The Struggle (The Things We Can't Change Book 2) (11 page)

Every time I see it happen, my hands clench and I have to fight back an insane flash of anger. Part of me wants to step in, to stop it all. The other part of me is screaming at Evie to tell them to stop, to quit acting like such a weakling and tell them to get out of her face, or to just leave so she doesn’t have to stand there and let it happen. But she stays, eventually backing away from the crowd as she realizes she’s being targeted. She goes to stand on one edge of the room, one arm wrapped around her middle as though her ribs are hurting her again. I know that by now they must be completely healed, but I also know, all too well, how memories alone can be so painful they make even your body hurt.

I watch her back away out of the corner of my eyes and feel a sense of relief that at least she’s stepping to the side. Just as I’m telling myself she’ll be fine, maybe go and stand next to her dad, I catch sight of Hunter again, and he’s heading straight toward Evie.

I’m headed their direction before I can even decide that I’m going to do it. I’m halfway there when Tessa steps in front of me.

“Hey, Zeke, why aren’t you answering my calls?” she asks, and I can tell that despite her casual tone, she’s irritated.

“I’ve been busy,” I say quickly, scanning over her head, trying to see past the milling crowd to the wall where I last saw Evie. There are too many people in the way and I try to pull away, pass Tessa, but she grabs my arm and keeps me back.

“Do you want to do something tonight? I know you don’t have to work at the Parkers tomorrow, we can-”

“Not now, Tessa!” I snap, and I wrench my arm away and push through the crowd, not caring about her shocked expression. And then, finally, I break through all the people and emerge from the mass of bodies just in time to catch Hunter approaching Evie.

This time, he reaches out and tugs on a piece of her long, dark hair this time. Not hard, not enough to hurt. Just enough to catch her attention, as you might do to a friend if you snuck up behind them and wanted to let them know you were there. But Evie
flips
. She doesn’t drop her drink; it literally rockets up into the air, shooting out of her hand as she jerks away from Hunter so violently she stumbles.

She actually falls to the floor, hitting the hardwood almost at the same time as her glass. Predictably, this time it shatters. Hunter is staring at her, genuinely surprised by how intense this reaction was, but I know instantly what is wrong. My mind is flooded right away with memories of that night, the way Tony was dragging Evie around by her hair in the bathroom, pulling her easily across the slick tiles because of all the blood on the floor. I even remember the first time I saw him hit her, the way he grabbed her hair to move her head around, make her face him. I know without a doubt now that it must have been one of Tony’s favorite tricks in order for Evie to have that reaction.

The music on the dance floor is too loud for many people to take notice, even when Hunter begins to laugh at Evie as she stays on the floor. Her eyes are blinking rapidly, and I know she’s trying to hold back tears. It’s the tears that are my undoing. I walk up to both of them, and Hunter abruptly stops laughing when he sees me heading for him, fists clenched at my sides.

We stare each other down for a long moment, and for once, I’m the first to break, though not by blinking. “Don’t you have somewhere to be? I think you can find someone else to torture for the rest of the night. She’s had enough.”

Hunter’s eyes flick between Evie and me, taking both of us in. He doesn’t immediately reply, and I’m sure he can see from my eyes that I won’t take any argument. He finally manages a sneer, but it’s a little weak. “A gardener
and
a bodyguard,” he finally manages to say condescendingly. “A real winner you’ve found here, Evie.”

I keep my ground, not twitching a muscle, until Hunter finally walks away, disappearing into the milling crowd. I turn to Evie, still frozen on the floor, and then take in the shattered glass and water. Luckily, we’re right next to a kitchen door and I duck inside and grab a plastic bin and a few towels. When I come back out, Evie has moved onto her knees and is picking up the shards of glass from the floor.

