by Gina Azzi
Time is funny like that, one thing, one scent, or word or smile, can transport you to another place entirely, causing a flood of emotions that are so real in their intensity, yet so misplaced in their timing.
Breathing slowly, in through my nose, hold, out through my mouth, I manage to get through the X-rays and compose myself so that by the time I re-enter the space where Aaron waits for me, I’m in control once more. Still, my heart canters too quickly in my chest, and adrenaline lingers in my bloodstream.
“How were X-rays?”
“I’m pretty sure it’s just a sprain. This was unnecessary.” I wave a hand to encompass the hospital as I ease back onto the bed and prop up my ankle.
“Why risk it?”
Moving his chair closer to my bedside, he reaches out, his hand steady, his fair skin contrasting against my tanned arm, and fingers the colorful beaded bracelets adorning my wrist. A slight flutter of his fingertips has me sucking in my breath, my eyes latching onto his. Heat and desire travel through his blue eyes, bright and blazing. The space between us shrinks. It’s too intimate, too real, too… us.
Ripping my gaze from him, I study the wall over his shoulder. I’m done with heartache and heartbreak. I’m in Scotland to clear my head, to gain perspective, to… reset my life.
“Everly,” the doctor sweeps aside the curtain and Aaron stands, moving to the foot of the bed. “I’m Dr. Glenn.” He shakes my hand before turning back to the X-rays clasped in his.
“It’s not broken, is it?”
“Nope, just a sprain. But you’ll have to stay off of it for a few days. Should be healed in two weeks or so if you don’t push it.”
“That’s fine. I know the drill.” All too well. Pushing myself to the edge of the bed, I start to stand up when Dr. Glenn’s voice stops me.
“I see that.” His voice is quiet, but his words are sharp, and dread deadens my momentum, causing me to freeze as embarrassment mixed with panic locks down my limbs.
Shit.
Darting my gaze to Aaron, I take in the confusion rippling over his features, the concern in his eyes as they swing to mine.
How do I explain this? What do I say?
I don’t have a chance to smooth over Dr. Glenn’s words because he’s not finished. “Would you mind stepping out, Mr.…?”
“Anderson. Aaron.” Surprise colors Aaron’s tone as he crosses his arms over his chest, rocking back on his heels, his gaze swinging from Dr. Glenn to me and back again.
“Right, Mr. Anderson. Could you give us a moment?”
Words, excuses, and lies, sit on the tip of my tongue, ready to extinguish the awkwardness that expands in the room with each passing second. But my throat burns and my nose stings and tears that I’m desperate to conceal threaten to fall, stealing all of my concentration.
“Everly?” Aaron questions, his voice low, his words wrapped in worry.
I shake my head, clearing my thoughts, ignoring the tears, and lock eyes with Dr. Glenn, hoping he understands telepathy and hears the words I can’t say.
“I’m fine, Dr. Glenn. Thank you for your time and for the results.” Sliding off the bed, I land on my right foot, grateful when Aaron’s hand balances me. “But I can manage this just fine.”
Dr. Glenn watches me intently for a beat before clearing his throat. “Of course.” He pulls a card from his pocket and slips it into my hand, giving my fingers an extra squeeze. “If you have any questions about your ankle, give me a call.” His voice is gruff, his eyes darkening with pity.
Damn it.
There it is again.
I nod once, avoiding his gaze, hating the concern and compassion and understanding that dwells there. I don’t need it. I don’t want it. I’m fine. Releasing a shaky breath, I paint on a smile and turn toward Aaron. “Ready?”
“What was that about?” he asks, gesturing between me and the space Dr. Glenn just vacated.
“Oh, you know how doctors are, thorough. Let’s get out of here.” I hook my fingers around his forearm, as I force myself to move forward.
“I’ll stop and get you supplies for the next few days. What do you need?”
Desperate to be done with this experience, back in the safety of my own space, on my own, away from pitying eyes and considerate questions, I don’t even think of my words as I blurt them out.
“Oh, it’s no worries. I already messaged Dan, and he is going to gather everything I need.”
