The Love Story (The Things We Can't Change Book 4) (11 page)

You’re not ready for the intenseness and you’re scared of your secret and what Evie might do when she finds out,
whispers that rational, mature part of my brain.

I quickly tell it to shut up.

It’s all true,
I insist darkly, remembering the note in her locker.
Evie needs to be with me by choice, not need. She needs to learn to stand up for herself. I won’t always be around to defend her. Someday
I
might be the one she needs defending from.

And if it gives me an easy way out of telling Evie the truth about her dad and delaying my going deeper with any feelings where she is concerned, well, those are just unfortunate side effects. I picture Evie’s reaction to all this and inwardly grimace. It won’t go well, or quietly. I remember her hysterics of the summer and mentally gird myself for battle.

But that’s exactly part of it. I’ve been catching glimpses of the old, crazy and hysterical Evie of late. The one who spent weeks after her dad’s death locked up inside a house, cutting her own arm. And the way she tiptoes around me, looking at me like a whipped dog when I’m in a bad mood or accidentally snap at her.

I know what all that is—habits leftover from Tony, the only romantic relationship she’s ever really known. She needs to learn to depend on herself, stand up for herself. Realize she’s
capable
of standing up for herself because I don’t think she knows that.

And the best way to help her realize that is to throw her to the wolves,
alone
, with a broken heart?
my truthful side asks snidely.

Yes. Because I’m still going to be there to help,
I retort angrily.

I’m distracted from my internal battle when Evie stands from her seat and walks up to the podium. Her steps are stiff as she passes the desks, as though she’s much older than her seventeen years.

As always when Evie or I so much as twitch a finger, a murmur goes through the room. Mr. Riordan glares and snaps for us all to be quiet as Evie takes her place at the podium. Her eyes, usually so bright, seem flat as her gaze roams over the room and finally comes to rest solidly on me.

I give her a nod, trying to encourage her with my eyes alone. Almost immediately, she seems to stand straighter and throws her shoulders back. She releases the white knuckled grip she has on the edges of the podium and resettles her fingers on it. With a voice that trembles slightly and then steadies when she glances at me again, she begins her speech.

There are more quiet titters and whispers during Evie’s speech than anyone else’s, despite Mr. Riordan’s continual shushing. I’m not stupid. I know why, just as I want more than anything to lean over and pop that bitch Tiffany in her perfect little nose. I hear all the whispers when my own back is turned but I’m not the one getting notes in my locker. I know Evie is an easier, weaker target than I am. And me wanting to beat them up, confront them, can only do so much.

It’s Evie.
Evie
needs to confront them.
Evie
needs to punch Tiffany’s nose. And she’ll never do any of that if she’s always hiding behind me.

Evie takes her seat among equal jeers and applause and I know what I have to do.

Ezekiel

95

Both of us are totally silent as I drive to Evie’s house in her car. I’m quiet because I’m not sure it’s best to start this conversation in the car and Evie is probably just hoping to avoid talking about any of it. Especially since she looked so elated when I asked if she wanted to study together today after Speech. I pull carefully into the driveway and garage, noting that Clarissa’s Escalade is missing.

“Where’s Clarissa?” I ask as we unload from the car.

Evie shrugs, avoiding my eyes. “On another cruise, I think. She left day before yesterday.”

“Evie, you really need to do-” I begin and she cuts me off.

“Something about her. I know, I know. I just haven’t quite figured out
what
, okay?”

“Okay,” I agree, not wanting to push the issue any further. We have more important things to talk about and I’m still trying to figure out exactly what to say.

We settle ourselves at the kitchen island and work in silence for a while. I fiddle with my trig homework, half-heartedly punching numbers into my calculator and sneaking looks at Evie while she works. My heart rate is up and the prickly feeling is back in my skin. I know it’s because part of this talk will require me to admit some of my own feelings and I feel nervous and scared to do so.

I give up pretending to work and just study Evie for a bit. There’s a fullness to her cheeks that was missing all summer and I feel pride that I helped her achieve that. It’s not any visible kind of weight gain but just an overall healthier appearance. I have a flash of doubt, wondering if this entire plan might just backfire completely. What if she sinks into depression? What if she doesn’t even try? Does that make me responsible for whatever destructive path she travels from here on out?

My skin tingles and nerves fill me, along with a sick feeling in my gut. But I know I have to do this. I think back to our refrain from the summer: Just because it doesn’t feel good doesn’t mean it isn’t good for you.

Finally, I can take it no longer and close my notebook loudly. Crossing my arms on the counter, I utter the four words that are always death to a relationship.

“We need to talk.”

Evie looks up and with that uncanny ability we’ve always had with one another, reads the truth in my eyes. I see a flash of crazy panic in her eyes before she jumps off her stool.

“Or we could get food!” she says brightly, too loudly. “I’m starving. How about a smoothie? Or do you want me to make you a sandwich?”

She practically runs to the fridge and begins rooting around in it, her back to me.

“Evie, come back here,” I say, as gently as I can.

“I prefer strawberry banana, what do you want?” She chatters on blithely, almost obsessively. “I’ve got blueberries, strawberries, kiwi, oranges-”

I stand up and go over to her, gently prying the handle of the fridge out of her grip and drawing her back so I can close it.

“Evie, look at me,” I command softly.

She keeps her eyes on the floor, shaking her head. I place my fingers under her chin and lift her face up to mine.

“Evie,” I say firmly, “we need to take a break.”

Her eyes immediately fill with tears and it seems to stab me right in the heart.

“Please don’t cry.” It comes out in a pleading tone.

