Page 42 of Craving Consequences

The sheriff’s eyes narrow. His mouth all but vanishes under the caterpillar across the upper half.

“Mr. Shaw, have you been drinking?”

Bron stills. His dark, murderous eyes blink. “What? It’s six in the morning. Why would—? ”

Brewer takes a step closer. “I’m going to ask you to come back to the station with me.” He glances at Bron’s truck. “Did you drive under the influence?”

“I’m not drunk!”

He’s not. I know he’s not and so does the sheriff but Bron seems to have forgotten that, in Jefferson, Everly is one of theirs. The sheriff may not pass code in the big city on a good day, but he’s not about to let anyone disrespect her.

I appreciate that.

“Sheriff, Bron wouldn’t—” Lachlan begins only to get silenced by the hand Brewer puts up.

“Hands behind your back, son.”

Sputtering and darting outraged glances between the sheriff and his dad, Bron doesn’t move. But Brewer isn’t playing.

He grabs the kid by the elbow and yanks him forward.

It’s the best moment of my life as I watch with my arms folded, grin a full garden in bloom across my face, as Bron is hauled to the sheriff’s cruiser and slammed into the hood. The thwack of his scrawny body hitting metal sings through me.

Lachlan hurries after them, trying to reason with the law man, but Brewer has his cuffs snapped into place with a beautiful crack of steel.

“Stop resisting, Mr. Shaw, or I’ll add resisting arrest to the list. ”

Without giving Bron a chance to comment, he shoves the shit stain into the backseat and slams the door.

“Sheriff Brewer, I can assure you Bron hasn’t been drinking,” Lachlan urges.

Brewer moves away from the cruiser where Bron’s face is a pasty circle through the glass and stops when we’re standing together a good distance away.

Still, I meet Bron’s murderous sneer with a smirk that has the fucker’s lip trembling and his nostrils going wide. The sight of it, of his indignation, only fuels my joy.

The sun may not be shining, but it’s already shaping up to be a beautiful day.

“Mr. Shaw, I appreciate you trying to be a good father, but this might be a good time to sit this one out. See, I was on the phone with Miss Cavanaugh when it started. Poor girl was scared something fierce and I don’t blame her the way he was unleashing the devil on her door.

The things I heard this morning from the warmth of my bed .

.. well, like I said, if Everly was my daughter, your son wouldn’t be getting removed in a cruiser. ”

That wipes the grin off my face. My head turns to where Everly is standing small and pale on her front porch.

Her usually soft, hazel eyes are on the cruiser with a blankness I don’t think I’ve seen on her.

It’s the mask of someone indifferent to the scene before her.

The quiet calm of ... something. Something I can’t put my finger on, nor am I given the chance to figure it out when her head turns.

Our gazes lock across the blooming predawn. There is strength and quiet determination in her eyes that has me forgetting everything else, but the distance between us.

I close it in five long strides. My feet climb the steps until I’m under the awning with her. Water cascades off me to drench her bare feet, but she doesn’t back away.

Her head tips up and our eyes meet. Hers are the soft velvet of acceptance and uncertainty. It’s such a vulnerable gesture I have to restrain myself from pulling her to me right there.

As if sensing my need to hold her, Everly turns and steps back into the house. I follow her over the threshold and into the foyer but stop a little inside to keep from trekking puddles through her home.

“Evie—”

I don’t know who moves, but she’s in my arms. Hers are around my neck. Her legs around my hips. She’s unbothered by the stream of water pouring off my clothes, soaking hers as she stamps her face into the curve of my neck.

“Van...”

My heart shatters at her breathless whisper of my name. My hold squeezes her closer.

“I got you, baby. ”

Her back shudders with a broken inhale, the tremble of it echoing through me like a second heartbeat.

I tighten my grip, one hand splayed across her spine, the other cupping the back of her head, fingers threading into her rain-damp hair.

She clings to me like I’m the only thing tethering her to the earth, like if she lets go, she’ll drift away.

“I got you,” I murmur again, this time into her temple, letting my lips linger against her skin.

Her scent is all rain and salt and something so inherently her that it punches through my ribs and grabs hold of my soul.

The weight of her against me is all-consuming.

Everything else fades into static behind the sound of her breathing near my ear.

Her legs tighten around my waist as I carry her further inside. She’s still trembling. Still clutching me like if she lets go, I might disappear, and that alone undoes me.

