to meet my old man. Ready to fight. I left April’s house an hour ago, and I’ve been thinking about my girl since. I would do anything for her.
It’s the weekend, but if I know Edmund Royce, he’s already waiting for me in a conference room. The concept of weekends and time off is foreign to him.
I take the elevator to the thirty-fifth floor. It doesn’t surprise me to find Viktor Harlow, Edmund's devoted servant, waiting in the hallway outside my office.
Trim and proper, he frowns at my appearance.
The last thing I look like right now is the executive officer of a billion dollar company. I’m still in my jeans and leather jacket, my hair shaggy and tousled, scruff on my jaw, the taste of April lingering on my tongue.
“Your father is waiting in Conference Room Eight,” Harlow says.
“Got it.” I walk past him.
“Everett.”
“Yes?”
“I hope it was worth it.”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
I almost say, and neither does my father, but I’m hoping he will, some small part of him. After all, he was in love with my mother once. Long ago, before the affairs. At least that’s what family legends say.
I walk to Room Eight and go right in.
My father Edmund sits at the head of a conference table, wearing a three-piece suit, his demeanor every bit like a king’s.
Nothing surprising about the old man. I’m ready for him.
I am surprised to see Portia Royce also at the table, elegant as always in an austere but stylish dress. My mother would look stylish at a funeral, and from her expression, she appears to be attending a funeral.
“Hello, Everett.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I flew in with Edmund from Seattle. We’re concerned about you.”
“Take a seat,” my father says. He looks calm as usual, the sort of man who can fire 500 people on a Friday afternoon and play two rounds of golf before dinnertime.
I sit across from him. No hugs or kisses. We’re not that kind of family.
Edmund leans forward. “Mr. Harlow tells me you’ve met a woman. April Finch. He tells me you are very fond of her.”
“I love her.”
“You think you do,” my father says.
“I don't think. I do.”
“You’re certainly not thinking. Here are the facts. I put you in charge of our operations in Baltimore for a reason. You were qualified. You had earned my trust.”
Edmund pauses, as if earning his trust had been a pivotal development in my life, on par with puberty or starting college.
“I asked you to acquire a certain hospital,” he goes on. “Acquire and demolish. Then begin construction on our new technology center. Your initial performance was exemplary. You secured the permits, negotiated with the City Council, and acquired all necessary rights to St. Jude. You did well. Then three months ago, you begin neglecting your responsibilities. Did I miss any details?”
“No.”
“Why is the hospital still open? Why have you halted development on the tech center?”
“April convinced me to keep the hospital open. The kids there need it.”
I feel my mother's eyes on me with every word I speak.
“What does April do?” Edmund asks. “What is her background?”
“I don’t understand.”
My father’s smile could kill. “It’s a simple question, Everett. Mr. Harlow tells me she is nineteen years old, but doesn’t attend any university. She is a nobody. A person of no consequence whatsoever. And her cousin made trouble for our company. But you obviously care a great deal what this girl thinks.”
“She’s courageous and kind. She makes me happy. She’s the girl I fell in love with.”
“Dogs are courageous. Children are kind. She makes you happy, does she? Many women make your brother happy. That the sort of happiness we're talking about?”
It takes every ounce of will to stay in my seat. Under the table, I claw my knees. “She made me whole,” I say.
“Made you whole,” Edmund repeats mockingly. “Why isn’t she in school?”
“April is sick,” I say.
“Excuse me?”
“She has a neurological disorder, early-onset ALS. Her conditio
n is terminal without treatment. But I’ll find a way to save her.”
My parents exchange a glance.
“ALS is a death sentence,” Edmund says. “There is no cure.”
“I’ll find one. I’m going to marry her.”
He looks at my mother again. “Your son has gone insane.”
Portia meets my eyes, and I’m not prepared to see the softness in hers. “He’s in love,” she says.
Edmund slams a fist on the table. I flinch. My father may be many things, but he has never once lost his composure in my presence. “I’ve heard enough,” he says. “You will not marry a dead woman, Everett. It's out of the question. You will end this relationship at once.”
