Chapter 20

Twenty

Everett

I ’m elbow deep in grading papers, a glass of wine beside me, and music playing from the old record player I found in my grandma’s closet earlier this week.

Elvis Presley. Her favorite.

I remember as a kid—I’m not sure how old I was, but I know it was young because she was still living in Seattle—I would spend the night at her house some weekends, and we’d lie in her bed, listening to song after song of his play. She’d tell me little facts she knew about him, or recite memories she had that certain songs brought back.

Those days spent with her taught me such a rich appreciation for music, one that I’ve carried with me my entire life. These past couple of days, I find myself missing her more. Which I don’t really understand. After she moved to Blossom Beach when I was younger, we weren’t insanely close or anything. We talked, sure, but it wasn’t an everyday—or even every week—thing.

Grief works in weird ways, I suppose.

I find myself wanting to reach out to my father, which makes even less sense than my missing her because what the hell is he going to do? Chastise me some more for moving across the country and tell me I’m being childish for having feelings? Once I got old enough to realize I’m never going to please him, I stopped wanting to be around him. Sure, the incessant need to please him never went away, but the wanting to be around him, spend time with him, make memories with him, that all went away. So, why now, in the face of death, do I suddenly want to mend this relationship?

About halfway through this stack of papers, a knock sounds from the door. Glancing at the watch on my wrist, I note it’s after eight in the evening.

Who would be at my door this late?

Flicking the deadbolt and opening the door, I’m surprised to find Sutton standing on the other side of it in a pair of pajamas and wet hair.

“What’s up, buddy?” I step onto the porch and glance around, seeing if Gemma is out here too. I know she got home from the hospital today. I’ve spent the entire day wanting to text and check on her, but talking myself out of it because I’m sure she’s overwhelmed as it is, and I don’t want to add to that stress. Not seeing her, unease unfurls low in my gut as I ask, “Is everything okay?”

“Um…” He runs a hand through the wet strands atop his head, looking down at his feet before back up at me again. “I don’t think my mom is feeling okay, but I don’t think she wants to ask for help. ”

“Why do you think she doesn’t want to ask for help?”

“Because she told me she was fine, like, twelve times when I checked on her in the room, and she had a washcloth covering her eyes and the lights off.”

“Want me to come check on her?” I ask, my pulse racing, concern clutching at my chest. The procedure she had was simple enough, but who knows the kinds of things that can go wrong. He nods, chewing on his bottom lip. “Okay, hang on.”

Quickly, I swipe my phone off the table next to the mess that is my work, slip into a pair of shoes, and meet Sutton on the porch.

“Aside from the washcloth covering her eyes, what do you think is wrong with her?”

“She’s not eating much,” he says, peering up at me. “And her skin looks whiter than normal.”

“Hey.” Pressing a hand to his shoulder, I kneel until I’m eye level with him. “Your mom had surgery a couple days ago, and that means they took something out of her body, right?” He nods. “I think it’s pretty normal for her to not be eating as much as she usually does and for her to look a little pale, but I’m going to check on her, make sure everything is looking good, but I’m sure your mom is fine, okay?” He nods again, this time with tears in his eyes. Lip quivering, he chomps down on it, sniffling. “Moms are strong, much stronger than you think. So, try not to let your mind wander too much, bud, because I’m sure she’s A-okay.”

My heart breaks as the first tear falls. I’m sure it’s so scary being his age, and seeing his mom not feeling well .

“How can I help you feel better?” I ask. “Do you need a hug? A fist bump? A high five? What can I do?”

Sutton’s voice cracks as he says, “A hug, please.”

My arm is out, and I’m hauling him into my chest before I know it, and he clings to me as his shoulders shake with his cries. It’s not but a minute before he pulls back, wiping his face with the back of his hand.

“Thank you.” He offers me a sad smile.

Mussing up the hair on the top of his head, I offer him a smile back before we head inside. It feels like I’m intruding on her space, and my stomach clenches as we walk down the hall toward her bedroom. If she’s not feeling well, the last thing she probably wants is her neighbor stomping into her bedroom, poking his nose around. But if I can do even one thing to help dry the eyes of the boy who’s following behind me, I will.

“I-I’ll wait out here,” Sutton whispers, stopping just outside of the bedroom door.

Glancing over my shoulders at him, I nod. “Okay. Why don’t you go watch some TV?”

“Okay.”

Blowing out a breath, I go in, the circumstances this time vastly different from the last time I was in this spot. When I step in, Gemma is sitting on the bed, watching me with a blank expression on her face.

