CHAPTER ELEVEN
BECKETT
“You think this cold snap will end soon?”
I’m starting to get worried. We don’t usually see these types of temperatures this late into March. The afternoons have been warm enough, but the mornings and nights are downright frigid. I checked the temperature before I left the house this morning. It was barely breaking thirty degrees.
“Has to,” Barney replies, frowning down at his boots, hands on his hips. “Cause I refuse to do any replanting of the produce we’ve already put in the ground this year.”
It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to have a low-yield crop this spring. We don’t rely on it as our main source of income. But I’d hate to see all those crops go to waste after we poured so much effort into those fields and any business is good business for our fledgling farm.
I was actually starting to look forward to bell peppers.
“Where’s the kid?”
I scratch at my eyebrow. “With Layla this morning. She was showing him how to stock inventory.”
Meaning she’s making him lug the giant sacks of flour and sugar that she picks up at the wholesaler into the bakehouse. Stella gets on me for forcing manual labor, but I’m pretty sure Jeremy will come crawling back to the fields after an afternoon with Layla. She runs her kitchens like a pit crew, but with frosting and pastel sprinkles.
Barney gives me a sly look. “And the girl?”
“The girl’s name is Evelyn,” I mutter. And she’s not a girl. She’s a woman wrapped in temptation, topped with an eager, honest sincerity that makes my chest feel hollow. Spending time with her, getting to know her—I only like her more. Which is a problem, when she plans to leave without a backward glance in a couple of weeks.
Hopefully, right now, she’s sitting in a big field of flowers. I picture her there, her hands cupped loosely around a blossoming Queen Anne’s Lace, the white blooms bright against her dark skin. I picture myself there with her, my nose in her neck, her skin sweeter than the flowers around us. Her laugh free and warm.
I sigh and dig the palm of my hand into my shoulder and try to ease out some of the tension. I swear I’ve turned into the tin man since she started sleeping in my house. A bunch of rattling cans, looking around for where the hell my heart got off to. “She’s somewhere around here, I’m sure.”
Barney straightens suddenly, his hand shielding his eyes against the sun. “Closer than you think, yeah?”
The smile on his face wilts and then falls off completely. I follow his gaze to a hunched figure stumbling over the hill. The rattle in my chest turns to a roar as Evelyn pauses at the very top of it. There’s no mistaking her dark hair or her long legs as she sways in place, arms curled tight around herself. I’m already striding forward when Barney mutters a curse under his breath.
Something is wrong.
“Is she okay?”
“Get the Gator,” I call over my shoulder, picking up my pace to a jog as Evelyn stumbles to her knees and then collapses to her side. I lose sight of her in the tall grass and my heart seizes, a numb feeling creeping up over my legs. When I was twelve-years-old, I bet another boy in my class I could clear one of the fences at the produce farm with a single jump. I remember running at the lopsided thing full-tilt, the brambles from the bushes scraping at my bare legs. I remember the weightless feeling of propelling my body up and then the clip of my shoe against the fence. I smacked into the ground with a sickening thud, the wind knocked clean out of me. I stayed there flat on my back and tried desperately to suck in air, everything spinning around me.
It’s like that now as I race to the top of the hill and find Evelyn curled up on her side in the grass. Her wet hair is plastered to her face, her clothes soaked and clinging to her skin. Whatever jacket she was wearing has long been discarded and her body tucks tighter, knees to her chest, as she tries to conserve any warmth she has left.
Fuck, it’s barely above freezing out here and she’s soaking wet.
“Evie,” I breathe, hands hovering over her before I turn her on her back. She blinks up at me with dazed eyes, teeth clenched tight around the shivers racking her body. I curl my palm around the nape of her neck and the sound she makes splinters right through my chest.
“Hey,” she says, her voice a rasp. She tries to smile but all she manages is a grimace instead. “I f-f-f-fell into the p-p-pond.”
“What the fuck were you doing?” I ask, aware that I’m yelling for no reason. But I can’t stop myself, not when her skin is faded to a dull brownish gray and she can barely keep her eyes open.
