Saving Forever (The Ever Trilogy: Book 3)

by Jasinda Wilder

  I gave a little snort of laughter. “You can drink your coffee however you want. Doesn’t mean I’m not gonna laugh.”

  “Jerk.” She was teasing, though, her eyes betraying her laughter.

  “Sissy. That’s not even coffee anymore. That’s milk.” I grinned at her over the top of the mug.

  “Just because you can’t float a horseshoe in my coffee doesn’t mean I’m a sissy.” She leaned against the counter beside me, and her elbow nudged mine.

  I didn’t move away, and neither did she. The silence between us as we drank our coffee was companionable, easy, the earlier tension having ebbed away.

  “So, you’re gonna put on a new roof?” she asked, glancing up at me. “Isn’t that a lot of work for one guy?”

  I shrugged. “It’s fine. I don’t mind.” I swallowed the rest of the coffee and set the mug down. “It’s not a big roof.”

  I’d already texted my brother’s friend Jim, who owned a roofing company, and he arrived just then with a dumpster for the old shingles. Jim parked the dumpster in the driveway once Eden moved her car, and then we scrambled up the ladder, eyeing the roof.

  “Want some help?” he asked. Jim was a few years older than me, bearded and stocky.

  I shook my head. “It’s fine. I’m doing this as a favor to a friend.”

  Jim nearly fell off the ladder. “Holy shit, dude, you’re talking!”

  I nodded, and Jim looked from me down to Eden, who had a vacuum beside her car and was cleaning out the back seat. She was leaning into the car, and his gaze lingered on her backside. Lingered a little too long, and I had to quell down the urge to call him out for it, if not just shove him off the ladder.

  He looked back to me, and nodded, his eyes sharp and knowing. “A favor for a friend, huh?” He winked at me. “Well, my guys are all working on another job, so I can spare you a few hours.”

  “Don’t have to.”

  He descended the ladder, saying, “No, but I don’t mind. It’s a beautiful day, and the scenery sure is nice.” And he wasn’t just talking about the lake rippling in the distance.

  He grabbed a heavy-duty shingle scraper from the bed of his truck and tromped back up the ladder. Once we got started, Jim and I worked in silence, broken occasionally by Jim’s phone. With his help, the old shingles came off in a few hours, and he helped me take off most of the old felt paper underneath.

  His phone rang again, and he listened to the other person talking with an increasingly upset expression. “Sorry, Carter. Gotta go. One of my new guys just fell off the fucking ladder.”

  “He okay?”

  Jim shrugged. “Yeah, he’ll be fine. Made a big fucking mess with the shingles he dropped, though. Goddamned new guys.” He was gone in a cloud of dust and gravel-spitting tires.

  I was honestly a little relieved he was gone. His help had been nice, as he’d cut the shingle-scraping time in half, but his gaze had wandered a little too frequently over to Eden, where she’d spent the morning detailing her car and washing it. I had no place being possessive or jealous, but I was.

  When I slid down the ladder to clean up the bits of shingle that hadn’t made it into the dumpster, Eden came out with two paper plates bearing sandwiches, and a pair of Cokes. We sat side by side with our feet hanging off the edge of the porch.

  We ate in silence for a few minutes, and then Eden glanced at me. “So your friend was a little…ogle-y.”

  I winced. “Sorry. He’s a roofer.” As if that explained it.

  She grinned at me. “Ah.” She shot me a sly, sarcastic look. “And carpenters would never ogle, right?”

  “Nope.”

  She laughed. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

  “For real, though. I’m sorry if he made you uncomfortable.” I decided to go with honesty. “And me, for that matter. I should’ve been more respectful of your privacy.” I folded the paper plate in wedge-shaped quarters, staring down between my feet.

  Eden set her plate down and took mine from me, and our fingers brushed. She nudged me with her shoulder. “Hey, I was just teasing. It’s fine. I didn’t close my door all the way anyway.”

  I shook my head. “Should’ve been more of a gentleman. So…I’m sorry.” I brushed the crumbs off my jeans and stood up. “Anyway, I should get back up there.”

  Eden stood up with me and stopped me with a gentle touch to my side. “Carter, look, I—” She cut herself off, as if reconsidering what she was about to say, and then started over. “You are a gentleman. And thanks for doing my roof.”