“I can’t do that.”
“If you wish to remain a member of this family, you will do precisely that.”
I stand up slowly and walk toward the door. So much for getting help from the old man. “No.”
“Leave now and you will regret it.”
There is nothing to regret. I was ready to sacrifice everything for April the moment I walked into this room. My feet keep moving.
“Son.”
That single word from his mouth stops me cold. I can't remember the last time he called me son. I don't think he ever has. My hand is on the door. “What?”
“Think it over. You are making a mistake. Portia, say something.”
I turn around, my eyes moving between them. My mother looks thoughtful and she stays silent.
“I’ve made my choice,” I say. Then I’m through the door, more determined than ever.
WHEN I ENTER my apartment, Achilles scampers over to me, purring and rubbing between my legs. At least there’s one living thing in this building happy to see me.
Make that two. My brother smiles lazily from a loveseat. “Welcome back.”
“You know Sebastian, I didn’t realize we were roommates.”
“Kept Achilles fed while you were away.”
“Thanks.”
“So you met them? How’d it go?”
“Not well.”
“Warned you April would be trouble,” Sebastian says. “I warned you, little bro.”
“That why you’re here? To tell me she’s trouble?”
“I’m here because I heard from the old man you went insane. Supposedly. I heard Ms. Finch is sick.”
The sudden solemnness in my brother's voice is strangely endearing. I tell him about April’s illness. He listens, and he doesn't judge. That's the other thing about Sebastian. He will never tell you something is hopeless or impossible.
I mention Edmund’s ultimatum. April or the family.
Sebastian whistles. “Don’t be surprised, little bro. Dad had plans for you. You are the anointed heir, and you just fucked it up. You were supposed to marry a senator’s daughter. Carry on the family tradition of marrying respectable and high like a good trooper.”
“You can be his heir.”
“Nah, we all have roles in life. Mine is being a fuck-up. Besides, Dad would never let me. I’m too spoiled.”
I sit beside him on the sofa and lean back. “I can't lose her, Sebastian.”
“Then don’t.”
“Good advice. Very thoughtful.”
“You want advice? You get scarred no matter what you do. Some scars heal, others rot. Pick the ones that heal.”
I give him a sideways glance.
He’s right. I know all about scars.
Some heal with time. Losing April is the other kind.
◆◆◆
ON MONDAY MORNING, I walk into my office and open the computer, already knowing what to expect. Edmund’s email sits at the top of my inbox. A company-wide message sent to every employee at Royce Innovations. From: Edmund Royce, CEO, President, and Owner.
The message is straightforward and polite. A typical employee wouldn’t give it a second thought. Another useless update from the corporate overlords.
I read every line.
My father announces that he’s taken over management of Baltimore operations. While Vice President Everett Royce—always interesting to read about myself in the third person—has achieved much, someone more experienced is required to guide Royce Innovations into an exciting and prosperous future.
No mention of any family quarrels.
The truth is firing me would cause scandal and raise questions, and the old man has always cared about appearances.
But behind the scenes, Edmund has already stripped me of real power. He transferred anyone who had worked with me directly back to Royce headquarters in Seattle. Even my assistant is gone.
Any decisions I make as VP must now be approved by a special committee appointed by my father. Viktor Harlow chairs the committee.
Meanwhile, Edmund plans to close St. Jude by December. Demolish it by January. Construction on the tech center will begin spring next year. And I'm reduced to a puppet with no way to stop him. In a sense, I've always been a puppet.
I haven’t told April yet.
I don’t tell her for three days. Three long days at the office, followed by sleepless nights back at my apartment. I spend every spare hour reading about ALS and finding leads on possible cures.
April and I text. We talk on the phone as well, but it feels like we’re walking on eggshells. Neither of us brings up her symptoms. At least I know she's not losing her speech, which is another symptom of ALS.
On Thursday night, she comes to my apartment after her volunteer shift at St. Jude Children’s ends.
