Evolve Series Box Set (57 page)

“You guys okay?” Dane walks in behind the bar, frantically searching Tate and Zach’s reactions. “I’m closing the door, we’re well at max.”

“Good!” Tate yells over his shoulder at him. “Start paying people to go home! And where the hell is Sawyer?”

“I’ll find Sawyer!” I assure them.

Dane’s head jerks to me now. “Evan, hey, how are you? Yeah, if you could track down Sawyer, that’d be great. You guys good, Tate, or you need stocked?”

“I don’t know what we need, haven’t had time to look. How’s Bennett? You’d better have somebody watching them!” He scowls, concentrating on drink slinging but clearly waiting for Dane’s confirmation.

“I put Brock on them, they’re fine. I’ll check stock. Evan,” I look up from my phone at Dane, “you got Sawyer? I need him down here ten minutes ago. Then can you go help watch the girls? Drinks on me, man, I’d appreciate your help.”

No way am I drinking now. I have to herd in Sawyer and watch a bunch of girls we all care about in this crowd; I need my wits about me. “Yeah, I’m on both. Where are they?”

He points. “Table by the stabilizer pole. Look for Brock, big bald dude in a neon shirt, says ‘Security’ on the back.”

I affirm with my head jerk, turning to fight the crowd. I hadn’t forgotten Jenee’s drink, I just don’t care anymore. I know one of “the girls” is Laney, and I don’t like this shit one bit. Surely she doesn’t either, this place is a madhouse.

The big ass bald dude is not as easy to spot as one might think. Neon shirt, nope, not jumping out at me, either. Laney sitting at a table plugging her ears…bingo! I touch her arm and she jumps, her mouth open and eyes bulging for only a moment as she realizes it’s me.

“Evan!” She leaps up to hug me, a stranglehold around my ribs.

Something rips me back, her falling away from me, and I flip around to see…a big ass bald dude.

“Can I help you?” he growls, lip snarled.

“Brock,” Laney grips his arm, “he’s fine. He’s my friend. Let go!”

The big man, who would eat Sawyer’s lunch like a snack pack, and that’s saying something, releases his death grip with a skeptical glare. “Don’t need to handle Mr. Kendrick’s lady.”

“Oh, Brock, stop! Go find the other three, I’m fine.” Laney pushes him, not that it moves him, but bless her heart for trying. “Where’s your date?” She turns and asks me, brows scrunched.

“How’d you know I had a date?”

“Whitley may have mentioned it.” She shrugs.

What? Whitley called her? Or—No!

“Is Whitley here?” Just like that, my chest seizes and I see red. It’s something completely different than what I felt when I knew I was searching for Laney in this mob, and I’ll contemplate that later. Right now all I want to do is lay hands on Whitley.

“Yes, she’s out there somewhere,” she waves her hand toward the dance floor, “with Avery and Bennett. She’s fine, Evan.” She rolls her eyes at me, but then gives me a knowing smile just as fast.

Leave Laney alone and go find Whitley or stay here? Well, if this isn’t the proverbial crossroads staring me in the face I don’t know what is. My decision, already made, shocks and excites me in ways that give me hope and chest pains at the same time.

I think somewhere in my own deepest recesses, I knew already, but this makes it so…like the Psalms… I have truly turned the corner and emerged alive and well on the other side.  It’s like I had an epiphany—my number one priority has been realized and I feel alive.

Luckily, Brock hasn’t strayed far or taken at least one corner of one eye off Laney, so I motion him over.

“Can you stay with her? I’ll go find the others!” I yell ask him.

“Hmm,” he grunts, moving closer to Laney.

“Don’t move,” I tell her before weaving my way into the mass.

Arms are waving, there’s pushing, grinding, and people actually falling on the ground. I am never gonna find anyone in this nightmare, and honestly, I have a hint of vertigo setting in. Fuck this—I push, trying to make sure it’s not into any ladies, my way to the DJ stand and climb it.

Holding on to the edge of the booth with one hand, I use the other to bang on the wood, getting Funky Fresh Jam’s attention. “Gimme your mic!” I yell in his face.

“Shoot, get on,” he dismisses me with a snort and brush of his hand.

“Dane, the owner, is my boy and he sent me. Now gimme the mic!” This time I’ve already grabbed the neck of the mic stand, curling it around to me. “Turn down the music!”

He complies, flipping some switches, and the crowd stops cold, boos starting to rise through the silence.

