The Healing (The Things We Can't Change Book 3) (31 page)

There’s a long moment where he fights it. I can see it all clear as day in his eyes, how Zeke goes from anger that I’m trying to boss him around, irritation when he realizes that I have a valid point, sadness, undoubtedly at the betrayal he might feel, and then, finally and at long last, acceptance.

“Okay,” he bites out, and then stands up quickly, but he takes the bag with him. “I better get home. I’ve got… stuff to do.”

“Sure,” I say, a little disappointed that the moment is over so quickly and he seems so anxious to leave. Maybe I’m not as good at this as Zeke is.
Steady, Evie, it took you some time too
. I mentally pep talk myself as I walk Zeke to the door, and watch him disappear from view down the sloping driveway.

I wish he had stayed, that we could talk openly, that the night had ended differently and we had been able to sit on the couch together and make fun of the Disney movies and laugh together. Eat popcorn and share a blanket on the couch and enjoy one of the few times where the two of us get along and none of our problems are ever mentioned. Then I realize what I’m thinking about it dangerously close to some kind of date night, and I shudder a little bit as I close the front door.

I’m not ready for that. For dating, to be attracted to someone, to let someone have that power over me. Not ever again. And not even Zeke.

Ezekiel

71

School is coming ever closer to starting—just three weeks and two days from today, actually, and the thought is depressing. It’s a relief that I won’t have to deal with Cameron again, but dealing with all the snotty kids just for a few hours at the club every week is more than enough for my tastes, and the idea of going back and being subjected to it at school just makes me want to bury my head under my sheets and never come out.

I also can’t help but wonder what it will be like between Evie and me when we return to school. I still have my friends, Dominic and Koby and our small circle, and yet she has no one, not even that coward Jenny, who I used to think was pretty all right. Where will she sit at lunch? Who will she talk to before class? I have the wild vision of bitty Evangeline Parker sitting between Dom, Koby and me, standing with us in the morning as we smoke and shoot the shit, and I shudder.
Weird
.

There’s the added fact that I’m not sure what’s going to happen to me. If Mr. Bryant catches wind that I’ve been drawing again, it’ll be pretty hard to resist him. Evie has turned me into some kind of druggie going through relapse; I keep breaking down and drawing something, little bits of this and that, small sketches when I’m bored or when I feel the threat of feelings coming over me. Almost every time I come home from being with Evie, as a matter of fact. Nothing as big as that painting, but it’s enough that I feel a little stirring of guilt every time, and then draw all the more to get rid of that, too.

I don’t know what it all means, and I feel a little morose and lost at the idea. I realize that I want to talk to Evie about it, even though I told her I wanted to wait a while, that I needed some time before I could talk about it. Does the fact that I actually
want
to talk to her about it mean that the time is right? Is this how she felt all those times, fighting me tooth and nail but secretly wanting me to push and pull and tug it out of her so she has no choice but to confess it all? Through all of this, I’m only just now beginning to understand all her actions, the apparent craziness of how she was acting whenever I pushed her so hard. And it doesn’t seem crazy anymore.

As my cell phone chimes, I decide to think about it all later, when the weekend is over and I’m in Evie’s presence once again and therefore am forced to decide what to do. I check my text, and it’s from Dominic.
Party tonight on campus, Tessa left for Kent this week so the coast is clear. You in?

It seems like I haven’t seen Dominic in forever. He goes to Akron to see his grandma for a month every summer, so he and his mom and dad can help out around her house and get her set for the next year, and he only got back two weeks ago. I’ve only seen him in passing at the club, and if Tessa is gone, then I’m all for going out and getting my mind off all these problems; Evie’s and my own. I don’t need the crutch I was using it for at the beginning of the summer, but a little drunk oblivion sounds perfect right about now.

I reply in the affirmative and then shower, dress and head for the club. It’s another benefit for something or other, and I already know I’ll see Evie there, since she mentioned that Clarissa is forcing her to attend so at least I’m prepared for the sight of her this time.

