Page 98 of Imperfect Player

She has no idea how much I’m paying for this already.

After she leaves, I close the door and slowly make my way over to the couch.

“Hey, sunshine.”

My greeting is met with silence.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” I tell her.

“Well, you did. And you did a damn good job of it.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, isn’t that nice,” she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I’m trying here,” I tell her, my voice getting frustrated at how difficult she’s making this for me. Not that I don’t deserve it, I do. I apologized, though. What else am I supposed to do?

“So much for not walking away. From the sound of it, you’re a million miles gone.”

Everly rises to her feet.

“I’m standing right here, Ethan,” she says, arms outstretched at her sides. “I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere. But I’m also not going to accept some pathetic attempt at an apology. One that, frankly, I’m not even sure if you mean.”

“This isn’t easy for me,” I tell her.

“It isn’t exactly easy for me either.”

If I have any hope of holding onto her, I need to be honest. I have to do the one thing I never do—open up.

“I lied to you,” I tell her. “My parents . . . They’re not dead.”

There’s a look of surprise on her face, but there’s no judgment in her eyes.

I run my hand through my hair.

“You need to understand, I . . . I’ve never told anyone this before. Never talked about it. Not with someone who isn’t a professional, at least.”

She doesn’t speak, just returns to her seat on the couch and sits there silently, allowing me to do this at my own pace.

“My dad left when I was eight. Told my mom that I wasn’t worth giving up his freedom for. I was too hard to handle. Too much work. I wasn’t what he expected, and he didn’t want any part of it. So, he left.” A strangled chuckle emits from my tongue-tied mouth. “What’s worse is, my mom thought the same thing. A couple weeks after my dad left, she bolted too. Left me at some group home, knocked on the door, then ran.”

Everly’s hand flies to her mouth. “Oh, Ethan.”

“I don’t want your pity. That’s not why I’m telling you this. I’m telling you because I want you to see how much you matter to me. How far I’m willing to go to make this right, to keep you, when I’m terrified as hell that you’re going to leave too. Because I fucked up. Because I’m a goddamn head case.”

“You’re not perfect, no one is. Just because you’re not perfect doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to be loved. Just because you’re struggling, doesn’t mean you don’t deserve happiness.” She rises to her feet, walks toward me, and takes my face in her hands. “I’m not going anywhere, Ethan. I’m here as long as you want me.”

The relief I feel in her words is mixed with guilt, because I know I don’t deserve her or her forgiveness. The realization hits that maybe my parents had the right idea leaving me.

“Is this what happened? What started the drinking?”

I let out a deep breath. “Can we sit?”

She nods, then leads us to the couch.

“He showed up.”

“Who did?”

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