Page 72 of All I Have Left

EVIE

T he days seem to slowly fade into one and then the other.

Grayson has physical therapy three times a week, still stumbles more than he’d like, and now suffers from migraines so bad he can’t get out of bed somedays. He vomits a lot, changes medications three times and refuses to go to therapy. We find a different therapist and he starts going again.

I move into his bedroom, with my clothes at least. It’s weird, considering I live next door, but it’s nice to feel more like a couple.

I see a sexual assault counselor and love that she has more insight into relationships and forming healthy bonds than I ever thought she would.

She adores Grayson, and it seems he’s nice to her.

Probably because she only spends about ten minutes with him in the lobby and he doesn’t have time to be a jerk to her.

His mood swings happen more frequently, but he’s usually quick to apologize, or remove himself from crowds when he knows the stimulation of too many people make it worse.

Wyatt and Julia buy Grayson a new piano to replace the one Shane destroyed, but he doesn’t touch it. He doesn’t seem to find interest in anything he used to do, but they say that’s normal. And “they” is Google.

Ethan and Frankie find out they’re having a boy. Ethan is ecstatic, Frankie cries.

I turn twenty-two, as does Ethan, and it’s uneventful.

I look into the nursing program Frankie is enrolled in. Something about the way those doctors cared for Grayson and our family has me intrigued. I get why they do it now because saving a life is worth it. I can’t think of anything more gratifying than that.

Frankie bursts my bubble of finally having a career path when she comes home from work one day, bawling, because a little boy drowned and they couldn’t save him.

I rethink my career in nursing and toss the application in the garbage.

I cut my hair to my shoulders, shortest I’ve ever had it and I have to say, it’s refreshing to have a change, even if it’s as simple as a new hairstyle.

With all that going on, before I know it, it’s a week before the wedding and we’re at the final dress fitting. In the other room, the guys are getting their tuxes altered.

“Was Ethan a big baby?” Frankie asks my mom, staring at her own baby bulge that basically popped out overnight.

Mom frowns at her reflection in the mirror. “When did I get so many wrinkles? And no, he wasn’t. Evie was the bigger baby.”

“Oh, thanks,” I mumble, fixing the strap on my lilac lace dress.

I still haven’t gained back any of the weight I lost and it shows.

My collarbones are protruding, my cheek bones evident, my stomach, completely flat, and you can see my hip and rib bones.

I have no idea how Grayson still finds me attractive, but every single day, his hands are all over me.

I think it’s because he’s incredibly horny. It has been three months since we had sex and I’m going insane, so I know he has to be too.

I watch my mom still inspecting her wrinkles in the mirror and making faces at herself. “You’re only thirty-eight, Mom. You don’t have wrinkles.”

She turns to me, pinching her forehead skin. “I do too.”

“When you pinch it, yeah, you do,” I note, laughing.

“Whatever you do, don’t get Botox,” Frankie tells her, rubbing her stomach as she sits down on the sofa next to the window. “It’s rat poisoning and my friend, Lucy, she has a permanent lazy eye from it.”

I sit down next to her. “Really?”

“Yep. We call her Lazy Lucy.” She twirls one of my curls near my ear with her finger. I smile as Grayson does the same thing to me. “I love your hair short. I wish I could pull it off. Short hair makes my nose look too long.”

I snort. “Does it offend Lucy that you call her Lazy Lucy?”

“Nope. She’s cool as hell. You’ll meet her. She’s going to be at the wedding.” And then she frowns. “But, just so we’re safe, don’t call her Lazy Lucy.”

“Gotcha.” Thinking about all the people at the wedding has me a bit anxious. Not only do I get hundreds of questioning stares anytime we’re in town, I can’t imagine the questions, or looks we’re going to get at the wedding.

Frankie sighs, her hand on her baby bump she can’t stop touching. “I hope Ethan doesn’t wear those stupid Converse shoes at the wedding. He keeps joking that he’s going to.”

I laugh. “Remember when he was five and he wore those red rain boots all through summer.”

“Yes. The only reason he took them off was because I puked up peach cobbler in one of them in the Anderson’s pasture.”

“Maybe puke on his Converse and then he won’t wear them.”

I can tell she contemplates it. “I hate throwing up.”

We laugh, but my thoughts immediately return to Grayson and how often he’s sick from his migraines.

While Julia and Mom talk about their dresses, and Botox, I catch a glimpse of Ethan, who laughs in the lobby.

Okay, I notice Grayson leaning against a wall first, and he’s uninterested in anything around him, as usual.

