Page 106 of Green Flag
“No, Everly, no. Listen to me.”
Finally, I looked up at him through my lashes.
“We’re not… we’re not together.” His voice was tight and he stroked my arm. “It’s not like you cheated.”
So why did it feel like I had?
“I didn’t even get much more than empty promises from him. He said he wanted me to find something valuable first or… or to meet up with him.”
His eyes darkened.
“I wouldn’t—I know I wouldn’t. I just… that’s why I did it. I… Do you see now? Why I think that way?”
He was silent, waiting for me to look up at him again. “Have I ever lied to you?”
I shook my head, my throat so sore I didn’t know if I could form a coherent response.
“Everly Bacque,” he said and I loved how he said my name, but this was different. His voice was thick with emotion as my bottom lip wobbled. “You’re the most lovable person I know.You felt wronged and…. I get it. You are so driven — you want the truth and… it’s not even just that. Look at how you’ve improved on the track. Look at all the songs you’ve released. You get up anddoevery day. You don’t try. You succeed. You aren’t just pretty, you are stunning. You stop me in my tracks every time I see you. And your most attractive quality? You take no one’s shit.”
I nodded, but my heart wasn’t in it.
“Who gets the most requests for tours?”
“Me,” I said, voice broken. “But that’s because of the song—”
“Who wrote a song that went viral about motorbike racing? A song that raised awareness of the sport? A song that will be on the promo for a series?”
“Me,” I said again with a weak, watery smile.
“Who wrotetwosongs that went viral?”
“Me.”
“Who looks out for their sister and calls her every day?”
“Me.” My voice came out less choked with every response.
“And who makes me laugh and smile every day? On days when my face feels so heavy, days when everything is pulling me down?”
“Me?”
“Yes, you,” he said with the sweetest smile before bending to kiss my forehead. Somehow, that touch always calmed my chaotic, stormy mind. I wanted his lips to rest there, a constant peace against the rage on the other side of my skull. “You have picked me up when I’ve been at my lowest. Not by comparing yourself to the other grid girls. By simply being yourself. You’re you and no one else. You are lovable. You are not a failure.”
I nodded again, but this time with more conviction.
“What happened to your mum is not your fault.”
“Are you sure?” I whispered and sniffed.
“Certain,” he said.
He got back under the duvet and pulled me close, wrapping his arms around me. “I’m really looking forward to your massaging skills.”
My laugh was still choked with the remaining tears but it was there.
“And your psoriasis?”
“I get it in my scalp and my palms, but mostly on my lower stomach. I have a little scratch star and roller in the fridge to stop me from itching, making it bleed, and then getting infected. Oh, and you can’t use my shampoo.”
