We were on the road early the next morning. This time, Everett told me where we were headed.
“The Grand Canyon,” he’d said, turning up the music and drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.
“Good,” I’d replied, still clinging to the remnants of annoyance from the night before. “I can throw you off a cliff.”
He’d just grinned and slid his sunglasses on, happily singing along to the song on the radio.
Three hours into the drive, Everett pulled off at a gas station. While pumping gas, with my credit card this time, he received a phone call and walked away from the pump.
I took over the pump and tried discreetly watching him walk away. He had the phone pushed against one ear and a finger plugging up the other. We were at a large truck stop, so there was enough noise to make it hard to hear what he was saying.
At one point he unplugged his ear to wave it in the air. Whomever he was speaking with was frustrating him, it was clear by how he ran his hand through his hair, how he kicked at the dirt at his feet, and how he hung his head near the end of the call. People-watching had never bothered me, even when I’d been witnessing the most personal moments of someone’s life. But watching Everett struggling with whoever was on the other end felt like a major invasion of privacy.
I tore my eyes away and finished pumping. Noticing he was still on the phone, I went into the gas station and grabbed a fountain soda, intending to fill it with limes as soon as I returned to the vehicle. As I was ringing up my drink, I saw Everett get back into the vehicle and rest his forehead on the steering wheel. Something tugged within me then. So I grabbed a large coffee with just cream and returned to the car.
I opened up the passenger door, set the drinks in the center console, and then went to the backseat and grabbed a handful of limes from the cooler. When I returned to the front seat, Everett had collected himself. He was eyeing the coffee. I slid cautiously into the seat and opened up my soda, dropping in the limes.
“Is this for me?” he asked, confusion on his face.
“I hate coffee,” I said without really answering him.
He picked it up and looked at it with suspicion.
“I didn’t poison it.” I rolled my eyes. “You are, after all, driving us. I’m not an idiot.”
“You put creamer in it,” he said, peering into the cup from the mouthpiece.
I buckled my seatbelt. “Yes.”
“Thanks,” he said and leaned towards me.
Instinctively, I backed up. It was so quick that my head bumped the window and I winced. Had he been leaning in to kiss me? And that was my first instinct? To move away?
Everett looked confused. “Sorry,” he said shaking his head. “I don’t know why I did that.”
The words stung. They shouldn’t have, given my reaction, but they did. Tiny little pinpricks in my chest. I nodded and grabbed my soda like it was a lifeline, sipping from it and keeping my eyes trained ahead.
I saw Everett take a sip of his coffee out of my peripheral vision. “Thanks, Parker.”
I didn’t like this Everett. This polite, thankful, impersonal Everett. It felt unnatural, like I was traveling with a stranger.
I shrugged. “No big deal. You paid for dinner last night,” I reminded him. Though a steak dinner at a fancy restaurant wasn’t exactly on the same playing field as a gas station coffee.
“Right,” he said, distractedly. My skin itched. Where did this weird Everett come from?
A few moments later, he pulled back on the road. This time he kept the sunglasses on, but turned the music off. I didn’t realize how much I missed the music until we were starting to see signs indicating we were closer to the Grand Canyon.
“Have you been here before?” I asked. It was unusual, no-it was an anomaly-that I would initiate small talk. But Everett had been brooding, distracted, the entire three hours since we’d left the gas station. It was making me incredibly uncomfortable. I needed to do something.
“No,” he said. Usually, Everett said one-word sentences like they were packed with desire, or venom. This one word was short. Indifferent.
“So…does that mean this visit is popping your cherry?”
There was silence for a second. And then the side of his mouth lifted up subtly. So subtly, I nearly missed it. And then he turned his eyes to me for a moment. “You want to pop my cherry, Parker?”
I bit my lip. The way he’d spoken it was normal Everett. His voice was rich, a little gravelly. Sexy. I nodded. A smile tugged at my lips. Apart from the laugh I’d had earlier, the one Everett had likened to the sound of an animal dying, I hadn’t smiled. But I wanted to.
Everett sighed, as if releasing the tension that had held onto his muscles for the last three hours. He followed the signs to the entrance of the Grand Canyon and pulled into the parking area.
“Ready to pop my cherry, Parker?”
I slid out of the car and walked around, following him to an overlook.
It was my first time at the Grand Canyon. Growing up a foster kid didn’t usually include any sort of vacation. This road trip with Everett was me reliving a missed childhood.
The Grand Canyon was, in a word, spectacular. It was filled with color, and ridges and edges. There were colors painted in the rock, reds and browns and yellows. The park was mostly empty aside from a few tourists, so we were able to enjoy the view without a crowd. Everett turned and looked to me. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” he asked, his eyes lit up. Whatever had haunted him before all but disappeared, leaving his face relaxed.
I watched his face. His eyes were closed, the lines around his eyes had settled. The sun washed over his face, warming it. I watched him for another minute before turning to look back at the view.