“Why am I not in the least bit surprised to find you in my house right now?” she asks, and despite how exhausted she looks, I don’t miss the light humor in her words, like maybe she’s not as annoyed by it as she’s trying to seem.

“Sutton knocked on my door,” I explain, kind of feeling like I’m ratting him out without meaning to. “Think he’s just worried about you.”

She sighs, brushing the hair out of her face. It’s all tied up on top of her head in a bun that’s flopping over toward her forehead. “I’m not trying to worry him,” she breathes out, sounding utterly dejected.

“What’s going on?”

I step farther into the room, sitting on the chair in the corner next to the full-length mirror.

“I’m having an allergic reaction to the antibiotics I got.” Shoving the blankets off her legs, she gestures toward her thighs. “I’ve got hives all over and have a headache from hell that won’t go away.”

“Shit, Gemma,” I breathe. “As if you haven’t been through enough this week.”

She laughs dryly. “You’re telling me.”

“What can I do?” She opens her mouth to respond, but I cut her off and say, “Don’t you dare say nothing. Let me help you.”

Chest rising and falling with a sigh, Gemma smiles, but barely. “Everett.” She breathes my name; it sounds like a prayer. “You’re too sweet to me.”

“It’s what friends are for, right?” My lips curl up into a grin, knowing we both are well aware that there is nothing friendly about the way I want Gemma. “Have you talked to your doctor about the allergic reaction?”

“Yeah.” She nods. “He’s going to prescribe something else. Says I can get it in the morning.”

“How ’bout this,” I murmur, standing up and closing the distance between us. “You rest in here, and I’ll go watch a movie with Sutton in the living room. I’ll refill your water bottle because it looks like you could use some more, and you let me handle everything else tonight.”

“Everett, I can’t ask you?—”

“You’re not asking,” I cut her off. “I’m offering, and I’m not accepting no for an answer.”

Brow furrowing, Gemma purses her lips at me, huffing out a sigh. “You’re about as bad as my sisters,” she grumbles.

“I think the words you’re looking for are ‘thank you,’ now lie down and get some rest before I call Grace and tell her how difficult you’re being.”

Her eyes narrow at that, a smirk tugging on her lips. “Oh, that’s mean , Mr. Windward.”

Chuckling, I grab the door on my way out, closing it partway. “Good night.”

“Everett.” My eyes fly open at the sound of my name and the light nudge to my arm. I can already tell before I even move that my back is going to give me trouble today. I glance up at the person in front of me.

Gemma.

Then I look around, confusion fogging my brain. I’m definitely not at my house, and by the looks of it, I’m in her living room. But how? After a moment, it hits me. At some point during our DC movie marathon, I must’ve passed out on the couch and Sutton took himself to bed. Somebody—I’m assuming Sutton, since Gemma looks just as confused as I do—covered me with the blanket that was draped over the back of the couch last night.

“Hey,” I croak, sitting up. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“It’s okay, but that couldn’t have been comfortable.”

I huff out a laugh, dragging my fingers through my hair. “Not really, but it’s fine. I slept here the night you went into surgery. It’s not too bad. Sutton still asleep?”

Nodding, she says, “Yeah, it’s only a little after eight. He typically sleeps until at least nine on the weekends. Sometimes later.”

Squinting from how bright the living room is, I peer up at Gemma. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay.” She shrugs. “My stomach is a little sore; so is my shoulder.”

“Your shoulder?” Standing up off the couch, I stretch my arms over my head, not missing the way Gemma’s eyes dip down and take in the sliver of skin that shows on my stomach.

Clearing her throat, she lifts her gaze to meet mine and says, “Yeah, it was a laparoscopic procedure, and I guess they go in through your shoulder. They told me it should only be sore for the first twenty-four or so hours, but leave it to me to deal with it longer.”

“What time does your pharmacy open up?” I ask.

“Nine. Do you want some coffee? I can make us some.”

“Oh, no, you don’t,” I blurt out. “I’m taking care of you today, remember?”

“That was last night,” she points out, crossing her arms over her chest in a way that I’m sure she thinks looks fierce. It’s adorable, just like the scowl etched into her face.

“And today,” I mutter. “You’re still sore, and the hives are still here. You need the help, Gemma. Accept it.”

Gemma scoffs as we both exit the living room. “I swear, you and my sisters have teamed up against me,” she says with a huff.

“To help you?” I chuckle. “God, what monsters we are.”

Glowering at me, which is even more adorable, she flips me off. “I’ve changed my mind,” she grumbles. “You can’t be my friend.”

