Page 80 of It's Always Been You
The fear that he might be getting bored of me and our “arrangement” roars like an angry lion in my chest, desperate for validation and reassurance. What if I’m not giving him what he needs?We haven’t actually had sex yet. Maybe he’s getting . . . bored. Restless. The last thing I want is for him to go find some other blonde nurse practitioner named Jessica who’s willing to give him something I haven’t yet.
“Do you love me?” I whisper, feeling shaky with need and anxiety.
“Immeasurably,” he responds instantly. “More than you know.”
“And I love you,” I insist, rising up onto my tiptoes to give him a soft kiss. “So how can that be wrong? Let me stay.” His hands grab my waist as I kiss his neck, as if he wants to push me away, but his reluctance dissolves the second my lips meet the corner of his jaw.
His mouth comes down on mine with unexpected urgency. Kissing Brandon is like riding a bike at this point—so natural. This particular kiss is eager, practiced, searching. For the first time ever, he’s unapologetic in his pursuit of more. Clumsily, we stumble into the counter together, and without breaking our kiss, he walks us backwards out of the room.
Somehow, we make it up the stairs and into his bedroom, where we tumble down onto his soft bed that smells like him, laughing together about goodness knows what. He murmurs the sweetest nothings as he peels my clothes off my body, telling me that he loves me, that I’m so beautiful, that he has wanted me for so long. As always, he handles me with the most diligent care and consideration, touching me like I’m a delicate parcel filled with the finest china.
While he’s kissing me like I’m his first gasp of air in months, and he’s pressing me into the mattress like he’s about to show me how to make snow angels, I wonder if tonight is the night Brandon and I might finally make love.
Chapter 25
Evie
WhenIwakeup,I’m drenched in sweat. Groaning, I toss the sheets off my body and sigh when the fresh air hits my skin. I roll over and glance at the clock on my nightstand. It’s not even nine o’clock. I was asleep for forty minutes—if that.
My to-do list tells me that’s a good thing, but my body screams the opposite. Slowly, I sit up, whimpering as I register the pain in my lower back.
“Jesus?” I whisper as I struggle to get out of bed. “Hi, it’s me, arguably Your least favorite person.” I take a deep breath, hoping to channel Abi’s confidence when it comes to prayer.I know I don’t do this whole prayer thing very often, but . . . if You could just make this pain go away, then—
I pause, realizing I’m always trying to bargain with God about something or another. Over the course of my life, most of my prayers have sounded a lot like, “Hey, Jesus, if You scratch my back, then I’ll scratch Yours.”First, asking God to get my parents back together in exchange for attempting to be a better person. Next, begging Jesus to save my life during that car accident with the promise of going back to church. I went once and haven’t been back since.
Come to think of it, I never seem to follow through on my end of the bargains. Is that why He’s been silent with me? Am I not doing something right?
And now, I’m asking Him to heal my body . . . in exchange for what? I have nothing to offer God. Clearly. If I did, I’d have given it to Him by now. And even if I did, I can never seem to stick to my word . ..
No wonder Jesus doesn’t like scratching my back. He knows my back rubs are worthless.
Once I’m out of bed, I grab my laundry bag, laptop, and wireless earbuds, then wobble to the door and incline my ear. The TV is on. Carefully, I push the door open and pad toward the stairs. I pause at the top step, waiting for a particularly loud moment on the program Grandma is watching before creeping down the steps. At the bottom, I pause again, wondering if I’ve been caught red-handed.
Crickets.
Success.
Once I’m in the clear, I put my earbuds in and toss a load of laundry into the washing machine. Then I try to get comfortable on the bean bag chair in the corner—a useless endeavor, considering nothing is comfortable for me these days—and finish drafting my resignation letter. Once I hit send and that’s off my to-do list, I continue my job search. I’m filling out an application for a nurse’s aide position at a skilled nursing facility the next town over when the door to the laundry room pops open, and in walks Brandon.
I nearly topple off the bean bag chair. “What the—?” Slamming my laptop closed, I gawk as Brandon saunters into the laundry room like he owns the place. “What do you think you’re doing?” I bark, ripping my earbuds out.
Shaking his head, he eyes the washing machine. “This is an intervention, Miss Montgomery.”
I roll off the bean bag chair and, in a rather ungraceful manner, clamber to my feet. Brandon watches with a mixture of both concern and amusement on his face.
I face him with a huff, trying my best to ignore the new ache in my spine. I point at the door. “Get out,” I order. “Before I tell Grandma you’re breaking and entering.”
“Actually, Maggie was the one who called me.”
I frown.
“She wanted me to remind you that her sense of hearing is still as sharp as ever. She also told me to tell you that this is payback.”
I stare stupidly. “Payback for what?”
“When you had me take her to the grocery store a couple of weeks ago.”
Right. “Of course it is.”