Thankfully, Frankie is out of her dress so Ethan won’t see her before the wedding.

Besides, she’s too busy talking about where we’re eating tonight to be concerned with her Converse-wearing groom-to-be.

Grayson in a tux? Hottest image I’ve ever seen. Or maybe it’s the fact that I’m that desperate for attention from him. Could be that.

I will say, the last three weeks while we’ve been planning Frankie and Ethan’s wedding have been a nice change to the daily drama of my boyfriend and his frequent mood swings.

And it’s at least taken my mind off wanting to hump him every time I see him naked or when we wake up and he’s practically on top of me.

But seeing him dressed in all black does things to my insides and suddenly my ovaries are shaking. Ever since I found out Frankie was pregnant, I’ve been longing to feel what she does. The baby moving, being in love and planning a wedding. I want all that.

Sure, I have most of it, just no baby, no wedding. Okay… I’m in love, but that’s it. I’m not entirely sure what that love is going to turn into. It’s a daily ping-pong game with him.

He spots me in my dress from the other room, does a double-take, and then his smile surfaces.

I wink and hitch my dress up a little higher.

I can see his light laughter shaking his chest from a distance as he continues to observe me from my place on the couch.

There’s something behind his beautiful brown eyes I can’t decode.

I motion him forward and point to the dressing rooms. Sure, we can’t have sex yet, but making out, we can totally do that, which we do a lot of lately, and I can’t possibly wait another moment to have my lips on him after thinking about babies.

Shhh. Don’t tell him that.

I’m not sure if he’ll follow me or not, but he does and locks the door behind him. “Looking for trouble?” he asks, taking a step toward me, amusement and hunger battling for dominance in the depths of his eyes.

Raising a hand, I trace my fingertips over the pleated lines of his shoulder, the smooth fabric butter beneath my touch. “You just look too good.”

“Don’t tease me,” he growls, pressing me up against the wall.

“I’m hanging on here, barely .” He touches me then, low, on the inside of my thigh below the hem line and brings his finger higher, that smoldering look in his eyes deepening.

A smirk plays on his lips. “I think my dick is permanently hard around you.”

“I’m not trying to tease you, but I saw you in this tux and I couldn’t help myself.” I sink into him when he shifts his leg and positions it between my thighs. “Only a few more days, right?”

“I stopped counting.” His erection presses into my lower stomach and he stifles a laugh, looking up toward the ceiling to contain it. “It makes it worse.” Reaching out, his other hand plays with a loose curl on my shoulder. Told you the Gomez family likes my curls.

I try to remain calm despite my urge to grind into his leg. “It’s torture.”

He smirks, seeming to know what I’m thinking. “Why won’t you let me get you off?” My breath catches when I feel his hand move higher, a finger slipping between my folds, sliding back and forth. I didn’t even realize his hand was that high, or that he yanked my panties to the side.

That’s how out of it I am lately.

“Because.” I moan into his shoulder, gripping his biceps with both hands. “It’s not fair to you.”

He sucks in an audible breath, his forehead meeting my shoulder. Rolling his head to the side, his breath hits my neck. “Not fair is you denying me the pleasure of making you come.” He groans, the break in his voice leaving me weak. “You’re so tight and ready for me.”

I arch my back into him as he draws lazy circles around my swollen clit, his blunt words turning me on. Okay, I was turned on the moment I saw him in a tux, but whatever. And then he kisses me, and I melt completely.

It takes everything I can to snap out of my pleasure-induced trance and realize we’re in a dressing room, his mom, my mom , are just outside the doors and we can’t do this here.

I’m getting ready to tell him to stop when he moves, reaching down to hitch my leg up to his waist. I don’t know what happens, maybe the sudden change in his equilibrium from turning his head, but he jolts back, stumbling and smacks the back of his head on the shelf behind him holding a row of shoes.

“Goddamn it,” he growls, holding the back of his head in pain.

Oh shit.

“Are you bleeding?” I ask, reaching for him.

“No, I’m not fucking bleeding,” he snaps and walks out, slamming the door behind him.

I take a moment to straighten my dress, compose myself to not burst into tears and reach for the door handle. I’m about to follow him when I open the door and run into Frankie. “Hey, I thought you were in there. We’re heading to the restaurant. You guys coming?”

I nod. “Where’s Grayson?”

She turns. “Outside with Ethan.” Her gaze finds mine again. “What’s wrong? You look like you’re about to burst into tears?”