Chapter 2

Eve

“Are you sure you have to go?” I ask, pushing a wayward strand of Clover’s hair behind her ear. She looks up at me, anxiety clear in her big onyx eyes, and nods warily. I sigh, tugging the frail girl in for a hug—a hug that’s probably too tight, judging by the huff of air she lets out. “Be careful,” I whisper.

It takes her a moment to slowly sink into me. Before I know it, she’s sucking up my affection like a person starved of water in the desert. It hurts my heart desperately, knowing how rare touch is to her. Her body is warm and clammy, likely from all the long layers she’s wearing, but I don’t pull away.

“I know,” she murmurs.

With one last squeeze, she lets me go and steps back. Awkwardly, she smooths her hands down her oversized, floor-length, long-sleeved dress. The dress doesn’t match the sweltering Georgia summer heat; it’s so outdated, I have no doubt it’s second—or Hell, it may even be third-hand. Either way, she’s still adorable and holds a special place inside my heart.

I tip my lips up in what I hope is a reassuring smile and spin her toward her foster mom’s beat-up gold minivan. It’s too dark out here to see Ms. Willa, but I don’t need light to know that she’s glaring at Clover. And at me.

Shit, she’s probably giving the entire congregation a withering look right now.

Not that it matters.

I’ve learned that what people think of you is of little consequence. They’ll do what they want, say what they want, think what they want. And there’s not a damn thing any of us can do to change it.

As Clover drops her head and climbs into the back of the van, quietly closing the door behind her, I turn away from the party, needing—something.

Space.

Air.

Freedom .

I need freedom.

Three words I’ve never dared to speak—never dared to even think. I have freedom, I remind myself. Even if Isaac and the church are stifling and I dream of so much more, this is my life, and I have to believe I’m free.

It’s nearly nine, and darkness has taken over the fields surrounding us. Colorful quilts dot the grass around Barry’s Pond, only lit by random streaks from sparklers or the glow from people's phones. Families have split off to find places to sit and enjoy the fireworks show beginning soon.

Oli left over an hour ago, saying she had to head home to feed the kids their holiday meal. I chuckled but nodded, knowing her babies are her life. The girls we used to hang out with in school took off, finding guys to cuddle up with for the show, leaving just Clover and me.

But now she’s gone, and it’s just me.

Always just me.

Sighing, I head back to the row of picnic tables and grab my cup and cardigan. I tug it over my shoulders, making sure my phone is still tucked in my dress pocket before skimming the party again. I don’t know why I feel like I’m forgetting something, like something is missing.

It takes me two passes before I see him. But once I do, I know that it’s not something I’m missing.

It’s someone.

Sharing a red, white, and blue patchwork quilt on the southern dock of the pond are Isaac and Mary.

It’s my mama's quilt—her favorite Fourth of July one.

The quilt she made for this exact party almost ten years ago, the first time we attended it as a family. The first time she jumped up and down, clapping and cooing about how this was her favorite holiday in Divinity Falls. The people. The pond. The church. The fireworks and food. What’s not to love , she’d said.

This.

This is something I don’t love.

Watching what was once our thing become their thing.

Anger and frustration wash through me so rapidly, I almost vomit all the alcohol I greedily chugged during dinner while watching Mary fawn all over him. At least Issac didn’t fawn back, but he didn’t push her away. He didn’t say anything to make her stop. He didn’t make her sit somewhere else so that I could sit on his right side, like always. He didn’t reprimand her for filling his plate or sweet tea every time it got low—that’s my job. I take care of that for him. Not her.

He didn’t do anything, and that’s what killed me the most.

It’s stupid—I know it’s stupid, to be mad or jealous. I know I shouldn't feel this way.

I shouldn’t feel any way. Not toward him—about him.

My stepfather.

Swallowing thickly, I shake my head, deciding to call it an early night. I’m suddenly not in the mood to celebrate anymore. Not that there’s been much to celebrate in the last four years.

I shoot a quick text to Isaac—one I’m sure he won’t notice with her all over him—letting him know I’m going home before I take off toward our house on the opposite side of the pond.

I try not to stare at it, at the pond I’ve spent ten summers swimming in. Making memories in. Celebrating every holiday with my family at.

My family was once beautiful.

Then it broke.

Then it was mended.

Then…

Then it broke again.

