Everly

Sometimes, life was cruel. It was mean and irrational, kicking you while you were down. Throwing everything at you when you were ill-prepared, like a soldier ambushed when still training to go to war.

I trudged through the street. Rain plastered my hair to the sides of my face, and despite the heat that had ravaged my body just moments earlier, I shivered, suddenly cold. What would I do now?

When things with Bentley and I ended, I’d let him walk away. I’d let him exit my life as quickly as he’d come into it. Could I do that with Cam? Could I just say goodbye?

No more fooling around in the garden.

No more car trips to the care centre.

No more hot, sweaty nights in the garage.

Thunder clapped.

I flinched.

Tears welled in my eyes, merged with the rain that soaked my cheeks. I didn’t want to walk away. I loved—did I love him?

I reached my street, my heart aching just as much as my cold, tired muscles. Losing him hurt so much more than Bentley’s affair ever had.

But I was stronger now. I didn’t have to just roll over and let him go—not when what we had was worth doing anything for.

I could fight.

I could fight for him. I mightn’t have been ready for battle, but I couldn’t just let this go, couldn’t wallow in my misery. That’s not who I am anymore.

With Cameron, I was alive. And I wanted to experience that again.

With that decision made, I walked faster. I’d give him some space, one day, maybe two, then I’d go over there. Perhaps I could speak to Jo about lawyers—I knew she’d done some design work for a local company when she lived here. He was going to need a good one if he was going to fight this.

The warm glow from inside the house looked inviting. A shower. I’d take a shower, then I’d do some research online, paternity tests and the like. After all, if this Wayne guy was anything like Giselle, he hardly presented as a credible source.

As I pushed the door open, something made me pause. It wasn’t dark when I left. I didn’t leave the light on.

The door creaked.

My living room was bathed in the golden glow from the lamp that sat in the corner. Everything was just how I left it. Clean. Tidy. Ordered.

Everything except for the man sitting on the white lounge chair, a glass of amber liquid in his hand.

Bentley Anderson.

My ex-husband was here.

I stepped back, pointing toward the storm outside. “Bentley, how did you—”

“Key under the doormat, Evvie? I’d hoped your security would have improved.” He chuckled.

I pulled the door to behind me. What the hell was he doing?

“You look … different.” He frowned.

I shrugged. “I am.”

“I don’t know what it is. I can’t quite put my finger …” His eyes travelled from my face and narrowed in on my left hand. “Ah.”

I followed his gaze to the black bra, but held my head high. I would not let him intimidate me. “Why are you in my house?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed, and a flash of something unfamiliar crossed his eyes. Was that—uncertainty? For a man who was so self-assured, the look seemed foreign. “Why don’t you … go have a shower?” He gestured down the hall toward the bathroom. He’s been through my house? “We can talk when you’re more comfortable.”

I glanced at the doormat by my feet. It had turned a darker blue from the water that dripped from my skin.

My body ached. I was tired, emotionally and physically from the emotional roller-coaster of the past few hours. I did want a shower.

And yet, like a child, I wanted to say no.

“Fine.” I kicked off my flip-flops. “But don’t you dare move from that seat, unless it’s to leave.”

Half his mouth raised in a smile. “Bathroom lock not working? What happened to Everly the fixer?”

I scowled. “When you live alone, locks hardly seem a priority.”

I tried not to stomp down the hall.

After a quick shower, I twisted my brown hair up in a knot above my head. Purple darkened spots under my eyes. Late nights training meant early mornings studying, working on the blog, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. My lips were red, swollen, and I ran my index finger over the bottom one. Cameron kissed that just an hour ago. God, I hoped he’d kiss me again.

A noise sounded from the kitchen. I pulled back, wrapped the towel around my body, and slipped through the door that led into my room. After pulling on sweats and a tank top, I walked out to join my ex.

A generous glass of scotch filled the crystal glass on the counter. I frowned. “Making yourself at home?”

“Sorry.” He took a long draw and winced. Pussy. “I needed … something. I just wasn’t expecting to see you like that.”

“Like what?” I challenged.

“Like …” He waved his hand toward my body, looking away.

“Like a woman who’s just had sex?”

He winced, as if I’d sucker-punched him straight in the gut. “Like that.”

I rounded the counter and pulled one of the crystal glasses from the top shelf, sliding the bottle across the counter and pouring myself a nip. It burned my throat as I threw it back, but I poured another. I was going to need all the fuel I could get. “Why are you here?”

