Between Octobers Bk 1, Savor The Days Series (19 page)

“Dirty slut,” I squealed to myself. Lily
would call me a prude and laugh it off.

My feet kicked
against
the mattress. I could not stop thinking about
my strange date, my irresistible company, and how happy I was for
Lily. My brain sizzled each time I thought about Evans’ nibble on
my ear and the sweet things he said.

Before I knew it, I was fully dressed.
Dashing from my closet, I caught my reflection in the mirror. My
cheeks were red hot. I’d have to roll down the window on the way. I
threw my hair up in a messy knot and ran next door.

Ray’s outside lights were on when Evan and I
drove up earlier. They were still on when Marcus came back. As I
made my way through the front yard, I told myself if his inside
lights were on, I’d ask. If not, I’d go back to bed without a
second thought.

The divine porch light was still burning, as
well as the glow from the living room, visible through the drawn
curtains.

Ray answered the door, still fully dressed,
apparently cleaning up after a party. I strained to conceal my
pleasure when he agreed to watch Caleb. He swore it was no trouble,
that Nathan would be pleased to have a friend over. I dashed back
to my house, swathed my little angel in a fuzzy blanket and carried
him over to the neighbor’s living room. I promised Ray and Sergio
that I’d return the favor and swore to be back long before my boy
was likely to wake.

“Tell him I said ‘hello.’” The look Ray gave
me implied hanky-panky on my part. But I assured him that was not
the case. To which he replied, with his trademark flamboyant
sarcasm, “Honey, it never is!” I chuckled and thanked him for the
kindness.

I jumped into my Jeep and headed down the
hill, anxiously closing the distance between me and the Beverly
Hilton Hotel.

When I hit the freeway off-ramp, I started
to wonder about Ray’s comments. Was I giving the wrong impression?
Evan knew I wasn’t ready. Right? Just in case he needed reminding,
I stopped at a 24-hour bakery for coffee and bagels. He did mention
going out for breakfast and it was almost four.

Food in hand and heart in throat, I neared
the wide door of his hotel lobby. A young girl was sitting beneath
the wary glare of a uniformed employee, probably hotel security.
The man appeared to be reprimanding the young woman, who could not
have been much more than a teenager, and it was way past
curfew.

Getting closer, I heard her beg him not to
call her parents. She said no one was home anyway, and she was
waiting for a ride to come get her. Suddenly, she pointed at
me.

“See, there she is, right there! That’s what
took you so long? You stopped for food?” Her tone was playful with
an edge. Her eyes were desperate, wide with a hope that begged me
to play along.

I’d never been good at subterfuge, but I
handed her my coffee. It pacified the guard enough to walk
away.

The girl took me by the arm and pulled me in
a quick pace back towards my car, like we were true friends,
whispering, “That guy’s a dick. Thank you!” She tried to give back
the coffee but I told her to keep it. Her hands were cold.

After a short talk, I decided to give her
the benefit of the doubt and believe that she was really eighteen.
When I inquired as to why she was hanging out in front of a hotel
in the middle of the night, she quipped, “For Rhys! He’s staying
here and I’m going to meet him.”

“How do you know?”

She ran her fingers through her short brown
hair and smiled emphatically. “I saw you two leaving that club
earlier and followed him here. What room is he in?”

I chuckled awkwardly and bit my lip. She
begged for an answer and I shook my head, refusing.

Her face brightened. “Could you ask him to
come down? Please? That way, you don’t have to worry about me. I’ll
go straight home after, I swear!”

I told her I’d do what I could, but made it
clear, I was not making any promises. She thanked me profusely and
pointed to the spot where she’d be waiting.

After checking the security guard was
nowhere in sight, I walked through the lobby, feet growing heavy
with each step. The elevator ride gave me a chance to think.

When I reached to knock on his door, I knew
I was making a huge mistake. Ray was right. A midnight run to his
hotel? What other impression was there besides booty call? I
withdrew after one rap, but it wasn’t loud enough to be taken for a
knock. I considered leaving the bagels outside the door for him,
but I’d have to explain what I was doing there. Maybe the girl
downstairs would want them.