I’ve barely gotten her in the door before my mouth finds hers. Three days without my girl feels like an eternity. I’m painfully hard, and I hold her against the wall, just breathing in her scent, letting the warmth of her body soak into mine. She tastes like berries. I think it’s lip gloss.
My hand wanders up her skirt as I kiss to her throat. I feel guilty for wanting her like this, but my inner caveman is out in full force.
“You’re in a good mood,” April moans.
“Not really. Been missing you is all.” I’ve been jerking my cock every night. I kept a roll of paper towels on my nightstand to make cleanup easier. Every morning I still wake up with a hard-on. Only she can satisfy me.
“God Everett, it’s only been three days.”
“Too long.” Her skirt is in the way and I yank it up without finesse. I cup her panties and squeeze, feeling the moisture and heat there. “This is mine.”
Her skin is flushed, and her pulse thumps as I tongue her neck. My hand between her thighs presses and rubs.
“So wet,” I growl. “I can smell your cunt.”
She slaps me across the face. Playfully. But also hard. “Behave.”
“Did you touch your pussy? Did you think about my cock?”
“Y-Yes.” She bites her lip and runs her hand down my abs. “And the rest of you.”
I carry her to my bedroom and set her down on the sheets. I unclasp her skirt, pull off her soaked panties, and tear away her blouse.
“Slow down,” she says.
By some miracle, I stop, glaring at her, gnawing my teeth together so hard my jaw aches.
“Take off your shirt. I want to see you too.”
I rip my clothes off in record time, and April’s mouth hangs open as I stand before her, buck naked and cock erect. She runs her fingers around the ridge of my cock head, tracing down my stalk to the seam in my balls, and back up again. Then she takes a single finger and tickles under my engorged tip.
Cum leaks out of me in clear strings.
“Does that feel good?” she asks, blushing.
“Good.”
“I looked up some stuff about the male anatomy. Thought you’d like this—”
I snatch her hand away and push her flat over the bed, my hips wedging between her clamping thighs. “Bad girl. I don’t need you researching how to please men. I don’t need you reading about other dicks. Mine is the only one you need to worry about, and anything you do fucking pleases me.”
April loops her arms
around my neck. “What, are you jealous?”
Her voice is like honey.
I’ll show her. She doesn’t know how crazy she makes me with her mere presence. I pluck her peaked nipples, rubbing my cock head in her heat. When she throws her head back and her legs are shaking, I thrust right in.
She clenches around me. So wet, so tight. I brace her legs against my shoulders and angle down. I bottom out in her pussy, again and again, my balls slapping on her ass, and I make sure to rub her clit with my base when I fill her up.
Her hands latch onto my buttocks as she twists into the sheets.
She can barely take all of me, but she always does, and we fit together perfect. I turn my hips, thrusting in and out to the tempo of her cries.
“Yes,” she screams, her walls convulsing around my cock.
I fuck through her orgasm, burying myself deep in her pussy before I release. Sparks explode in my eyes as my balls empty. My ears are ringing. I slump down by April’s side and run my fingers through her hair.
I can't lose her. I can't.
“How are your symptoms?” I ask carefully.
She tenses and I hold her tighter.
“Tell me, April.”
“Getting worse,” she admits. “My doctor confirmed it. Nothing he can do. But . . . I also have good news from home.”
“What?”
“I told Mom and Dad about us. They approve. Of us, I mean. Dating and all.”
Four months have gone by since I met April. It feels like years. “Good,” I say.
“They’d like to meet you again,” she says. “I mean, if you want.”
“It would be my pleasure.”
“Don’t make it into a big deal.” She tries to smile, but worry tinges her voice. “Do you have any good news for me?”
“No,” I say after a moment. I tell April about my father’s plan to close St. Jude. His reaction when I told him about our relationship. I tell her none of it matters because I’ll find a solution, but my words sound hollow even to my ears.
April falls silent for a while. Then she says, “Yvonne and the other kids need St. Jude. That’s the important thing.”
“You are what’s important to me.”
“I’m not a quitter, Everett. But I’m prepared for the end. If you can’t deal with that . . .”