The Healing (The Things We Can't Change Book 3) (9 page)

I’m getting to know Zeke, but I don’t
know
him. I wish that I could get to know him, climb inside his head and find out what makes him tick, but I know that would require him doing the same to me, and I don’t want to let anyone inside my own head. I’m already well aware of what a chaotic, dark place it is and I don’t want Zeke to see that part of me.

I also don’t want to scare him away, because getting outside, being out in the fresh air with him, planting and digging and sweating, is the only thing keeping me sane right now. It’s a struggle to pull through the long, dark nights, because even though I’m able to fall asleep now, that only brings nightmares.

Zeke and I are a perfect match in the mornings with dark circles under our eyes, the same haunted look of a semi-insomniac. He never says a word about it, but I know he has the nightmares too. I recognize the look in his eyes.

It isn’t until about two o’clock on Friday that it hits me; Zeke doesn’t have to come and work on the weekend. Two whole, blank, empty days stretch out before me. Lonely ones, since Clarissa and Hunter aren’t due back until Monday. Potentially dangerous ones, since Zeke won’t be around to distract me from my own problems. He came last weekend, yes, but I doubt it will be the same case. He has a life outside of working for me, and I know there are times where he doesn’t like that he worries about me. He’s probably looking forward to being free of me for a few days, and as I continue to fill holes and wrestle with the unwieldy garden hose, I feel myself sinking deeper and deeper into a dark place.

Zeke might be able to distract me from my problems, but it’s just like cutting; a distraction doesn’t make them go away. Doesn’t make you forget them, doesn’t make you heal. It only distracts you and you crash back later, harder and faster and deeper than you were in the first place.

Minutes tick by with unnatural speed, until it’s four o’clock and Zeke is walking up to where I’ve been standing by the sliding glass doors for the last ten minutes, watching him adjust the sprinklers. My arms are wrapped around my sides, and I feel like his voice is coming over a great distance, even though he’s standing right in front of me.

“All right.” He dusts his hands on the sides of his shorts, surveying the backyard before looking back at me. “The sprinklers are set up, you just have to turn them on. Make
sure
you turn them on if it doesn’t rain and let them run for a good hour. If you don’t water all this stuff the first few weeks, it’ll die and you’re out a lot of money and I’ll have a shitload more work to do. Got it?”

I nod, woodenly, and Zeke stares at me, and in some weird flash of connection, I know he sees what’s eating at me.

“I have to work at the club this weekend,” he says, a note of apology in his voice. “A couple people are on vacation, so I have dining room duty tomorrow afternoon. There’s an event early Sunday, so I’ll be gone most of the time.”

I try to force myself to nod, the movements jerky and stiff as I avoid looking at him. “I know,” I say quickly. “It’s fine. You aren’t even supposed to come on the weekends. Have fun at work.”

I take a step backward, trying to force a smile onto my face to let Zeke know I’ll be fine, even though I know I won’t be. I can already feel it all coming over me, the urge to listen to Tony’s message, the need to sink deeper into the guilt.
Fuck.
I don’t want to feel this way, don’t want to go back into the darkness but I’m helpless to stop it and I know I can’t change that. Now I can’t wait for Zeke to leave, to just be gone and not be watching me so I can go to my dad’s office and curl up on the couch and just make myself face everything. I might not be floating away, not yet, but I’m sure the time will come at some point over the weekend. And I’ll be too weak to fight it. I’m too weak to shovel dirt; how can I expect to fight this?

Zeke stays there on the deck, looking undecided as I step inside and begin to slide the door closed, trying to tell him with my eyes that he can go. Just as the door is about to shut tight, his hand snaps up and he throws the door back, easily overpowering me as he steps inside and holds out his other hand.

“Let me see your phone.”

“What?” I ask, taking a few steps back because even though it’s Zeke and I’ve never felt afraid of him, the sudden movements still startle and scare me.

“Give me your phone,” he says again, although it’s more of a demand, his hand out and insistent.

“Why?” I ask, like a fool. There can only be so many reasons people want to see your cell phone.

“To put my number in.” He says it in an
um, duh
sort of way, with the usual edge of sarcasm that is Zeke Quain.

I only point to the counter, where my phone is plugged into the wall, charging for the first time all week. I’d almost forgotten I owned the thing until this morning. After all, who would be trying to get in touch with me?

“Why do I need your number?” I ask, even as Zeke picks up my phone and starts tapping the screen. The idea of me calling Zeke seems ludicrous.

Zeke finishes entering his number and then sets the phone down before returning to stand in front of me. His eyes lock on mine, bright green battling with purple, and we stare at each other for a full minute before he finally speaks.

“Call me,” he says firmly, and I open my mouth to protest but he holds up a hand. “I’m serious, Evie. If you… if you feel like you can’t handle it, instead of cutting, I want you to call me.”

“I can handle it.” I answer much too quickly and we both know it. “I’m fine, Zeke.” I try for a smile but it comes out as a grimace and I know I’ve failed completely to convince either of us.

“Do it, Evie. I mean it. Day or night. Call me. If I come back Monday and you did something and didn’t call me, I’ll…” He pauses, at a loss for a good threat, and finally finishes with a loaded, “I won’t be happy.”

“You’ll be working most of the time, so what could you do?” I point out the obvious, even though a part of me wants to be touched by the gesture.

“Just call me. Say you will. Say it.”

“Fine,” I mutter, looking at the ground. Another part of me wants to rebel at his commanding tone, because to be oppressed and ordered around touches a nerve that is still raw and tender; it all reminds me of Tony, of the constant rules and dictates I lived under with him for three whole years.

“Good.” Zeke has a moment where he looks relieved, and then he quickly replaces it with a mask devoid of emotion and bids me goodbye. And then he’s gone.

