Page 26 of Under My Skin
Chapter Fifteen
LUCY
I’m notsure what has my anxiety spiking more: the fact that we just turned onto my parents’ street, that I just survived riding a literal death trap to get here, or that I have never been this close to Everett Meyers for an extended period of time.
The most physical contact we’ve shared was him giving me a one-armed hug at some point. But for however many minutes it took to get here, I’ve been clinging to him for dear life. I’ve been breathing in the fresh scent of his clothes mixed with something woodsier that must just behim.If I could have a candle made to replicate it, I would.
As soon as my childhood home comes into view, I take another deep breath. I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t know if Iwantto do this. As of right now, I still have two caring parents who live together in the home I grew up in. Am I ready for that to change? Am I ready to pull the plug on the happy couple I’ve always seen them as?
Everett slows in front of the house, but even when the bike comes to a complete stop, I can’t move. I can’t do anything other than stare at the whiteFor Salesign in the front yard.
“Uh . . . Luce?” Everett’s voice breaks through, even though it comes out sounding a little muffled through the helmet.
“Yeah?” The question comes out monotone, my eyes still fixed on the sign with a smiling blonde woman on the front. Her matching bright red blouse and lipstick make me want to push her face in the dirt.
Everett looks over his shoulder. “Everything okay?”
I blink, pulling my head away from his muscular back. Taking a shaky breath, I nod. “Yeah.” I need some air. My fingers fumble with the helmet covering my head and face. “I don’t know how to get this off.”
He points to the pavement next to the bike. “Step down. I’ll help you.”
After a few seconds of my vacant stare as I contemplate where I should put my foot to maneuver myself off this thing, Everett twists in his seat enough to guide me in the right direction. My feet hit the pavement, and it takes everything not to let my knees buckle. My legs are like Jell-O, and I can’t tell if it’s from the ride or my nerves. It isn’t until I register my hands shaking that I assume it’s probably the latter.
I feel like a child, standing on the side of Everett’s bike with my chin lifted so he can see what he’s doing. My chest rises with every inhale, but all I want is more air. As soon as he pulls the helmet free, I gasp in a breath like I’ve been trapped underwater.
“My parents are lying to me. They’ve probably been lying for years. How do I know they won’t spin more lies when I go in there?” I’m on the verge of hyperventilating, but I don’t care.
Everett’s head tilts, my own reflection in his helmet warping with the movement. It’s enough to make me dizzy, and I take an ungraceful step backward, toward the house made of cards.
Everett catches my wrist to steady me with one hand and flips his face shield up with the other. His familiar eyes come into view, deep and warm.
Caring.
He cares. I’m not sure it has anything to do with me specifically, but I think he genuinely cares about people. I never took the time to see him before. Those mahogany eyes search mine, jumping back and forth. His hand is still firmly around my wrist, but I can’t bring myself to break his gaze.
“Your parents are good people, Luce. Good people who love you.”
I nod. He’s right. I know he’s right, but the longer things have gone unsaid, my doubts have grown into something outside of my control. How much can they really love me if they can’t be honest with me? How can they tell Simon something this big but keep it hidden from me?
I glance at the house over my shoulder, determined to block out the smiling blonde who looks far too happy to be stripping me of my childhood. Everything about this place looks the same as it always has. The vinyl siding, the shutters, the purple front door they’d let me pick the color of—everything looks exactly as it should, but it feels all wrong.
Everett’s hand pulls from my wrist, but he grasps my fingers in his. Turning to face him, I finally brave a glance down at his hand holding mine. His damn spider tattoo looks like it’s about to crawl from his hand to mine, and I suppress a shiver.
“I hate that thing,” I say without thinking.
He follows my stare. “Are we talking about my hand or yours?”
His question forces a laugh from my lips, making it easier to breathe. “Why would anyone get a bug tattooed on them?” I ask because I genuinely want to know at this point.
Everett leans away from me on the bike like he’s slightly offended. “First of all,” he says, releasing his hand from mine and holding it up for me to see. “Thisis a spider, not a bug.” When he lowers his hand, he rests it on the handlebar of the still idling bike, and I’m acutely aware of how empty mine feels without the warmth of his. “And second,” he goes on to say. “There are plentyof reasons someone might get a bug tattoo. Do you know how many times I’ve drawn a butterfly?”
Laughter bubbles in my throat. “Yeah, but butterflies are . . . I don’t know, pretty?”
Looking down at his hand, he shakes his head. I might not be able to see his smile behind the helmet, but the amusement in his eyes is revealing enough. “This is one of my favorite tattoos.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Really?” He has so many. I find it hard to believe that the lifelike spider on his hand holds that much significance.
He looks down at his hand on the bike. “Yeah. I mean, I don’t really regret any of my tattoos, but I definitely don’t regret the bug.” He eyes me playfully.