“Dan?”
“My driver.”
“You have a driver?”
“I do. In fact, he’s here. Thank you for taking me, Aaron. It was very kind of you to take time away from your daughter and The Fringe to sit here with me. I’m all set, though,” I ramble as we walk toward the main entrance, and the dread clogging my chest loosens when I spot the black SUV and Dan’s hulking frame leaning against it. “I hope I didn’t mess up your plans too much, and you can still catch some shows with Livvy.”
“It’s no problem,” Aaron says slowly, his eyebrows bent over his confused eyes. “Give me your phone,” he demands, stopping next to the sliding glass doors to outside, to the black SUV, to the air I’m desperate to suck in and cleanse the panic building inside of me.
“What? Why?” I snap, and Aaron’s eyebrows dip lower.
Damn it.
“So I can add my number in case you need anything while you’re here.”
Wincing, I close my eyes and count to five in my head, fishing around in my large hobo bag until my fingers wrap around my phone. Shoving it into his hand, I open my eyes. “Sorry. I just, I’m not feeling well, and I need, I need to go.”
Aaron nods, his eyes scanning my face, searching for clues, for insight to explain my behavior.
Forcing my face to fall slack, I give nothing away. It’s a skill I learned early on in my career and mastered completely during my last relationship.
Aaron punches in his contact information and drops my cell back into my bag. “Message me if you need anything. I’m serious. Either way, it was good to see you. And I’m real fucking proud of you, Lee.”
Emotion clogs my throat, my eyes welling with tears. Nodding, I glance at the floor, at our kissing toes, and bite my bottom lip to rein in the overwhelming emotions unleashed by Aaron’s words. At the pride in his tone and the validation I feel. “Thank you.”
He nods, shuffling me over to Dan and making sure I’m buckled into the backseat of the SUV before lifting a hand in farewell. “Take care of yourself, Everly.”
“You too.”
Aaron closes my SUV door, and I lean my head back, closing my eyes as a few stray tears fall, sliding down my cheeks.
If only I knew how to do that.
That’s why you’re here.
“Home, Ms. Pierce?” Dan asks.
“Please. Thank you, Dan.”
Home. Will a place ever feel safe again?
5
Aaron
I spend the rest of my weekend consumed with thoughts of Everly.
Why is she really here?
Is she okay?
And what does this mean?
To be honest, it’s exhausting, and I need to stay focused on Olivia. She returned home from Paris with a dejection clinging to her like a second skin. Stepping into her bedroom on Sunday night, she’s poised in front of her play vanity.
“Hey there, little love.”
“Hi Daddy.” Livvy’s face scrunches adorably as she stares up at me, the tip of her pretend makeup brush hovering in the air. “I have a very important question.”
“Yes, little love?”
“Are you going to marry someone new like mummy?” Her voice is quiet as she looks down, suddenly intent on picking a scab on her knee.
Fire.
That’s the only word to describe the blinding hate and anger blazing through my body. A wildfire. The kind that spares nothing and no one. Total scorched fucking earth.
“Mummy’s marrying?” I swallow thickly, my saliva getting stuck in my throat, so I have
to cough around the name I now hate more than any other name in history. “Paul?”
Olivia nods seriously. “She asked me if I’d be the flower girl in her wedding.”
Mother fucking hell.
“And I said yes because I’m really fantastic at throwing all the petals. I did such a good job at Sierra and Denver’s wedding. Aunt Jenni said I was the best flower girl she’s ever seen.” Livvy looks back up, seeking confirmation.
“You were perfect.”
She nods again. “So, are you?”
“Am I what?”
“Going to marry someone.”
“No.” The word shoots out of my mouth, resolute and decisive. “I’m always going to be here for you, Olivia. That will never change.”
A small smile flickers across Olivia’s lips, and some of the worry drains from her face. “Good.”
My heart aches for my daughter. Seven years old and already shouldering so many burdens, so many life lessons that I’d never want her to learn in the first place, like the failure of a marriage. Kate and I are setting her up for extensive therapy in her adult life.