“Nice try. You’re stuck with me. Now, point me in the direction of where your coffee is, and I’ll make us some while you go lie down.”

She looks like she wants to argue, but after a moment, she breathes out a sigh. “There’s a glass bowl on the counter that holds all the coffee pods. I’m assuming you know how to use the Nespresso?” I nod. “Okay. The coffee mugs are in the same cabinet as the wineglasses.”

“Is there a certain flavor you prefer?”

“Roasted hazelnut, please.”

“Are you hungry?” I ask her, and she immediately shakes her head. “When was the last time you ate?”

“Everett, you don’t need to wait on me. I’m fine.”

“When was the last time you ate?”

Biting down on her molars, Gemma looks at me deadpan for a moment before she finally says, “Yesterday afternoon.”

“How do you like your toast? Butter?”

“Butter and peanut butter, please.”

Leaning in, my hand goes to her hip as I press a kiss to her forehead. Gemma sucks in a breath before melting into the touch. When I pull back, she peers up at me, pink cheeks and a twinkle in her eyes that has us both pausing. My stomach dips and my chest tightens. “Okay.” Tipping my chin, I tell her, “Go lie down, and I’ll bring those to you in a couple minutes.”

By the time I finish making her slice of toast, Sutton pads out of his room, hair in every which direction, one eye closed as he looks at me. “Morning.”

“Morning, Sut. How’d you sleep?”

Holding up a thumbs-up, he mumbles, “Good. What about you?”

“The couch isn’t the most comfortable, but I’m guessing it was you who covered me?”

He nods.

“Well, thank you. That was thoughtful.”

Sutton takes his mom her toast and coffee while I work on making us something to eat. After rummaging through the fridge and the pantry, I settle on the basics. Scrambled eggs, sausage links, bacon, and toast. I make Sutton a chocolate milk, then I brew myself a roasted hazelnut coffee because Gemma’s smelled too damn good for me to not try it too.

After we finish eating, I rinse the dishes and clean up the kitchen while Sutton gets dressed. It’s well after nine now, so he and I make a plan to run to the pharmacy for Gemma, and she begrudgingly agrees, saying she’ll take a shower while we’re gone. I don’t think I’ve ever met a more stubborn woman when it comes to needing a little help, which is honestly surprising given how big her family is, and how hands-on they all are with each other .

“Can you turn on some music?” Sutton asks from the back seat as soon as we get on the road.

“What do you like to listen to?”

“Whatever Mom plays.” He shrugs, and I smile.

Turning on the stereo, the playlist from my phone filters through the speakers on a low volume. The pharmacy is only about five minutes away, right next to A Book to Remember , the bookstore I’m told Georgia owns. After we pick up the antibiotics, we’re walking back to the car when Sutton asks if we can stop inside and see if his aunt is working.

The inside is almost chilly, a nice contrast from the hot, stuffy weather outside, and it smells like a mix of paper and something floral and sweet. Massive bookshelves line both walls, filled to the brim with books, and on each side, there’re rolling ladders like you see in Beauty and the Beast . A handful of people mull around, checking out books or items located on the tables in the middle of the room.

“Hey, Sutton,” a woman greets with a smile as she strolls up to us. She glances up at me, and despite the smile on her face, I can tell she’s confused. Probably because I’m clearly not Sutton’s mom or any of his family.

Quickly, I extend my hand. “Hi, I’m Everett. Sutton and I are just out picking up something for his mom, and he wanted to stop in here and see if Georgia was working.”

“Oh, hi!” Her smile brightens now that she—hopefully—doesn’t think I’m in the midst of kidnapping this kid. “I’m Lexi, one of the employees here. Georgia normally doesn’t work on the weekends, but she just stopped by. She’s in the back, I’ll go grab her. ”

“Thanks, Lexi!” Sutton calls out as she disappears farther into the store.

Sutton and I walk around for a minute while we wait, and I’m amazed by the ambiance of this place. It seems like a fun place to hang out and read, with the array of comfy chairs near the front window. There’s what looks to be a coffee and tea bar in the far corner near the cash register. A table toward the front of the store catches my attention, and I smile to myself when I see what’s on it. A sign that reads Gemma Astor, Local Author in beautiful handwriting stands among several titles, all belonging to Gemma. Grabbing one, I flip it over and read the blurb. It sounds really good.

I’m impressed by how many books she has, and this table may not even have all of them.