“But you’re breaking up with me.” I’d prepared myself for anger, hysterics, but that broken whisper cuts me right in two.

“I’m not breaking up with you,” I argue quickly, because fearful as I am of emotion, I don’t want to completely lose Evie either. The idea of that sends chills down my spine. “I’m just saying that we weren’t ready in the first place. And I want to give you that time to
be
ready.”

“I
am
ready!” she protests wetly. “I let you kiss me, touch me! I’m not cutting anymore! My nails are even orange!” She sounds desperate, a little hysterical and I can see in her eyes what she’s about to say, even as she takes a determined step forward.

Please don’t,
I beg inwardly as she opens her mouth.
Please, please don’t go there, Evie.

“I love you, Zeke,” she says fiercely. “So
please
, stop.”

“I know you do,” I say, swallowing hard. “And Evie, I… feel really strongly about you too.” I can’t get the words out, even though I know she needs to hear them, now more than any other time.

Her face falls slightly, disappointment and hurt clear in her face and I know I’ve failed her. That convinces me to forge onward. Evie deserves better and I need to make sure that when she realizes that, she can let me go.

“Evie, you need to learn that you can live without me.”

“I don’t want to.” Her response is immediate, a little petulant. Her cheeks blush when she realizes what she’s said and I hope it’s the beginning of her understanding.

“You might have to, someday,” I continue. “Things… things can always change, Evie. What if I die, or move away, or get arrested for real? What if in two years,
you
don’t want
me
?”

“That would never happen!” Evie says fiercely, wiping at her cheeks.

“Yes, it could,” I insist. I have little doubt that it will, someday. “Listen. Come here.” I take her arms and gently pull her over to a stool so we’re closer to eye level. Standing over her with such a height difference between us makes me feel like I have an unfair advantage. “You haven’t done
anything
wrong,” I tell her firmly, gently handing her a tissue.

“Then why-” she begins desperately, and I hold up a hand.

“We weren’t ready,” I say bluntly. “We just weren’t, Evie. The problem is that the only relationship you’ve ever had was with Tony and I think you’re drawing on that for ours. I’ve seen a lot more than you think I have these past few weeks. And the way you’re acting is just like you did with him.”

“That’s not-” she begins, and I cut her off again.

“It is. You think I don’t see how hard you’re trying to please me when I’m in a bad mood? How you’re taking all the blame when I’m pissed off and it has nothing to do with you? You think I don’t get the hints when you’re asking me how I like your hair, or what color I like on you, or how you dress? I
get
it, Evie. But you need to get that I’m not going to break up with you or hit you if you wear your hair in a style I don’t like. Or if you wear a skirt that shows a little thigh. And while I might have your heart, that should be the
only
part of you that I have. I don’t have control over your body. That’s yours. Like I told you over the summer, if you want to paint your nails wild colors or dye your hair orange, you can.”

“I know you would never hit me,” Evie whispers, staring at the floor. “I never thought that for a second.”

“I know that you know that.” My voice is a whisper to match hers. “But the deeper issue is that you’re clinging to me, Evie. You’re afraid of making one misstep or that I’ll break up with you if you do your hair wrong or something. You’re… you’re giving me power over you that I shouldn’t have. Just because I… care for you doesn’t mean I should have any control over you. Do you understand what I’m saying?” Damn. Couldn’t say it again.

“Yes.” Her voice is so quiet I almost miss the word.

“You’ve recovered from what Tony
did to you, but not the person who
allowed
him to do that to you,” I go on. “A relationship is supposed to be equal parts of power, not one person having total control of the other. I want you to be able to fight with me when we disagree. To be able to defend yourself if you wear something I don’t like, not meekly go and change. Fights can be good, Evie. They’re healthy. But only when you’re both standing up to each other, not when one person always gives way to the other.”

“And the best way to teach me this is to break up with me?” Evie asks bitterly.

“I’m not breaking up with you,” I repeat patiently. “I’m saying lets… take a beat here. Because the problem doesn’t actually start with me. It starts with Grace, Chantal, Jenny, and especially Tiffany.”

Her head jerks up as she stares at me. “What do they have to do with us?” she cries, wide-eyed.

“Everything. You’re letting them bully you, just like Tony did. Maybe it’s not physical, but the verbal and emotional abuse is still there. Do you want to be a victim for the rest of your life? To be the person who is always watching from the sidelines and is only waiting for the next person to come along and tear you down?”

“Of course I don’t,” Evie shoots back, sounding more irritated by the second.

“Then stand. Up. To. Them.” I say it clearly and articulately, challenging. “If you can’t stand up to some stupid country club girls who are bullying you for nothing but rumors, how are you going to have a healthy relationship? How are you going to make friends in college? How are you not going to fall into your same old patterns? What if I
did
dump you? What if I died? Who would you lean on? Or would you fall right back to where you were when your dad died? Cutting and locked up in the house? You need to
live
, Evie. Without leaning on Tony. Or on your dad. Or even on me.”

She’s quiet for a long moment and I hope I’m finally getting through to her, that she’s understanding what it is that I’m doing. And seeing that it’s for
her
sake.

“I don’t know how to do that,” she finally says, looking up at me, her eyelashes still spiky from her tears.

“You’ll figure it out,” I tell her firmly. “And when you do, I’ll be right there to help you accomplish it. But this is one you’ve got to start on your own. I know you can do it and I have faith in you.” I gather up my books from the counter and try to ignore the betrayed look in Evie’s eyes. It’s obvious she hadn’t expected me to leave after our talk, but she doesn’t ask me to stay.