Everly After (5 page)

There’s more to her than the sad girl from the party and certainly more than the irresponsible employee from today. She doesn’t make sense, and I need to figure out why. I blame it on my journalistic instinct. I have questions, she has the answers, and I want them all until I know the end of her.

I know she is a horrible idea for me, but I want her anyway because I’m selfish and she’s beautiful. If she’s a beautiful liar, then I’ll find her truths. That’s how I make my living. I can find them without getting in too deep. Without caving in to my want. Without ever kissing her.

When I walk outside, Everly is sitting on the stairs to my place in the alley behind the café. Her head is tucked tight against her knees, a cigarette in her hand.

“Now what?” she sighs as I freeze up, standing before her like a scared little boy. Again.

“My flat. I can’t get by.” I curl my fingers over the railing, staring down at her long legs and that tiny gold dress.

Everly doesn’t move. I point to my door, driving home that she’s in my way. Finally, she quirks a brow and slides over so I can step around her.

I start up the stairs and then pause, my gut knotting up. “I’m sorry for earlier. I was an ass.” I’m not sure why I say it.

“I deserved it.” She drops her head back onto her knees, cigarette smoke curling around the two of us. “It’s fine.”

I hate that smell. I jump down the few stairs I just put between us and grab it out of her hands, grinding it out against the brick building. “Those will kill you.”

She lays her head over her arms to study me. Everly is the quietest girl I’ve ever known.

“You don’t want to be my friend,” she says.

My shoulders tense up. I’m not trying to be her friend. I only wanted a fucking beer last week, and now I want to climb the stairs to my flat.

“Are you who they said you were?”

That tactic always delivers the answer I’m after when I’m interviewing, but my question doesn’t surprise her. Everly shrugs and pulls out her phone, unfazed.

I sink onto the step beside her, my legs spread wide. My finger stretches across the small distance between us, and I brush her soft skin until she faces me.

“Do you want to go for a walk maybe? Or something?”

She shakes her head, her eyes pinned to my face as her finger mirrors mine, tracing small circles over my arm. We stare at each other, silent.

It’s her eyes, how they hold her secrets. Everything else about her is the picture of innocence. The honey hair, the flawless skin, the heart-shaped lips. She looks like a doll, all except for her sad, navy eyes.

There’s no such thing as perfection. People aren’t perfect, and I’m an idiot if I ever fool myself into believing Everly is the exception. Because she’s not. She can’t be.

“How’s your knee?” I break the silence, feeling that the longer the quiet passes between us, the more I fall into the idea of perfect a girl who’s clearly broken. A beautiful lie, like I first thought. And yet, here I am, moving closer, allowing myself to touch her because I’m hungry for it. I want her. Despite everything, I still want her, and that’s the trouble.

I’m
the trouble.

I’m the one who’s going to get burned.

She drops her hand. “It’s just a scratch.” Her lips curl into a gentle smile.

And I’m just an idiot chasing after the wrong girl.

Everly

I’m standing in Hudson’s bathroom, wondering why I agreed to go out again. The black X won’t wash off my hand. I scrub until my skin is raw, but I still see it, reminding me that I’m teetering on the edge of a horrible mistake.

“Are you coming?” Hudson calls from the other side of the door.

I nod as if he can see me, but I don’t answer.

I wish I’d gone on that walk with Beckett when he asked me again two days ago. A shiver chases down my spine as I remember his touch. His voice. The way he tore the cigarette out of my hand as if he was protecting me. I don’t need protecting. I manage fine on my own. But moments like this, when I’m alone and afraid of myself, I wonder what it would be like to have someone like Beckett in my life.

But he doesn’t need a girl like me. And I don’t need a friend.

I don’t need Hudson either, but I’m wearing the dress he bought me as a surprise. I know it’s wrong, just like I know I shouldn’t be here with him in his hotel suite. I think part of me craves the pain that’s sure to come my way. Let him destroy me.

When I open the door, I understand for a moment why so many girls throw themselves at Hudson. It’s more than the money, more than the empire his family built for him to take over one day. It’s how he’s put together, the way he’ll casually turn and make you feel like the most important person around. It’s the aura that screams of playboy and the dimple that makes you think, however foolishly, that you’ll be the one to change him. To survive him.

No one survives Hudson. He’ll break your heart. He doesn’t care if the girl is strong or weak. He just doesn’t care, and that’s what makes him so dangerous.

I can try to outrun him, I can try to play his game, but we’ve been playing for a long time and I’m exhausted. I’m not ready to give in and cave to whatever he wants from me. I’m not naïve. I know I have the power to break him, too.

I pad over to him on my tiptoes, my new heels still tucked away in their box, and help him with his gold cufflinks. “Is this your staying-in tux?”

He hasn’t told me our plans for the night, but judging by our attire, it isn’t going to be a rave or a club like the past few times we’ve gone out.

“No, although I’m willing to change our plans.” He bends down and kisses the delicate skin at the base of my throat. “But you won’t have the chance to wear that dress if we do.”

I should stop him, but I don’t.

“Spin around. Let me see.” His voice is husky against my ear, his hand firm against my waist.

I step out of his reach. The dress is like gossamer molded over the curves of my body. It won’t take much for him to rip it away. I bet he’d like that, too, dirty boy, but I would much prefer to wear this a bit longer than be in his hands.

I lower my heels to the floor and lift the skirt in my hand, slowly spinning with a saucy smile on my face.

His lips part, and his eyes rake over me, then cut away. He discards me so quickly that I know I’m in trouble. He wants more than I have to give. That’s only clearer when he hands me a velvet box.

“You’ll look better with this.” He opens it to reveal a necklace, heavy with diamonds and sapphires.