“Listen up!” I gulp, summoning the courage for this totally unlike me grandiose display. “Whitley Suzanne, raise your hand!”

That was okay right? I mean, I didn’t want to announce her last name, but I also didn’t want to summon any other Whitleys, so I went with her middle name. Surely there’s not two Whitley Suzannes in the crowd.

My eyes run the crowd until finally, I see a little hand pop up, followed by a “Hi, Evan!” squeal from her.

“Hi, Whit.” I laugh in the mic, relief starting to seep in and restore my blood pressure to normal. “Grab Avery and Bennett and meet at the table, woman. Now, please.”

“Okay, Evan!” she yells back in all her preciousness. I can’t see her, but I can hear her smile.

“And Jenee, wherever you are,” her hand pops up from my right, “can you come here?”

The crowd remains still and silent, seeming content to watch my show, and I see them part for Jenee’s.

“Very impressive,” she says loudly, smiling up at me where I still hang, one armed, from the DJ booth.

I‘m rather impressed myself.

“I need to take some friends home. This place is too crazy. You ready?”

“Come down, let these people dance and we’ll decide.”

Right, good plan.

“Thanks, man. Gimme a two minute head start before you start the music?” I beg him.

“Bet.” He tries to high five me, realizing I’m using one hand to hold on and one to hold the mic, slapping the air instead with a laugh.

I hand him his mic and jump down, grabbing Jenee’s hand to pull her with me through the growingly antsy sea of people. Whitley, Avery and Bennett are waiting at the table, as is Dane, his arm around Laney and a coy grin splitting his face.

“Nice work,” he greets me.

“Sawyer make it in?” I hadn’t had a chance to check my phone, so I have no idea if he’d gotten my messages and I’d accomplished that goal.

“Yeah, he just got here. He’s behind the bar now, so I sent Brock to the door. Thanks for the help.”

“Everyb—” The music starts up, so I try again, in a much louder voice. “Everybody, this is Jenee.”

“Hi.” She waves at them all then smiles at Dane. “Hey, Dane.”

Dane’s staring at the floor while Laney’s staring at him, and I’m done caring, back to staring at Whitley, who’s staring at Jenee.

“Um, okay, I’ll go first.” Bennett moves to the center of the group cheerily. “Jenee, I’m Bennett. My roommate is Laney,” she points to Laney, “girlfriend of Dane, that you know…how?” She follows up with a smile as sweet as syrup.

“I work for him,” is what I think she said, but we’re yelling over bebop noise and a wailing mosh pit again, so I can’t be sure.

“Oh, that’s nice.” Bennett’s shoulders relax. “That makes perfect sense. So you may know my boyfriend, Tate, his brother.”

“I do.” Jenee lifts her hair with one hand and fans herself with the other. “So,” she turns into me and almost yells, “I’m gonna stay. I have a huge group of friends here, I’ll be fine. You go tend to your girl. It was a pleasure, Evan.” She chastely kisses where my ear and face meet. “Nice to meet you all. Bye, Boss.” And with that, she’s sucked up into the dance vortex once again.

“Okay!” Bennett claps. “Avery, let’s go sit at the bar with Tate. I’m sure that’s where Zach is.”

Dane grabs Laney’s hand. “We’re out.”

“Bye, Evan, thank you!” Laney rolls her fingers and darts her eyes to Whitley then back to me, throwing me a wink of her own.

It reminds me, before the mayhem, that Laney and I were best friends; always in each other’s corner. And she just said, “Go get her, Ev. Be happy,” with a look. We were back.

Don’t mind if I do, friend, don’t mind if I do.

She won’t hear me, a good seven feet between us, so I wait patiently until Whitley’s big sapphires meet my radar on her, and point. Turning my finger over slowly and crooking it, I beckon her over, fighting any give on my face.

Chewing her bottom lip the whole way, she slinks over to me. “Hi, Evan, how are you?” Her words are breathy, tone hopeful.

“Not so great, pretty girl. You scared me, again. I don’t like feeling that you’re in danger and I can’t stop it. Where’s your date?”

She opens her mouth, but I place two of my fingers over it gently, no longing giving two shits where her date is. “You know what, hold that thought. Let’s get out of here; my eardrums are bleeding.”

No argument or agreement, no “let me say bye to…” No question in her eyes. Her tiny hand slips into mine and I squeeze, fighting our way to the door, her body tucked tightly, safely, against mine.

***

“Where’s your date?” I ask again. Okay, I do still give a shit and nothing would make me happier than to hear she’d left him in there, alone, to leave with me.

