7. Everleigh

Chapter seven

Everleigh

“ P lease. Please come out and see the surprise I got.” I try an extra wide smile because that’s usually my convincing face.

I know I’m interrupting. Darius is sitting in his home office…err, I guess it’s his real office because he works from home and doesn’t usually go anywhere else. He’s not on his phone, and I caught him at a moment when he was obviously taking a break. He’s got his long legs crossed in front of him as he’s sitting in his desk chair with them out, and they go on for miles. He’s also rotating his arm, doing some kind of exercise, but he stops moving it when I lean against the doorframe.

It’s been a few days. I’ve kind of settled in and gotten used to having an insane amount of money in my bank account. I paid off all my family’s debt, paid off the mortgage on the little house and the outstanding bills, and even got Heather’s treatment plan squared away. I’ve settled in here too, not just in the house, but with myself. I was so out of sorts before. Now, I feel less that way, I guess. I’ve taken it upon myself to make a purchase. And I’ve had an idea. Actually, I had the idea before the purchase, and I made it happen.

Hans sits up a little straighter in the chair he was lounging in. He sets the book aside, but not before I see the title, and yeah, it’s definitely in German.

“Surprises are like mice," Darius mused. "They multiply fast, and no one likes having them. They poop everywhere, and they cause damage to electrical wires and chew through just about everything else.”

I gape at him. Dressed all in black, which is his usual color, he looks good. So, so good. His eyes are so intense as they rake over me, but they’re not cold or hard. Anyone else might say they’re dancing, but I know it’s just a trick of the light coming in from the office windows. There are lots of them here. A bank of four together on one side and three bigger ones side by side on the other wall. The furniture in here is tasteful and comfortable if it’s all leather and wood. The place looks truly like an office, with wooden filing cabinets, bookcases that actually have books on them that look like they’ve been read, and a large desk stacked up with piles of paperwork.

“No! No, surprises are good, not like mice. I mean, mice are really cute. And they’re a vital part of the food chain, so that has to count for something. Plus, you know, you could always get a cat. Like my mom and Heather. He did come back, by the way.”

Hans’ nostrils flare. He picks up his book and hides his face behind it. “Goonzilla,” he mutters.

My horror is immediate, and Darius sinks down a few inches in his chair. “You freaking told him that?” I mouth, whisper-screaming the words.

He shrugs like he’s not guilty when he’s so totally guilty. Either that or Hans was eavesdropping on our conversation at dinner the other night. I’m pretty sure it was Darius, though, because he looks like he just swallowed a stink bug, and it’s doing backflips in his esophagus, trying to make a reappearance.

I hang tight, waiting, and then finally, Darius makes a production of sighing and pushing back his chair. I think he’s been guilted into it now. He closes his laptop, grabs his phone off the desk, and slips it in his pocket. “Alright.” He pretends to be bored, but I can tell he’s not. This is probably the most excited he’s felt in ages. There’s also a good chance I’m giving myself too much credit here.

I’m basically a giant bundle of nerves because this is a surprise for him as much as it is for me, and when I say bundle of nerves, I mean that…you guessed it, my ass is going numb. This is a surprise, not a test. I hope he understands it that way and doesn’t get mad because I don’t want him to think I would intentionally hurt him. Other than still wanting to deliver a swift kick to his brother’s junk, I don’t have any bad feelings I’m holding against the Anderson family. I have been more than generously compensated for staying here, and after the rocky start that wasn’t really his fault, Darius has done everything in his power to make me feel comfortable, including promising me the use of his private jet to see my family.

I think this might work out. He said that at dinner a few nights ago. It was offered like a truce, even if not an outright palm up, take my hand, and we can be kind of friends gesture.

Something funny stirs in my chest as Darius follows me out the front door. Hans gets up and comes along with us, which is something I expected. Darius never goes far without him. They both stop abruptly when they take in the sleek, cherry-red object parked in the circular paved driveway.

“Oh my god,” Darius breathes, and it’s a shallow breath. The kind people inhale when they’re trying to stay calm and not explode.

“It’s mine,” I explain as I rush over to the side of the sporty convertible. It was delivered this morning, off a flat deck of some shipping company. The five thousand dollars it cost seemed to be a budget price, and I did do my research. It’s an older car, and it has high mileage, but I liked it. Five grand is more than I’ve spent on just about anything at once, and even if it’s a drop in the bucket now, it felt weird doing it. Paying for it and the taxes and the other fees and for it to be delivered here from the city, all on my own, was a brand new experience. “You got me my Illinois driver’s license, so it’s already registered in my name.” Funny what money can do. It can work wonders, even over the phone.

Darius swallows hard. He’s gone pale, and I hate that the color has bled out of his face. I don’t like to see him this way. Scared, frustrated, hurt, and in pain. I don’t want that for him. “I could have provided you with one.”

