“You were quoting me,” I say, shrugging a shoulder. “Can’t exactly get mad at you for that.”
“Yes, you can,” Everett says resignedly, running a hand down his face. I wait for him to continue. When he does finally drop his hand he doesn’t look at me, instead gazes absently out the window above the bed, like he can’t meet my eyes.
“There’s so much I do to prove I’m not like my dad,” he says, surprising me. “Even things that are supposedly good, things I want to do. My relationship with my siblings, never changing plans, proving myself. But there’s a lot of shit too.” He glances at me. “Never getting too close to anyone. Never letting anyone know how I’m feeling, unless it’s a good feeling. And last night I was just like him. I got that call and I figured, I don’t know. If I can’t beat him, join him. I just—” He drops his head, shakes it. “I hate myself for that.”
“Everett,” I say after a long silent moment that I expected him to fill again. I slide off the bed, kneel in front of him, reach up to cup his cheek in my hand. He looks at me then, and I can see it there, that he doesn’t think he deserves this, that he’s not worthy of any kind of forgiveness, any kind of second chance. I let him believe that, once. I think back to all the moments he would only share snippets with me, tiny pieces of himself that left me hungry for more of him. Every time he omitted something, every time he shared only the shiniest parts, he was constructing a version of himself he thought we’d all like enough to keep around.
The last night of our first trip here suddenly pops into my head, the game he came up with. One thing we werescared of and one thing we were looking forward to. Even though it was his idea, he hadn’t told us what he was really afraid of, what he really wanted. He always kept it light, and the thought breaks my heart. Everett at nine, at fifteen, at twenty, at thirty-two, always trying to do just enough to keep someone interested but never show enough of himself to risk disappointing them.
“You are not your father,” I tell him. When he almost smiles, tries to glance away like it’s a joking matter, I catch his chin in my hand, gently, so he’ll keep looking at me. “You aren’t, Everett. You never could be.”
He blinks as my hand slides back up to his cheek, something clearing in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he says, but it almost comes out as a whisper, rough.
“I know you are,” I tell him, rubbing a thumb along his cheekbone. “But I’m also glad I got to be the person there to help you.”
A small smile flickers at one corner of his mouth at this. A real one. “Should probably just tell you what’s going on next time,” he says. “Before I head for the nearest dive bar.”
I laugh. “Probably,” I say. “But I’m not too worried about a next time.”
Everett’s eyes flick between mine as my hand falls to my lap. I watch as his expression fades from something softly happy back to somber. He stands up after a while, pacing toward the door. I follow suit after a moment, stopping him in his tracks with a hand on his shoulder when he turns back to find me standing there.
There’s still so much conversation to be had, things we can’t keep ignoring if we want this to be something. God, I hope he wants this to be something.
“Everett, when I said those things,” I say. “When I endedthings with you... it wasn’t because I didn’t want to be with you. I wanted that so much.”
“I did too,” Everett says, storm-tossed eyes latching on to mine. “And I’m sorry for everything I said. I—” He breaks off, glances sideways like he’s collecting his thoughts before looking back at me. “I’ve never let anyone in like I did with you, Sutton. I wanted it to work so badly, but even if things hadn’t ended like they did... I wasn’t ready. I couldn’t even fight to keep you. It just seemed like it was inevitable, somehow, that I would ruin it. So I said things I didn’t mean.”
“You didn’t ruin it,” I say. “You didn’t ruin anything. And, honestly, you were right.” His brow furrows, confusion spreading across his face. “I do love to be in control. I think we both do, in our different ways.” He tilts his head, confirming this. “It wasn’t just about everyone else. I was terrified of getting hurt, just like you said.” I drop my gaze, shaking my head as I say, softly, “It was so much easier to just blame you than admit that.”
Everett slides his hand around mine then, intertwining our fingers. I look back up at him. “Sutton,” he says, a pleading look in his eyes. “I promise you I didn’t know the others were back. I need you to believe that.”
“I know you didn’t,” I say. The truth is, I think I let go of that further back than I realized. I clung to it so tightly as a reason to hate him, even when my heart knew it wasn’t true. “I trust you.”
Everett’s expression softens. “You do?”
I nod. “Of course I do.”
I smile, something like hope blooming in me. Everett reaches up to brush my hair behind my ear, lets his hand fall to my cheek.
Everett’s thumb traces over my cheekbone. “I think youcare more than most people,” he says. “I think you make all of us better.”
My throat squeezes. “I expect too much,” I say.
“Sutton,” he says. “It would be the greatest honor of my lifetime to try to exceed your expectations, if you’d let me.”
I look up at him at this, my breath catching. “I don’t want you to feel like you can’t be a person,” I say.
He shakes his head. “I don’t feel like that,” he says softly. “I want to be the person you thought you could be with five years ago.”
I dip my head into his palm. “I’d rather you be who you are right now. Who you’ll be tomorrow.”
Something in Everett’s eyes sparks; maybe the same kind of hope I’m feeling. A sort of nervous animal, peeking out after a long winter. Maybe what we ruined before can be rebuilt, and the essential pieces of us still remain.
I don’t want later with Everett. I want now. We’ve already had our fits and starts. I don’t want to wait another ten years to see if this could work. This thing between us has always been real, but it’s been trapped in small stolen moments, and I want to bring it out into the open, let it breathe. Give it life. I want to tell him what I was going to say last night. That I love him, after ten years and one life-altering week. That I know it now.
I’m about to say something like this to him when there’s an urgent rap on his door and we both turn, not even bothering to step away from each other when Gabe opens the door.
“What’s going on?” Everett asks, his hand still clasped in mine.
