25. Everest

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Everest

Rain pounds against the window, the shutters only muffling the whipping wind a little bit.

I’ve always liked storms and the way the sky darkens and glows with each strike of lightning. The rumbling of thunder has always been soothing, and I feel it vibrate through the penthouse. The hurricane is in full force now. We lost power a few hours ago and the backup generators haven’t kicked in. So, lit only by cheap lanterns, I sit in my room, staring at my test.

I really thought I would do well. I thought I understood all the concepts, but it turns out, all of it disappeared the second the packet was set in front of me. It’s hard to describe exactly how I feel. On the one hand, I’m not entirely surprised. Failure is something I’ve become familiar with lately. For the most part, I’ve always done well academically, but college is a brand-new game. I’m feeling overwhelmed and out of control, like I can’t grasp anything long enough to succeed. But still, a part of me believed that Rhys’s help would have been enough to push me through.

I sigh, looking at the grade. If I don’t pass the final test, that’s it. I’ll officially have a failed class on my record. I don’t know how much a biology course would hurt me, considering I still have no idea what I want to major in, but it can’t be good.

That’s not the only thing that’s confusing me, though. Rhys… What the actual fuck was that? I hadn’t purposefully been avoiding him—I really was in the library—and I wasn’t prepared for the way he pounced on me the second I came home. For someone who can be so cruel, he seemed to actually care. He would hate to admit it, but I saw the concern. I also saw the violence when he thought someone had hurt me, and it did things to me that have sent my mind reeling.

His attitude, the way he comforted me, made me melt into his arms. While it hurts to confess, the things he said about me needing validation and affection are all true. It does make me pathetic, I know that, but when he gave it to me, I felt so full. I don’t know how long it’s going to last, so I’m trying not to set my expectations too high. I missed seeing the glimpse of the Rhys he used to be when I was younger. When I hadn’t ruined his life, when I hadn’t betrayed him, when he was my favorite person and—even if it was just in my head—I was secretly his.

Christ, I really am sad, aren’t I? One hint of care and I’ve latched onto it. So fucking stupid.

I sit up when there's a knock on my door. Rhys peeks his head in, a tuna sandwich in his hand. He clears his throat, shuffling on his feet as he thrusts the plate in my direction. “I thought you might be hungry.”

“Thanks,” I mumble, standing to meet him by the doorway. It’s a bit awkward, and I don’t know what to do about it, but I’m not about to reject his kindness. “What’s up?”

He shrugs. “I just wanted to check on you. See if you’re still beating yourself up.”

“Yeah,” I say, picking at the sandwich. “Um, I’m still a bit upset.”

Nodding, he bites at his bottom lip. He looks over his shoulder, indecision on his face before he sighs. “You want to hang out? There’s no internet, but I have some books.”

While I’m not really in the mood to read, I nod. He takes my free hand, leading me into his room. It’s stupid that my heart flutters with anticipation. I’ve never been in his room before, his secret fortress where I haven’t been allowed, so this feels weirdly important.

His room is a bit smaller than mine, but still fairly big. It’s tidy, which isn’t surprising. His bed is almost like an overgrown couch, with the headboard wrapping around most of it. There’s a huge television on the other side of the wall, probably something Elton insisted on buying for him, along with all the other furniture in here. I don’t point that out, though, not when he’s being uncharacteristically nice. I sit on the bed and set the sandwich down on the nightstand, not particularly in the mood to eat. He goes to the huge bookcase by the shuttered windows and spends a minute pulling out a couple of books.

“I don’t know if you’ll like any of these,” he says, almost bashful, as he sits and places the stack between us.

I look through what he brought me. There’s an action thriller, a historical fiction, a comedy play, and a philosophy book. None of them seem too interesting, but I pick out the action thriller and hold it up with a weak smile. “This is good.”

“Okay, well, make yourself comfortable,” he says, gesturing to the bed.

“You’re not going to read?” I ask when he scoots up the bed. When he reaches for something on his nightstand, I raise an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

I must imagine the way his cheeks flush as he holds a black book close to his chest. “It’s a sketchbook.”

“You sketch?” I ask, surprised. He’s never struck me as the creative type, and I’m intrigued. “What do you sketch?”

He hesitates, nibbling on his bottom lip. “Promise you won’t laugh?”

“Why would I?” I crawl up to meet him by the headboard. “I mean, you don’t have to show me if you don’t want to.”

Indecision coats his features before he opens the book slowly, angling it so I can see. I don’t take it from him, but I do flip through the pages. There’re a ton of sketches, some math I don’t understand annotated in the corner, and it takes a minute for me to realize what these are. “Wait, are these?—”

“Roller coasters,” he says sheepishly. “I’ve always kind of wanted to design them.”

“Really?” I ask, looking closer at his designs. “What’s this one supposed to be?”

“It’s a double roller coaster,” he explains, and I don’t miss the way his face brightens as he speaks. “So basically, there’s a coaster on either end of the structure and they intertwine and loop around each other.”

