Page 15 of Under My Skin

Chapter Fifteen

LUCY

I’m not sure what has my anxiety spiking more: the fact that we just turned onto my parents’ street, that I just survived riding a literal death trap to get here, or that I have never been this close to Everett Meyers for an extended period of time.

The most physical contact we’ve shared was him giving me a one-armed hug at some point.

But for however many minutes it took to get here, I’ve been clinging to him for dear life.

I’ve been breathing in the fresh scent of his clothes mixed with something woodsier that must just be him.

If I could have a candle made to replicate it, I would.

As soon as my childhood home comes into view, I take another deep breath.

I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t know if I want to do this.

As of right now, I still have two caring parents who live together in the home I grew up in.

Am I ready for that to change? Am I ready to pull the plug on the happy couple I’ve always seen them as?

Everett slows in front of the house, but even when the bike comes to a complete stop, I can’t move. I can’t do anything other than stare at the white For Sale sign in the front yard .

“Uh . . . Luce?” Everett’s voice breaks through, even though it comes out sounding a little muffled through the helmet.

“Yeah?” The question comes out monotone, my eyes still fixed on the sign with a smiling blonde woman on the front. Her matching bright red blouse and lipstick make me want to push her face in the dirt.

Everett looks over his shoulder. “Everything okay?”

I blink, pulling my head away from his muscular back. Taking a shaky breath, I nod. “Yeah.” I need some air. My fingers fumble with the helmet covering my head and face. “I don’t know how to get this off.”

He points to the pavement next to the bike. “Step down. I’ll help you.”

After a few seconds of my vacant stare as I contemplate where I should put my foot to maneuver myself off this thing, Everett twists in his seat enough to guide me in the right direction.

My feet hit the pavement, and it takes everything not to let my knees buckle.

My legs are like Jell-O, and I can’t tell if it’s from the ride or my nerves.

It isn’t until I register my hands shaking that I assume it’s probably the latter.

I feel like a child, standing on the side of Everett’s bike with my chin lifted so he can see what he’s doing. My chest rises with every inhale, but all I want is more air. As soon as he pulls the helmet free, I gasp in a breath like I’ve been trapped underwater.

“My parents are lying to me. They’ve probably been lying for years. How do I know they won’t spin more lies when I go in there?” I’m on the verge of hyperventilating, but I don’t care.

Everett’s head tilts, my own reflection in his helmet warping with the movement. It’s enough to make me dizzy, and I take an ungraceful step backward, toward the house made of cards.

Everett catches my wrist to steady me with one hand and flips his face shield up with the other. His familiar eyes come into view, deep and warm.

Caring .

He cares. I’m not sure it has anything to do with me specifically, but I think he genuinely cares about people. I never took the time to see him before. Those mahogany eyes search mine, jumping back and forth. His hand is still firmly around my wrist, but I can’t bring myself to break his gaze.

“Your parents are good people, Luce. Good people who love you.”

I nod. He’s right. I know he’s right, but the longer things have gone unsaid, my doubts have grown into something outside of my control. How much can they really love me if they can’t be honest with me? How can they tell Simon something this big but keep it hidden from me?

I glance at the house over my shoulder, determined to block out the smiling blonde who looks far too happy to be stripping me of my childhood.

Everything about this place looks the same as it always has.

The vinyl siding, the shutters, the purple front door they’d let me pick the color of—everything looks exactly as it should, but it feels all wrong.

Everett’s hand pulls from my wrist, but he grasps my fingers in his. Turning to face him, I finally brave a glance down at his hand holding mine. His damn spider tattoo looks like it’s about to crawl from his hand to mine, and I suppress a shiver.

“I hate that thing,” I say without thinking.

He follows my stare. “Are we talking about my hand or yours?”

His question forces a laugh from my lips, making it easier to breathe. “Why would anyone get a bug tattooed on them?” I ask because I genuinely want to know at this point.

Everett leans away from me on the bike like he’s slightly offended.

“First of all,” he says, releasing his hand from mine and holding it up for me to see.

“ This is a spider, not a bug.” When he lowers his hand, he rests it on the handlebar of the still idling bike, and I’m acutely aware of how empty mine feels without the warmth of his.

“And second,” he goes on to say. “There are plenty of reasons someone might get a bug tattoo. Do you know how many times I’ve drawn a butterfly? ”

Laughter bubbles in my throat. “Yeah, but butterflies are . . . I don’t know, pretty?”

Looking down at his hand, he shakes his head. I might not be able to see his smile behind the helmet, but the amusement in his eyes is revealing enough. “This is one of my favorite tattoos.”

I arch an eyebrow. “Really?” He has so many. I find it hard to believe that the lifelike spider on his hand holds that much significance.

He looks down at his hand on the bike. “Yeah. I mean, I don’t really regret any of my tattoos, but I definitely don’t regret the bug.” He eyes me playfully.

That subtle squint quickly disappears as he looks past me, and before I can even turn around, I hear exactly what he’s looking at.

“Lucy?”

My mother.

I pinch my eyes shut, my fists clenching at my sides.

I’ve never had this type of physical response to seeing either of my parents, but I had almost forgotten why I was here.

Everett has a way of pulling me in and keeping me focused on what’s directly in front of me.

And thirty seconds ago, my mother was not one of those things.

“And that’s my cue,” Everett says as he flips down his face shield.

I shoot him a glare, like abandoning me with my own parents is the worst thing he could do right now, but he was never supposed to hold my hand through this.

He was supposed to drop me off and leave me to face this myself. “You’re okay?”

I nod even though the answer to that question is most certainly, no.

Everett gives a friendly wave to my mother before revving the bike and driving off down the street. I’ve seen him leave our house on a bike countless times, but I’ve never hated to see him go so much .

Spinning around, my mother is halfway down the driveway, her hands still clasped in excitement. Her graying blonde hair is tied back with a bandana, and she’s wearing overalls that might make you think she’s been painting.

Despite knowing it’s a staple item in her wardrobe, my eyes jump to the upstairs window that used to be mine. Are my purple walls still there? Or did they finally cover them with something more palatable for prospective buyers?

Forcing a smile, I sheepishly wave from the bottom of the driveway.

I should walk to meet her, but my feet are stuck.

I look down the road, like catching one last glimpse of Everett might ground me, but he’s already turned out of sight.

By the time I look back at my mother, she’s directly in front of me, going in for a hug that I clumsily accept at the last minute.

Her voice rambles in my ear with all the things I’d expect her to say under normal circumstances.

I didn’t know you were coming.

This is such a wonderful surprise.

Your dad will be so excited to see you.

It isn’t until she goes to release me that I realize I’ve held the same painful, frozen smile since I turned around. Now I feel like I match the gloating picture of the realtor, and it only makes me despise her more.