Ten Below Zero(14)

The waitress delivered our burgers and left without a word. Everett’s eyes hadn’t even glanced at the burgers. “I looked him up online.”

I ran my tongue over my teeth, waiting for more. “So?”

Everett took a bite of his burger and chewed, his eyes never leaving me. I popped a few French fries in my mouth, nervous from the attention.

“He’s going to trial in a few months.”

“So?” I said again, with fries in my mouth.

He mouthed, “Rude,” before he smiled again. It was a mischievous smile and I found myself more nervous from him looking at me than actually talking about Morris Jensen.

“Are you going to testify?”

I swallowed. “No.” It was the answer I always gave.

It wasn’t the answer Everett expected. “Are you joking?”

I took a bite of my burger and shook my head. After swallowing, I answered. “No. I’m afraid I’m bad at jokes.”

“You are the sole survivor of a serial killer and you aren’t going to testify against him?” Everett looked angry and his voice had raised several octaves.

I was really annoyed now. He read a few articles online, so what. He didn’t know anything. And he assumed too much. “I said no.” I glared at him, daring him to say another word about Morris Jensen, so I could run from the restaurant.

Everett calmed down and called the waitress over. “I’d like a beer please. Whatever you have on draft is fine.”

I chewed my burger in silence. Everett drank his beer before he finished his burger, and ordered a second one.

When I’d finished my burger, Everett was on his fourth beer in less than an hour. I stared at him before asking the question that was bouncing around my mind. “Do you usually drink this heavily at lunch?”

Everett whipped his head up and looked at me. He hadn’t glanced at me since he received his first beer. I noticed his eyes were tired, sad, and called to me on an emotional level. Whatever the emotion was, I couldn’t name it. It was foreign, an intruder.

“I’m an alcoholic, Parker. I drink this heavily all day long.”

The words stole my breath. He said them without preamble, as if he was as disappointed in himself as he expected me to be. What stuck in my mind the most was that he said them at all. He barely knew me. Most of the alcoholics I’d known growing up never owned up to it, and denied it even on their second DUI.

“Are you driving?”

“I’m an alcoholic. I didn’t say I was an idiot.” The bite of his words fell flat for me and I ignored them.

“How did you get here?”

“I walked.” Everett held his head in his hands and sighed, as if the weight of the world sat on his shoulders.

“I live two blocks from here. I can give you a ride home.” I didn’t know how functioning he was as an alcoholic, but for some reason I felt responsibility in making sure he arrived home safe.

“Okay,” he said, slumping further in the seat. “Sure.”

I paid the bill and had Everett follow me out of the restaurant. We walked to my car in silence. He told me his address and I plugged it into my GPS. Ten minutes later, Everett was asleep in my passenger seat.

When I pulled up to a small house in a quiet neighborhood, I turned off the engine and turned my head to look at Everett. His elbow was propped up on the window, his head resting in his hand. He looked calm when he slept. With his face relaxed and his eyes closed, there was nothing intimidating about him.

The sleeve had slipped down on the arm that rested on the window, so I was granted a better look at the scars on his arm. Many were faded. Most had become white, years old. There were a handful of newer scars that had little red dots in the center of them. They were needle scars, I knew that much.

I leaned over my seat to get a better view of the scar along his hairline. His head in his hand forced some of his hair up, giving me a better view of one end of the scar. It too was white, faded. There was a small dent in his forehead just beneath the scar on one side. Brain surgery of some kind, I knew.

Being this close to him, I was able to breathe in the cool rainwater scent that mingled with the scent of leather. His lashes were long, black, thick. He had laugh lines around the corners of his eyes and a nose that had been broken once before. It was a handsome face, a sturdy face. And I couldn’t help but wonder about it, about him.

As if he had sensed my closeness, his eyes opened in a flash and met mine. I stared at him, holding my breath. His breath washed my lips with warmth and I gradually opened my mouth to allow air in. Everett closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. “Mmm,” he murmured.

He was smelling me. As I’d smelled him. Lust burned bright. I closed my eyes.

A second later I heard the passenger door open and I opened my eyes, watching Everett climbing out of the car.

“Thanks for the ride, Parker.” He walked up his steps, his gait slow and a little wobbly.

I waited until he was on the other side of his red front door before I let out a breath and put a hand over my heart. It was raging, out of control.

I drove away and finally named the emotion that had taken up residence beside my heart: sadness. Inexplicable sadness.



Late Monday morning, I arrived at the restaurant ten minutes early for my shift and started taking breakfast orders. It was an odd hour to eat, which meant business was slow as usual. That was fine by me. My mind was still wrapped up by the day before and what had happened. I wasn’t sure how I felt about Everett and his admission. I wasn’t sure why I cared. And most of all, I wasn’t sure why I felt sad about it. I didn’t feel sadness. I didn’t get close to people on purpose. I didn’t want to feel anything for anyone else, I didn’t want to carry the obligation of caring. The only person I had ever cared for was Mira.