The Healing (The Things We Can't Change Book 3) (11 page)

He’s different here at the club than any other time that I’ve seen or watched him. At school, he’s acting under social pressure, keeping up the image that I’m not entirely sure is all true, is more of a façade than who he really is. With Cameron Fuller, he acts tough, unaffected, a hardass. With Cindy, he was soft and almost loving, affectionate. Out on the dining floor, serving, he’s quiet and restrained but he somehow still manages to let sarcasm and disdain for all the members eek from every pore. At my house, he’s quiet, focused on his work, on doing his time as quickly as possible and escaping.

But here… here, Zeke is… happy. Or at least, he does a good job of pretending he’s happy, back here behind the scenes. I know his uncle Alex is a manager, and I know he’s worked at the club for several years already, and he moves through the kitchen doors with a practiced touch, interacts with everyone with the ease of long familiarity. He keeps up an almost-coherent conversation in Spanish with a few of the cooks and dishwashers, endures a lecture about the dangers of smoking from the lone female cook from whom he cajoles a piece of pie, and talks to Koby a lot, who is also serving.

It seems the popular spot for servers is directly behind the kitchen doors, not out on the dining floor. They keep an eye on their tables through the windows of the doors but stay behind them so they can talk. When Koby first spots me, his jaw actually drops. We stare at each other from across the kitchen, and I am the first to look away due to the unease in the pit of my stomach. I don’t think I’ll ever get to the point where I’m comfortable with people, especially men, staring at me, even though I know Koby is one of the nicest people out there.

Koby had immediately made a beeline for Zeke, and they had had a short but intense whispered conversation. Zeke seemed to appease whatever concern Koby had, because before I knew it, they were walking over to me and I officially met Koby Phillips. He held out his hand for me to shake, the way all normal people do, and I feel a flush of shame come over my cheeks as I remember how I couldn’t bring myself to touch him.

That’s the part I hate the most. The touching, and being so scared of it. Knowing perfectly well that Koby Phillips has probably never harmed something bigger than a spider, knowing that he’s one of the nicest people in the world, and not being able to get myself over the stupid, irrational fear that touching him will bring about harm. I can’t beat it, and every time I go out into public, feel that accidental brush or am unable to step away before someone hugs me or takes my hand, they all realize how crazy I am when I jerk away so violently.

Zeke had seemed to understand the frozen look in my eyes immediately, and he had pushed Koby’s hand down and given him a look that clearly said,
leave it be
. I had to give Koby credit again—he’d taken one step back, given a smile that wasn’t forced, and smoothly recovered, asking me if driving with Zeke scared me as much as it did him, especially in the rain.

I’d actually laughed, surprising even myself, because even though I’d been a sobbing, angry wreck in the car, there had been a moment or two when he’d taken a corner so fast I’d been pulled from my problems into concern for my life. Zeke had punched his friend in the arm and dragged him away, but not before looking at me over his shoulder, checking to see if I would be all right left alone. I gave him a quick nod, because I was fine—for now.

Zeke is fascinating to watch in conversation; his face is so expressive, and I wish I had his talent for drawing so I could capture his different expressions. His eyes light up when someone brings up a topic he’s familiar with, and he talks with his hands a lot, jokes a lot. This is a… brighter Zeke than any of the others I’ve encountered, and I’m not sure if it’s part of the real him, or just yet another persona that he is able to slip on and off, easy as a glove.

And then I realize with complete shock, so much so that I sit straight up in my chair, that Zeke and I have that in common. I remember that feeling all too well—different Evies for different situations, different groups of people. There was the happy, easy me around my dad, the one in which I felt most comfortable. The prim and proper me around Clarissa, at the country club, the one with slight disdain for times with my so-called friends. The one who was more relaxed but had to keep so many secrets around Jenny, and the scared, terrified girlfriend I was around Tony, relying desperately on any and all tricks I had developed over the years to try and keep him not under control, but
controlled
.

I watch Zeke, trying to figure out if maybe he is as lost as I am about who he really is, which persona he adopts is closest to the truth. I remember thinking, not too long ago, that Cindy’s death and Tony’s accident should have brought us closer together, but only sprang us farther apart. If those two incidents didn’t bring us closer, then the death of my father should have. But we still went on, blindly ignoring each other, even though we are so sensitive to each other’s pain—whether we want it or not.

I feel safe around Zeke, as safe as I did around my dad, and I know that means something. I’m just not sure what. I just know I hate what I’ve become, am filled with self-loathing for what I do to myself and how I’ve handled everything, and yet I feel helpless to get myself out of it on my own, but I have no one else. I can’t help but wonder if Zeke feels this way too, disgusted with himself, wanting to move on but seemingly stuck where he is forever, or if he’s completely satisfied with himself right where he is, not really living, not exactly dying, just… existing.

I want to change. I just don’t know how. But the more time I spend with him, the more I watch him, sitting here, the more I think Zeke is the key to getting better. The catalyst for improving, for healing.

The problem is convincing him of that.

“Look what the cat dragged in. Slumming with us menial minimum-wagers, Miz Parker?”

The cold, sarcastic voice drags me from my thoughts, which I now realize I had sunk into so deeply my eyes weren’t even watching the room anymore. A girl has appeared before me, a tall girl with shoulder-length blonde hair and icy blue eyes. She’s only slightly familiar, a face I’ve seen serving here countless times but never really took the time to examine. Her name tag says Tessa, and I realize as I look closer that I’ve seen her before, with her arm around Zeke once, before my dad died. It breeds an instant dislike in me, along with jealousy that I don’t understand and try not to acknowledge.

I give her my best, blandest smile. “I’m sorry. Do I know you?” She sends such a disdainful air in my direction that I don’t bother to make my voice polite. I only respond in kind, and it feels good to unleash some of the turmoil and anger inside me, even if it’s at the wrong target.

