Page 109 of Every Thought Taken

His steps falter and I look up at him. A hand comes to my cheek as he hovers a breath above my lips. Calloused skin smooths over the apple of my cheek. “Love you, North.” He eliminates the last bit of space between us and presses a tender kiss to my lips.

An audible gasp nearby has him breaking the kiss. As I blink out the haze his kisses put me in, I spot Mrs. Everett feet away on the sidewalk, a fiery expression on her face. Her husband stands at her side, tugging at her arm in a silent plea to walk away. But her feet are glued in place, fingers curled into fists at her sides as she all but breathes fire.

Anderson turns to stone. His arm around me crushes me to him. Frustration and exasperation roll off Anderson and cloud the space around us and his parents. On every inhale, I fight the urge to open my mouth and tell her off. I want to yell and scream and announce to the world how volatile this woman is. How she, from the day he took his first breath, tore this man down. How she made him feel inadequate and unworthy of love or a beautiful life.

But I clamp my jaw shut and let my anger brew in silence.

This is not my battle to fight. Irrefutably, I will stand with Anderson and support his choices when it comes to his parents. Their past is layered with so much pain and it isn’t my place to decide what their future looks like. Never will I steal his choices from him. Never will I suppress him. I will never be her.

I’d much rather lift him up. Remind him how much I love him. How important he is in my life. How I support his decisions and will be his rock when he needs strength. Tell him every day that my life wouldn’t be worth it without him. Until my last breath, I will be his light.

“You havegotto be kidding me,” Mrs. Everett chastises, eyes on Anderson, her cheeks a deep shade of red. “I must be hallucinating.”

“Joan.” Mr. Everett gives her arm another tug. “Let’s go.”

She looks to her husband and he blanches under her scrutiny. Then her gaze darts back to us as she steps closer. “It’s bad enough you aren’t doing anything worthwhile with your life, Anderson.” Her upper lip curls. “But this,” she snaps, loud enough to cause passersby to slow their stride or pause altogether. “This has to be a joke.”

A chill rolls through my limbs that has nothing to do with the cooler fall temperature. Uneasiness twists my gut. I take muted, deep breaths and tell my body to relax. Vomiting on the sidewalk in front of strangers and his parents will cause more harm than relief.

On the second inhale, the stiffness in Anderson’s frame loosens a fraction. His initial shock fades enough to reinforce his confidence and find his voice. I fist his shirt and stand united with him.

“The only joke on this sidewalk,Joan”—disdain drips from his tongue as he uses her given name rather than Mom—“is the woman scolding her adult child after not seeing him in six years.” He blinks away from her and meets my gaze. A soft stroke of his thumb on my arm eases any residual anxiety. The corners of his lips tip up slightly before he mouths,I love you. Then his attention is back on her and his armor is back in place. “As for what I do with my life… You lost the privilege of knowing long ago.”

She steps into us and Anderson draws us back, keeping distance between us. In my periphery, a small crowd waits in the wings. Many of them townsfolk that know the Everett and Williams families. But the occasional unfamiliar face appears in the throng, examining the situation with curiosity or alarm in their eyes.

This is bad.

“You aremyson—”

“No.” Anderson drops his arm around me and advances on her. “You don’t get to pull the parent card when it’s convenient.” He inches forward and I grip the back of his coat, unsure if I’m trying to anchor him or prevent him from getting closer. “You’re unbelievable.” Tipping his head back, eyes on the starry sky, he laughs without humor. Then he levels her icy stare with his fiery gaze. “Two.” He holds up two fingers for emphasis. “There are two key reasons I came back.” He pauses, peeks over his shoulder and winks. “Helena is the first.” He squares his shoulders, hardens his jaw, then turns his attention back to his parents. “She will always be first.”

“That girlbrokeyou,” she interjects, stabbing a finger in my direction.

“No,” Anderson barks out. “She healed me. When I needed love, she gave it to me unconditionally. What happened between us before”—he shakes his head—“we were young and naive. I had my demons and she had hers. She didn’t break me,Joan. You broke me.”

“I did no—”

“I’m not done speaking,” Anderson interrupts, loud enough to be heard a block away. “I came back to mend things with us too.” He gestures between himself and his parents. “But you’re so caught up in yourself, you’re so blinded by your disgust for the son you never wanted, there’s no way to repair us. I left this town to escapeyou. I’ve healed. I’ve grown up and moved forward.” He steps back, laces my fingers with his, and shakes his head. “Seems you never will.”

Anderson steps to the side and guides us through the onlookers. Behind us, she shouts through the thinning crowd, but I don’t make out what she says.

The mellow, loving bubble around us ten minutes ago has fizzled into the atmosphere. Rage and exhaustion have taken its place as we march down the sidewalk toward the restaurant. Eager as I am to calm the brewing storm in Anderson’s body, I keep to myself. Again, this is not my battle. No, the fundamental structure of this conflict comes from the woman still screaming on the sidewalk. The woman that claims to love her son but delivers only grief and resentment and revulsion.

When we finally make it to the table, Lessa notices Anderson’s icy disposition. I subtly shake my head and she acknowledges it with a minor, quick dip of her chin.

Dinner goes by painfully slow, and with each passing minute, IfeelAnderson retreating into himself. He hasn’t said a word. Hasn’t smiled or laughed at any of the stupid shit Logan rambles on about. He picks at his food and clenches the muscles of his jaw.

And when it’s time to leave the restaurant, he opts to go to Lessa’s apartment after walking me to mine.

He needs time to digest and dispose of what happened tonight. I just wish he’d let me be there as he does.

CHAPTER60

ANDERSON

Ican’t fucking breathe.

For the first time in years, fury owns my every breath. Why the hell did I want to fix things with her? Why the hell did I think it was actually possible?

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