“It’s okay, I guess. A big hole in the ground.” It wasn’t how I really felt, but it was what I said. The words tasted sour to me, but to Everett they were hilarious. He couldn’t stop laughing. I turned and looked at him again.
“Just ‘a big hole in the ground’?” he asked. “You’re hard to impress.”
“What do you want me to say? Oh look, rocks and stuff.”
Before I knew it, Everett was walking towards me. “Ready?” he asked.
I looked at him with a question on my face. “What?”
Everett moved behind me and placed his hands on either side of mine on the railing. “Want to visit our next attraction?” he asked, his voice at my ear.
“What is it?” I asked, holding my breath. The warmth of his chest to my back was soothing in the cool morning air.
“A ghost town. Four hours away.”
“More driving?” I asked.
“Last stop of the day.”
I nodded. “Okay. You don’t want to see more of the Canyon?”
Everett shook his head. “It’s just a big hole in the ground, isn’t it?” His words were teasing.
I shrugged. “Yeah, basically. I just figured you’d have wanted to see more of it.”
“I want to make it to the east coast.” He stopped, didn’t finish saying what was on the tip of his tongue. He was a time bomb, prepared to go off at any time. And he wanted to get as much in as possible before the east coast.
“Anything in particular you want to see on the east coast?”
“Yes.” He knew I was intrigued, and teased me by not continuing his sentence.
“Okay, let’s go.”
His arms moved from the railing to wrap around my waist. I stood still, a statue in his arms. He brought his face to my neck and nuzzled. “Mmm,” he murmured, the vibration against my skin tickling my skin. “You smell good.”
“I don’t smell like you.”
“No,” he said on a sigh. “You smell like you.”
I wriggled out of his arms, uncomfortable with the affection. Sex was one thing. It was explosive. This was intimacy and I was not ready for it.
“Let’s go,” I said again, walking towards the car.
“Hey Parker?” he asked. I turned my head to look at him. “Do you love me yet?”
It was very hard to not roll my eyes. “Definitely not.”
On the drive south, Everett was his normal happy self. It relieved and annoyed me. He bounced along to the music on the steering wheel, singing loudly along with the lyrics. That part was immensely annoying.
I kept looking over at him, watching him bounce his head back and forth to the music. He was wearing black shorts and a navy blue tee. It was the closest to black he could get, and a shirt he’d had to pick up at a department store before we left Las Vegas. I’d helped him grab a bunch of colored tees and a few plaid cargo shorts. He’d eyed with me annoyance then, so this was likely my payback now. I cleared my throat and he finally looked over at me.
“Do you mind?”
“No, I don’t.” He grinned at me. There was something about the way he looked, with his scruff and his sunglasses concealing his icy eyes. His hair was sticking up and actually seemed styled. He looked so at ease with himself, and I couldn’t help but let my eyes travel down his chest, taking in the short sleeves of his tee and the muscles they exposed. I let my eyes travel back up to his face again, which was facing the road again. I’d made fun of him for his hair before, but the truth was it suited him. It wasn’t floppy nor was it perfectly styled. It was thick, inky black, and did its own thing.
Everett was handsome. I hadn’t known before if he was society’s idea of handsome, but that didn’t matter. He was mine. With his wide smile, his scruff, tanned skin, he lit a fire within me that I thought had been dormant.
“What are you thinking?” His voice interrupted my thoughts.
“That you are very attractive.” I couldn’t lie. Not just because of the rules, but because Everett made it hard to tell a believable lie.
Everett turned to look at me. My left side was facing him, and I’d put my hair up in a pony. There was no concealment of my scar. But it was as if Everett didn’t notice it when he looked at me. His eyes never dwelled on it. He only ever acknowledged it when he was kissing and touching me. I crossed my legs then, thoughts of Everett touching me flooding my memory.
“You’re beautiful, Parker.”
I shook my head. Compliments were uncomfortable to listen to.
“I don’t need compliments.”
“I know,” he said, pulling in a gas station. “But I won’t lie to you. And I’m compelled to say what’s on my mind. So get used to it.”
“I’m trying.”
“Good.” He parked the car and leaned across the console, coming close to me. “I want you to try.”
His words brought me back to the rules. And then I noticed our surroundings. “We’re not getting gas?”
“We’re eating. Lunch. There’s a small diner inside. All I’ve seen you consume today are soda and limes, so I want to put something with a little more sustenance in your belly.”
I followed him into the diner, one long row of brown booths. It looked like it was straight from the seventies. There were a handful of older patrons at the counter, sipping coffee and eating pie. It reminded me of the first breakfast I’d shared with Everett, in a restaurant similar to this one.
Our waitress, an older woman with a wild mane of red hair, led us to our table. Everett ordered a coffee and I ordered water with limes. My mouth puckered in anticipation.
While we perused the menus, I kept sneaking glanced at Everett. He’d slid the sunglasses to the top of his head, effectively moving back the hair on his forehead and exposing his scar. My eyes followed, morbidly fascinated by the idea of having a head cut open. His eyes lifted and he caught me staring.
“It’s rude to stare,” he said.
