“I’m sorry,” he finally says. “For believing the worst. For last night.”
“Don’t be sorry,” I say. “I’m not sorry for last night. And you couldn’t know, not without me telling you what the deal with Blake was.”
“I should know better.” This is obviously weighing on him. “I know you, dammit. Should’ve trusted you.”
“Not your fault.” I smile at him. “And you don’t know me so well yet.”
“Don’t let me off the hook so easily. Listen, Ev…” He pushes his hand through his short hair. It’s a nervous gesture, and I frown. “I wanted to tell you…”
A cell phone beeps, and we both flinch.
With a sigh, he digs it out of his jacket. Looks like he went and got himself a new one in the morning. “Micah,” he growls into the phone. “What is it?”
The husky sound brings back a rush of memories from last night and desire shoots through me. I squirm on the bench, breathless.
He glances at me, his eyes hardening. “Fine, I’ll be there.” He disconnects the call.
“Is everything okay?”
“Have to go to Damage. Zane is leaving, and I need to hold the fort.”
“Right.” I nod and start to get up. “Maybe I’ll see you later, then.”
His eyes soften. “Yeah. Will you come by?”
“Your apartment. After ten.” I watch his smile widen, and I can’t help smiling back.
“Be careful,” he says, pulling me to my feet and drawing me flush against his long, strong body. “Promise me you’ll be careful.”
“I promise. Micah…”
He kisses me hard, before I get a chance to ask him the same. Then again, he doesn’t have a psychopath of a boyfriend stalking him.
Evening is falling by the time I find myself on the familiar porch of my parents’ house. I open and step inside, hesitating in the hall. I’ve no idea how my parents will react.
Mom is dozing in front of the TV, dressed in her bathrobe. I slip by her, unnoticed, and hurry up to my room. Dad doesn’t make an appearance and I slip inside.
What to take with me? I feel like a fugitive. It’s weird. I’m not afraid of my parents. I just don’t want another fight so soon, and I think telling them about Blake could bring on an argument of epic dimensions. They’ll probably accuse me of blowing things out of proportion, of having no proof Blake did anything…
I can’t take any more of this now. I think spending some time away from them may help patch things up between us. It’ll also give me time to hopefully get a restraining order for Blake and maybe even find proof he hurt Seth.
Pressing my lips together, I grab a duffel bag and start throwing clothes inside. Guilt swamps me. I should have told Seth what Blake’s deal was from the beginning. Not telling him allowed this to happen.
Blake is a dangerous asshole. I should never have doubted it.
I grab shoes, socks, underwear, jeans, skirts, sweaters and books. I turn in a circle. What is important from my life here? What should I bring along? They are all ties anchoring me here, and what I need is to move away.
I pack my tablet, and I zip my bag up. Ready. I lift it over my shoulder and open the door.
“Evie?”
I freeze. Dad is standing outside, his cell phone in one hand. His gaze shifts to my bag, and he scowls.
“So, that’s it?” he asks, sounding in equal measures angry and defeated. “You’re leaving?”
“Yeah, Dad. I’m leaving.”
I expect him to start yelling, or to insult me, tell me I’m an idiot, or a slut. But he doesn’t. His body seems to deflate, sagging forward.
“You take care of yourself,” he says gruffly and before I can react—like, what the hell just happened?—he pulls me in for a quick hug.
“Dad?” I’m in shock. This must be it. “You okay?”
He releases me. “Your mom and I love you, you know that, right? Joel told us lots of worrying things, Blake, too, so we may have overreacted a little.”
“A little?” I can’t help myself. “You made me feel like crap for wanting to follow my own path, Dad. You made me feel like a loser.”
He shakes his head, paling. “You’re not a loser, Evie. You’re like your mother: quiet but strong. Whatever you put your mind into, you can do.”
Who are you, and what have you done with my dad?
I think of our arguments. I think of Blake. I think of Micah, and how I miss him already, even though it’s only been an hour since we parted.
I clear my throat, not knowing what to say. “Thanks. I’ll, um. I’ll be seeing you. I’ll visit. Tell Mom, too, please?”
I leave quickly, not waiting for his reply. Adrenaline makes my limbs shake. I cross the living room quietly, not to wake up mom. I look at her for a long moment, her face relaxed in sleep.
“Love you, Mom,” I whisper. “I think this is for the best.”
One last look, and I let myself out into the cold, clear night.
I unlock Joel’s apartment with the extra key he gave me and drag my bag inside. It’s dark and quiet. Nobody’s home. Joel has practice until late on Fridays, and the elusive Jethro is just never there.
I don’t know where to put my stuff, so I just place the bag in a corner and go take a shower and change into clean clothes. Feeling more human, I grab my tablet from my bag and connect to the Wi-Fi to check my emails and Facebook. I find a friend request from Cassie, which I accept, then find the site of the runaway board and re-read the page about the training. I jot down the numbers, so I can call them—which reminds me I was supposed to call Kayla about the apartment.
I check the time. It’s not too late. Barely nine PM.
The girl who answers, identifying herself as Kayla, is friendly and nice. She says my room would be small but that the apartment is refurbished and has lots of light. The most important thing: my share of the rent is quite low and affordable with my salary.
Excited, I ask when we could meet, and she says tomorrow is fine. Yeah! We agree on early afternoon, and as soon as I disconnect, I jump to my feet and do a little victory dance.
Finally, finally I’m changing my life around. Away from my parents, away from Joel, I can make decisions about the future on my own, do the things that are important to me.
Be with the people that matter to me.
Micah. I realize he’s the one person I want to share my news with first, so I calm enough to call his new cell, let him know about this new development.
He doesn’t answer. Well, he’s still at work. Maybe he’s in the middle of a tattoo.
The doorbell, rings and I frown. The door has no peephole, so I shout, “Who is it?”
“Jethro,” a muffled voice says. “Forgot my keys.”
The infamous Jethro? Curious in spite of myself, I crack the door open—and it flies into my face, throwing me backward. I barely catch myself not to fall.
Blake stands at the door, grinning. “Gotcha,” he says.
Oh shit. I look around for a weapon, anything, and I see a heavy ashtray on the coffee table. I stumble over and lift it, weighing it in my hand.