“I know, but you’ve given me more than enough already. You don’t like vehicles, so I thought finding one myself might be less stressful for you. I can more than afford it.” Hans grunts like he finds that ironic and entirely too funny. It’s really not supposed to be a joke, but the punchline is still coming. I take a chance, stepping right in front of Darius so he has to look at me and not the car. “I…I chose it because I liked it and I want to drive it. I will drive it, but I was hoping we could just…uh…sit in it together. With the top down and going nowhere. I’ll put the keys on the grass ten feet away. It’s in your driveway, out in front of your house. It’s safe and not going anywhere. Nothing would happen to us, and we could take it slow. Maybe just a minute.”

It’s not a trap, but I can see how Darius probably thinks it is. Then again, he doesn’t have to worry about saving face in front of me. This isn’t a pride thing. I genuinely thought it would help even though I’ve never had a bucked-off incident that I’ve had to get back up on the horse for.

Don’t worry, I want to tell him. If your anus is puckering, then we’re about even right now because mine is so numb that I think it’s going inverse.

He’s preternaturally still, and for a minute, I think he’s going to turn on his heel and leave, but then he slowly nods. I race over to him, and before I know what I’m doing, I’m throwing my arms around his neck and leaping off the ground. He has no choice but to catch me, and he grunts at the unexpected force of my body hitting his. I hug him hard, and yeah, okay I’m a hugger. This is just a hug between friends. Between one person who wants to give one and another person who very likely needs one, even if he won’t admit it.

I still catch fire and go up in flames, though. I can smell all of him: his shampoo, cologne, aftershave, laundry detergent, all of it. And he’s delicious. His cheek is smooth when I pull away and accidentally brush the side of my face against his.

He has both brows raised, and he’s speechless. Well, me too. I mean, I don’t know what to say.

“I’ll set timer,” Hans cuts in dryly. He’s doing the Russian accent again. “One minute.” Then, he snaps a white bag out of his pocket and passes it to me. “Here. Need this.”

I take it, staring hard at it as my fingers connect with the paper. “Um, it’s for, like, hyperventilating?” God, I have no experience with any of this. I am so out of my depth. How did I think this would help?

“It barf bag.”

“What?” I yelp. “Why would I need that?”

“For barf.”

“Haha, yeah, I got that. That’s really funny, Hans.”

“Not funny. You need.” He points at Darius’ back because he’s already walking to the car, which is parked in the middle of the circular paved driveway. “ He needs.”

I point a finger at his massive chest. “I know you’re not really Russian. Where are you from anyway? Are you ever going to tell me?”

He’s clearly too amused with this. Far, far too amused. He gives me a straight-faced look that anyone else would find potently scary, and I guess I kind of do, but the impression that he’s holding back a laugh kind of wrecks the whole tough, scary guy, I gut you like a fish if you look at me wrong look. “A little of here, a little of there.”

“Great.” I give him the thumbs up. “Sounds good. That makes everything so clear.”

Darius is getting in the car, so I leave Hans standing on the side of the driveway and slip in behind the wheel. I should have told him to get in on this side since he wasn’t driving when it happened. Maybe sitting here would be better, but he’s already sitting down in the passenger seat.

Hans sidles up, his phone ready. “Okay, one minute. And go.”

At first, nothing happens. We both stare forward. Darius is fine, calm, and breathing normally. He doesn’t turn to me but speaks to the dashboard. “I sometimes feel like I was the collateral damage in that accident.” My heart lurches and weeps. I don’t know what that means. But I’m scared to ask. Because he’s been alone here forever after that? Because his family has forgotten him? He reaches and slides his seatbelt over himself and clicks it into place. I want to take his hand, but I don’t. Like a cruel trick, the click of that buckle is what does it. His forehead becomes dotted with little beads of sweat. His breathing starts out slow because he’s controlling and holding it, but then, soon, he’s gasping and dragging in huge gulps.

Fuck, is this what a panic attack looks like?

I turn in my seat and put my hand on his shoulder. He feels like a thousand degrees through his button-down dress shirt. “Whoa. Whoa, we’re not going anywhere. I don’t have the keys. We’re safe. Darius, look at me.” He doesn’t. He keeps his eyes totally screwed shut, and his hands clench tightly into fists. He’s so afraid. I can’t imagine what’s going on in his head. Maybe it’s not fear. But it’s definitely painful for him, and I’m the one who caused this because I had this stupid, stupid idea that it would help. My nose prickles with tears that I don’t deserve to cry. “Darius. Can you look at me?”

“You still have thirty seconds left.”

“Great, Hans, thanks so much,” I groan. But then, I set my hand on Darius’ knee. His muscles are clenched up so tight that he’s like iron under my grip. “We’re half done, and nothing has happened. Tell me what’s going on in your head. I know it must suck in there. Or look at me. You don’t have to go there. You can stay here with me. I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”

“You should give him barf bag now,” Hans advises.

“No. He’s not going to puke.” Oh fuck, it totally looks like he’s going to puke.