“Tessa Donahue,” she responds in a syrupy voice, holding out a hand with a mocking air.

I don’t know if it’s her attitude, or the fact that she might have had a thing with Zeke once, or the fact that I’ve just been having such a rough time, but I have no problem looking down at her hand with a repulsive expression that doesn’t have anything to do with my aversion to being touched.

I lift my eyes to her and give a bland smile, slipping into a persona I haven’t worn since Tony’s accident—the one I wore around my old friends to fit in. Disdainful, rich, and entitled. Everything this girl thinks I am.

“You already know who I am,” I say, implying it’s a good thing that she does, and to be expected.

Her eyes widen slightly, as though she hadn’t expected me to fight the fire with fire. Her hand slowly returns to her side and her head tilts a little as she stares at me, no doubt calculating her next attack. Finally, Tessa takes a step closer and a dull roar starts up in my ears, because she’s
too
close. She’s close enough I can see her individual eyelashes, I can see a small scar above her right eyebrow and tell that her lips, though big and pouty, are just a touch uneven. Much, much too close for comfort. My breathing begins to quicken before I can stop myself, though I force it not to show.

“Bet what you have with Zeke isn’t nearly so exciting as what he and I always did,” she breaths, her voice low. “He’s really trying to rise above, getting in your pants.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I say in my most pleasant voice, despite the fact that she just took yet another close step toward me.

Tessa smiles, and it’s full of a confidence that I myself am far from feeling anymore. “I’m not worried,” she says, though I think I catch a flash of something in her blue eyes that says she just might be. “He’ll come running back after you dump him on his ass. You’re not cut out for handling a man like that, and he’ll never be able to keep you in an endless supply of those silk panties I’m sure he enjoys taking off.”

Anger cuts through my fear, annoyance that this girl is judging Zeke and me and our relationship, when it couldn’t be further from what she’s clearly envisioning. I turn cold eyes on her, fear of how close she is to me completely fleeing, and give her my own sweetest, syrupy smile.

“Don’t worry, Tessa,” I say, even leaning in toward her a bit, making sure I have my dewy, guileless eyes on. “No one would ever settle for
you
after they’ve had
me.
I’ll improve his tastes at least that much before I kick him to the curb.”

She rears back and her mouth immediately opens as her cheeks flush bright red. She actually lifts an arm, like she’s going to hit me or something, but then a throat clears loudly to my left and we both turn to see Zeke. He gives me a questioning look and I shrug and pull back, nerves on alert again with how close Tessa and I got to each other during the confrontation. Tessa swallows back whatever she was preparing to scream at me and lowers her arm quickly as Zeke gives her a hard look.

“Hey, Zeke,” she says, looking as though butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.

“Hey,” he grunts, and then turns back to me without sparing her another look. “Ready? Koby is going to give us a ride, we’re going to his house for a while.”

I want to protest, say that he can just take me home because I’m fine, it’s all fine, but the truth is… I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want to return to the big empty house, with all the knives and the memories of my father, and fall prey to my own weaknesses once again. I want to stay with Zeke, stay feeling safe, and figure out how, exactly, to convince him to fix me, since I can’t do it myself. I want to stay with him and keep seeing this other side of life, the one behind the scenes of the one I always lived. I’ve never hung out with two boys alone before, and I figure that while it might not be the most ideal situation, it’s probably better than being in one where I could potentially cut my own arm open.

So I just nod at Zeke, hop off the counter and take my glass over to the big industrial dishwasher, Zeke following me. I chance a look over my shoulder, and Tessa is staring at us with pure venom in her eyes, her fists clenched. I can’t stop myself from giving her a saucy smile before following Zeke outside to Koby’s car.

Ezekiel

54

I can tell Evie is uneasy with all of this, but I have to give her credit for going with the flow. There was a flash of panic in her eyes when I told her we were going over to Koby’s house and I know she thought about telling me to take her home. I would have refused. No way was I going to leave her alone, even if I’d already made plans to stay with Koby tonight to try and get out of my own house for a while. The best thing I could do for Evie was try and pull her into something very different from her own life, make her forget about her problems for a while, maybe remind her that there were other things out there, things to live for. And that would be the extent of my involvement.

Koby had been confused as well when he’d seen Evangeline Parker, of all people, hanging out in the kitchen of the country club, and especially when I told him that she was coming to his house with us. I’d finally had to hint at the truth to get him off my back, telling him that she was a little unstable and then looking meaningfully at Evie’s bandaged arm, and he had finally stopped protesting, his eyes wide.

We all troop out of the country club and to Koby’s car, which is a nice nearly-new Camry his parents bought for him. For Evie’s sake, I’m glad it’s not a beater because she already looks nervous enough about coming with us. I call shotgun on purpose so Evie doesn’t have to sit next to Koby, and then suggest we pick up a pizza on the way home, since its past dinnertime and almost dark.

As I call in an order for sausage and stuffed crust, and make Koby stop at Speedway to pick up Dr. Pepper for us, I catch Evie’s small, relieved smile and try to shrug off the pleasure I feel at pleasing her.

We get to Koby’s house and disappear into his basement, waving hello to his mom as we pass her in the kitchen. I like coming to Koby’s house because it always smells like chocolate chip cookies or maple syrup, wholesome and all-American. His mom doesn’t ever bother us except to bring food to the basement or occasionally to ask us to bring in the groceries for her. Koby’s house is a home, and if I allowed myself to feel, I’d be a little jealous of him.

We head to the basement and make short work of the pizzas, and Evie dives in with just as much enthusiasm as Koby and me. I’m still astounded that someone so small can eat so much food—and remain so small. After the food is gone, along with half the case of Dr. Pepper, Koby and I turn, as always, to the Xbox.