Page 34 of Pumped

Everest looks the same way I feel. He’s slumped against the wall, legs barely able to hold him up. His gray sweatpants are tented and his chest rises and falls with his rapid breaths. He looks dazed.

Slowly, his eyes blink open and his gaze collides with mine. The heat in them steals my breath away. He wants me. Just as much as my body wants him. It would be too easy to give in to the lust. But that way lies madness. We can’t.

I pull myself together, smoothing out my clothes, running my fingers through my hair. I shove my lingering arousal deep, tamping it down and locking it away. I’m a parent now. I have Ivy to think of. I can’t indulge in whatever whims come my way. My wants, especially preposterous ones like sleeping with Everest, have to come second.

When I finally have myself under control, I lift my gaze to Everest. “Don’t ever do that again,” I say with as much poise as I can muster. I’m impressed with how steady my voice is, considering I’m feeling anything but steady inside.

Everest’s eyebrows shoot up and his jaw drops. “Me? I didn’t fucking do anything. You’re the one who kissed me.”

I draw myself up to my full height, unwilling to acknowledge that Everest is technically correct. I did kiss him. But only because he shoved me against the wall first. If he hadn’t touched me, if he hadn’t gotten all up in my face, this would never have happened.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I spit out, sounding too derisive, too defensive, too harsh. Even to myself. But I have no other choice. It’s this or succumb to the arousal raging inside me.

Before my eyes, Everest transforms. The soft languidness of his body is replaced with tightly coiled tension. The arousal in his soft blue eyes hardens into steel.

He pushes off the wall, advancing toward me. His clothes are still disheveled and his hair is in disarray. His lips are puffy and red. He doesn’t bother to straighten himself out.

“What the hell is your problem? Why do you have it out for me? You always have. From the moment we met. I’ve never done anything to you, but you’re constantly on my case about shit that doesn’t matter.”

He stops an inch away from me, puffing himself up to appear taller, broader, bigger. Anger radiates off him, palpable in the air. It’s the perfect fuel for mine.

I stab him with a finger to the chest. “Because you’re an immature and irresponsible child. You don’t take anything seriously. Everything is a joke to you. All you care about is having fun while the rest of us have to hold down jobs and pay the bills and be adults.”

My words land with laser-guided precision. Everest tries to hide it, but I can see the hurt shining through his irritation and disbelief.

For a split second, guilt surges through me. Everything I said is true. Or at least, it used to be true. Even I have to admit that Everest has stepped up in the past few weeks. But a few weeks of good behavior doesn’t mean he’s a different person now. It doesn’t mean he won’t change his mind about raising Ivy and decide he’s better off joyriding from one beach town to the next.

I shove the guilt aside. I don’t have time to baby Everest and his sensitive feelings. If he really wants to be treated like an adult, then he needs to suck it up and prove he deserves it.

We’re staring each other down, neither of us budging, the air around us crackling with tension. Then without warning, Everest spins away and snatches his coat off the hanger.

What the fuck is he doing? “You’re leaving?”

He doesn’t answer me as he pulls on his coat and stuffs his feet into his shoes.

Panic spikes through me and my hands curl into fists, nails digging painfully into my palms. I want to stop him, I realize. I want to grab him and strip that damn coat off him. I want to make him stay and— and— fuck, I don’t know.Don’t let him get to you, Lambert.

Every muscle in my body is tensed. It’s the only way to keep myself from physically rushing him. Everest wants to leave? Fine, let him fucking leave. He’s just proving my point: he’s not cut out for the tough shit. He runs at the first sign of trouble.

He flings open the front door, throwing a parting phrase over his shoulder. “Don’t wait up.”

And then he's gone.

I stare at the back of the door for long moments before my muscles gradually loosen. I collapse into a heap on the floor.

I want to punch something. I want to rage. I want to tear shit apart and roar while I’m at it. My eyes sting with unshed tears and a sob works its way up my throat. I can’t stop it. I can’t hold it back. It escapes as I clamp a hand over my mouth.

I’m so tired. I’m just so goddamn tired. I never asked for this. I never wanted any of this.

Sadness and grief crash into me like a tidal wave. They snag me in their current and drag me out to sea, pushing me under thousands of gallons of water. I can’t breathe. I can’t tell which way is up. Everything is dark and thick and crushing.

God, I miss Jeremy so fucking much. He wasn’t just my big brother. He was my best friend. He always watched out for me, always had my back. He let me tag along with him and his friends when we were kids and never made fun of me if I wanted to play with “girl” toys.

As adults, we saw each other all the time. I came over for brunch and dinner at least every other week. He was the first person I went to when I needed to get something off my chest and the first person I called up when I had good news to share.

And now he’s gone. He’s just fucking gone. For no good reason. Because of a stupid freak accident.

How am I supposed to do this? How am I supposed to live his life and raise his kid? I don’t know how to do any of it. I’m not prepared. I’m not equipped. It’s too much. It’s just too goddamn much.

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