Page 14 of Craving Consequences

I hurry to my car on wobbly legs and throw myself behind the wheel. The folder falls into the next seat, and I stare a little too hard at the windshield while trying to steady my pulse. The damn thing is hammering a million miles per minute and I’m terrified I might be having a stroke.

Relieved when it calms and I can think over the vicious pounding, I reach for my phone.

I text Lauren.

Her answer is almost immediate.

“Free meal. I’m in.”

I grin at her response and tell her I’ll meet her at Lachlan’s at seven.

Next, I text Bron to let him know Lauren and I would be joining him and his father for supper.

“Don’t you guys have food at your own houses?”

The implication has my cheeks burning.

“Your dad invited us. Do you not want us to come?”

It takes longer to hear back, but when it finally pops up, I’m halfway up the stairs to the office. The cling of his incoming message echoes through the stairwell.

“Do what you want. I won’t be there anyway.”

I pause between floors one and two and frown at the screen.

“Where are you going?”

I don’t know why I bother asking. I know the answer I’m going to get before I even hit send.

“Out. You’ll have plenty of time to cozy up to my dad. Maybe if you suck his dick, you’ll get more than a free meal.”

Done with his nonsense, I close the messages and jog the rest of the way to the office.

Telling him he’s wrong will only incite an argument I have no patience for. I stopped correcting him when it became apparent I was wasting my breath.

When we first started dating, I spent a hefty chunk of our relationship trying to convince him I wasn’t interested in his dad.

I went so far as to avoid all conversations with Lachlan even when Bron wasn’t present.

I skipped invitations to dinners. Gave Lachlan the barest greeting in public.

I did everything to assure Bron I was committed to him, because I was.

No matter my efforts, his accusations only increased until I could no longer justify it, especially when I have never given him a reason to doubt my loyalty.

Not even now when I know my heart will never be his and I’m so deep in this quicksand I can never crawl out. Because I never set out to fall in love with Lachlan or Van. My little crush was never supposed to amount to anything.

It was a year into his methodical dismantling of my self-esteem, my worth, my bank account that I realized who Bron Shaw actually was, but by then, Lachlan and Van had become my haven. They are my safe space. I can’t fathom a life without them.

So, yes, I ache for Lachlan and Van on a level that scares me some days, but I would never do anything to jeopardize my parents’ names. Lachlan’s company. Van’s fledgling position in Jefferson or my friendship with Lauren.

I understand the importance of looking but never touching. No matter how hard Bron pushed.

But all that aside, I have been a dedicated and loyal girlfriend. I’ve been supportive, understanding, and patient even when his behavior has been nothing but abrasive and cruel.

My phone chimes as I step into the office. It fires in rapid succession. An aggressive series of pings that can only mean my silence has infuriated Bron and I’m about to head into a storm.

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“Why are you going if I’m not there?”

The hands twisting the wheel up the Shaw’s driveway tighten. My knuckles bleach white against the black leather. Snowcapped mountains to my already stark complexion.

“I told your dad I would, and Lauren is waiting for me,” I snap into the speaker mounted into the front of my dash.

“Do you know how weird it’s going to be without me there? He probably only invited you out of pity. ”

“That isn’t—”

He ignores my protest and resumes. “Come on, think about it, Everly. Use your brain. The only reason he and Van are trying so hard to spare your feelings is because they were friends with your dad. They feel obligated. But showing up like some stray dog, begging for scraps is humiliating. Not just for you, but for me.”

I freeze. His words spike through me with the cold, sharp precision of a dagger through the chest.

“But you never listen to me.” He sighs heavily, and I hear the clink of something glass hitting glass lightly.

“How do you have such an important job when you have zero common sense? Why would you get invited to a dinner where it’s only going to be two middle aged men guzzling beer?

Read the room, Everly. He was probably hoping you would decline.

Now it’s going to be weird, especially when I’m not even going to be there. ”

“So weird,” I hear someone in the background hiss around a cackle.

“I’d be mortified.” A female voice giggles. “But your dad is stupid hot for an old guy, Bron. I’d be all over him, too.”

I realize with building humiliation — and blistering annoyance — that he’s had us on speakerphone with his friends listening in. The awareness of it has a stone settling in my gut.