“Well, hey there, little man!” Turning my head, I spot Georgia walking over to us, a smile tugged on her lips as she holds her arms out for Sutton. “What a nice surprise this is.” He runs into her arms, hugging her tightly. She lifts her gaze, meeting mine. “What do we got going on here, neighbor boy?”

I breathe out a laugh at the nickname she clearly plans to keep using. “We were out picking up Gemma’s new antibiotics, and he wanted to stop in really quick.”

“Well, that’s nice of you,” she murmurs. “How’s my sister doing? I heard about the allergic reaction.”

“Your sister is stubborn as hell,” I say with a chuckle.

Georgia nods, huffing out a laugh. “Yeah, she sure is. Always been that way.” Nodding toward the book still in my hand, she smiles and asks, “What do you got there?”

Holding it up, I grin back at her. “Can I purchase this? ”

Humor plays on her features as she watches me for a moment before nodding. “Sure thing, neighbor boy. I’ll get you ringed up.” As she wraps the book in pink tissue paper, she asks, “What else do y’all got going on today?”

“Nothing, really. We’re going to head back to Gemma’s, give her these, and then maybe you and I”—I glance down at Sutton—“can play a little catch while your mom rests.”

“Yeah!”

“Sounds fun,” Georgia says with a grin, handing me the bag. “I’m going to stop by when I leave here in a few hours. I’m working on some inventory issues, but don’t bother telling Gemma. She’ll just tell me not to come.”

Chuckling, I nod. “Sounds good. Well, we’ll let you get back to work, but it was nice seeing you, Georgia.”

After Sutton gives her one last hug, we head back to his house. He heads to his room once we get there, once I tell him that we can play catch in a couple of hours, but I really need to get some grading done before I do. Tomorrow is Monday, and I never finished last night. I don’t see Gemma when I round the corner into her room, but the light is on and the door’s open to her en suite.

“Gemma?” I call out, not wanting to invade her privacy.

“In here,” she huffs out, and before I even lay eyes on her, I can tell she’s frustrated about something. It’s in her tone.

Setting the prescription bag on her dresser, I cross the room, stepping into the bathroom, finding Gemma standing in front of the counter, her hair wet and hanging down her back.

“What’s wrong? ”

Huffing out a sigh, she looks at me through the mirror. “My stupid shoulder is sore after I washed my hair in the shower, and now the idea of brushing it all sounds exhausting. This is ridiculous.”

“Give it to me.”

Her brows scrunch. “What?”

“I’ll brush it for you,” I tell her. “Hand me the brush.”

“Everett, you don’t?—”

“Brush, Gemma.”

Lips pursed, she grabs it off the counter and hands it to me. “Thank you,” she murmurs softly, meeting my gaze through the mirror still as I begin running the bristles through the tangly, wet strands as gently as I can.

“Your meds are on your dresser.” The sweet floral scent of her shampoo fills my senses, and it smells so damn good. All I want to do is bury my nose against her scalp and breathe her in all day. “It looks like they included a cream for your hives too. That should help.”

Little droplets fall down her back from her hair the longer I brush, and I’m nearly done as I look over her shoulder at the woman staring back at me in the mirror. Face clear of any makeup, freckles kissing the apples of her cheeks, and even a little color has come back to her since last night. She’s in a ribbed tank top and shorts pajama set, the olive color of the material pairing beautifully with her skin tone. Her nipples pebble against the cotton, and I can’t help but remember how those nipples felt against my tongue. How sexy her tits looked from above as I was between her legs, tasting her slick pussy.

The memory sends heat and arousal straight to my balls, and I know the last thing I should be doing while I’m standing behind her is get hard, but I’m only human and Gemma is the epitome of sexy, even though I’m sure she feels the furthest thing from that right now.

If only she knew how wrong she was if that’s the case.

Once I’m finished, I set the hairbrush on the counter beside her as she turns around and peers up at me. A moment passes between us that has the hair on my arms standing on end. I reach up and cup her cheek. “You’re so beautiful, Gemma.” The words come out hoarse, the honesty woven between them filling the space around us with tension.

Eyelashes fluttering, she lets her gaze drop before meeting mine again. “Thank you,” she breathes.

Leaning in, I brush my lips against her forehead. “You don’t need to thank me,” I husk. “It’s the truth.”

She doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t need to.

We exit the bathroom, and I stay over for another few hours, hanging out with her and Sutton, eventually making the three of us lunch. Throughout the day, Gemma and I keep finding each other’s gaze, and each time, it’s like a shot of adrenaline to my system.

It gives me goosebumps.

She gives me goosebumps.