My fingers dance over the cold stones before I shut the box and turn away. “I won’t accept that,” I say seriously. “I don’t need to owe you anything.”

I’m not making a deal with the devil. I’ll live to regret it.

“It completes the outfit.”

I dig through my purse and find pear-shaped diamond earrings bigger than my thumb. “You’re my stylist now?” I tease, sticking them into my ears before I face him. “These are fine.”

“The necklace is on loan if that changes your mind.”

I tilt closer to the mirror and wipe away the mascara smudged under my eye. My hand was too shaky earlier. “It doesn’t, but it’s beautiful.” I flash another halfhearted smile and twist my hair up, trying to decide how best to wear it.

“But you’ll keep the dress?”

“I never say no to couture.”

He stalks up behind me and stills my hands.

“Let me help,” he murmurs, kissing my neck. I sigh as his other hand brushes against my breasts. I keep myself from leaning back because I know that’s what he wants. He’s daring me through the mirror, his reflected stare dark and possessive.

I don’t stop him. I don’t even blink when his hand dips beneath the fine lace of my bustier and cups my breast in his hand, teasing in sharp strokes. His arm jerks me against him, his need pressing against my hip, and suddenly I want him, too. Not because I like him, but because he’s as good as the lines of coke we did earlier. His touch will make me feel better for a little while and help me forget, so I play along.

“We’ll be late.” My breaths are short and clipped. I reach around and grab his hair in my hand, arching my back so I feel him against me. I need to know he wants me, too.

Hudson twists me around and pinches my chin to drag my gaze up to his. His touch is painful, but I want that, too. It’s easier to be with him when it hurts.

“Where are we going?” I whisper.

“To the opera.”

I want to protest. I want to hurt him for stripping me of my self-imposed hideout. He might as well call the paparazzi to hunt me down now. The asshole.

His hand clamps over my mouth, silencing my protests. “An heiress can’t hide forever.”

I bite his palm until he lets go. “I certainly love trying.”

“Come play with me in Paris.”

“No.” I drag in a breath, trying to shake out the trembling in my hands. “I’ll hate you for the rest of my life if you make me.”

“I’m selfish enough not to care if you stay mine.”

I’m not his. I was never his. There isn’t enough of me left to love, so that’s his mistake. His heart to be crushed.

All the while, I can still feel Beckett’s soft, sweeping touch. The way he asked after my knee. How he never asked any more of me beyond if I was okay. Somehow, that scares me more.

I turn my back to Hudson and lift my hair to reveal my neck. He knows what to do. I lick my lips at the sound of fabric tearing and shiver when warm hands peel away my dress.

Beckett

As if I need another problem, Everly is slumped against my door when I get back from working her shift at the café. She never showed up, and Nadine was desperate for help.

I crouch down and knock my hand against her arm. She reeks of alcohol and sex. “Why are you here?”

Everly doesn’t stir when I touch her, but her chest is rising up and down slowly, so at least she’s alive. She only looks dead.

I glance behind me at the empty alley and wonder how long she’s been outside, passed out on my doorstep. I wonder if she’s been waiting for me or if she’s only confused. Or if someone dumped her here. That thought makes me angry, though, so I stop there.

She’s only wearing a man’s dress shirt and ridiculously tall heels with ribbons that tie below her knee. Her legs are bare, the shirt open to reveal her bra and stomach. It looks like the buttons were ripped off. I frown, looking down at her face. She’s still hiding behind those huge sunglasses she wore the first night I met her.

I’d shake her awake, but I’m afraid I’ll break her. “Everly?” I cup her chin in my palm.

She moans as if she’s in pain. The sound hits me right in the gut.

“Then I’ll bring you inside,” I say, as if we’re having a conversation. “Can you stand up?” I don’t know why I bother. I know the answer. “Well, you’re going to.”

I hook my arm around her and lift her until she’s upright. I fumble for my keys as she rolls her weight against my body. Pushing open the door, I slide my other arm under her knees, carrying her over the threshold.

For once, my flat feels overwhelming instead of small. Or maybe I’m the one who feels small as I search for a place to set Everly down.

Her head tips back, her right arm swinging against my waist in an unnatural rhythm. Before the room has the chance to close in around me, I decide on the couch. I don’t want her in my bedroom. I don’t want her to wake up and wonder what the hell is going on. I’m not that kind of guy. But there’s a part of me that thinks she knows someone who is, and I get angry again. My life is messed up enough without having her crash into it as well.

I lay her on the couch and take off her heels, watching to see if she registers that my hands are wrapped around her ankles. She doesn’t move and doesn’t say anything, which only makes me furious. I prop her up on some pillows and find a quilt to drape over her.

I watch from my kitchen for a bit, standing far away, as though she’s poisonous. My mug of tea is burning my palm, but I stay there until I finally snort in frustration and stride over to the couch. I remove her sunglasses and place them on the table next to the glass of water I have there for when she wakes up.

I see you
, I want to say. But I don’t. For once, I take a page from her book and remain silent. I close my bedroom door behind me and lose myself to my writing instead.

Everly

I wake up but keep my eyes closed, pretending that if I stay still, nothing will change.

“Why are you here?”

If Beckett didn’t hate me before, he does now. I hear it in his voice.

No clue.

“You weren’t home,” I say in an ugly croak. It’s a good enough answer, I suppose, even if it is a lie. I open my eyes and sit up, even though my head feels like it’s going to split in two.

I’m fine
. Those two words repeat in my head over and over as I gulp down the glass of water. They’ve been my mantra for some time now. I don’t want him to see me this way, so I pretend. I’ll be okay. I am okay. I’m fine.

I catch a peek at an unmade bed behind Beckett. He stands outside what must be his bedroom, arms crossed. “I wasn’t home because you didn’t show up for your shift. I’ve been busy covering for you.”