No, it shattered. It shattered so thoroughly it could never be put back together. Even though Isaac has tried to fix it, tried to get the old Eve back, tried to promise me that we don’t need anyone but each other, my heart still hurts.

Everything still hurts.

I used to think my family was like one of the patchwork quilts covering the tall grass around me. I used to think it was beautiful, four different personalities all coming together to make something broken whole again.

Mama used to say so, she used to swear it. Tell me again and again that it didn’t matter if our family looked different from others, that it was okay that Daddy was with God finding peace after such a long fight.

I used to believe her.

Now I know better.

“Eve?” a deep, slightly nasally voice calls. I jump with a gasp, bringing a hand up to still my racing heart, and whirl on the sound of footsteps steadily closing in on me. Kevin’s hands fly up as he offers me an apologetic look. “Heck. Sorry. I called you a few times. I thought you heard me.”

I swallow, shaking my head to clear my depressing thoughts. I’d been so caught up in the past I didn’t even realize he was here.

I tear my gaze from his concerned eyes and take in my surroundings. I’m already home and in the front yard. I can barely hear the music and laughter from the party in the distance. The random lights that filtered through the field are now dim.

It’s quiet.

Peaceful.

Lonely.

“Are you okay?” he asks. My head jolts in his direction once more.

Shit. I really need to get it together.

“Sorry,” I murmur, rolling my shoulders back.

He scans my body quickly before his gaze snaps back to my face. Beneath the bright moon, I can see his pale cheeks turn pink. Kevin swallows audibly and coughs into his fist. I smirk, barely containing the inappropriate laugh bubbling up my throat.

Though I don’t know him super well, Kevin and I are friends. I guess. We were in the same grade growing up, and he attends our church with his family every Sunday. Teaches the boy's Bible study class at the same time I teach the girl’s. He’s quiet. Kinda nerdy, but nice.

When it’s clear he’s not going to do anything besides flick his stare between my face, my body, and the tall grass beneath us, I break the silence. “Did you need something?”

He palms the back of his neck, causing his red Polo shirt to lift high on his waist, exposing an underwhelming patch of light skin above his dark jean shorts.

Holy hell. Jorts. He’s wearing freaking jorts.

The alcohol-induced buzz makes itself known again, and a giggle pushes out of my throat before I can swallow it down. His eyes widen as I slap a hand over my mouth. He exhales roughly, giving me a lopsided smile.

“I was,” he murmurs, stumbling over his words. “I was wondering if—”

“If?” I press, wanting to get back to the house so I can hide away in my room and check emails. Or watch the fireworks from my window.

Or—fuck.

Maybe I’ll take advantage of the rare moment alone in the house and take a bubble bath with some candles, a smutty book, and my favorite vibrator.

My core clenches—fully on board with that idea. Me time. That will definitely help me forget and banish the weird mood I’ve been in all day.

I smile.

“Is that a yes?” Kevin asks, suddenly standing right in front of me.

I blink a few times, having completely forgotten he was even here. My mouth opens to disagree, unsure what the hell he’s even talking about, but the hopeful, excited look on his face is too much for me, and I find myself nodding slowly with an awkward shrug.

I have no idea what I just agreed to, but Kevin immediately grins widely and releases a noise that, if I’m not mistaken, sounds a hell of a lot like yippee .

What. The. Fuck. Have I gotten myself in to?

Kevin grips my hand, and unlike Clover’s balmy warmth, I find his clammy palm disturbingly gross. Before I can pull away, he’s tugging me toward the northern dock.

My heart picks up its pace, turning from slightly amused to panicked within seconds. When it’s clear the dock is Kevin’s intended location, I shake my head rapidly and pull him in the opposite direction without a word.

His bushy brows lift, but he doesn’t argue, letting me take the lead. I find a patch of grass that overlooks the lake, clear from any trees or obstructions.

“Uhh.” I clear my throat. I just want to go inside my house but I can’t now. I’m stuck. I gesture to the ground, assuming he came here to watch the show. “Is this cool?”

He nods eagerly and produces a blanket, seemingly from thin air. My eyes gape as he lays it out in the grass and takes a seat. Am I that damn preoccupied that I didn’t even notice the blanket?

Shit.

I can’t back out now, not with him looking eagerly up at me.

Groaning internally, I primly take a seat next to him, tucking my legs beneath me and dropping my belongings to my side.