I’m still for a long moment, and then I run over to my phone, wanting to check and see if he really left his number in there, that it wasn’t some crazy weird moment that I hallucinated. But when I unlock the screen, I see that I already have a text message conversation started with Zeke Quain—he sent himself a message that just says,
Evie’s number
, so he would have mine as well.

It gives me comfort, seeing his name there, feeling like he’s with me even though he’s gone, even though I already know that I’ll never call him. I can’t let him in too much. I just want him
here
but not inside, close enough for comfort, but far enough away that I don’t feel threatened.

I won’t call him. But it’s nice to know I could.

Ezekiel

52

Work at the club is boring, just like always, but I suffer through it, and at least Koby is still here with me even if Dominic is away at his grandma’s. He and I look at each other from across the room, share an eye roll, and in a practiced gesture, both head for the kitchen doors at the same time. We’re only waiting on the dining room, working with several other servers, but it’s still a drag and the members are still rude. They always will be.

Tessa is here too but I carefully avoid eye contact with her and try not to stare, even though she blatantly does to me. I need to be careful to keep everything drama free, or Uncle Alex will have my ass.

“How much longer?” Koby groans once we get past the doors and are safely in the kitchen where no guests can hear us.

I check my phone. “Four hours, because we pretty much just got here. Quit complaining, it’ll make time go by even slower.”

“Yeah, but-”

He’s interrupted by the sound of my phone ringing, and I almost drop it in surprise, since I’m still holding it in my hand. Then I thank God that it didn’t ring out on the dining room floor since I apparently forgot to silence it, and finally check the caller ID. Evie Parker. A chill goes through me because there can be no mistaking what this means.

“Hang on a sec,” I say to Koby. “I really have to take this. Cover for me, I might be a second.”

He gives me an exasperated look, which I return with a hard one of my own.

“It’s important. Really important, okay?” I say, and then step away, mentally preparing myself as I hit the answer button. Good thing I shot myself a text from Evie’s phone yesterday so I had her number, or I might have ignored a call from a strange one. “Hello?”

“Zeke?” Her voice is quiet, a little strangled, a little panicked. “Zeke, I need your help.”

I take a deep breath, force myself to speak calmly and with just a bit of cheer in my voice so it’s not flat and panicked. Upbeat, I tell myself. “I’m right here. What’s up? Are you okay?”

“I don’t know.” Her voice catches on a sob and it’s like a knife to my middle. “I don’t ever know if I’m okay.”

“All right,” I say, blinking rapidly, taking calming breaths because I’m worried and I don’t want to feel it. “What happened, Evie? Just tell me what happened to make you call me. I’m glad you did, but you need to tell me.”

I hear her take a few hiccupy breaths, and then she whispers, “I was in the kitchen. I was trying to get food, and I just wasn’t thinking. I opened a drawer, and there are
knives
in here, Zeke. And now… and now… now I can’t. Close. The damn. Drawer!”

Goosebumps crawl all over my skin, and I want to immediately bust out of the kitchen and just run to her house, run there and tackle her down and keep her from hurting herself. She’s clearly not all there in the head at the moment, because she says there are knives in the drawer accusingly, as if it’s ludicrous for a kitchen to have sharp implements.

“You can close it,” I say encouragingly. “I know you can, Evie. You’re stronger than you think. And just because it’s open doesn’t mean you need to… to cut. You know what I’m saying?”

There’s silence, so much silence and I feel I could jump out of my skin, wonder if I am doing anything at all to talk her off the ledge. I can’t stay here. I need to get to her.

“But… I need to get it all
out
,” Evie whispers.

“Evie,
don’t
!” I order, and I hear her gasp a sob.

“Sometimes I can’t help it!” she wails, and while I want to think her weak, stupid and foolish for saying sometimes she can’t help
cutting
her own arm open, I know how she feels. How I felt every single time I accepted that can of spray paint, every time I pressed that nozzle, even though I’d already been arrested for the same thing so many times. Sometimes, all that matters is what’s going on inside your own head, and the way to get it out. And Evie and I both seem to have only one way to escape it, and it’s damaging for both of us.

“Don’t do anything,” I order, my tone hard. “I mean it, Evie. I’m on my way. Wait until I get there.”

I hang up the phone and push through the doors of the kitchen, just barely not banging through them with unnecessary force. I go up to the bar as quickly as I dare, in a sort of calm half-run, slamming into the counter because I'm unwilling to slow down in the slightest. Alex raises his eyebrows at me and opens his mouth to give some kind of lecture but I speak first.

“I need to leave,” I say without preamble. “Just for like half an hour. It's important, Alex. Like, really, really important.”

“Important enough I should let you just leave, with four tables on your tab?” Alex asks, rolling his eyes. “Really, Zeke?”

“Yes.” I say it firmly, with as much emotion as I’ll allow myself to interject. “It’s a life or death matter. I'm not fucking with you, Alex. I need just half an hour. And, um, your car, too.”

Something in my tone must alert Alex to the fact that I’m dead serious, because he finally looks over at me and
really
looks me in the eye. Then he gives a defeated sigh. “Don't even tell me this is about-”

“Evangeline Parker, yes it is. I shouldn’t even get involved, I know. News flash, Alex, I want to be involved even less than you want me involved, but unless we both want something really bad on our consciences, then you need to
let me use your car
.”

He debates for just a second longer, but then passes over the keys. I grab them and am gone, flying around the edge of the dining hall and out the nearest door. I slide into Alex’s Infiniti—amazing that he let me borrow it with as little inquisition as he did, considering it’s his prize possession—and turn the engine over, peeling out of the lot.