I nodded.
“You have a friend named Scott, and he gave you a nickname after an entireyearof acquaintance, and you’re weirded out.”
I frowned.
“But you still think Scott is the better choice of potential partner because he doesn’t make you feel uncomfortable things, and he slots into the life you’ve carved out for yourself.”
It sounded wrong when he said it like that, but I couldn’t put my finger on why.
“And then, on the other side of the coin, pretty much the minute you came back into his life, Gideon offered you a place to stay, went out of his way to help you, and you two hooked up, but you think that’s wrong because he deserves to be mad at you. And also, you think you don’t deserve help from the people in this town because you haven’t done anything to earn it, and you don’t plan to.”
“I… Yes. I guess.” I ran a hand through my hair again. I was going to be bald by the time I left O’Leary.
“Okay, so this is where, if I’m Henry Lattimer, I’m gonna point out your logical fallacy. You ready?”
“No.” I laid back on the floor and shielded my eyes with my forearm.
“Too bad, ’cause here it is.It’s not about what youdeserve, Liam.”
“Pardon?” I moved my arm so I could look up at him.
He smirked. “God, Grandpa’s right. Thisisfun. Shit. Don’t tell him I said that. Okay, now comes the part where I share a relevant story.” He cleared his throat. “So… I was married before. My husband died.”
“Oh, God! I’m so sorry. You don’t have to tell me—”
Everett smiled a lopsided smile and laughed shortly, cutting me off. “Thank you, but it’s okay. For a long time, I really hated talking about it because I really hated thinking about it, but it’s easier now.”
I sat up, resting my forearms on my knees, and nodded solemnly.
“Anyway. We were happy, Adrian and me. We had a great life. I loved him. He loved me. And he was a good person—funny, kind to children and animals. He exercised. And he was really fuckingyoung, Liam. But he died anyway. And people kept saying things like, ‘He didn’t deserve this. You didn’t deserve this. It’s not fair.’”
“It’s not,” I said softly. “It’s really not.”
“But, then, maybe fifteen, sixteen months after Adrian died, there I am, strolling into O’Leary—almost literally, but that’s a story for another time—and the very first person I meet in town is Silas Sloane.” Everett’s smile was the kind of thing that couldn’t be hidden, though he tried. “Tall, built, sarcastic, smart, intrinsicallygood, sexy as fuck. And just…zing.” He laughed.
I smiled a little.
“Me being me, I tried to fight it, obviously. It felt weird. Wrong. Like why should I get to have thattwice, when some people never get to feel itonce? When Adrian had died and didn’t get to feel itat allanymore? It wasn’t logical. I hadn’t earned it, blah blah blah. Didn’t matter.Zing zing zing,all over the damn place.”
Everett rocked a little, his hands on his knees.
“Butnobodydeserves the things that happen to them, really, do they? Nobody deserves to die young, or to lose the person they love, or to have to make a really hard choice and give up the person they married in Vegas, or to break a bone, or lose a game, or whatever your personal tragedy might be. That’s just a lie we tell ourselves so we can feel like we control shit.”
“I… I guess.”Huh.
“And meanwhile, somewhere in America, there’s an asshole who steals change from the charity collection jars at the grocery store who just won a million dollars on a scratch-off, and he didn’t deserve that either. Only Santa Claus keeps lists of who deserves presents, Liam.”
“But…” I shook my head. “It’s not just that. Gideon and I have so much history. It’s impossible—”
“Nah. Not impossible.Improbable. But you know what else is improbable? Fuckingelectricity. Am I right? Twenty bajillion positive and negative charges working together to beam Jack Ryan into my living room? Or, know what’s even weirder? My asshole cat who hates people genuinely adores my asshole grandfather who hates cats, and the feeling is mutual.” He rolled his eyes. “So don’t tell me it’s impossible just because it’s improbable, Liam, because you’ve got to leave room for all the improbable, magical shit in this world.”
I cleared my throat. “Wow. You’re, ah… You’re really going all-out to win that Santa contest, huh?”
Everett leaned over the box of props, glanced around the otherwise empty room like he was checking for eavesdroppers, and whispered, “Ho ho ho.”
I laughed.
He didn’t. “Seriously though. When you look at Gideon now, do you still feel thezing?”
