The Love Story (The Things We Can't Change Book 4) (17 page)

You
are
clean,
I tell myself forcefully.
Zeke doesn’t think you’re dirty, does he? Jenny isn’t afraid to touch you. The dirt is in your imagination. It doesn’t exist anymore. You washed it all off in Florida.

I grit my teeth and determine that the only way to banish the feeling is to dirty up the pages of the journal so I don’t feel so self-conscious anymore. And there’s only one way to do that. I nibble the end of the pen and finally, pushing myself to obey, I get out a first line.

I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.

I stare at the words, at my familiar handwriting, the dark purple ink. It occurs to me suddenly, explosively, that no one else is going to read this. That this is all mine, my little secret. I’ll have to hide it from Zeke the snoop, of course, but then again I trust him not to actually delve into something that is clearly a journal. No one else has to see what I write in here. I can be honest.

I smile wickedly and write the thought that’s been bouncing around in my head for the past week.

Zeke is being an asshole.

“That felt good,” I mutter, and then giggle as though I’ve done something wrong, stolen a cookie or something, and gotten away with it. I keep going.

He’s being a jerk and I don’t understand it. He said we should go on a break because I need to stand up for myself, figure myself out and be strong before I am in a relationship, and I agreed. I still agree. I’m seeing that more than ever. But all of the sudden, it’s like he wants nothing to do with me. This is different from just a small distance so I can work on myself. This is absolute… distance. And I don’t understand it.

Instead of slowly encouraging me without being a distraction, he’s become so distant that all I can think about is him and wonder what I’ve done wrong. It’s making me feel worse and slowing down my progress because I’m so obsessed with trying to fix whatever is wrong with him. I don’t want to be this way. I don’t want to take all his problems and project them onto myself. But I can’t help it. It’s all I’ve ever known in a relationship. And I just don’t know how to change from being that way.

On and on I go, letting out every frustration, every fear and doubt and confusing thought that’s been swimming around in my head. I write about my talk with Uncle Greg and the turmoil over my future and about how glad I am to have Jenny in my life once again and question how to help her and Koby smooth out their problems. I write about how much I miss my dad and how I don’t know what to do about Clarissa.

I write about Zeke and how much I want him and wonder if I’ll ever be worthy of having him. I write about Tiffany and being bullied and my lack of courage. I write about all of it, getting it all out of me and onto the paper.

It makes me feel melancholy and a little depressed, seeing it all there permanently in ink, cautious little thoughts that I try never to dwell on too deeply. It doesn’t feel good. But I know it’s good for me. And I feel the smallest bit stronger for having done it.

Evangeline

100

I wake up the next morning still feeling a little down. It’s worsened by the sight of a torrential downpour outside, wind whipping the trees back and forth and rain lashing at the windows.

I hate rain storms. I hate the rain, period. It reminds me of the endless downpour the day my dad died.

I get up and mope around the house for a while, wondering if I will ever be able to have a peaceful weekend without worry or trouble. At this point in time, it all seems a little unlikely. I do some cleaning, shower and dress before realizing that I have nowhere to go.

The rain pounds on.

I try watching television, try reading, even try to journal again, but the lashing of the rain against the house distracts me completely. I stare out the window at it as I eat my lunch, only to look at the clock later and realize with a jolt that I’ve been staring for over an hour.

I don’t want to be alone right now. I want company, someone to talk to and comfort me. I think of calling Jenny. I know she would be happy to talk, but I also know she’s not the person I really want to talk to.

I want Zeke. I want his big, comforting presence, banishing all my ghosts into oblivion. He would know exactly why the rain bothers me without my saying a word. I want his arms around me, his kisses, I want every part of him. I want to
date
him again, have things back to the way they were that single, wonderful first week. But I can’t have that. Not yet.

Soon,
I promise myself, resolve firmly.
Soon.

And in the meantime, why shouldn’t I call Zeke? He said he would still help me, that we weren’t broken up, just ‘on a break.’ He’d said I could always call him for help. Just because he has been holding back doesn’t mean that I have to.

“In a way, it’s like he owes you,” I reason aloud as I stare at my phone. “This will make up for all the distance lately.”

Even so, it takes me almost ten minutes to work up the nerve to finally call him. Each ring makes my heart leap and I almost drop the phone when his voice fills my ear.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” I say and then clear my throat, trying to make my voice sound just a little less pathetic. “What’s up?”

“Not a whole lot. Watching TV with Uncle Alex. How about you?” His voice sounds guarded, but I decide to be selfish at the moment and take Zeke’s own advice: think of myself and what I want. And what I want right then is Zeke to be hanging out with me, not Alex.

“I’m at home, just kind of… hanging out.” I swallow hard, wondering how to get the words out without begging or revealing too much. “I was wondering if you wanted to come over for a while.”

He picks up on the edge in my voice instantly. “Evie, what’s really going on? Did Clarissa do something to you?”

“No, I haven’t even seen her today. It’s nothing, really. It’s just… um… the rain. It’s been raining all day.”

Just as I’d known he would, Zeke picks up on the problem without my saying another word.

“Let me ask Alex if I can borrow his car,” he says instantly. There’s some muffled talking in the background and then he comes back on. “I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes. Hang tight.” There’s a long pause and I think I hear him getting up, and then he asks in a low voice, “You’re okay, right?”

“I’m fine, really,” I say instantly, knowing the real question behind what he’s asking. “I’m just… lonely. That’s all.”

“I can help with that,” he says lightly. “Be there soon.”