Yanking the back of my neck, I sit for a while and watch Olivia play with her makeup set. Her expression is so serious as she applies her eye shadow, her lips forming a pout as she swipes on lipstick. I watch her and feel the space in my chest fill back up with so much anger, I can’t dig myself out of it.
She’s my life now, the most important person in the world.
And it doesn’t matter what I may or may not want; I need to think about my daughter.
When it’s bedtime, I read her an extra book and spend time lingering outside her bedroom door, listening to her breathing even out, the slight snore that whistles on her exhales.
When I drop Olivia off at summer camp on Monday morning, I’m relieved that she’s eager to attend, some of the melancholy from France melting away. I hope our conversation from last night reminded her just how important she is.
“See you later, Daddy.” She waves goodbye, her backpack nearly bigger and heavier than she is, as she rushes to meet her friends.
Blowing out a large exhale, I rock back on my heels, watching my daughter laugh with the girls she knows from school.
“Long summer?” a woman next to me in the drop-off line asks.
“Aye.”
“Same. I couldn’t wait for camp to start.” She flips her sunglasses on top of her head, her eyes zeroing in on the lack of a wedding band on my ring finger.
“I’m sure they’ll have fun. Take care,” I say abruptly, turning back toward the parking lot. Walking to my car, I note the side eye and long glances from other parents. The women in committed relationships look at me with pity, the single moms with flirtation, and the dads with a hint of judgement.
Jesus. Is this how it’s going to be each morning?
Insecurities wrap around me like cling wrap as I slide deeper and deeper into a pool of self-doubt.
Could I have saved my marriage with Kate?
How did I miss all the signs?
Was she really so miserable with me that she had to cheat? Was that her way out?
The entire situation depresses me. The shit she pulled, the lying and cheating and lack of mothering to Olivia, stabs at me, but so does the question I abhor: did I cause it? What role did I have in creating a situation that made Kate react the way she did?
Sliding behind the steering wheel, I point my car in the direction of work, desperate for the distraction it provides.
“Everly Pierce?” Finn drops by my office two minutes after I sit behind my desk, about to take my first gulp of coffee. And God, do I need the caffeine this morning.
This weekend was its own kind of torture. I couldn’t keep my mind off Everly, of wondering how she was managing with her sprained ankle, of thinking about her and… Dan, the driver.
“Everly Pierce,” I confirm, as Finn sits in the chair across from my desk.
“Why didn’t you tell me you dated a famous singer?”
“I didn’t know she was famous.”
“Aaron, she was nominated for a Grammy.”
“I recently learned that.” I take another gulp of coffee, welcoming the sting burning the roof of my mouth.
My brother rolls his eyes, a grin lifting the corner of his mouth. “Was it strange, seeing her again?”
“Aye.”
We sit in silence for several seconds before Finn shakes his head. “So, are you going to ask her out?”
“Ask her out? Of course not.”
“Why not?”
“Why would I?” I shoot back, but deep down, the idea intrigues me. Of course it’s crossed my mind, but it’s stupid. I broke Everly’s heart; she told me so herself just two days ago. Plus, I have a daughter. A man with a daughter doesn’t date singers who were nominated for a Grammy.
“Because you like her.”
“Of course I like her. I dated her.”
“It’s more than that.”
Shaking my head, I down half the contents of my mug. “Do you have anything work-related to discuss?”
“Aaron, you’ve got to snap out of it. I hate seeing you like this.”
“Like what?” I keep my voice even, neutral, but inside my blood is on a slow simmer of anger mixed with self-preservation.
Finn leans back in his seat, his thumb and forefinger plucking at his lower lip. “Mate, you need to pull yourself together,” he says finally, leaning forward again. “What Kate did to you was bloody awful. But Aaron, you used to be laidback and funny, sensitive and thoughtful. Now, you’re just…” He waves his arm up and down like that explains anything.
“I’m what?”
“Bitter.”
I roll my eyes, biting the inside of my cheek, so I don’t snap at my brother.