I didn’t apologize. Instead, I shrugged and turned my attention back to the menu, my eyes gliding over the many laminated choices, but I was distracted by Everett setting his sunglasses on the table and running his hand through his hair.
“Do you know what you want?” The way he said it, I knew he had a double meaning.
“I do,” I said. His eyes glittered at my answer.
The waitress returned with our drinks and took our orders. Everett deferred to me.
“A cheeseburger with fries. I’m not picky.”
“She wants extra cheese,” Everett interjected. "And I’ll have the same thing.” The waitress took our menus and walked away, leaving Everett leaning on the table on his elbows, staring at me.
“I still want your story, Parker.”
“I don’t have a story. I’m a foster kid. At eighteen, I was attacked. And here I am three years later, sitting in this diner with you.”
“I know there’s more to you than that.”
“What is it you want to know, exactly?” I sipped my water through the straw and then stirred with the straw as I swallowed.
“Do you know who your parents are?”
I shook my head. “I don’t remember them. Just vague little things.”
“Did you have any good foster parents?”
“Sure.” My hands played with the napkin my drink was on. It was a nervous habit of mine, to straighten the corners of papers and napkins. “They were all basically good people. But I was a foster kid, you know?”
“Meaning they didn’t form any emotional attachments to you?”
“I didn’t form attachments to them. After the third family, I started rebelling a bit. I was twelve. There wasn’t anyone to disappoint. My foster parents were annoyed with my shenanigans, but that’s all.” Once the words left my mouth, I squeezed my lips tightly together. I hadn’t meant to say so much.
“Do you have anyone in your life?”
“I have Mira.” Why was I saying so much? I sucked my lip into my teeth and bit.
“Who’s Mira?”
I didn’t think I could lie and evading the question would only encourage him. “She’s the one who found me. She saved me.”
“When Morris Jensen attacked you?”
I nodded and sipped my water. “I don’t remember the attack. That’s why I won’t testify. There’s no point if I can’t remember. All I remember is the asphalt, warm under my body. I was covered in blood. And then I smelled smoke and there she was, Mira.”
“And you stayed in touch?”
“Yes. We don’t talk a lot. She’s busy with her jobs. But she helped me, she helped me a lot.”
Everett nodded and sipped his coffee. “Anyone else?”
“I have my roommates.”
“No you don’t. They don’t care about you, not really.”
It was a harsh truth. “Okay, they don’t. But it doesn’t bother me. I don’t care about them either.”
“What do you care about?”
I looked up at him, feeling cut open. “I care about school,” I started. I racked my brain. “I care about being financially stable.” Boring answers. “I care about staying in shape.” These said very little about me. Which was true, at the core. There wasn’t much to me.
“You like limes and you like extra cheese on your burgers,” he offered.
“I do. And space. I really like space.”
“I’m sitting across from you at the table, Parker. I’m not in your lap. I’m not encroaching on your space.”
“But you are,” I insisted. “Your presence surrounds me. I breathe your air. My eyes find yours. Even when you’re not physically next to me, I’m thinking about you. It’s really, really annoying.”
“I’d say I’m sorry, but then I’d be breaking the no lying rule.”
“I’ve never felt more annoyed by any one person in my life.”
“Good. I like that I make you feel annoyance. Really, I do.” He drank his coffee and then set it down. I watched every movement. “I’d rather you feel anything than indifference. Indifference is the absence of feeling. And you’ve been indifferent far too long.”
I stared at him, unable to form words.
“I know the Grand Canyon wasn’t just big hole in the ground to you. You keep trying to hide from me, but you’re not succeeding.”
“I’m not hiding.”
Everett raised an eyebrow. “No?” he asked. He had a look in his eye, a look that made me nervous.
“No.”
“Then I’m just going to come sit beside you then.”
Before I could tell him no, he was sliding onto my side of the booth.
“Scoot over, won’t you?” he asked, bumping my hip. I had no choice. I moved over, shoving my purse to the wall. He was now sitting directly to my left. I pulled my arm from the table top to under the table, resting my left hand on my thigh. His cool water scent was stronger when he was this close. I turned my head to face forward, but he was too close for me to ignore him.
I felt his arm go around the back of the seat while his other hand held his coffee. “Do you like coffee?” he asked.
I made a face. “No.”
“Let me guess, you don’t like tea either?”
“I don’t like warm beverages in general.”
“Oh,” he said, taking a sip of his coffee. “We wouldn’t want to thaw you out, would we?”
I bit on my cheek. “I’m not ten below zero.”
“No, you’re not. You’re five below zero now.”
“I am not.”
“Well you’re definitely heating up at this conversation. Okay, you’re closer to two below zero.”
“And you’re an ass!”
“Um.” The waitress was at our table with our plates. I refused to be embarrassed for yelling. Instead, I crossed my arms over my chest as the waitress set out plates down in front of us. Even after she moved away, I was still sitting there, like a child in time out.
Everett dug into his food, making annoying little moaning sounds with every couple bites. I hoped he choked.