“I’m so sorry,” she babbles as I kneel next to her. Her eyes are wide and scared, and I can tell she’s barely keeping it together. “I didn’t mean to drop it. To drop it again. He just startled me and I didn’t think. I’m sorry, Zeke. I just-”

“It’s fine,” I snap, hoping it will make her stop, and she finally shuts up. She tosses her handful of glass into the bin where I’m throwing what I’ve picked up. “You don’t have to help, I’ve got it,” I say, wishing she would go away. I’m feeling hot now, my skin burning, my heart beating too fast and loud. I don’t know why I stepped in, know it probably has to do with feelings, emotions and empathy, all those things I hate and want so desperately to avoid.

I need distance, distance between Evie and me, from this girl who makes me experience such unwelcome things. I keep telling myself to stay away, not to interfere or care about her, and yet every time I see her, before I realize it, I’m stepping in and trying to take care of her, just like I did with Cindy. I don’t
want
it.

“It’s my fault, though,” Evie says, and now she’s whispering. “I didn’t mean to drop the other one, either. I’m sorry about that one too.”

“Yeah,” I say, dumping the last of the glass in the bin. “I noticed that one too. When are you going to quit making me follow you around and clean up your messes?” Our eyes meet and lock, and we both know I’m not just talking about her spilled drinks.

“I don’t know,” she finally says in a broken whisper, one that makes me even angrier because it pulls yet again at my heart, that stupid muscle I wish I could just rip out of my chest.

Evie sits back on her heels as I begin to sop up the water with my towels, using long, arcing strokes that come with the ease of long practice. I force myself not to look at her as I mutter so only she can hear me, “Can’t you fucking stand up for yourself and tell Hunter and his friends to go to hell?”

I finish with the floor and look at Evie, taking in her surprised expression with a roll of my eyes. “Let me guess. It’s not that easy, right? It’s complicated?”

She bites her lip as her eyes fill with tears and she looks away from me. “It
isn’t
that easy,” she mutters. “You don’t understand-”

“I don’t understand. Yeah. Right.” I give a harsh laugh as I stand up and grab the bin off the floor. “You said that last time, and the situation seemed pretty black and white to me. I’m not stupid, Evie. Are you going to lay there and be a victim for the rest of your life?”

She looks up at me then, her violet eyes snapping with fury. “And are you going to have that chip on your shoulder all your life, always pushing people away by pretending you don’t care about anyone? Wait, let me guess,
it’s complicated.
”

I meet her, stare for stare, until I can find the words. “It’s not, actually,” I reply. “See, my issue is that my sister fucking
died
right in front of me, and yet somehow the ass who killed her is still alive, and the other person who survived is a spineless coward. So, no, it’s really not complicated.” I turn on my heel and leave Evie there, without looking back.

Tessa catches up to my elbow as I’m walking away, practically having to jog to keep up with my long strides. “I saw that!” she cries, almost crowing. “Who would have thought that tough, show-no-feelings Zeke Quain would have a soft spot for rich bitch Evie Parker!”

“Shut up, Tessa,” I snap, clenching my fists. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Cameron has been wondering where you’ve been, why you won’t come out,” she persists, ignoring my warning and tone. “He’s going to flip his shit when he finds out it’s because you’re hanging with Evie Parker.”

We push through the doors to the kitchen and I round on Tessa, holding on to my temper by a thread. “I’m not!” I shout, and the entire kitchen staff goes quiet. “Cameron ran on me ‘cause he’s a piece of shit and now I have to lay low or get sent away. So shut your mouth about things you don’t understand, got it, Tessa?”

She takes a step back, shocked, and then a frown descends onto her pretty face. “Screw you, Zeke,” she snaps, and leaves the kitchen.

I take a moment to catch my breath, and when I open my eyes, I find everyone in the kitchen staring at me. “What the hell are you looking at?” I bite out, and then I push out of the kitchen doors myself.

I’m desperately wishing that I could leave the dining room, run out of there fast and long until I’ve left all of this behind me.

But I’ve been running for the past few months, and I’m learning, slowly but surely, that there is no way to escape it. No way to escape, and no way to forget.

