Hold on to Hope

But that wasn’t what had me trembling.

Evan had set his sights on me.

Watching me with this confusing expression that I wanted to pretend I didn’t recognize.

That I didn’t know firsthand.

Need and want and this crazy passion that I remembered all too well.

God. He was not allowed to look at me like that.

I just might pass out.

This was too much.

But there I was, standing there with a big ol’ grin plastered to my face.

Faked.

Feigned.

Forced.

Thing was, there was a tremor rolling underneath that was real. Joy and hope seeping into the vacant spaces, right to the parts of me that had only wanted Evan to be happy. All the nights I’d spent so lonely and still praying that he could find himself.

To my left, Aunt Hope was approaching, carrying that little boy, and my heart started to speed, jumpin’ a beat, getting erratic and flustered and blundering out of control the closer they came.

Aunt Hope slowed when she was three feet away.

Was that sympathy on her face?

Empathy seeping free?

Could she possibly understand?

No, not even close.

But still, her smile was filling right up with all her warmth and affection, her eyes softer as she looked between the two of us. “Frankie Leigh. I figured you might want to meet Everett.”

I got worried I’d swallowed a grapefruit because there was suddenly a lump so huge sittin’ at the base of my throat that it was constricting airflow. Only these little wheezing, choking sounds were getting free.

He babbled some more, and my stupid heart that was running wild tried to leap right out of its hold, cracking my ribs wide open as it went.

Hand shaking like mad, I reached out and touched the back of the little boy’s plump hand.

“Everett.”

It felt like a whisper somewhere in my mind. A taunt. A plea.

“You are so precious, aren’t you? I’m Frankie Leigh.” Affection tugged at one corner of my mouth, sorrow and cheer.

And the little boy?

Everett.

He smiled a smile that could shatter the entire world. Rid it of hate.

It was enough to send a stake of misery to impale my spirit.

It was funny when you thought you’d gotten over things, healed of them, and you hadn’t healed at all.

And it was all right there, suddenly almost too much to bear.

He pointed one of those chubby fingers at the display of treats, his lips pursing in a tiny ‘o’ and his green eyes going wide with excitement.

“Ball? Ball? Ehvie ball?”

My attention darted that way. He was pointing at the colorful cake pops in the display.

“You want one of those?” I asked.

“Ehvie, please?” He patted his chest, his mouth twisting into that same smile again.

Oh God.

This was too much.

Torture.

Still, I was looking over the top of the counter at Evan who had edged closer, his big hands shoved in his pockets and his own fear racing through his features.

Everything hurt.

Every cell in my body felt like it had gotten compressed. So tight it was going to explode.

Cracks getting busted up and vacancies getting filled.

“Can he have one?” I attempted to ask, the words getting locked around that grapefruit that had grown spikes where it was getting tossed like a bowling ball up and down my throat.

Those eyes flashed regret and something that looked way too close to desire.

Evan nodded tight, though a frown dented that strong brow.

He pulled his hands free to sign. I THINK SO.

He thought so? I was pretty sure it was issued as a question.

What the hell did that mean?

And suddenly I was wishing I would have pelted Aunt Hope with the million questions that had roiled in my brain all day. Problem was, I’d been too terrified to force a single one from my mouth.

To terrified to hear the truth.

Last thing I wanted to hear was that Evan had moved on and he’d left me behind and there was absolutely nothing that my broken heart could do.

We both looked to Aunt Hope. She smiled a wary, knowing smile, like she was wading through the unease lapping between Evan and me. “I think that should be fine, as long as he ate lunch?” she asked, looking at Evan.

“We ate with Dad at the cafeteria,” Evan said with a tight nod.

Oh, was I ever a glutton for punishment because the masochistic side of me went on a hunt of his stupid ring finger, desperate to know what his situation was—if he was happy and in love and if he was there to show off his family, or if he was as lonely as he looked.

I did my best not to gag while I braved the inspection.

Bare.

I nearly buckled in two at the relief.

And that was just about the faultiest thinking I’d ever endeavored.

I jerked my attention away from his hand, only for it to go and do something even more foolish, like land on that gorgeous face.

Emerald eyes flashed, pinned on me, reading my intentions like they were projected on a lit-up marquee.