“Maybe we should do this in the morning. After a good night’s rest.”

My glass slammed on the wooden counter. He thought he was here for a sleepover? “We’re doing it now.”

“Okay.” He cleared his throat, shuffled his feet. “The baby …” Bentley stared at the amber liquid in front of him, taking another long sip. “It’s not mine.”

What? “Are you sure?”

He gave a bitter laugh, a hard kind I’d never heard from him before. “Linda made it abundantly clear.”

“Bentley, I’m sorry.” And I was. No matter how things were between us, I knew the importance of being a father to him. He’d longed for children just as much as I had.

Perhaps that was why we broke. Too much desire for a life neither of us could provide.

“Ah, it is what it is.” He shrugged, but I saw the pain harboured behind the steel grey of his eyes. “It’s … it’s nothing.”

“Hey.” I went to place a hand on his arm, to offer him comfort—

I dropped it to my side.

I couldn’t do it.

Not after all he’d done. Not after how he betrayed me.

“What happened to you isn’t nothing. I know how much you wanted this. What a great father you …” Would have been. It seemed cruel to say it aloud, so I let the sentence die.

“I came home from work today to another man in bed with her. Her secretary, would you believe?” He arched one eyebrow. “So cliché.

“She yelled at me, asked what I was doing there. Like, how dare I come home early and catch her in bed with another man? What was I thinking?” He shook his head and took another drink. “We had it out, and that was when she told me about the kid. Apparently, when she was last ‘ovulating’, she wasn’t with me. She was with … him.” One more sip, this one larger. He looked me in the eyes. “Evvie, I didn’t know where else to go. So I came here.”

Strange. It was strange how you could know someone so well and yet not know them at all.

Bentley and I had been together six years. I thought I’d known everything about him. When he cheated on me it had come as a surprise, sure, and yet at the same time, it had made sense. I’d always felt as if I wasn’t good enough—as if perhaps one day, he was always going to leave.

Never had I expected to see him in my home like this. The sadness in his eyes, that little-boy-lost expression—he was a man I didn’t know.

I stepped around him and took out two fresh glasses, pouring us both a tall glass of water. As I handed his over, his hand wrapped around mine, our fingers touching. He didn’t let go.

“Thanks,” he said softly.

“Bentley …” I shook my head, pulling away. “You know I’m not the answer to your problems.”

“Do I?” Steel grey eyes showed a hint of warmth.

They weren’t the colour I wanted, though. I wanted ocean blue looking back at me, telling me I was all he needed. I wanted ocean blue eyes looking to me for comfort in times of need. I wanted to be Cameron’s lover. His friend.

I broke his trust.

I just hoped he’d forgive me.

I took a deep breath, the events of the day weighing heavily on my shoulders. “I’m going to bed.” A light flickered in Bentley’s eyes, and I shook my head. “Not with you.”

“Evvie … would it be the worst if I stayed the night?”

My eyes widened to dinner-plate size.

“In the spare room!” He held up his hands in protest, obviously reading my expression. “I just shouldn’t drive after all I’ve had to drink, and you know what taxis are like in this neck of the woods at this time of night.”

I glanced at the empty whiskey glass. Ugh. I didn’t want to, but … “Fine. We can talk about this in the morning.”

“Thank you, Evvie. You won’t regret this.”

“The spare room’s the door coming off the front living room. There are clean sheets on the bed. You can get a towel in the morning from the linen closet.” I gestured to the door in the hall, then turned my back and walked toward my room. “Night.”

“Night.”

How many times had we said that to each other as we were lying in bed? It used to be every night of my life until it wasn’t.

We never said good night. Perhaps it hadn’t been good for so much longer than I’d thought.

I wasn’t keen on Bentley sleeping in my house. It felt wrong. He felt wrong. But I could be a friend to him. I no longer blamed him for my unhappiness. He was a man who had been hurt, and I could show him compassion because I understood pain.

As I slid between the cool sheets of my bed, I expected sleep to be hard to come by. I expected the events of the day, the night, to flick through my head, Cameron, Bentley, Cameron, Bentley, Cameron, Cameron, Cameron, a broken loop on repeat.

Maybe it was the whiskey. As soon as I hit the pillow, my eyes relaxed. I was tired. My body was tired. My mind was tired.

And my heart was tired of playing a game it never seemed to win.