  I could only shrug, because she didn’t know how much of a gentleman I wasn’t. Just like Jim, I’d been sneaking glances at Eden all morning as she cleaned out her car, only I’d been more surreptitious about it. Jim was the type to stop working and just stare until he remembered himself. Unlike Jim, though, I’d been remembering the way Eden had looked that morning, in just a T-shirt and underwear. And thinking about what it might be like to wake up next to her like that, every morning.

  I’d had to shake those thoughts away time and again.

  So now I shimmied back up the ladder and attacked the remaining tar paper and underlying wood planking, until the framing two-by-sixes and insulation was exposed. The insulation need replacing, too, I discovered. I texted Jim, who sent his insulation guy, and we worked out a deal. By the end of the day, the roof was re-insulated and tarped over, ready to be covered the next day.

  Eden was waiting for me again when I descended the ladder. “Insulation is expensive.”

  I nodded. “Yep. Ain’t cheap.”

  “I told you I can’t afford to—”

  “Didn’t ask you to.”

  “Carter. For real. How much will that insulation cost?”

  I shrugged. “Couple grand.” By “a couple,” I meant almost five, but she didn’t need to know that.

  “Carter.” Clearly, Eden could suss out a lie in me easily.

  I left my ladder on the ground beside her house and threw my tools into the bed of my truck. “Eden. It’s fine.”

  “I’m not a charity case.”

  “This isn’t charity.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “Friendliness.”

  She frowned at me, her jaw set and her eyes blazing. “Friendliness doesn’t cover a several-thousand-dollar roofing job, Carter.”

  “Sure it does. And it’s not that much anyway.”

  “Why are you doing this for me?” She’d followed me to my truck, and was standing right behind me. I could feel the emotions radiating off her.

  “Why are you so angry about it?” I turned around, and was pinned in place by her fierce green eyes.

  “Because…because I don’t get it. Because you have no reason to help me like this. And I don’t want to owe you anything.”

  I sighed. “You don’t owe me anything. I’m helping you because you need help and I’m capable of doing it. And because I like you. You’re interesting.”

  That shut her up for a moment, but she rallied quickly. “Carter, you don’t even know me. You can’t—you can’t like me.” There was conflict in her gaze, and pain.

  I took a deep breath and let it out, going for broke. “You want to pay me for the roof? Go out with me.”

  She blinked at me. “Go out with you? Like, on a date? I—I—when?” Then she turned away quickly, as if stung, shaking her head in denial. “It doesn’t matter. I can’t.”

  “Can’t? Got somewhere else to be?”

  She shook her head, blonde hair bouncing in the sun. “No, I just…I shouldn’t.” She took a step away, her shoulders hunched as if to ward off a blow.

  That was a confusing response. “Shouldn’t? Why not?” She didn’t answer, and I realized she was fighting some deep emotion, something she couldn’t explain and didn’t want me to see. “Look, it’s just dinner. No strings. No expectations. Not a date. Just dinner between friends.”

  She turned back to me, her eyes dry but roiling with a chaotic welter of emotions. “Carter, I’m not—I mea
n…” She blinked hard, and met my gaze. “Are we? Friends, I mean?”

  “You got me to talk. I’d say that makes us friends.”

  She nodded. “Okay. Friends.” She held out her hand for a handshake.

  I laughed and took her hand in mine. My palm engulfed hers. Her hands were soft and small, but as she squeezed my hand, I could feel the strength in her grip. “Come on. I’m hungry.” I tugged her toward my truck.

  She resisted. “Wait. I need my purse.” I kept tugging, opened the passenger door, and guided her in. She complied as if trying to resist, but couldn’t quite manage it.

  “No, you don’t,” I said. “We’re just going to the Grill, and I’m paying. You’ll be fine.”

  She looked at me, still fighting with herself. “If you’re paying, that makes it a date.” That seemed to be a problem for her.

  “Then make me dinner tomorrow to pay me back.”

  She frowned. “That’s even worse. I suck at cooking.”

  I sighed. “Look, Eden. It’s only a date if you want it to be. If you don’t, it’s not. I haven’t said a word in a year, and I like talking to you. Quit making this a big deal.”