We hang up and I hop off my stool to go wait by the front door, spirits already lifted. I detour on the way and poke around, looking for Clarissa but I can’t find her anywhere downstairs. Reasoning that she must still be in bed and that it would probably be best for her to stay there since Zeke is coming over, I head for the entryway again.

I get there just in time to see Zeke running from Alex’s Infiniti to the front porch and I open the door so he can dash inside, his hood up and his head bowed against the downpour.

“Damn,” he says as I close the door behind him. “It’s really coming down.”

“And it’s getting
cold
,” I agree, shivering from the gust of wind that snuck in along with Zeke.

I forgo thinking about Zeke and his feelings—time to be selfish again—and just throw my arms around him, my mind screaming at him to reciprocate. After a long moment when I’m terrified that he won’t, Zeke finally hugs me back.

It feels as though it’s been years since I was in his arms. Absolute years since it was just the two of us and he patted my back and whispered that everything would be okay. But he does it now and my eyes sting with tears because I want this all to be real so badly.

“Hey, it’s all right,” Zeke reassures me in a deep, soothing voice. His big hands move in slow circles on my back, filling me with a warmth that I haven’t felt in a while. His chin rests on the top of my head. “It’s okay, Evie. It’s just rain.”

“I know,” I say, pulling back so I can look at him. I’m horrified to find that a few tears actually escaped and I casually wipe at them, hoping Zeke won’t notice. “I know. It’s just been a long couple of weeks and this is the icing on the cake, is all.”

Zeke studies me for a long moment, as though calculating his next move. Finally, he puts an arm around my shoulder to draw me closer, so he can kiss the top of my head. Then he begins to drag me toward the kitchen, though I follow him willingly.

“Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to call and order us a stuffed crust pizza and not one, but
two
two-liters of Dr. Pepper. Then we’re going downstairs and I’m going to allow you to make me suffer through a chick-flick of your choice. Just one. And then, because it’s Saturday, I’m going to get payback and make you suffer through the Ohio State game in revenge.”

“Not football!” I gasp in horror, and Zeke ruffles my hair with a genuine smile that warms me to my toes.

An hour later we’re ensconced in the basement with plenty of extra pillows and blankets. I can barely hear the rain down here and the horrible loneliness is all a dim memory. Zeke’s arm is around my shoulders and I wish he would just kiss me again but I decide its best not to press my luck.

I put on
27 Dresses,
one of the chick-flickiest movies I can think of, but Zeke is describing some of his portfolio pieces. The mention of one of a beautiful blonde woman leads to him telling me about all the stunningly beautiful women who come in and out of his uncle’s apartment on a seemingly daily basis.

“The weird thing is,” Zeke is saying, popping a stray piece of sausage into his mouth. “None of them ever stay the night. A few just seem like legit friends and you know, whatever, I get that. But it seems like he’s fending them off with a stick and has zero interest in any of them. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was a virgin.”

“So? There’s nothing wrong with that,” I argue, compelled to defend Alex. After all, if I had my way, I’d still have my own virginity. And though I barely knew him and he is a little intimidating, I like Alex Quain. He looks very much like Zeke and I want to say that if Zeke were a thirty-something bachelor, he’d be fending the women off with a stick too.

“But it’s pretty weird in this day and age, isn’t it?” Zeke points out.

“Maybe he’s waiting for someone special,” I say fairly. That’s what I’d wanted. To wait for someone very special. Like my husband. Unfortunately, that choice had been stolen from me. And maybe that’s why I feel people should be able to make whatever decision they want about sex and not be judged for it. Especially if they want to wait.

I strive to lighten the mood by punching Zeke in the shoulder gently. “Hey. Maybe we should hook him up with Clarissa!”

He actually bends over and gags a little bit and it doesn’t even sound forced. “Orrrr not. Can you imagine? Aunt Clarissa?” He shudders.

I snort with laughter. “Hunter would be your step-cousin.”

“No way in
hell
,” Zeke says forcefully. “Never. I would never allow Alex to waste his life like that. Poor guy.”

I giggle uncontrollably for a minute, still amused by the idea, and then am able to gather my composure. “I’m sure Alex is more reasonable than that,” I say reassuringly. “Although given her current state and the fact that Alex has considerable experience as a bartender, I’d tell him to be careful for a little while.”

Zeke rolls his eyes. “Great. Now I really am worried. Thanks a lot.”

I laugh with him and then twiddle my thumbs together over the big, fluffy throw we’re sharing. I want to confide in Zeke, tell him with pride that I’m actually getting somewhere but I’m not sure how to bring it up out of the blue. Strange, when I used to feel that I could tell him anything, at any time. Still, I want him to know that I’m actually
trying
, trying to be worthy of him and seem to be making some kind of progress at last.

“Hey.” Zeke nudges me with the arm around my shoulders. “What’s on your mind? Your dad again?”

I look up and see that he’s staring down at me, his eyes steady and concerned as they hold my own. It seems as though I’ve hallucinated the Zeke of the past few weeks, the one who brushes me off and doesn’t seem to want to talk about anything at all.

“Not my dad,” I say with a deep breath. “Last night I went to dinner with Uncle Greg. We were talking a little bit about how I don’t know what to do. Like with college and stuff. And how I haven’t written in forever. So he took me to get a journal and said that it might be a good place to start.”

Zeke makes a small noise of agreement. “So? Did you write in it?”

I can’t help a small smile. “So long my arm cramped. Mostly just about my feelings and confusion and people at school. But surprisingly, it felt really good. I felt… lighter afterward. And it made me think about what I want. What I want
now
, not what I wanted back then, back when I was with Tony.”

I look up and Zeke is still looking at me encouragingly. His bright eyes are telling me wordlessly to continue.