When I Was Yours(80)

“Hey, f*cker!” We hear Max’s voice yell up the stairs. “Taxi’s here!”

Adam lets out a sigh and then releases me.

I pick up the laundry bag, but he takes it from me, and I follow him downstairs.

Max is already outside, heading for the taxi, and the front door is open.

“Where are you meeting Grady and the guys?” I ask Adam.

“Duke’s,” he tells me. “Gonna grab something to eat first and then hit up some bars.”

“Well, have fun.”

“I’ll try.” He puts the laundry bag down and wraps his arms around me. “But it’ll be hard without you there.”

He presses his lips to mine, kissing me deep. I wrap my arms around his neck.

Breaking off, breathing heavily, he presses his forehead to mine. “Change of plans tomorrow. I’ll come pick you up earlier. You can get changed here—after I’ve finished making love to you. How does that sound?”

“Sounds perfect.”

“Put her down, and hurry the f*ck up, Gunner!” Max shouts from the taxi. “I have some serious drinking to do and you’re wasting precious time! You’re gonna see her again in a few hours, for f*ck’s sake!”

Adam glances out the door at Max. He lifts a finger, signaling a minute.

He looks back to me. “So, I’ll see you in the morning.”

“You will.”

He kisses me one last time. Then, he lets me go.

“Tomorrow morning. You and me, naked.” He grins, stepping back through the open door.

I hold on to the edge of the door, leaning against it. “It’s a date.”

“Love you, Mrs. Gunner.”

“Love you, too, husband.” I smile as I enunciate the word, knowing what it does to him.

He lets out a groan before he turns away and gets into the taxi.

I watch them go, waving at them, before shutting the door.

I grab my bag of laundry and lug it to the laundry room.

Laundry is on, and I’m sitting out on the patio, sketching on a piece of paper I grabbed from Adam’s printer and a pencil I found lying next to it because I’m too lazy to go upstairs and grab my sketchpad from his bedroom. I’m catching the last of the day’s light before night draws in.

I hardly get a chance to draw anymore, so this is a nice change.

I’m doing a sketch of Adam. It’s of him looking back at me, right before he got into the taxi.

I have Adam all drawn, and I’m working on the back outline when I hear the doorbell ring.

Putting the paper down, I make my way through the house to the front door.

Reaching up on my tiptoes, I check the peephole, and my breath catches.

I take a step back.

What is she doing here? With everything I have going on at the moment, I could really do without having to deal with her.

Preparing myself I take a fortifying breath, then, I unlock the door and pull it open to the sight of Ava Gunner.

“Evie.” She smiles, but it’s as fake as every part of her.

“Adam isn’t here.” My tone is cool. I can’t help it. I hate the way she’s treated Adam, and I’m not going to pretend it’s okay, or that I like her.

“I know. I came to see you.”

I freeze. “Why?”

“We have things to discuss.”

I give a confused look. “I don’t think you and I have anything to discuss.”

“Oh, we do.”

Tired of this already, I say, “Seriously, we don’t. Now, if you don’t mind.” I go to close the door, but she presses a hand to it, stopping me.

That pisses me off. My eyes flicker to the large man standing by the limousine, who is watching our interaction with hawk-like eyes.

I bring my stare back to Ava. “Look”—I lower my voice—“I know you’re a big Hollywood star, and you’re used to having people do as you say, but I’m not one of them.”

“Really?” She tsks. “Is that any way to speak to your new mother?”

I scoff. “You’re not my mother. You’re barely Adam’s mother.”

“Evie, I’m not here to pick a fight with you. I’m here because I have a proposition for you.”

“And I’m positive that whatever you have to say, I definitely do not want to hear it.”

I’m just about to slam the door in her face when she says, “Not even if it could save your sister’s life?”

I stop the door and blankly stare back at her. “Is that a threat?”

“No. On the contrary, I’m offering a way to help save Casey. I know she’s dying. The chemotherapy didn’t work, and the doctor has stopped her treatment.”

Pain starts to crawl up my throat. “How do you know all of this?” My words are quiet, sore.

“I make it my business to know everything, especially when it comes to my son.”

“You don’t know everything.” I fold my arms, defiant. “You didn’t know we were married until he told you a few days ago, days after we had gotten married.” My words are petty, but I’m not exactly feeling mature right now.

She smiles. It’s a winner’s smile, and it sends unease crawling up my spine. “Oh, Evie, I knew the second that you got married because Adam used his credit card to pay for your little wedding, the credit card I have control of. I know everything. And I know your sister has months to live, if she’s lucky, and that the doctor has tried everything over the years to save her—surgery, radiation therapy, more surgery, chemo. Drug after drug, and nothing is working. The tumor just keeps coming back. I also know her doctor tried his hardest to get her into a clinical trial, but none were available to her.”