Can’t see my panties now, can you, Kev?

I scoff to myself and lift my drink to my lips, needing another hit of what Oli aptly named Devil’s Juice. She’s not wrong. I swear, she had to have emptied the entire flask in my tumbler. At first, I was pacing myself, not wanting to be obviously drunk around Isaac.

But now…

Now I need it.

Badly.

“So,” Kevin begins, glancing at me from the corner of his eye. “How has your summer been?”

I release a puff of air that’s somewhere between a scoff and an irritated grunt before taking another drink. A bigger one.

“Just peachy.” I give him a sidelong look, catching his gaze riveted to my exposed calves. “Yours?” My question is blunt—slightly too loud.

I expect his eyes to be guilty when they snap up to meet mine, but they aren’t, and he doesn’t.

Nope.

Instead, the quiet, bashful nerd that loves Jesus more than air, slowly lets his wandering gaze travel up the length of my body, doing nothing to disguise the obvious desire he’s feeling.

He wants me. Is that why he came here?

I take in his appearance, really take him in. Maybe for the first time.

Kevin’s not tall. Around five-foot-eight on a good day, not too thin or thick. Definitely not muscular. He’s just—average.

His brown hair is greasy and messy. Not artfully, either. Just messy as it hangs over his ears and forehead in a grown out semi-bowl cut. He definitely needs to cut it. Soon.

He wears dark-framed, rectangular glasses that complement his brown eyes. His face is clear from stubble—actually, there’s not even a slight shadow dimming his jaw, and if I had to guess, I’d say he doesn’t shave. Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

He does have pretty eyelashes, though.

Like really pretty.

I’m jealous.

I giggle again at the wayward direction of my thoughts and sloppily tug the straw into my mouth. A pathetic whimper escapes me when I realize my cup is empty.

My lower lip rolls out in a pout, and suddenly, this waterside fiesta is no longer entertaining.

Kevin chuckles, tipping my lip with the crook of his fist. Not in a sexy way, either. More like a fatherly aw shucks , kind of thing.

“You’re so cute,” he mumbles, biting his lip. His Adam's apple bobs. “Pretty, actually.”

“Umm,” I mumble, thoroughly confused. “Thanks?” The word comes out as a question, but I don’t think he notices or cares. “You’re—” I hold my breath as I search for the right word. “Nice.”

It seems to be enough for him, because he grins his thanks at me, like I’ve just given him the best compliment he’s ever received. It might be the only compliment he’s ever received.

Sad.

“I’ve never done this before,” he rushes out. My brows knit together as he scoots closer to me, bunching the blanket slightly.

“Done what?”

The words barely leave my mouth before his lips are on mine in a sloppy, wet kiss. I’m too stunned to react. My body just freezes.

His tongue slides along the seam of my sealed lips, and it wakes me up enough to shove him away.

“Kevin!” I shout, more shocked by his forcefulness than anything else. “What are you—”

“You said yes,” he whines, leaning closer. He hesitates before resting his long hand on my knee. His touch is nervous, like he’s never felt a girl’s skin before.

“To what?” I hiss, pushing his hand off. He cocks his head to the side, his eyes narrowing as he stares at me.

“Kissing,” he says slowly. “At the house, you said yes.”

I try to rethink everything I said literally just moments ago, and I can’t remember ever telling him I’d kiss him. Then I mentally slap myself.

Is that a yes?

I internally groan at my own stupidity, but, like…who asks that shit?

“I didn’t mean—” I stop myself as I watch the light dim in his eyes. It’s just a kiss, what could it hurt? It’s not like I have anything better going on tonight, and I could use the distraction.

Stop, Evie . That’s rude as hell. I swallow, feeling fully chastised by my own inner voice. He really is nice. And cute—in an odd duck kind of way.

He’s obviously never kissed a girl before, and am I really going to lose anything other than a bit of my dignity and some time? Maybe a bit of saliva and skin cells, if I had to guess. My first kiss was awful, maybe I can make his decent.

“Alright,” I sigh. That light sparks in his eyes again, and he lurches toward me, his body vibrating with excitement. I put my hand against his shoulder, stopping him. If he’s going to kiss me, I need to teach him how to do it right. “Let me show you what to do.”

He eagerly nods as he sits back, letting me shift on to my knees. Placing my hands on his shoulders for balance, I lean forward until my lips touch his. I inwardly cringe, but remind myself I’m doing a good deed.

