Looking across the yard, out the kitchen window past the red and orange leaves falling off the trees, I think about Kennedy. I shouldn’t have gone over to her driveway last night. Shouldn’t even have talked to her. In the harsh light of day, I only caused more trouble. Telling her she’s beautiful, that I wish I could be with her? That was such a fucking mistake. In a moment of weakness, I let all the venom and vinegar leak out of me, revealing my true feelings.
But that can’t be the Everett she knows now. I know what I did. I just strung her along even further. I gave her hope, and what a shitty thing to do. Because I can’t act on it, I can’t become the better guy. If Kennedy ever knew just what I’ve done, just what fucked-up things live inside my head?
She’d run for the hills.
They all would. If anyone knew what I was really capable of, they would send me straight back to that hole in the ground.
Still, there is something about her that is undeniable. I can’t stay away.
Even though I know it’s going to land us in a world of trouble, I can’t fight the magnetic pull that brings us together time and again.
16
Kennedy
I reach the end of my sentence, slap a period on it, and should feel a floating sense of relief.
Except that all I feel is … dissatisfied.
Looking at the six-hundred-word essay I have written, rewritten, tried to pour my heart and soul into, and had every emotion in between about, I feel no closure at all.
I thought that when I got to the end of compiling my thoughts, when my college admissions essay was done, that I’d feel some kind of elation. But I know that it’s not done, it’s not what I want to turn in. How does someone fit all of their hopes and dreams into three paragraphs of text? How do I relay just how much I yearn to go to my top choice, how much I want to study diligently and hone the craft of nursing? All of my sentences, my ideas, they sound so arbitrary and without emotion.
Staring at the screen, I frown until my temples hurt from all the negativity. I’ve been sitting in the Red Bird Coffee & Donut Shop for over two hours, on a Sunday no less, and it feels like I’ve accomplished nothing at all. Should I scrap it and start over again?
“Marble frosted still your favorite?”
A donut on one of the cafe’s signature white and red striped plates appears in front of me. As does Everett Brock.
What the hell is he doing here? Did the Marines instill some kind of innate scent tracking in him that allows him to smell out my doubts and insecurities to pounce at the exact moment they’re highest?
“I’d appreciate being left alone.”
I don’t answer his question, because yes that freaking flavor is still my favorite. But I won’t let him see me internally drooling over it.
“You looked confused. Or maybe stuck. I thought a donut could help.”
Do not look up into those clover-green eyes. Do not look up into those clover-green eyes.
Dammit, I cannot help it and I look up. Everett is smirking down at me, his broad shoulders filling out an old Brentwick Football long sleeve. He looks edible, and I want to slap my traitorous heart out of its droolfest.
“Thanks, but no thanks. I’m trying to concentrate.” I do my best not to reach for that darn donut.
Cursing me out one day, telling me to stay away from him the next. Reeling me back in, telling me I’m beautiful. Now it’s walking right up to me in the local coffee shop and planting my favorite donut in front of my face. It’s like Everett is trying to win the Hot and Cold Contest of the Millennium and winning by a landslide.
Despite my attempt to shrug him off, the legs of the chair on the opposite side of my table scratch against the linoleum as he pulls it out to sit.
“I’m trying to work, Everett.” Though really, I should welcome the distraction with open arms.
Talking to my childhood crush, and current love interest, is way better than failing through my college admissions essay.
Everett slaps down his book, and I read the title as the large anthology lands across the table. Brentwick Community College Course Guide.
“So you can work, I can circle which of these courses won’t make me want to blow my brains out.” Everett wiggles an eyebrow at me, though I don’t think his choice of words are particularly funny.
“You’re going to community college?” Ironic that we’re both struggling with the institution of higher education.
He shrugs, and I notice him set an Oreo chocolate donut and a large coffee down next to the syllabus. We’ve both had the same order since we hit high school, coming in to the Red Bird for “coffee chats” to feel like grown-ups. When there isn’t much in the way of adventure or excitement in a town for people under the age of twenty-one, we found the hang out spots we could.
He shrugs, and I trace his jawline with my gaze. “Figure I don’t have much else to do. And I need to make some money if I ever want to get out of my parent’s house.”
A wave of unease goes through me. “Well, you’ve only been home for a couple of months. Don’t you think it’s nice to be home with your parents? I’m sure they love having you there.”
I also don’t know if Everett is equipped to handle living by himself. From what I’ve seen, when he isn’t lashing out at me, he shuts himself up in his room. He barely leaves the house, and I have a feeling he’s been going through some massive PTSD from what he went through.
Everett scowls, picks up his donut, and takes a large bite. I shouldn’t eat his apology treat, but the marble frosted looks too appetizing sitting there, and so I do the same. Christ, it’s so good.
“I’m a twenty-something veteran living underneath his parent’s roof. They’re constantly checking up on me, invading my privacy, and I feel like I can’t breathe. Does that sound like a great situation?”
“Well, I guess not, but where would you live?”
“An apartment. Maybe I’d move. Who knows.”
Ah, the hot and cold is back in action. Cue Indifferent Everett, the guy who just brought me a donut to apologize and is now telling me he’d like to move away from me and everyone he loves.
“I think community college is a great start, though. And your assistant coaching gig. They probably make you feel …” I trail off, because I was going to say normal and that’s such an asshole thing to say.
“You were going to say normal, weren’t you?” Everett smirks, but I don’t miss the way his jaw tics.
“No,” I lie and shove another piece of marble frosted in my mouth.
“What are you working on?” Everett turns my laptop to him before I can stop the motion.
“Hey!” I throw my hands up to cover the screen, like I’m some kind of pre-teen guarding her secret diary.
He peeks through my fingers and even moves one so he can read the screen better. The ounce of contact, that one innocent touch, sends shock waves through the air between us.
“Your college essay? You haven’t submitted it yet? It’s almost … is the deadline this week?” How he knows so much about college admissions when he never applied himself astounds me.
A grimace works its way over my face. “Just making some last-minute changes to make it perfect.”