  She nodded, and I shut the door, but I heard her whisper to herself, “It is a big deal.”

  I’d shed my shirt sometime after ten that morning, and I grabbed it off the lawn, sniffed it. Grimaced at the stench. Fortunately, I always had a spare in my truck, along with deodorant. I opened the driver’s side-door and snagged my bag off the floor, dug out the spare shirt and deodorant. As I made myself somewhat presentable, I felt Eden’s curious gaze on me.

  “What?” I asked.

  “I’ve seen you with that bag. Coming and going from the beach. And I can’t figure out where you go, or why.”

  I hopped in and started the truck. “There’s an island three miles off shore. My house is on the island. I swim back and forth instead of taking a boat, when I can.”

  “You swim three miles one way, every day? Just for fun?”

  I lifted a shoulder. “Yeah. It’s good exercise, and I like swimming.”

  “Six miles a day. And you run?”

  I laughed. “No. I only run when I can’t swim. That’d be suicide.”

  “What do you do in the winter?”

  “Run. Lift weights. I don’t do polar bear swims, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  She laughed. “Good, that would just be weird.”

  She was always beautiful, but when she forgot to be closed up and tense, she was breathtaking.

  Conversation drifted after that, from how crazy the yearly polar bear swim was, to what winter was like on the peninsula.

  When we arrived at the Grill, Julie, the waitress, seated us and asked what we wanted to drink.

  “Just water with lemon, please,” Eden asked.

  I hesitated. Julie was short and curvy, just past thirty with auburn hair. She’d worked at the Grill for years, and knew me before I went silent. If I spoke, it would be a big deal to her. There would be questions, and I didn’t have any answers.

  “Your usual, Carter?” Julie asked.

  My usual was a pint of the local microbrew beer, but I’d planned on ordering wine, just to help Eden relax. I glanced at Eden. “Do you want some wine? Or a beer?”

  Julie’s mouth dropped open, and her eyes went wide.

  Eden shook her head. “No, I—no. Thank you. Water is fine. You go ahead, though.”

  I turned to Julie. “Coke is fine.”

  “Carter.” Her voice was incredulous. “You—you’re talking.”

  I could only shrug, my response for everything lately, it seemed. “Yeah. Finally had something to say, I guess.”

  Julie nodded, knowing there was more to the story but too professional to come right out and ask, though. She eyed Eden thoughtfully, and then left to get our drinks.

  “Not a drinker?” I asked.

  She shook her head, fiddling with the strip of sticky paper binding the silverware in the napkin. “No. Not…not at the moment.”

  Another enigmatic answer that hinted at something. I ignored the urge to probe, and just nodded. “Ever eaten here?”

  “No, just the deli. I shop at the market, though.” She laughed. “I don’t know what I’d do without the market, though. Having to go all the way downtown whenever I needed something would be a pain in the ass.”

  I nodded in agreement. “That’s for damn sure.”

  “So, what’s good?”

  “Everything. I usually get the burger, though.”

  Julie came back with our drinks and took our orders, burgers for both of us. When she was gone, Eden took a deep breath and looked at me. “So, thanks for—”

  “Stop thanking me,” I interrupted. “It’s getting annoying.” I grinned, making it a joke. Even though it wasn’t, entirely.

  “You didn’t let me finish. I was going to say thanks for…not prying.”

  “Prying?”

  She unrolled the napkin and toyed with the knife and fork, fitting the knife between the tines of the fork and attempting to balance it. She didn’t look at me. “Yeah. Prying. You’ve had a lot of opportunities to push for answers, I guess you could say. You don’t. And I appreciate it.”

  “Oh. Well, we all have stories, I guess.”

  “Including you.” It wasn’t a question, more of a non sequitur.

  “Yep.” I sipped at my Coke.

  A long silence extended between us, tense and awkward. I was pretty sure we were both thinking about our pasts, about the stories we kept so close to the vest.

  “I was married,” I blurted.

  Eden dropped the silverware, shocked. “Was?” Her green eyes were rife with compassion and curiosity.