Or maybe I’m just horny and lonely, and Kevin is here.

Shit—for all I know, he’ll be some sort of a sexual savant once the nerves wear off.

One can only pray.

His hands rest on my hips, and I’m surprised at the feeling that shoots through me. He’s not hesitant or fumbling now—his touch is firm and sure. I like that.

I whimper as I shuffle closer to him, and the sound seems to make him feral. His fingers dig into my hips harder, pulling me forward until my breasts rest against his chest.

If Oli saw me, she’d be rolling on the ground howling with laughter. If literally anyone else saw, I’d be mortified for being caught kissing Kevin. But we’re alone, and it’s dark.

I slide my leg over his and straddle him. My dress rucks up around my thighs, letting me feel his hard length under his jean shorts.

Don’t think about the jorts.

Don’t think about the jorts.

He gasps as he pulls away, his eyes wide as I rest my thong-covered middle against him.

He stares down at my bare legs glistening in the moonlight. At the place where my dress is raised high, and even though he can’t see my pussy, he knows it’s there.

“Oh my goodness,” he breathes. “You’re so warm. It’s so—can I see?”

I blink at him. “See?”

“Your—your—vagina.” The word is barely audible, and I choke on a laugh. Grabbing his hand, I bring it to my breast, letting him feel the full softness of it. He adjusts his rapidly fogging glasses with his other hand as he squeezes. “Wow.”

“It’s my pussy, Kev,” I say, my voice softer. “You can say it.” I rock my hips against him, and his entire body goes rigid.

“My— goodness .”

Yeah. That word might be ruined for me.

The pulse in his neck throbs wildly, and I lean forward to run my tongue along it. He’s vibrating with restraint and need, and I smile to myself, loving the power I have over him—over all men.

It’s something I find highly addicting, in a world where I have little to no control. Few choices are mine, but the ones that are…I make them count.

Like this one.

“Please, Eve,” he chokes out. “Can I please see—” He pauses as I tug at his earlobe with my teeth. “Oh, my. Oh, Gosh.” I pull away as his eyes turn Heavenward, his throat bobbing as he swallows thickly.

I have to slow down or things will end far too soon for poor Kev.

His hand falls away from my breast to settle against his chest like he’s trying to calm his racing heartbeat. He stares up at me before he lowers his eyes to my dress again. I think he may not know where to look, or maybe he’s trying to confirm this is all really happening.

Not that much is happening. Not yet. That’s okay, though. I can be patient.

“You want to see my pussy, Kevin?” I ask soothingly. His mouth opens and closes a few times before he nods frantically. “Say it.” He shakes his head, not letting a sound or breath slip out.

I slide from his lap onto the blanket in front of him. Placing my feet on either side of his knees, I tug my dress slowly up my thighs. The alcohol coursing through my body gives me enough courage to actually do this. Doing it for a camera is one thing, but in person, it’s totally different.

Closing my eyes, I pretend I’m back in my room putting on a show for my fans. They love this. When I wear a chaste-looking dress and tease them like some sort of filthy, fallen angel.

The cool air hits my panties, and my head falls back. I let myself bask in this feeling of freedom. Of tiny rebellion.

Kevin’s hand lands on my shin, and I look back at him, finding his eyes glued between my thighs. He licks his lips as he awkwardly slips his legs out from under mine and shifts to his knees.

“Can I—” His hand slides higher up my thigh, and I let my legs open further. “I’ve heard men will use their tongue to pleasure a woman.” My eye twitches at his words. “I want to try that.”

I hesitate. Do I really want Kevin to be the first to go down on me? Kissing him, showing him my panties, is one thing. But this?

I take a deep breath, mentally warring with myself. We’ve already come this far, is letting him eat me out really that bad? If nothing else, a warm tongue might be all I need to get myself off with the help of my fingers.

“Okay,” I rasp, drawing the word out. He looks absolutely freaking giddy.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he’s controlling an enthusiastic hand clap/yippee combo, and it makes me dry up like the Sahara. Slowly, I reach down and tug my panties to the side, letting him get a good view of what’s probably his first-ever pussy.

He blinks a few times, readjusting his glasses as he leans forward to get a closer look. His jaw flexes before he flicks his eyes up at me.