Bron barks a laugh embedded with serrated shards of glass. “She really is nothing without me.”

“It’s only dinner,” I murmur, struggling to keep the tremor from the words when they threaten to lodge in my throat like a fist. “I don’t think—”

“That’s your problem. You never think. I told you it was a bad idea, but you’re so desperate for approval, it’s disgusting. Anyway, we’re in the middle of something so enjoy supper.”

With a click, the line drops and I’m left staring at the black screen of my phone. The silence in the car is deafening.

“She really is nothing without me.”

The words weave through the crevices of my soul, working into the dark places already harboring all my doubts and fears.

A year ago, I would have believed him. The Everly I was after my parent’s deaths would have succumbed to the jab. Would have spiraled for days. Even now, I almost believe him.

It’s hard not to when he’s supposed to be my person, the man I chose. It’s hard to swallow the bitter pill he feeds me to keep me grounded. They used to go down a lot easier in the beginning. I accepted his gentle reminders of my inadequacy without question, adamant he was trying to help.

But he made the mistake of overplaying his hand. He upped his cruelty, and I caught on. I built my wall to stop his javelins from cutting through. And I learned if I keep my mouth shut, if I let him run out of words, tire himself out, I can continue to be in his life. In Van and Lachlan’s lives .

This temper tantrum isn’t new. It’s just like him to be melodramatic and petulant when something doesn’t go his way. I just wish he wouldn’t drag his friends into it. It’s already hard enough convincing people we’re happy without him acting like he can’t get far enough away from me.

Well, maybe it’s better that he won’t be here. Having him present is actually worse than his absence; at least without him, I can breathe. I don’t have to monitor my every movement. I can enjoy the evening.

I put my car into park and sit for a moment with the weight of the day pressing down on me.

The sun glowers, a relentless ball of raging heat like it’s trying to bake the earth into submission.

I squint through the glass at the two-story bungalow with its pristine white paint and mint green trim.

In the last two years since we started dating, I’ve been through those doors more than my own house.

I’ve walked its halls and stood barefoot in the kitchen.

I love everything about it, including the sense of home I get when I step over the threshold.

That is a secret I will take to my grave.

As innocent as my feelings are, Bron will only embellish and distort its purity, turning it vile and shameful.

For him, his father’s house is a cage. A prison designed to crush him with Lachlan as his ruthless overlord.

My thoughts on the matter are as inconsequential as I am in his life .

Yet you stay, the Lauren-voice in my head points out, a taunting demon picking at my resolve.

Of course I stay. Two years is too long to toss aside. Bron isn’t always terrible. I know he has moments where he’s actually sweet.

Liar, the voice mutters.

“Shut up,” I grumble, twisting the keys from the ignition and kicking open my door.

I reach across to the passenger’s seat and drag the neat stack of plastic containers over. Each one contains one of my mother’s famous side dishes. Potato salad, honey glazed carrots and my dad’s Korean zucchini.

I’ve never been good in the kitchen. Both of my parents tried, but I could never find the patience for it.

The layers it takes to create a delicious dish, the time and process frustrate me.

I would wander off and end up burning a pot of boiling water.

Trusting me for more than the basics is risky business, but I can handle simple dishes.

Quick things that require back-to-back ingredients that don’t have a lot of waiting time in between.

I hip check my door shut, adjusting my hold on the containers. My t-shirt and swimsuit top are already plastered to my skin. My pits are soaked, and I have to do a mental check to remember if I rubbed deodorant on before leaving the house .

With my keys dangling from the ignition and my purse abandoned on the seat, I head for the house. My sandals pad lightly up the steps to the front door.

It opens with the twist of my free hand and I slip inside.

The opening is wide, a spacious extension of gleaming hardwood that yawns past the stairs leading to the second floor and a hallway closet on the right.

I keep my shoes on as I make my way through, bypassing the open concept sitting room and dining room to the kitchen.

The containers are propped neatly on the bottom racks. I grab a soda.

Stop.

Hesitate with the cold glass burning the palm of my clammy fingers.

“Like some stray dog, begging for scraps.”

Lachlan would never. Yet the fear of being thought of as sad and a freeloader has me setting the drink back and shutting the door.