Six steps into my retreat, I heard him clear
his throat. I cringed and turned back to find him staring from the
open door with his golden brown hair in a delightful chaos as he
leaned against the frame, shirtless. Gorgeous. And smirking.

“I woke you, didn’t I?”

“No, Gracie, I was having trouble
sleeping.”

“I brought breakfast.” I raised the bag of
bagels, shaking it. The sound made me think of Arnold, the way he
came running when he heard the crinkle of the dog food bag.

Evan stepped aside and invited me in. As I
passed, he took me by the elbow and cut in front of me.

The walk was slow going. Evan’s room was a
horrendous mess and not nearly as big as I’d assumed it would be. A
single room with a king-sized bed, a large chest of drawers, a
desk, and one chair. I determined right off the bat that I was not
looking into the bathroom. He shoved a tall pile of clothes into
the closet as we passed and shut the door.

“I refuse maid service,” he explained,
“can’t risk a breach of privacy.” The words were soft as he blushed
and tossed on a t-shirt he picked up off the floor.

“It’s a nice hotel.” I looked up at the
ceiling, the only area not covered in clutter, to admire the ornate
tiles. “You know, you could wash some clothes at my house.” My eyes
set on another pile of laundry next to the bed. “I could wash them
for you, or show you how.”

“I may take you up on that. I’m running low.
Oh, don’t do that.” He grabbed my wrist as I started to clear a
spot on the dresser.

“I don’t mind.”

“But I do.” He insisted, taking the empty
cup from my hand to toss away without looking. The trash can was at
capacity.

“Okay,” I relented after a moment, “but we
need a spot to set the bagels so we can eat them before they get
cold.”

I waited, eyes back on the ceiling, while he
straightened the blankets across the bed. He invited me to sit
while he shoved and maneuvered the rest of his clutter into
anyplace he could find that was out of sight. I watched him squeeze
the rest of the laundry into another closet and toss the remaining
trash into the bathroom.

“I should’ve called.”

“No, I’m glad you came.” He took a spot on
the bed, facing me.

As I spread the jelly on a bagel for him,
his expression softened. The last trace of discomfiture
disappeared.

“Gracie,” he said my name so sweetly, “may I
tell you something?” The simple words echoed a question I asked
earlier in the night—one that was forgotten in light of other
pressing circumstances.

“I’m sorry about the interruption to our
evening.” We were in the midst of a deep conversation before I got
distracted and ran off.

“Don’t apologize.”

“You were trying to tell me something?” I
hinted, wanting him to explain, but not willing to push.

His expression was suddenly pained and
thoughtful as he looked away, rubbing his eyes. Before I had a
chance to take the question back, he reached over, opened a drawer
at the bedside table, removed a large manila envelope, and handed
it to me.

I studied him, guessing that whatever was
inside was something important. Evan was always so talkative. The
quiet demeanor he’d suddenly taken on was disarming. Raising the
envelope, I silently requested permission, and then opened it.

There were legal documents—a birth
certificate, police reports, a death certificate, and a packet of
information on someone named Jeffrey Poynter. I flipped through,
running my fingers across areas that I felt held importance. Each
document mentioned the same man. Reports of domestic abuse, an
arrest record . . .

One police report detailed a call
complaining of a foul smell. Apparently, a young woman, Elizabeth
Poynter, had killed herself. An attached autopsy report declared
that she had recently given birth. There was a letter from an
investigator that reported the woman’s husband, Jeffrey Poynter,
was rotting in jail at the time of her suicide. She petitioned for
divorce and hung herself that same afternoon. There was no note.
Her death was recorded in late May, approximately twenty-six years
ago. When I looked at the enclosed arrest record, one of the
charges filed against the man was rape.

The facts were all there. Add that to the
turn of conversation Evan and I had at the bar. Still, it took a
minute to connect everything. I wondered what Evan thought he was
showing me. The dead girl was married to this abusive man? She was
pregnant when he went to jail? She had her baby, filed for divorce
and hung herself?

