Inevitable - Kristen Granata Page 0,8

more. His clenched jaw, the vein protruding from his neck. His emotion under all that muscle is raw, and I want to expose it.

I like poking this bear.

Deanna spots us and waltzes over with a big smile. “Hey, girl. Hi, body guard.”

He lifts his chin in acknowledgement and steps back, leaning against a nearby wall. That’s about as much privacy as he’ll allow me.

“This event is really starting to come together,” Deanna says. “You’re going to knock it out of the park.”

“Thanks. I hope we raise a lot of money.”

“We will.” She gives my shoulder a squeeze. “Eric would be proud.”

Sadness creeps into the pit of my stomach every time his name is mentioned.

I wonder if it always will.

This year, I’m in charge of the event for the National Alliance on Mental Illness. I’ve been planning this since I graduated high school last year. Now, it’s all coming to fruition and I need everything to be perfect. For me, it’s a cause that’s more than just a way for my family to give back to the community. More than an excuse to throw another party.

Last year, my brother took his own life.

The shock and devastation still haven’t worn off. Sometimes, it’s like I’m still in disbelief. Denial. As if it’s all one sick joke, and Eric will walk through the door any moment.

It tore my family apart. My mom couldn’t handle it and left. One day she was here, and the next she was packing her bags and telling me how sorry she was. She abandoned me when I needed her most. I lost my brother, and then I lost my mother too. My father only gripped my reigns tighter. I became the only one he had left, so his mission is now to control my every move.

This charity raises money to support the people who suffer with mental illnesses. It brings their families together, something I wish Eric could be here for.

Not a day goes by that I don’t miss him. That I don’t think about him. That I don’t wish there was something more I could’ve done to save him from himself.

I could’ve helped him.

I should’ve tried harder.

I should’ve done something more.

Hot tears spring into my eyes. “I’ll be right back.” I push past Deanna. “Running to the bathroom and then we can get started on the seating chart.”

I’m not in the hallway two seconds before the sound of boots clunk against the floor behind me.

Damnit, not now.

“You gonna follow me into the bathroom, Big Guy?”

“That depends.” He swivels me until my back is against the wall, glowering at me through his stupid sunglasses.

“On what?”

“If you’re going to tell me what’s wrong.”

Why the hell does he care?

My watery eyes roll. “I’m fine. Just really need to pee.”

“Do you tear up every time you need to pee?”

I hike a shoulder and look down the long hallway, refusing to give in. “Doctors haven’t been able to explain it. Did you know one in 2,000 people cry every time they have the urge to urinate?”

“Eva.” His voice is low, and surprisingly gentle. “What’s wrong?”

Nobody ever asks me what’s wrong. They’re either too self-absorbed to notice, or too prim and proper to talk about real shit. They see someone upset and ignore it, pretending as if everything’s fine. It’s maddening. It’s like being trapped in fucking Pleasantville.

But this man, a total stranger, asks me what’s wrong.

And damnit if I don’t want to tell him.

A lone tear escapes and rolls down my cheek. He reaches up and swipes it away with his thumb. His scorching touch lingers, skating along my jawline until it reaches my trembling chin.

I slide my hands up his chest, willing myself to push him away, to run from him, but instead I pull him closer and bury my face in his shirt. His arms envelop me, dwarfing my body as he surrounds me.

Comforts me.

Maybe it’s the fact that he’s nothing like the people in my circle. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s supposed to be my own personal protector. Or maybe I’m just dying to find someone who truly understands me.

Aren’t we all?

Quiet sobs rack through me, a release I didn’t know I needed. I’ve shoved the pain of losing Eric so far down that it can’t get out. I sure as shit don’t ever let anyone see me cry. But as the anniversary of his death rolls around, it’s becoming harder to control. My emotions are getting the best of me no matter how hard I fight it.

I