Page 31 of Craving Consequences

“Why are you going if I’m not there?”

The hands twisting the wheel up the Shaw’s driveway tighten. My knuckles bleach white against the black leather. Snowcapped mountains to my already stark complexion.

“I told your dad I would, and Lauren is waiting for me,” I snap into the speaker mounted into the front of my dash.

“Do you know how weird it’s going to be without me there? He probably only invited you out of pity.”

“That isn’t—”

He ignores my protest and resumes.“Come on, think about it, Everly. Use your brain. The only reason he and Van are trying so hard to spare your feelings is because they were friends with your dad. They feel obligated. But showing up like some stray dog, begging for scraps is humiliating. Not just for you, but for me.”

I freeze. His words spike through me with the cold, sharp precision of a dagger through the chest.

“But you never listen to me.”He sighs heavily, and I hear the clink of something glass hitting glass lightly.“How do you have such an important job when you have zero common sense?Why would you get invited to a dinner where it’s only going to be two middle aged men guzzling beer? Read the room, Everly. He was probably hoping you would decline. Now it’s going to be weird, especially when I’m not even going to be there.”

“So weird,”I hear someone in the background hiss around a cackle.

“I’d be mortified.”A female voice giggles. “But your dad is stupid hot for an old guy, Bron. I’d be all over him, too.”

I realize with building humiliation — and blistering annoyance — that he’s had us on speakerphone with his friends listening in. The awareness of it has a stone settling in my gut.

Bron barks a laugh embedded with serrated shards of glass.“She really is nothing without me.”

“It’s onlydinner,” I murmur, struggling to keep the tremor from the words when they threaten to lodge in my throat like a fist. “I don’t think—”

“That’s your problem. You never think. I told you it was a bad idea, but you’re so desperate for approval, it’s disgusting. Anyway, we’re in the middle of something so enjoy supper.”

With a click, the line drops and I’m left staring at the black screen of my phone. The silence in the car is deafening.

“She really is nothing without me.”

The words weave through the crevices of my soul, working into the dark places already harboring all my doubts and fears.

A year ago, I would have believed him. The Everly I was after my parent’s deaths would have succumbed to the jab. Would have spiraled for days. Even now, I almost believe him.

It’s hard not to when he’s supposed to be my person, the man I chose. It’s hard to swallow the bitter pill he feeds me to keep me grounded. They used to go down a lot easier in the beginning. I accepted his gentle reminders of my inadequacy without question, adamant he was trying to help.

But he made the mistake of overplaying his hand. He upped his cruelty, and I caught on. I built my wall to stop his javelins from cutting through. And I learned if I keep my mouth shut, if I let him run out of words, tire himself out, I can continue to be in his life. In Van and Lachlan’s lives.

This temper tantrum isn’t new. It’s just like him to be melodramatic and petulant when something doesn’t go his way. I just wish he wouldn’t drag his friends into it. It’s already hard enough convincing people we’re happy without him acting like he can’t get far enough away from me.

Well, maybe it’s better that he won’t be here. Having him present is actually worse than his absence; at least without him, I can breathe. I don’t have to monitor my every movement. I can enjoy the evening.

I put my car into park and sit for a moment with the weight of the day pressing down on me. The sun glowers, a relentless ball of raging heat like it’s trying to bake the earth into submission. I squint through the glass at the two-story bungalow with its pristine white paint and mint green trim. In the last two years since we started dating, I’ve been through those doors more than my own house. I’ve walked its halls and stood barefoot in the kitchen. I love everything about it, including the sense of home I get when I step over the threshold.

That is a secret I will take to my grave. As innocent as my feelings are, Bron will only embellish and distort its purity, turning it vile and shameful. For him, his father’s house is a cage. A prison designed to crush him with Lachlan as his ruthless overlord. My thoughts on the matter are as inconsequential as I am in his life.

Yet you stay,the Lauren-voice in my head points out, a taunting demon picking at my resolve.

Of course I stay. Two years is too long to toss aside. Bron isn’t always terrible. I know he has moments where he’s actually sweet.

Liar,the voice mutters.

“Shut up,” I grumble, twisting the keys from the ignition and kicking open my door.

I reach across to the passenger’s seat and drag the neat stack of plastic containers over. Each one contains one of my mother’s famous side dishes. Potato salad, honey glazed carrots and my dad’s Korean zucchini.

I’ve never been good in the kitchen. Both of my parents tried, but I could never find the patience for it. The layers it takes to create a delicious dish, the time and process frustrate me. I would wander off and end up burning a pot of boiling water. Trusting me for more than the basics is risky business, but I can handle simple dishes. Quick things that require back-to-back ingredients that don’t have a lot of waiting time in between.

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