Evangeline

35

Zeke and I are back to avoiding eye contact by Monday. Or at least, he’s back to not looking at me, and I’m back to creepily staring at him through the kitchen window. Progress! Not. I’m not even sure what I want from him, what I expect from him. Or do I want or expect anything at all? Sometimes I think I just want to stand next to him, bask in the safe feeling I get when he’s around and nothing more.

His words from the club the other night are still haunting me, asking me why I can’t be strong, tell everyone to get out of my face. He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand the stark terror at being touched, the way it makes me lose all rational thought until I’m not really thinking at all, just going on instinct, and that instinct is just to run away, fast and hard, from anything and everything, not to stand my ground. Zeke doesn’t understand that kind of fear. He’s tall, big and strong and he can intimidate anyone just by looking at them.

As the week goes on, I find myself admiring the distance Zeke wears around him, the way his appearance keeps everyone at arm’s length. People probably don’t go up and touch him against his will, or mock him when he looks so incredibly tough. I reflect that maybe what I need are baggy clothes and a lot of tattoos, to shave my head, and actually startle myself into a laugh when I picture Clarissa’s reaction.

It’s more than just his appearance or his looks, though. It’s the attitude, the cold look in his eyes. If I hadn’t seen him talk about Cindy, just that one time, or come after me and try to get me to tell my dad my secret, I would have been able to say without a doubt that Ezekiel Quain feels nothing for anyone, that he probably doesn’t even have a heart. But I know that’s a lie. He’s ‘rescued’ me, for lack of a better word, so many times. What I don’t understand is why he keeps doing it, if he apparently finds me so repulsive and weak. I never asked him to, never wanted him to.

My head spins round and round all week, always trying to make sense of everything and wishing I had the courage to tell Zeke to quit saving me and go to hell, if he resented it so much. I even think about bringing it up to Dr. Gottlieb during our session, but end up staying quiet. She doesn’t quite understand what’s going on between Zeke and me—not that I do either—and I think it’s something I’d like to keep to myself for now. So I stay quiet and we talk about other things and then I leave her office.

Due to a scheduling conflict, we had our appointment earlier today than usual, and I get back home at ten and find both my dad and my Uncle Greg in the kitchen. Greg Winslow isn’t my real uncle, but he and my dad have been friends since they were in medical school together, and though the practice still only bears my dad’s name, Uncle Greg is his partner. I’ve known him since the day I was born, and my face lights up with a smile when I see him in the kitchen.

“Uncle Greg!”

My first instinct is to run up and hug him, the way I always used to, but I falter after taking just a few steps into the kitchen, creepy-crawlies skittering over my skin at the thought of being touched. I stop on the other side of the kitchen island from him and give a lame wave instead.

“Hey there, Evie,” he greets, smiling at me and pretending not to notice my awkwardness. “How was your appointment?”

“Good,” I hedge, and go to the fridge to get a bottle of water. “What are you two up to today?”

My dad heaves a sigh. “Zeke is ready for us to take him to the garden store so we can pick up stuff for the landscaping, but Greg stopped by because there’s an issue at the office. With the new receptionist.”

I give him a speculative look. “What kind of issue?”

My dad and Uncle Greg exchange a look, and my dad finally replies carefully, “We’re… not at liberty to say at the moment. So, I have to run into the Dublin office with Greg, and I was hoping you could take Zeke by yourself.”

I stare at him for a long moment, slightly disbelieving. “By… myself?” I squeak. The very last thing Zeke and I need right now is to be alone with each other. He’s clearly been avoiding just that, and every time we
are
alone, it ends up in both an argument and a disaster.

My dad consults his watch, and then reaches up to re-tighten the tie that had been hanging loosely around his neck. “By yourself,” he confirms. “You’ll be fine, Evie. It’s just, I’m booked straight through with appointments tomorrow and you’ll be gone most of the morning doing that tour at OSU. We’ve got benefits tonight and tomorrow night, and if we don’t go get the stuff today, there won’t really be anything for Zeke to do tomorrow. It’s really better if you take him. You can be there to pick out all the flowers and explain the designs to him.”