  I swirled my straw through the ice, making it clink against the walls of the glass. “Yeah. Was.” I felt the words tumbling out and couldn’t stop them. I couldn’t have said why I was revealing my deepest, darkest source of pain to this woman I barely knew. Yet I was. “We’d only been married a year. She was pregnant. Miscarried.”

  Eden’s eyes searched mine, wavering. “Oh…god, Carter. I’m so sorry.”

  “I found her. In…in the bathtub.” Jesus. Fuck. Why was I telling her this? My insides clenched, and my chest ached, and my eyes burned. I blinked and squeezed my hands into fists. “I was working. She’d told me she wasn’t feeling good. Asked me if I could take the day off. I wanted to finish the project—it was this kitchen remodel for some rich guy. We were almost done, and I wanted it finished before she had the baby. There were a couple months of work left, and I was just…focused. On that. On finishing. I left for work that morning knowing I should’ve stayed home with Britt. But I didn’t. I got home late. Past seven. Almost eight. The house was quiet. Too quiet. You know? You ever just suddenly know something is wrong?”

  Eden ducked her head, nodding. “Yeah. I do.” Her voice was thick.

  “It was like that.” I hesitated, licked my lips, and swallowed hard. “Brittany loved music. If she was awake, there was always music going somewhere. An iPod, the stereo, the car radio. The TV. Her, singing. So when I got home and it was just…dark and silent. I knew. I knew something was wrong. I called her name, and she didn’t answer. But then I heard…I heard her. Whispering. For me. I ran upstairs, to our bathroom. She was in the bathtub. She…she was taking a bath. But she—she hemorrhaged. She’d been bleeding out, alone, for hours. So bad she couldn’t get up. Couldn’t call me. Couldn’t call for help.”

  “Fucking hell, Carter.” Eden’s voice broke.

  My hand was flat on the table, pressing down onto the wood as if to hold myself up. Eden reached out, put her small, strong hand on mine. My hand curled, tightened into a fist, and she fit her fingers between my knuckles. A simple, soothing, warm touch.

  “Blood was…was everywhere. She’d been trying to climb out. Handprints on the walls. On the tub. She’d grabbed onto the towel rack and broke it trying to get out. And I…I wasn’t there.” My chest was heaving, dragg
ing deep, harsh breaths in and out. I fought for composure.

  Eden shook her head. “My god, Carter.”

  The guilt that had been eating me alive for the last year tumbled from my lips. My secret, my sin, my guilt. “If I’d been there…if I’d stayed home like she wanted me to…I could’ve…she’d still be here.”

  “You can’t blame—”

  “Yes, I can.” I spoke over her, cutting her off with the quiet, hissing intensity of my voice. “The doctor told me as much. If I’d gotten her to the hospital sooner, they could’ve saved her. But I was gone. I was working.”

  “And you haven’t spoken since?”

  I shook my head. “Not until the other day.” I scraped at a streak of dirt on my index finger. “I just…couldn’t. I tried, god knows I did. I’ve never told anyone what happened. I don’t even know why I told you.”

  “I’m glad you did. You had to get it out.”

  I scrubbed my hands through my hair. “God, what a downer, huh? Sorry.”

  Eden’s hand was still on mine. “It’s fine, Carter. I’m not exactly a barrel full of laughs myself.”

  Julie approached with our food, and we both fell silent. I was sure Julie could feel the intensity in the air, but she didn’t say anything. Eden and I ate without talking, and this time the silence was companionable. After I’d finished, I excused myself and went to the bathroom. Our table was around the corner from the bathroom, so I overheard part of a conversation between Julie and Eden.

  “It’s kind of unbelievable, actually,” Julie was saying.

  “Why?”

  “After what happened, he just stopped talking. Just…complete silence. He wouldn’t say anything after Britt died, not to anyone, not for anything. He wouldn’t even communicate for the first couple weeks. He was…gone. Eventually, he would at least respond when spoken to, even if it was nonverbal.” Julie spun her tray on its axis, an idle habit of hers. “It was so tragic. He was one of the sweetest, kindest men I’ve ever known, and then Britt passed, and he just shut down. Went reclusive.”

  “He’s still sweet and kind.” Eden sounded oddly defensive.

  “Well, sweetie, I don’t know how you did it, but you worked a miracle in that man.”