Ten Below Zero(71)

“Purgatoire,” he breathed. His eyes moved up to mine. “The E is capitalized.”

“The P and the E are both capitalized.”

“Parker,” he started, looking at the tattoo again.

“And Everett,” I finished.

“Purgatoire. Purgatory.”

I licked my lips. “It was the moment I started to feel again. You did that. It was my sweet moment.”

He looked at me with feeling. And now I wasn’t confused at what the feeling was, because I felt it too. It was the most solid feeling I’d ever felt, and the first time I’d ever felt it this deeply.

He stood up and leaned over me, kissing me, with feeling. When he gently laid me back on the bed, it was with feeling. When he kissed down my chest, he kissed me with feeling. Later, when he was inside of me, he stared into my eyes and his ice blue irises were warm, with feeling.

When Everett curled around me afterwards, his arm tight around my waist, he asked the question he asked the day before. But my answer had changed.

“Parker,” he sleepily murmured against my neck. “Are you in love with me yet?”

I waited a minute, until his breaths were even and deep, signaling he’d fallen asleep.

“If I lied to you, I’d be breaking the rules. And if I told you the truth, I’d be breaking the rules.”





We woke up early the following morning and hit the road to New Orleans immediately. Everett’s hand found mine across the console and held it. If the seven-hour drive taught me anything, it was that I never wanted to let go of his hand. My hand in his felt as natural as having another limb, and the loss of it would make my hand feel empty, for the rest of my life.

We strolled Bourbon Street together, holding hands. We ducked into little shops and walked across several blocks to have the famous beignets. We sat in City Park and people-watched. Everett made up stories about some of the strangers we observed. I laughed some more. It was coming more natural to me, though Everett still looked at me as if it was the strangest sound in the world.

You know that moment you have, when you want to freeze time, right before everything falls apart? The awful thing is that you never know when that moment is. You look back on it and wish you’d committed more of it to memory. But you don’t know that your world is about to tip on its axis.

For us, it was the moment we were back on Bourbon Street that evening, navigating our way through a sea of inebriated bar hoppers.

The air was warm and sounds from all the bars in the area were loud, messy noises, causing Everett to pull me into the middle of the street, away from the people swaying on the sidewalk. I pulled my tank top away from my chest to allow some air movement. Everett squeezed my hand three times and I let go of my tank top, looking at him.

“Why three?” I asked.

He looked at me and shook his head. Then, his eyebrows drew together and he put a hand by his ear, signaling he hadn’t heard me.

I stepped closer to him. “Why three?” I asked again. I pulled away to look at him, but something was off about his expression. He was looking over my shoulder but I could tell he wasn’t looking at anything. His eyes were blank.

“Everett?” I squeezed his hand. He didn’t react. I looked around and pulled him over to the curb. “Sit down,” I ordered, all but pushing him. His face was blank. And then his head turned to the left, came back, and turned to the left again. It was as if there was a rubber band, stretching his head to the left and snapping his head back straight.

“Everett,” I said again. “What’s happening?”

He wasn’t looking at anything. His left arm lifted up and twitched, up and down. I didn’t know what to do. And then he fell sideways to the sidewalk.

“Everett!” His entire body was convulsing, his eyes rolled to the back of his head so I only saw the whites of his eyes. I turned my head around, frantic. “Call an ambulance!” I screamed. His mouth was opened, but no sound was coming out.

“He’s having a seizure,” a woman said, crouching next to me. “Is he epileptic?”

I shook my head, watching him helplessly. Then he started grunting.

“Put his head in your lap, girl. There’s too much glass around.” I slid next to him, trying to put his head on my lap. The woman helped me, but Everett’s spasms were getting worse, with his hands thrashing.

“Should I hold his hands?” I asked, my voice thick.

“No. Just wait. He’ll come out of it.” I watched her pull her phone out and call an ambulance.

Slowly, his seizing stopped. He blinked and looked at me. “Everett,” I said.

I watched him open and close his mouth slowly, as if he was tasting something. But I saw recognition in his eyes, so I knew that was a good sign.

“He’s coming out of it,” I heard the woman say on the phone. I looked up at her gratefully but then her eyes widened. I turned back to Everett’s head in my lap. He was convulsing again. His eyes were rolled back again and his body was thrashing so hard that I couldn’t keep him in my lap.

“He’s having another one,” the woman said. This time, her voice sounded more concerned than before.

Everett was making choking sounds at this point. “Everett,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “Please, Everett.” I didn’t know what I was asking for. But a miracle would do.