What I’m
not
prepared for is how much she looks like the older Evie of last year, the aloof, distant one that I thought was just as rich and entitled as her stepmother. She’s wearing a skirt, all the marks on her legs completely healed, something that pleases me. What doesn’t please me—or maybe it’s more apt to say it pleases me
too
much—is that it’s a mini skirt, ruffled layers of fluffy, feminine lace that stops above her knees. Not inappropriate or anything, but I haven’t seen so much leg on Evie in public in a long time. Or maybe ever.

Now that I think about it, Tony probably wouldn’t have let her wear something like that out of the house, and I have the momentary incredulous thought that if I was her boyfriend, I wouldn’t have wanted her to wear it out of the house either. Especially with her heeled boots, black with a silver design on the heels, making her legs look even longer.

Shut up, Quain. Listen to yourself, you pussy,
I mentally berate myself and pull my focus away from Evie’s legs, even if they are nicely tanned now from all our time out in the sun, working in the garden. She’s wearing a black blazer-style jacket over a teal tank top, and a lot of necklaces. Her lips are a dark pink and she’s wearing a lot more eye makeup than usual, liner, mascara and dark shadow at the corners. Then I realize it probably just seems like a lot because I haven’t seen her wear makeup in weeks.

Her hair is in my favorite style, big Victoria’s Secret-model curls, her bangs poufed and barely contained when she pushes them behind her ear, the rest of her curls falling everywhere over her shoulders and chest. I want to touch it. I want to go up to her and smell it because when it comes to that hair, I turn into a fucking stalker. But I force myself not to, even as I carefully circle around the room, studying her and glaring at Koby and Dominic when they do double takes, and the other servers too.

I realize suddenly that Evie looks
hot
. Just like her old self. Not slutty or trashy, just grown up, mature, beautiful. I’ve always known she was stunning; I’d just come to appreciate her natural beauty, how she looked with no makeup, just her eyes and faint freckles adorning her face and her long hair pulled over one shoulder in a braid. But this… this reminds me of why, what feels like so long ago, I actually thought it was worth it to taunt Tony Stull about his girlfriend.

The feelings rising up inside me are strong and swift, and they are ones that I ruthlessly shove aside. I definitely don’t need them mucking everything up right now. The last thing Evie needs is to realize that I think she’s the hottest girl I’ve ever seen and the fact that I’m in freaking lust with her hair.
Just
her hair, I tell myself firmly, and studiously spend the rest of the night trying to avoid having to talk to her.

It’s inevitable, of course, and the moment I’m outside on my smoke break, halfheartedly lighting up one of the cigarettes that I seem to be smoking more out of habit than necessity anymore, the door next to me is pushed open and Evie steps out, looking to the left, and then the right cautiously, looking nervous when she finally spots me.

“Hey,” she says, cautiously stepping outside and letting the door close behind me. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” I say on an exhale of smoke. “How are you?”

“Good,” she says, standing defensively, with her arms wrapped around herself. For all she looks self-assured and confident, I can tell something is making her uncomfortable.

“What’s the matter with you?” I grunt.

She takes a deep breath, and then says in a rush, “Why are you avoiding me?”

“I’m not avoiding you,” I reply instantly, the lie coming instantly and easily to my lips.

Evie changes from wounded and worried into irate and sardonic, a transition signified by the tightening of her pink lips and the planting of her hands on her hips. “Yes, you are. I already told you it’s fine if you want to wait to talk about… what happened. But you haven’t even said hello to me.”

“Cause I’ve been fending off all the guys in there,” I mutter, and she leans forward, eyes narrowing.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I just mean…” I gesture vaguely toward her, smoke drifting lazily from the end of my cigarette. “You’re looking… foxy tonight. You know? Is that outfit really appropriate for a benefit?” The words are out before I even think I’m going to say them, and I know they’re fueled by jealousy at all the looks she was getting, even if she was totally unaware of them.

