Page 18 of Chasing Hope

It was then when a new job opportunity at a state-of-the-art hospital in Denver, Colorado opened up for my parents and they jumped on it. We packed up our house in Banff, Canada and moved to a residential area in Denver.

For around ten years after that my parents took a trip twice a year back to Banff. The rarity that they actually took a holiday still stuns me when I think back on it, but I try not to, otherwise I see the reality of the memories far too clearly.

My parents didn’t want a child.

They didn’t wantme.

It was obvious in every interaction.

I was nine years old when I did my first hike in Banff.

They allowed a nine-year-old to go hiking along a trail where bears were prominent.

My parents desperately wanted me to be independent fromthe youngest age they could manage because they didn’t want to raise me. If I wasn’t at the Ellingtons I was home alone, cooking myself dinner, doing my homework, and spending most of my evenings in the dark with the only illumination coming from the TV, waiting for my parents to finish whatever surgery they were in and wondering why my mom didn’t abort me.

Yes, I may be cold or seem closed off at times, but I wasn’t born that way.

Loveless parents create loveless children, and if it weren’t for the Ellingtons, I wouldn’t have had a single drop of warmth in my life. I owe them the world, because I know I could have turned out much differently than I have.

An ear-piercing scream fills the apartment.

Dread sinks throughout my body like an anchor plummeting to the bottom of the ocean.

I’m up and off my bed in an instant, my bedroom door swinging open as I charge into the hallway. Barging into Evie’s room, my chest is heaving, eyes frantically roaming the room for an intruder, but there’s…nothing.

Evie’s sheets are tangled between her legs, her body curled in a tight ball. Her brows suddenly tighten, the only warning I get before she lets out another scream.

She still gets nightmares?

Like a switch, muscle memory kicks in. Gently sitting on the bed beside her, I lay my palm on her back, prepared when her body stiffens further at my touch. Her panting increases, her lips parting to scream again, but I cut in quickly.

“Dove,” I say soothingly, rubbing my hand up and down her back. “It’s a dream, you’re okay. I’m here, Dove.”

The moment my voice floats toward her, her body loosens, the tension all but leaking out of her like a popped balloon. Her eyes don’t open, though; they never do. It’s impossible to wake her from one of her nightmares. Her mom tried everything when she was younger, but the only thing that ever seemed to calm her was…me.

I had no idea she still got nightmares, that they were still this bad.

Caleb sleeps like the dead, and given how protective he is of Evie, Serena suggested that we not tell him about the nightmares. She thought he wouldn’t react the best given only I could soothe her.

It was the right move. I know that. Serena does, too.

Evie doesn’t, though. She has no idea that I’ve been the one helping her through the nightmares since she was five years old.

I wonder how Carter handled them.

Evie lets out a deep sigh, her furrowed brows smoothing out as I continue to rub calming circles along her back.

Looking down at the woman that’s made my heart skip a beat since I first saw her when I was little, when I didn’t know what it meant to have my heart quicken in the presence of a girl, I know I can’tnothelp her through this tough time. That taking a step back will be fruitless. I’ll always be sucked in.

My heart has grown alongside Evie’s, from an innocent boy’s little crush, to an infatuation, to desire when I was a teenager, and now, I can’t help but admit that it’s something else entirely consuming. Even with the time apart, when we’re in a room together, it’s undeniable. The pull…the tension.

It’s something you can’t ignore. I merely deny myself the experience and just sit in the heaviness of always craving her.

Evie’s blonde hair lies along her pillow, the scent of her lavender shampoo invading my senses. When she’s asleep like this it’s the only time I allow my thoughts to cross that line in the sand I drew in high school, the night when we were both filled with liquor and courage and the magnetic pull that yanks us together.

I close my eyes, knowing damn well Evie, whether she means it or not, is about to fuck with my head, and that line I stupidly drew so vehemently is about to be tested.

I’ve been able to keep some semblance of distance due to us going our separate ways in life. I’ve gotten my hit of Evie Ellington through social media and updates from Caleb. Like an addict, I collected any scraps I could.