Page 12 of Pumped

I really didn’t want to leave the hospital, but I had no choice. I’ve already called Mom and Dad, and they’re on their way down from Westchester. I managed to get a hold of Eden’s parents too. They live just outside of Boston, so it’ll take them a bit longer to get here.

It’s Everest I can’t get a hold of. Not that I’m surprised. I’ve never met anyone who fits the description of man-child so accurately. I had wanted him to go to the brownstone to relieve the babysitter and check in on Ivy, but now I’ve got to do it myself instead. It’s probably for the best, anyway. Everest is the epitome of unreliable.

The house is dark and quiet when I let myself in with my spare key, and I pause in the foyer as all the worst-case scenarios run through my mind. The babysitter has left Ivy on her own. The babysitter took Ivy somewhere else.

Stop it, Lambert. Check the house. The babysitter is probably just sleeping somewhere since it’s so goddamn late. No need to catastrophize.

The living room is right off the front door but there’s no one sleeping on the couches. The kitchen is empty too. The basement guest room is unoccupied and so is the media room.

My anxiety ratchets up a few notches as I race upstairs as quickly and quietly as I can. Carefully easing her door open, relief washes over me when I see Ivy exactly where she’s supposed to be. Fast asleep in her bed, Zuzi tucked in right next to her. My pulse settles a fraction as I close her door.

Now, the babysitter. Where the hell is the babysitter?

Across the landing, the door to the office stands open and I can see the corner of the unfolded futon. I slip into the office intending to wake them up and send them home but freeze when I recognize the large male body sprawled half on the futon and half hanging off. It isn’t the babysitter. It’s Everest.

I take an involuntary step backward as my mental armor slots into place. I hate that this happens whenever I see Everest. It’s like my subconscious is trying to ready me for battle—except, I’m never sure if the battle is with him or with myself.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m definitely battling Everest. The guy drives me up the fucking wall. Yet there’s also a small part of myself that can’t help but be drawn to him. He’s an attractive man and he can be quite charming. But that’s all there is to him, I keep reminding myself. All facade, no substance. Unreliable. Man-child.

What the hell is he doing here? Why didn’t he answer his phone? Did Eden and Jeremy ask him to babysit? Why didn’t he raise the alarm when they didn’t come home on time?

I stomp forward to shake him awake but stop again before I reach him. He’s dressed all in black, tight jeans, tight t-shirt. There’s a dusting of glitter across the wide expanse of his back. His hair isn’t squashed under the baseball cap he usually wears. I catch a whiff of alcohol and sweat.

He wasn’t babysitting Ivy. He was probably out clubbing before he came here and crashed. The babysitter most likely left when he arrived. Or maybe the babysitter called him when Eden and Jeremy didn’t come home.

And he came.

Irrational annoyance spikes in me—at the babysitter for calling Everest instead of me, at Everest for answering their call and not mine, at this whole fucking situation that shouldn’t be happening in the first place.

I lift a foot to nudge him on the hip… then set it down again. What’s the point in waking him now? He’ll be confused and incoherent. I’ll be irritated and short-tempered. We’ll argue and I throw the fact that his sister is dead in his face. I vehemently dislike Everest, but even I’m not that cruel.

Everest’s eyelids flutter, his eyeballs shifting back and forth in REM sleep. His breathing is slow and even, not quite loud enough to be a snore. It could actually be soothing, like comforting white noise. His lips are open and there’s a bit of drool leaking out the corner of his mouth.

Fatigue washes over me, my eyelids growing so heavy, I can’t keep them open. It’s only a few hours until sunrise. I’m too tired to deal with him. Let him sleep in blissful ignorance for a little while longer. Never say I haven’t done anything kind for Everest.

I sigh and back out of the room.

Downstairs in the kitchen, I dig through the drawer that holds all the fancy coffee pods Eden’s addicted to. I should probably try to sleep, but that feels selfish, irresponsible. We’re in the middle of a nightmare, someone needs to stay alert and clear-headed. Someone needs to think ahead and plan and figure out what we’re doing next.

With more force than necessary, I slam the coffee pod into the machine and mash the start button. The machine gurgles to life and I watch the dark brown liquid stream into the mug. Myeyes sting when I blink, dry from being awake for too long. My limbs feel heavy, like I’m moving through water. I jump when the machine beeps, the sound too loud in the stillness of the night.

With mug in hand, I take a seat at the kitchen table and sip at the dark roast, rich and fragrant, with just a hint of chocolate.

A stray tear escapes my lashes and trails down my cheek. Then another. And another.

The dark roast was Eden’s favorite flavor. We were just chatting about it a couple weeks ago when I came over for brunch. I sat in this very chair. Looked out that same window. The view hasn’t changed. But everything else has.

A few hours later, the sky is just starting to brighten. I haven’t budged from my spot at the kitchen table.

A thud comes from upstairs. Everest—it’s too heavy to be Ivy.

The stairs creak under his weight, then the sound of sock-clad feet shuffling toward the kitchen. The light flips on a second before a shriek.

“Jesus Christ! What the fuck are you doing here? Why are you sitting in the dark?”

It takes a few moments for my eyes to adjust to the light and when I finally blink them open, Everest is standing by the light switch, looking way too adorably rumpled than any grown man has the right to be.

His light brown hair is standing up on end. There are several creases on his cheek from the pillow he was using. His socks have slid down his feet, leaving them flopping empty in front of his toes. The tight black t-shirt stretches taut across his muscled chest. It follows the taper of his body down to narrow hips. The jeans cup him like a glove, snug enough that I can see his dick print through the denim.

---