Then, the timer goes off on Hans’ phone—some spaceship noise that scares the hell out of me and nearly sends Darius through the non-existent roof of the car. Reaching over, I undo his seatbelt, and as soon as it retracts, he shoves the car door open and practically falls out. Hans grabs his shoulders and rights him like it’s nothing before putting him on a path back to the house.

I’m numb in the driver’s seat. There are too many emotions to process right now, so maybe it’s best not to pick any of them apart.

After just a few steps, Darius stops walking and just stands there. I don’t want to sit here with the sinking feeling, knowing I’ve just put him through hell, so I throw open the driver’s door and run until I’m standing in front of him. I snatch his hand, which is frigid now. His face is ashen, and he still looks like he might throw up. “I’m so sorry.” I meet his eyes, even though it’s hard. “Darius, I’m…I thought it would help. I wasn’t trying to make you go back there. I just…the car wasn’t moving, and it didn’t have a roof. I thought…I’m an idiot. I wasn’t thinking. You don’t even have to be in one to relive that night, do you?”

His jaw clenches, and he tries to withdraw his hand, but I hold on. “No.” He’s not looking at me anymore. “I don’t.”

“I’m not a therapist. I’m a dummy. I’m truly sorry. I had this idea, and I thought…but I’m—”

“It was a good idea.”

“What?”

His eyes are back on mine, and some of his color is back. He doesn’t look like that terrible mix of gray, white, and green anymore. They’re all good colors, but not in a person. “I’ve been running from this shit for years. Hans has to sedate me if he ever needs to take me in a vehicle. I missed my own wedding partly because my brother is a bastard and a plotter but mostly because I didn’t get there in time, seeing as I couldn’t get in a damn car. It’s insane.”

“It’s not insane. Not after what happened.”

“But it’s over. People get into accidents, and then they’re back to driving the next day.”

“I’ve wrecked two cars,” I admit. “Both of them in intersections. I T-boned other cars, and neither of them was my fault. People don’t know how to turn left. Sometimes, it just happens. I had wicked whiplash both times, but I have to say that as soon as I received the insurance money and got another vehicle, I was back out there. I never considered not driving again. I do get really edgy when I’m going through intersections, and there is someone waiting to turn, though. I’m always shadowing the brake. That urge…it stays with you. And you remember it. The second time it happened, I swear I heard that nasty crunch of metal from the first time before it even happened. And I know that’s not even close to what you went through. I’m just trying to say I understand what you’re saying.”

Darius stands up just a little bit taller. The sun beams down on us from above, and in the bright light, I can see the mark on his bottom lip where he sunk his teeth into it earlier in the car. “I’m going to sit in it for longer and longer each day. Will you put it in the garage when you’re not driving it and leave the top down?”

I’m shocked. My god, I can’t imagine having to be that brave. I didn’t understand how bad it really was before because I hadn’t seen it firsthand. I swallow hard while my heart beats in one long, rapid stride. “Sure.”

His face is still hard, and it shows none of the relief I feel, but some of the tension breaks when Hans comes up and claps him on the back. “I’ll bring barf bags. Lots.”

“Eww,” I mutter. “Here.” I give the one I have back to Hans, but he shakes his head.

“Keep it. You never know when might come in handy.”

“Can you stop that? The book you were reading was in German.”

He grins. “Like I said. A little of here, a little of there, a little of everywhere.”

I guess he’s able to speak more than one language, but still. It is incredibly annoying. It’s also obviously quite entertaining for him. Well, at least one of us finds it amusing.

I want to make sure Darius knows how much I admire and respect him for doing this. For pushing and putting himself through something I can’t even imagine. I was incredibly foolish to think I could help, that I could even understand one little bit of what was going on in his head. I can’t put myself in his place or fathom that kind of anguish. I’ve seen the mess of scars. I also can’t put myself in the position of being in so much pain and going under for the surgeries and all the healing, over and over and over again. It must be incredibly frustrating to have something like that happen and know you’re never going to be the way you once were. That you’re forever changed. It must be extra hard for him, a strong man in the prime of his life, to have to admit he can’t do everything by himself anymore. I know he has to rely on Hans for a lot. But just how much, I don’t know.

I was collateral damage.

He’s used to Hans, but he’s not used to me. And I’ve interfered a few times now. Swapping out our steak, our pork chops, trying to save him from drowning, getting him to sit in the car… Half the time, all that did was prove to me that I really knew nothing. And I’m doing it all wrong.

I have a lot to learn. I have a lot to apologize for.

“Are you okay?” It’s the world’s most inadequate, silliest question, but I don’t know what else to ask. There’s so much I want to say, but I know he doesn’t want another apology.

Darius nods, but it’s an absent kind of nod.

“Fuck no, he’s not,” Hans supplies helpfully, and that finally earns a small, grudging smile from both of us. He claps Darius on his good shoulder again and guides him toward the front door. “Let’s get lunch now. I’m starved.” He delivers this, of course, in a flawless British accent.