I flip the page, interested in his sketches, but also wanting more of his contagious enthusiasm. “And this one?”

“A Ferris wheel,” he says. “But it’s not like a typical one. There’re multiple levels that circle around each other so you can see the people in the other cart.”

“And you’ve done all the math?”

“Yeah, well, I have to make sure they work,” he chuckles, cheeks still pink, almost boyish in his cuteness. “The math really interests me. The physics behind making structures like these are super complicated, and it’s almost like a puzzle.”

“This is so impressive,” I tell him honestly.

“I know it’s stupid?—”

“It’s not,” I rush out, smiling to reassure him. “Besides math, what makes you like them?”

“People have fun,” he says with a shrug. “I think it would be cool to make someone’s day like that.”

“That’s really sweet,” I tease as I poke at his side.

He rolls his eyes and shoves me away gently. “Fuck off. It’s just a stupid hobby.”

“Why just a hobby?”

He levels me with a look, but it’s not malicious. If anything, it’s more like a deadpan, as if the answer should be obvious. It dawns on me then why this is just a dream to him. Making roller coasters would make him an engineer, and to be one, he’d have to have a degree in it. Something that’s out of reach for him.

Guilt hits me suddenly, making my mouth dry and my stomach churn. “Oh…”

“Yeah,” he sighs, picking up a pencil from the nightstand.

The air is tense now, the unspoken elephant in the room lingering between us. I expect him to maybe lash out at the reminder of the past, but he doesn’t. If anything, he looks resigned, and I don’t know why that’s so much worse.

“Why didn’t you ever go to college?” I dare to ask, but I wish I had kept my mouth shut when he flinches. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business?—”

“It’s okay,” he interrupts, setting an easing hand on my thigh. “You were right.”

I cock my head. “How so?”

He sets his sketchbook down, fucking with his fingers as he looks toward the shuttered windows. “My dream has always been to go to college, and I’ve done nothing with it. I could have moved on, but I didn’t.”

I raise an eyebrow at that. “So, you can technically go to college?”

“Well, my records were sealed, so yeah.”

“I mean, you could still go,” I say quickly and reach for his hand. “You’re so smart, Rhys. I’m sure that?—”

“Even if I wanted to, I don’t have the money,” he says with a self-deprecating chuckle. “Who’s going to give me a scholarship now?”

“But—”

He sighs, dropping his shaking head and lacing his fingers with mine. “It’s okay, Ev. I’ve accepted it. My present is on me. Not you.”

To hear him say that relieves me of a lot of the guilt I’ve been carrying. Not all of it, but enough that I feel confident finally saying what I should have all those years ago. “I’m sorry.”

His head snaps up, jaw clenched as he squeezes my hand. “You don’t have to?—”

“But I do.” Tears once again spring to my eyes. “I’m so fucking sorry, Rhys. I’m sorry for the part I played in all of this. I know you can’t just forgive me for everything that’s happened, but please know, I mean it.”

It takes him a moment where he has a death grip on me, eyes briefly hardening. “You’ve never apologized like you meant it before.”

I nod because I know I haven’t. I’ve thought about what happened with Rhys almost every day since. It’s haunted me that I hurt him so deeply, understanding that I played a fundamental part in how his life turned out. I’ve owed this to him for years, but I was too caught up in myself to give him what he needed. Maybe it won’t fix anything, or maybe he’ll scoff because it’s a little too late, but I have to try to show him how truly sorry I am.

“I was a coward,” I whisper, hating how my voice cracks at the end of my words. “After they took you in, I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want you to hate me, but I just made things worse by not saying anything.”

He sucks in a sharp breath. There’s wariness in his eyes, a fierce sense of self-preservation coating his features, but he doesn’t let go of my hand. “You just let them think they were mine.”

“Because I was scared, but I know that’s no excuse,” I rush out. “I should have said something, done something, helped you like Elton tried to, but I didn’t. It’s something I’ll regret for the rest of my life. You always stood up for me growing up, and I wasn’t there for you when you needed me.”

It isn’t enough and I know it. Now that we’re dredging up the past, I don’t know how Rhys can stand to be in a room with me, let alone touch me the way he has. I don’t deserve any of his kindness or his forgiveness. I made a mistake and waited too long to own up to it, and that’s on me.

I try to pull my hand away, shame and guilt making my heart race, but he surprises me by yanking me back. He pulls my hand into his lap, inklings of vulnerability shining through his eyes. “You hurt me.”

I gulp. “I know.”

“I thought I could trust you.”

“I know that too.” I swallow harshly as hope and resilience push me forward. “I know what we are, Rhys. I don’t expect more, but if you think you can, I’d at least like to try to be friends.”

Again, he hesitates, and I don’t blame him. The suspense sets me on edge but, again, hope lingers.

Because he’s still holding my hand.

All our problems can’t magically disappear. There are still things I’m keeping close to my chest, but the white flag has been raised.

And I just hope he takes it.