“And it’s been six months. You have a daughter. You don’t get to still act bitter or jaded or pissed off. You have to show up for her and—”
“I do show up. Every single goddamn day. I—”
“And part of showing up means being present and being the dad that she needs, that she knows. You know, the one who used to let her polish his nails with glitter and have tea parties in forts.”
Sighing, I pinch the bridge of my nose. Deep down, I know my brother is right. I haven’t been myself since Kate moved to France with her paramour. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Every day, I question, how the hell did I get here? How is this my life?
“And then,” my brother continues, apparently not finished berating me, “you run into your old girlfriend, the one who left a mark on you, randomly at a music festival. Don’t you think that’s fate?”
“You’re joking, right?”
“I remember how you were when you returned from America. Bloody devastated. Like you were grieving.”
“Finn, I was a kid.”
“You wouldn’t even let us say her name.”
“It was my first real breakup.”
“She’s in Edinburgh. Of all the cities in the world, she’s here.”
“It’s surprising.”
“She affects you. I saw the way you looked at her at The Fringe, the way you smiled at her. Aaron, you haven’t smiled like that, at anyone, in months.”
“Finn, I don’t have time for this.”
He holds up his hands. “All I’m saying is, you still feel something for her, which is great. Because you need to feel something other than ornery toward someone other than Olivia. So, what’s the harm in exploring it?”
“The harm?” I pick up the framed photo of Olivia on my desk and press it toward Finn. “I’m not interested in exploring anything. I don’t want to do casual or meaningless. And I don’t want to do committed or marriage. I have a daughter, Finn. A daughter I need to prove to the courts would be better off living in Edinburgh with her father than in Paris with her mother.”
Finn sighs. “Aaron, that doesn’t mean you need to be single forever.”
“It also doesn’t mean I should run back to my
ex-girlfriend.”
“Just keep an open mind, yeah?”
“I’ll see you at the eleven am meeting.” I lift my chin toward the door.
Finn shakes his head at me, like he’s disappointed, but he leaves.
Opening my calendar, I glance at the appointments I have today, thankful that I don’t have anything pressing until eleven. This summer, I stepped back from my leadership role, decided to take on less mentoring, in order to be more present for Olivia once she returned from Paris. As a result, my schedule is lighter than it used to be.
It’s so light that I have time to open the Google search bar and type in “Everly Pierce.”
Angry.
Irate.
And bloody jealous.
That’s what I am.
Because Everly Pierce isn’t dating Dan. No, it’s worse than that. Much worse.
She’s dating Corey Hughes, an executive at the number one country music label in Nashville. The guy’s face explodes in my Google search, showing up in every article and in every image. He’s a good-looking son of a bitch, but flashy as hell. Designer belts and watches that cost more than my monthly alimony payments. And trust me, that’s a lot of money.
But it’s the photos of Corey and Everly that bother me the most. Because in them, she’s beaming, radiant, literally glowing with happiness. He looks at her like she’s the air he breathes. She probably is, the lucky fucker.
So Everly is in a happy, real relationship.
With a man that couldn’t be more different from me if he tried. Flashy, rubbing elbows with famous people, jet-setting around the world versus business-casual, rubbing elbows with Finn, playing Uno on a Friday night. What the hell is the comparison there?
Nothing.
But then why is Everly here without him?
What did she really mean when she said she was looking for magic?
Doesn’t she already have it, own it, keep it bottled up for the nights that she walks down red carpets and takes selfies with other famous people?
Unable to stop myself, I keep clicking, like a lunatic. A bawbag.
And then, a photo pops up. A candid. One where Everly didn’t realize she was being photographed. She’s beautiful, absolutely breathtaking in a sapphire gown, strapless with her signature silver and gold chains and pendants draped around her slender neck. But instead of looking at Corey Hughes like he hung the moon or invented sticky toffee pudding, her eyes are downcast. He has a hand on the small of her back, and her stiffness suggests she doesn’t want it there, that she’s pulling away from his touch.