I cross the foyer to the living room and sink onto the ottoman with her in my lap, her face buried in my neck, her fingers gripping the soaked collar of my jacket.

I let my hand drift up and down her back, the rhythm slow.

Her tears seep into my skin, and I let them.

I let them soak through the fabric, let them mark me, because if I could, I’d carry every one of them for her.

She finally pulls back, just enough to look at me. Her eyes are red-rimmed and glassy, lashes spiked with tears and rain. Her lip trembles before she catches it with her teeth .

“I didn’t know what to do,” she whispers. “He showed up and started trying to kick the door. I’ve seen him angry, but never like that. I don’t...”

I cradle her jaw, my thumb brushing across her cheek, catching the tears. “It’s over. He’s gone.”

A small sound leaves her, half sob, half laugh. “I was actually so scared.”

“I’m sorry,” I say softly, pressing my forehead to hers. “He’ll never get that close to you again. I swear to God, Evie.”

Her fingers curl into my hair, tugging just enough to make me meet her eyes again. There’s something in her expression so raw and aching I struggle to focus when she speaks.

“Thank you.”

Without a shred of consideration, I skim my lips to hers. “I don’t need it. I won’t ever let anything hurt you.”

A soft creak has our heads lifting to find Lachlan in the doorway leading into the foyer. Water drips off him, forming a puddle across the hardwood. It drips off the ends of his dark locks and traces paths down his set features. His gaze is rooted on Everly with a mix of guilt and concern.

“Are you okay?” he asks her softly.

Without an official answer, Everly slides off my lap and runs the five feet straight into his arms where she’s scooped up against his chest. Her legs tangle around his hips and he crushes her to him.

“Fuck, sweetheart, I’m sorry,” he breathes into the side of her neck. “I’m so sorry. I swear he will never come near you again.”

I don’t hear her response, my attention distracted by the smooth, round curves of her ass bared where her T-shirt has lifted.

Lachlan has one hand clamped over her cheek for support, but he doesn’t seem to realize it, nor do I feel the punch of arousal I would have felt any other time when my mind is firmly shackled to how pale she looks.

How big and dilated her eyes are. She’s doing a pretty good job of hiding it, but I know she’s scared and I hate it.

“I’m sorry.” She lifts her face off his shoulder to peer into his face.

With one arm still hooked around her middle, he raises his free hand to smooth back her hair. “Why, sweetheart? You have no reason to apologize.”

She takes a breath. “For you to have to see that.”

Lachlan’s lips thin. “I’m the one who should be sorry. Bron is my kid. He’s my responsibility.”

“He’s a twenty-four-year-old grown ass man. At his age, you were running your dad’s construction company and I was getting ready to get deployed for my second tour,” I stress through a tense jaw .

“It’s no one’s fault,” Everly cuts in. “Bron is his own person. He’ll do what he wants. I just feel like this is my fault.”

She ignores our joint disagreement and nudges Lachlan to get put down.

It’s only at that moment that I realize she’s clad in nothing but an oversized t-shirt with a fluffy, orange cat wrestling with a ball of yarn. It’s soaked and clinging to every perfect curve like a second skin. Her nipples are sharp, pink points perched high on her chest, unshielded and stiff.

I drag my eyes away to study her face.

“I couldn’t sleep after you left. I started overthinking everything and I worked myself up thinking I owed him a chance to explain himself.” She sucks in a slow breath. “I texted him. Said we should talk. I didn’t think he’d try to break down the door.”

Piece of shit.

I force a hand back through my hair and turn my gaze away. Too pissed not to show it if she looked at me.

“The sheriff said he was on the phone when Bron was acting like an idiot. What was he saying?” I ask, knowing it’s a bad idea; I’m already seconds away from skinning him.

But rather than respond, she glances from me to Lachlan.

“You’re both wet,” she observes. “Let me grab some towels. ”

Neither Lachlan, nor I move as she hurries from the room. The soft shuffle of her feet echo through the silence and disappear up the stairs.

A beat of silence extends between us where I’m too exhausted and angry to think of anything. Lachlan stands still and rigid in the doorway, still dripping water. So am I, I realize dully. I should probably get off her furniture.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Lachlan interrupts my thoughts.

It takes all my patience to remember I love this man and to keep my temper.

“Stopped him from kicking down her door? Calling her names?” I throw back.