She stares at me incredulously for a long moment, and then her lips almost disappear as a look of fury passes over her face. “Wow,” she says on a bitter laugh that gives me a chill. “Thanks a lot,
Tony
. I’ll see you later.” She whirls on her heel—quite the feat, considering how spindly the things are—and marches back inside, slamming the door closed behind her.

I lean my head back against the brick wall of the building, bounce it against the hard surface a few times, just for good measure.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Evie has been fighting to get herself to be independent of Tony, doing and even wearing things he might have disapproved of. And she finally gets to a good point with it, and I have to go and mock her for it. She doesn’t need to know that guys were looking at her, thinking
those
kinds of thoughts. It would probably make her uncomfortable and she would start to wear only snowsuits out in public so she wouldn’t be looked at as an object of sexual desire. But she should have been applauded, not mocked, for what she was wearing. And I blew it.

I throw down the cigarette and crush it beneath my heel, even though I’ve barely smoked any of it. I don’t really want it anyway. I head back inside and try to keep myself under control, but while I can warn off everyone else from Evie, I seem to be the only person not taking my own advice.

Since it isn’t a very late event and I worked prep, I’m off early and head out to the parking lot while the sun is still up. The first of the guests are also leaving, and as I look out over the guest lot, I catch a glimpse of long, chocolate curls, accompanied by a steel-blonde head. Evie and Clarissa. I know I need to apologize, and I don’t want to let it fester over the weekend. On a spur of the moment decision, I cross the employee lot, jumping the hedges and jogging across the bigger guest lot, calling out Evie’s name.

She pauses and turns around, catching sight of me and crossing her arms as I come closer. Clarissa says something to her, but I’m not close enough to hear what she says or what Evie replies, though she doesn’t look away from me. Whatever it is, it’s not what Clarissa wants to hear and I can see her face turning pink.

“Come
on
, Evie.” Her growl is heard over the parking lot, and I quicken my pace to reach Evie, not liking the look on Clarissa’s face. Barely concealed rage, and I saw first-hand how much she was drinking this evening. Definitely too much, and it shows in her uneven steps and her wobbliness as she stands and glares at Evie.

“Hang on just a second, please,” Evie says, looking at Clarissa over her shoulder, her voice carefully polite. “I need to talk to Zeke really quick.”

“We’re leaving!” Clarissa says shrilly, taking a step toward us.

“In a minute,” Evie says with exaggerated patience, and returns her focus to me. “What?” her voice is sharp and for a moment I lose my train of thought.

“Um, I was just… I wanted-”

“Just spit it out,” Evie grits out, and then waves an arm in Clarissa’s general direction. “I already have enough problems to deal with, in case you can’t tell.”

My temper flares, but I fight it back. “I wanted to tell you-”

“Evie!” Clarissa shrieks, and we both look over at her, startled, as do a few other couples who are in the parking lot, though they quickly look away and hurry to their own cars. “We need to go.”

“Hang
on
!” Evie snaps, and Clarissa’s eyes widen and I see the moment fury takes away all her sanity.

“Get over here, girl,” she snarls, and Evie turns on her, fists clenched at her sides.

“You don’t get to tell me what to do,” Evie says, her voice pitchy with anger but much quieter than Clarissa’s. “You have no right.”

“I have every right!” Clarissa advances a few steps so she and Evie are nearly toe to toe, and points an arm toward the Escalade. “Now get in the car.”

Evie leans forward just a bit, hands fisted on her hips once again. “No.” One word, eking of finality.

Then it happens; Clarissa grabs Evie’s arm, clearly intending to pull her to the car. I can’t believe her absolutely blatant unconcern for Evie, for all the girl has been through and is trying to recover from. Predictably, Evie reacts just as she does when anyone else touches her, acting on pure instinct; she jerks and pulls violently away, stumbling. She would have fallen if I hadn’t been there to catch her and pull her against me.