“It’s so—” He leans back a bit, letting his hands flail as he searches for the words. “Well organized,” he says decisively.

“What?” I blurt. “Well organized?” Surely I heard him wrong. I let my panties snap back into place. That was too much—who says that? What does that even mean?

“No, wait,” he says, gripping both of my knees and forcing my legs to stay open. I feel like I’m getting a pap smear. “It’s just so…tidy. Everything's in its place.” He darts forward, pushing my panties to the side, and runs his fingers gently through me horizontally. “I can flip through your pages like a Bible,” he murmurs to himself, licking his lips.

“What the fuck, Kevin?”

His mouth opens and closes, his eyes wide as he tries to backtrack. I don’t know if I should be insulted or not. He keeps a firm grip on my knees, and I stop trying to close my legs.

“Don’t ever say that to a girl again,” I snap, and he nods like I’ve just given him the best advice he’s ever gotten, and he’s tucking it away into the back pocket of his fucking jorts .

“It’s just—it looks different than what I thought,” he continues. “It’s so smooth, and opens like a rose—is that why vaginas are called flowers?”

What am I doing?

Why am I doing this?

I don’t make bad decisions. I think things through before I do them. I’m not a spontaneous person, and I’m definitely not a girl who has random hookups with guys by the lake.

Even going through everything over the last four years, I’ve never stooped this low. I’ve never let anyone else touch me, except for—I push thoughts of him away.

I know it’s the combination of the holiday, the lake, and the alcohol making his ghost reappear in my thoughts tonight. I can't escape him, no matter how hard I try.

A warm, wet tongue sliding against my clit pulls me from my thoughts. I jolt at the feeling, at the sudden pleasure that shoots through my body. Before I can do anything, he licks again, this time avoiding my clit and focusing all his energy on my left lip.

“Wait,” I sigh, moving my hand to his head. “To the right.” He ignores me and continues licking my lip. His tongue swipes against my clit, and I moan, trying to encourage him.

It does—but it encourages him to continue licking the wrong spot.

I lift my hips, trying to find his tongue with my clit. But every time I move, so does he, keeping his attention on his chosen spot. I groan in annoyance and gently shove his head away.

“Did you have an orgasm?” he asks breathlessly. I open my mouth to tell him no, I sure as shit did not, but shut it again.

I should tell him that this was the worst sexual experience of my entire life, but I don’t. I can’t hurt him like that, not when he’s looking at me like an eager puppy waiting for a treat.

A treat.

God, no.

I don’t want to reciprocate. I just—I can’t.

“Yeah, Kev. I did,” I easily lie. He beams at me, and any guilt that I should feel for lying isn’t there.

“I’ve also heard of men using their fingers,” he says, giving me a sly smile. “Can I?” He holds his hand up and wiggles his fingers, making me cringe.

This should probably be the line. I should stop it all here. I should go inside the house, turn on the bath, and finish myself off with my vibrator. Wash this night away.

Before I can tell him no, his finger is probing my pussy, trying to find my entrance. I jolt and try to scoot back, but it’s too late. He finds it and gently tries to push inside, meeting maximum resistance.

“I thought it was supposed to be wet,” he says under his breath, trying to force his finger in. “Is it broken?” He looks at me accusingly and my mouth falls open.

Okay, I’m done.

That’s the last straw.

“No, it’s not broken,” I hiss, shoving his hand away as I right my panties and pull my dress down.

“But I’ve heard vaginas lubricate themselves. Why isn’t yours—”

“Lubricate yourself, asshole.” I shove him backward, and my eyes widen as he loses balance and begins to roll down the slight slope toward the lake. “Kevin!” I throw my hand out as water splashes everywhere.

My body jerks at the loud bang as the first firework lights the sky, bright red reflecting off the rippling surface of the lake. Kevin’s head bobs above the water, his glasses gone as he whips his head to the side, plastering his hair to his forehead.

I should feel bad about pushing him into the lake, but I don’t.

After today, after watching Mary fawn all over Isaac, I don’t feel anything but annoyance and anger. Anger at him for not pushing her away, anger at Kevin for his audacity, anger at myself for ever getting in this situation, to begin with.

Anger at Roman—so much festering anger for him.

I shove to my feet, grabbing my tumbler and phone, and stomp toward the house, leaving the partygoers and Kevin behind.

Fuck this holiday.

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