Everett couldn’t sleep. He’d packed everything, straightened up the guest house, done his best to leave things as he’d found them. Maybe it was for the best. If he drove all night, he could get to Clara’s house in time to take Jimi, leaving her free to catch that flight to Nashville in pursuit of her dream. Maybe she’d even reconsidering the custody thing, if she saw how serious he was about being there for their son. Although it was probably best not to count on that.
Maybe he could get a job in Nashville while he rebuilt his credit and supported Jimi through the next phases of his life.
But he couldn’t leave without apologizing to Evan. Whether Evan wanted an apology or not.
So he stayed awake through the night, not wanting to miss his chance.
Mercifully, the back door to the main house was unlocked when he tried it. And the kitchen was rich with the aroma of coffee.
But when he went to the window, he saw that the black Tesla was gone from the driveway, and whispered a string of curses.
He couldn’t just tuck his tail between his legs and run home. Not until he’d made things right.
He kept expecting to see Klair or Harmony or Jazz appear out of nowhere, and demand to know what the exiled stranger was doing on their property. Inside their house. Uninvited yet still in their lives.
He hurried back to the guest house for his wallet and keys. Then he hit the road.
Evan was almost for sure at Señor’s right now, banging his head against the wall while frantically trying to come up with a plan to replace the brother who had betrayed him. Or would he be at Tequila, mourning the financial hit he’d take by delaying the opening until Gabriel returned?
He was sure that the plan had been for another practice run with live customers, so it had to be Señor.
It was easy to imagine the scene from Evan’s perspective, walking in and seeing Klair in his brother’s arms. Not that she was in his arms so much as pushing herself into them. Everett would never hit on her. Not in a million years.
But Evan would have to see that.
Except … Everett had been attracted to her. He and Evan had so much in common, it made absolute sense that they would have the same or similar taste in women.
Had he encouraged Klair in some way without even realizing it? The thought that he might be at least partially responsible for the destruction of his brother’s marriage was unbearable. Because if successful, disciplined Evan couldn’t help making the same mistakes Everett had, then Everett was doomed. He was never going to sort things out with Clara, or get his life together.
Shame writhed inside him. Because there was no denying that a part of him fumed with jealousy. Evan’s marriage could be saved. Everett would give anything to still have that chance with Clara.
He parked next to his brother’s black Tesla, grateful that he’d guessed right.
He slammed the Mustang door, then ran across the lot and right into the kitchen. The bustle sounded well ahead of schedule. Bodies scurrying about amid of blitzkrieg of the chef’s barked commands.
Evan glanced over, saw Everett, then looked right through him, walking by like his brother didn’t even exist.
“I just need a minute, then I’m out of here. Back to California. You’ll never have to hear from me again if you don’t want to. I promise.”
But he couldn’t even get Evan to acknowledge his existence. A conversation was clearly out of the question.
“I don’t mean to be a bitch or nothing, but you should probably get out of here,” Morris suggested with a cool whisper once he managed to get Everett alone, after Evan stormed into the walk-in. “You kissed his woman.”
Morris was probably right, but he couldn’t give up.
As Everett headed for the walk-in, Bernardo took him by the arm and led him out of the kitchen. “You have to go home.”
“I can’t go anywhere until—”
“Go home, Rhett.” Bernardo shook his head. “If you stick around after you have been asked to go, repeatedly and explicitly, you are only doing more damage to your relationship.”
“I can’t drive all the way back to California without—”
“Then don’t,” Bernardo cut him off, clearly needing to get back inside. “Go to your guest house. Wait for Chef there. Give him some space and I am sure that everything will work out eventually. There’s nothing more you can do here. Do you understand?”
Everett did understand. He just hated the truth.