I looked up to gauge his reaction.

“If it were
that
, do you think she would’ve gotten rid of
me?” His voice was quiet, full of raw emotion. The bed moved almost
imperceptibly as he subtly rocked back and forth.

I couldn’t answer. I was still not quite
sure what he wanted from me. I went over the dates again, making
double sure of what I could tell at first glance. “Your birthday is
in May.”

“Yes.”

“Evan, what do you think this is?” I held
the first arrest report. His silence confirmed my suspicion. I
shook my head in denial. “She was already pregnant, possibly two
months along when this happened.”

“Don’t do that.” He scolded, sounding
disgusted.

“Do what?”

“Try to make me feel better.” He looked
towards the dark curtain drawn over the glass doors.

“It’s logic.” I said, “Look at the timeline,
Evan. This,” I held the police report, “is dated in November. The
birth certificate—I assume is yours—says May. She was well into her
first trimester, unless you were premature.” I glanced at the birth
weight for good measure. “8 pounds, 3 ounces? Highly unlikely you
were early.”

He was quiet, looking away in various
directions.

“Why is the truth so difficult to
accept?”

When he looked back, his gaze was cutting,
slicing right through me. “Why don’t you tell me?”

Acidic sarcasm. He brought it up and he
wasn’t ready to talk about it.

I reached out and took his hand, setting it
on my heart. I wanted to tell him he was wrong, but how could I say
for sure? He wasn’t conceived in that manner on that night—that I
was sure of—but I could not say that the incident was the first or
only occurrence and that was what he needed to know.

I gave him what truth I could. “Evan. This
does not define you.”

His eyes looked blue over the navy t-shirt.
The hard look they held softened and I tossed the papers onto the
bedside table to hoist myself onto my knees. “Look at me.”

He obliged with a small gaze, from the side,
beneath his lashes. Almost a glare.

“Evan, I’m not sure why you’re telling
me this since I can tell you don’t want to talk about it. I want
you to know, it doesn’t change the way I see you. Not one bit. I’m
honored that you would trust me with something so personal. And I’m
not going to ask you anything, and it’s not because I don’t care,
but because I
do
. So much.” My
heart swelled with affection. “We can talk whenever you’re ready
and I’ll listen, without judgment.”

I stretched my arms around him, pleading him
to accept the truth. He was more valuable than he ever imagined.
His birth mother knew it. I knew it. How could he be so clueless? I
almost wanted to smack him upside the head.

His only response was the slight motion of
his hands as they caressed my sides.

“This is going to sound corny because
I usually don’t say things like this out loud, but Evan, before I
met you, I was . . . stuck. I lived in the shadow of a moment that
no longer existed. There was no one except my immediate family and
I struggled with them. Then, you shined your light and made my
shadows disappear.” I couldn’t control the smile. “Everything is
different and better because of you. You are
my
gift; my present in every way.”

His arms wrapped around me in a sweet
embrace. Breathing on the side of my neck, he whispered those three
words again. When he said it in the parking lot, I was sure he was
only trying to make me feel better. But, there in his room, he
spoke without warning—so unguarded and more vulnerable than I’d
ever seen him—it was a tender and fearful side he was allowing me
to see.

The words were a magnet, drawing me to him.
I held him close, feeling his breath on my neck and taking in the
monumental moment. He said it twice. That had to mean
something.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was
thinking.”

Irritation had me leaning back on my knees
to slap his shoulder. “You’re taking it back?”

He paused, wide-eyed and confused.

“Did you mean it?” Still, he sat. “Yes or
no?”

“Y-Yes,” He stammered.

“Don’t be sorry.” I mumbled, moving back in
to bite his ear the same way he did mine. “Because I love you,
too.” From the very first kiss.

Finally identifiable, I was hopelessly
unprepared for the sensations, yet stumbled into them despite
myself. It was the reason I’d been so extreme. It was all or
nothing with him and I must have all—I longed to be with him every
second.

At my confession, he grew rigid.