Lachlan pinches his lips. “Saying those things about Ashley. She’s still his mother.”

Part of me is relieved, and it shouldn’t be. I know he wouldn’t have stood for Bron attacking Everly anymore than I would, but I’m glad that’s the only part he had a problem with.

“I wasn’t wrong.”

“Doesn’t matter. Whatever Ashley is, I don’t want him thinking badly of her.”

I bite back my scoff. My irritation at his sanctimonious bullshit builds in my chest and I have to keep my voice level .

“He is too old to still fall for her shit, Lach. He knows what she’s done. Covering for her is stupid on your end when you want a relationship with your son.”

“That’s not your call to make.” He glances at the doorway, checking for Everly, I assume. “And he’s not wrong. I wasn’t a good father. Not like you are to Lauren. I fucked up a lot. Not just with him, but Ashley. That’s my burden to carry.”

It’s burning in my tongue. A hot chunk of embers begging to get spit out. But I don’t. I don’t because Lachlan is my best friend. My brother. If he’s not ready to face reality, I’m not going to force him to in the middle of Everly’s house.

But the venom is potent, begging to spill free.

To tell him I was there every step of those years with Ashley.

I know everything. He can lie to everyone else and play the villain in Ashley’s book to protect Bron’s feelings, but I know he’s wrong.

Not because I’m his friend and I’d cover for him, but because I witnessed the trauma and misery Ashley put him through.

The isolation, gaslighting, and manipulation.

It’s where Bron learned it. It’s how he’s so good at hurting people.

But it doesn’t matter what I tell him. He’s never going to believe me.

“Think what you want, but you’re not the villain here. Just saying.”

He says nothing, nor does he get the chance to when Everly returns, fluffy, white towels clasped to her chest .

We each take one silently and try drying up the best we can when we’re both soaked through. My phone, keys and wallet are dropped on the coffee table next to the envelope Lachlan had given Everly the day before. The check covering what Bron owes her next to a mug of half-drunk coffee.

I eye it while running the towel through my hair.

I partially wonder if Bron found out about the money and that’s the reason behind his unhinged behavior.

Otherwise, I can’t fathom why a person would lose it like that just because Everly wouldn’t open the door — which I’m glad she didn’t.

Would he have hurt her? He had no idea we were on our way to pick her up.

I shudder at the thought and straighten.

“Why was he here?” Towel rubbing the back of my neck, I turn to Everly. “Did he say?”

She shakes her head, arms folding over her chest. “He showed up and knocked. I thought it was you.” She licks her lips and hugs herself tighter.

“I went to open the door and heard his voice. I panicked and locked it.” A hand lifts over her eyes like she can’t believe herself.

“That set him off. He got so angry. He called me names and started punching the door. I got scared. I called Sheriff Brewer. I didn’t know what he was going to do. ”

Lachlan exhales and bunches the towel between his big hands. “I’m glad you didn’t open the door. I want to think he would never hurt you, but...” he lowers his face. “I’m not willing to take that chance.”

Everly sighs and grinds the tips of four fingers into her brow like she’s trying to battle back a migraine. “He’s going to be furious when he’s out.”

I push to my feet and drop the damp towel on my abandoned seat. I use it to soak up the water I left behind.

“Good thing you’re not going to be here when he does,” I say.

Everly blinks. “You’re still coming with me?”

Both Lach and I peer at her.

“Why wouldn’t we?” I ask. “That’s the plan, isn’t it?”

She shrugs and rubs her upper arms. “I just thought maybe you wouldn’t want to...”

It’s said so softly with an uncertain glance in Lachlan’s direction.

The knuckles on his hand match the stark white of the towel fisted between his fingers. The veins of his arms bunch beneath the taut flesh of his forearm. The fabric gets tossed to one side as he replaces it with a firm grip around the back of Everly’s neck.

She’s pulled to him.

Dragged so close her clothes tangle with his. His lips ghost over hers .

“I have no business in your life after this.” He pulls in air I know is filled with her when he holds it too long. “I’ll help you today because I made you a promise, but that’s it, okay? I can’t hold on to you.”

Not at all to my surprise, Everly nods. “I understand.”

I have to resist the urge to smack my face with my palm.

Who did I piss off in a past life to get stuck with two of the most frustrating, illogical people? How am I the only rational one who sees what bullshit that is?

Fine. If they want to keep playing that game, I’m not going to meddle.