Page 76 of Craving Consequences

She considers the question a moment before replying quietly, “No.”

“Then, no, you shouldn’t have.”

Her sigh is quiet and exhausted. “I’m sorry I’m putting you both through all this.” She gives a slight shake of her head. “I wouldn’t blame you if you—”

I reach across and untangle her twisting fingers, silencing whatever crazy thought she was about to unleash.

“Not going anywhere,” I tell her firmly, dragging her fingers to my lips.

Pools of regret follow the motion and stay hooked on my mouth long after I’ve lowered our clasped hands to my lap.

“I made a mess.”

“You survived one,” I correct softly.

But the uncertainty in her eyes never shifts. If anything, the fractures wind. The cracks spread like a mirror she’s holding together too tight. All the guilt, the second guessing and fear she’s clasping to her chest reflects back with questions that kill me.

I kiss her.

It’s the best I can do when words don’t seem to be working. I cradle her warm cheek and push her back, resting her head on the headrest while I try to consume all the broken pieces of her.

I don’t stop her when her fingers slide up my chest and curl across the back of my neck. A rewarding sign of her acceptance that warms me to my toes.

“Love us?” I ask again.

Head back, lips swollen and damp from mine, Everly gives a tiny nod. “Yes.”

I kiss her again fast and hard before pulling back to peer into her hooded eyes.

“Good, because whatever the mess, we will never let you face it alone,” I promise her.

A tear escapes the corner of her eye, and I catch it with my thumb. I brush it away before moving back into my seat with her fingers still locked through mine.

“He’s right.” Both Everly and I glance at the other man. The one behind the wheel with the stiff knuckles and tortured reluctance. “You’re not alone. You never have been.” His voice is low and solid like it’s taking everything in him to say it.

Then, to even my surprise, he slips a hand off the wheel and lets it drop to the sliver of space between his thigh and hers. Not touching her, but close.

Everly stares at it, the longing in her eyes molten. The fingers locked with mine stiffen like she’s trying to restrain herself.

“Don’t,” I whisper into her ear. Kiss the spot. “It’s just us.”

That seems to be all the prompting she needs when she slips her free hand over her thigh and down. Her fingertips graze the back of his and like a moving plant, his lift and latch. They curl and thread like all he needed was that first contact. The whisper of permission.

None of us speak. The silence is a brittle sliver of glass barely hanging on. Any noise, any sudden movement might shatter it forever.

When Everly scoots to Lachlan’s side, when she meets his curious gaze for a second before propping her head on his shoulder, I think we both expect him to resist. I certainly don’t expect him to brush a kiss to her crown and relax with the sigh of a soldier finally coming home.

Jefferson fades behind us. The open highway yawns, a welcoming escape away from the watchful eyes and razorblade tongues. The AC hums, filling the silence. Everly stays against Lachlan’s side, eyes closed, but I know she’s not sleeping, or at least not deeply.

By the time we hit the edges of Mayfield, my stomach is an angry beast clawing at my insides. It must have been loudenough to draw Lachlan’s attention because the man turns his head and raises an eyebrow.

“Hungry?”

I glance down at my traitorous gut and shrug. “I’m a growing boy.”

Lachlan snorts. “You’re almost forty. Besides, if you get any bigger, we’d need to get you a beanstalk.”

“I’d take it,” I grumble. “Solitude away from people. I’d cut the beanstalk down myself.”

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