“Nosey,” she grumbles under her breath, looking out her window as we sit in my truck.

I haven’t started it yet. I’m kind of just enjoying sitting here, knowing she’s within arm’s length and secure. There’s nowhere else I need to be.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that,” I tease, reaching over to tickle her side.

“Stop,” she squirms and snickers, “I said you were nosey, Nosey. Where’s your date?”

“You saw her walk away. She stayed there ‘cause she knew I had other things to take care of.” I wiggle my fingers, threatening to tickle her again. “Now spill, woman.”

“Okay!” She scoots as close to her door as she can. “He wasn’t my date, if you must know.”

Oh, I must know.

“And?” I want her to keep talking.

“Thad works for my father. He was sent to discuss the changes my family will be facing. It seems my parents are liquidating certain things in preparation for an,” she makes air quotes with her fingers, “‘amicable division of assets.’”

“Your parents are getting divorced?”

“So it seems.” Her face is sullen, eyes downcast.

“And they sent a suit to tell you?”

She nods, the movement causing a tear to fall from beneath the veil of her hair onto her leg.

I can’t take seeing her so sad yet trying to be strong, stoic, hiding her pain from me. I slide across the seat in one motion, wrapping my arms around her. She curls into me and her body shakes as her sobs grow louder.

“Shhh, I got you,” I whisper against her soft hair that tickles my lips. “You don’t have to be the happy, strong one all the time, Whit. Let me have a turn to hold you up.”

Her head lifts off my chest, nose pink and eyes shiny. “There’s no way I’m as good at being your rock. Am I?”

I scoff. She has no idea. “All the damn time, woman.”

She grins slightly. “Well, you bring out the best in me.”

“Right back atcha, pretty girl.” I wink down at her, earning me another smile.

100% success rate—still undefeated with the wink.

“So, I guess that’s what happened with your beach house? But splitting money doesn’t mean you don’t have any, so why foreclosure?”

What the fuck, Evan? Why are you asking shit, making her examine the details?

“Sorry, Whit, just thinking out loud, nevermind.”

“It’s okay,” she says through sniffles. “I’m not involved, obviously, since my parents sent a messenger rather than talk to me themselves, but I know my father. My guess is, he let them ‘take,’” air quote fingers again, “the house so she doesn’t get claim on it, but I’d bet anything he buys that cheaply priced, foreclosed property back under a business name.”

Sneaky. And maybe illegal?

“Damn, that’s some diabolical shit. What about your tuition?”

Again, Evan, stfu.

“That’s fine, covered and paid. My house too, paid for and now in my name. ”

“Well, there’s something.” I run my hand down the back of her head, embarrassed when I realize I’ve done it several times and probably more than necessary. “It’ll all be all right, Whitley, you’ll see. Parents split up, and it sucks, but you’re grown, have your own life, and you’re amazing all by yourself.”

“Yeah?” She has no idea what it does to a man when a beautiful blonde peeks up, all doe-eyed and innocent, heart-shaped face pinked and lips parted, puffs of her breath hitting your neck.

“Yeah,” I assure her, pulling my eyes from the glisten on her mouth and back to her eyes, “definitely. What can I do to make you feel better?”

Please don’t let her say watch Moulin Rouge. I’d be down for another tattoo, but not that movie. It seriously sucks ass.

“You could kiss me,” she says in a voice so quiet couldn’t even be classified as a whisper.

And yet, I heard her in Dolby.

I could kiss her. And take care of her and hold her hand and take long walks. Give her a reason to sing and hum every day. I could quit fighting it, second guessing it, playing devil’s advocate on why I don’t or shouldn’t feel what I’ve absolutely felt for a while.

That’s what I could do.

I run both my hands up the sides of her face, moving back her hair to show me all of her ivory neck. “You sure are pretty, Whit.”

I lay my lips on hers, unmoving, locking gazes. Her hands come up and lock around my wrists, tightening, holding me there. Whitley’s lips move first, rubbing shyly side to side on mine.

“Kiss me, Evan,” she breathes into me.

Tracing the seam with my tongue, I take my time learning her lips, her taste. She opens, letting me in. No begging, no me wanting her more than she wants me, just the two of us together, joining, finally. As our tongues meet, she whimpers, the sound crippling. Her hands move into my hair, tugging, hungry, truly wanting me closer. And in that instant, another crack heals and I feel closer to whole. Kissing her is electric, better than a game winning touchdown.