I glance over my shoulder as I cup my hands above her elbows, her skin so goddamned cold I curse under my breath. I slip my fingers away and fumble with my jacket, ripping it off my arms and tucking it around her. Not that it’ll do her much good with her clothes soaking wet. But she clutches it to her chest like a lifeline and buries her nose in the collar.
“Come here,” I tell her, hands shaking. I tuck one beneath her shoulders and the other under her knees and lift her against me. Water slips down my arms and I adjust my jacket tighter around her. She groans the second her cheek presses against my neck and I suck in a sharp breath through my teeth.
She’s freezing.
“W-w-was finding so-some hap-p-p-y,” she whispers into my neck, hands draped loosely over my shoulders. I slip my palm under her wet shirt until the material bunches at my wrist, rubbing hard at the small of her back. I want to rip the sun right out of the sky and urge it back into her skin, smooth my palms over every inch of her until she’s glowing with it again.
“How’d that work out for you?” I breathe against her forehead, watching as Barney finally appears on the Gator. He’s driving the thing like a mad man, taking the turn around the fence like a bat out of hell. I start to head in his direction, careful to keep Evelyn close.
She snorts a laugh into my skin that sounds like a whimper, her nose pressed tight to my throat. “C-c-could have been bet-t-t-er. Thanks.”
Barney hits the breaks and a cloud of dust rises around us, eyes wide in his tan face. He takes one look at Evelyn in my arms and his mouth flattens into a thin line.
“How long has it been?”
I clamber into the front seat with Evelyn and wrap myself around her. Over my dead body am I laying her in the backseat. “Don’t know,” I tell him. I nose into her wet hair and trace my palm over her stomach, trying to pour all of my heat into her. Her hand curls around my wrist and she holds me there, squeezing once.
“W-walked from the p-pond,” she answers with another rolling shiver as Barney takes off with a rumble, heading towards my cabin. I plant my boot against the floor of the small truck and hold on. The pond is easily half a mile from where we are now and who knows how long it took her walking like this. “My ph-phone was in my po-po-pocket.”
“You said you were taking a break, right? You don’t need it.” I can’t believe she’s thinking about her phone when she can barely string two words together. A hot flare of frustration knocks behind my eyes followed by bone-deep panic.
She’s too damn cold.
“W-w-why I didn’t c-c-call you,” she explains, tilting her head back to narrow her eyes at me. Her hand squeezes my wrist again. “G-grumpy.”
Damn right I’m grumpy. I’m also terrified. Fucking furious with myself.
Barney comes to a screeching halt in front of my cabin and I immediately climb out, my hand protectively cupping Evelyn’s head, her face still tucked in the crook of my neck. Every brush of her ice-cold skin against mine is like a warning drum, beating inside my skull. Get her inside. Get her warm.
“No hot water,” Barney calls, his face lined with worry. “If you get her in the shower or tub, it might warm her up too quick.” He taps once over his chest. Over his heart. “Blankets. Loads of ‘em.”
At my questioning glance, he shrugs. “Fell into the bay in December helping my brother tie up crab pots. When the coastguard fished me out, that’s what they said.” He puts the Gator into gear and eases off the break. “I’m gonna head towards the main office. Let Stella know and get everything sorted. I’ll give Gus a ring and have him come over as soon as he can.” He gives me a stern look. “Take care of our girl.”
Our girl. Another piece of me breaks off, something for Evelyn to hold in the palm of her pretty hand.
He goes rumbling back towards the farm and I take the steps two at a time, bursting through the front door. Evelyn shivers violently against my front, her breath in small puffs against my neck. The cats scramble around my feet as I move down the hallway, heading straight for the fireplace. I set her down carefully on the oversized armchair in front of it, dragging it closer with my hands braced on both sides.
She frowns at me as I back away, stumbling to the stack of firewood on the mantle. I feel like I’m all thumbs, my movements uncoordinated and clumsy. I’ve been lighting fires since I was a kid but It takes me three tries to light the damn match, my hands shaking the whole time. I toss the flame behind the grate and breathe out slowly as it catches and spreads, wood curling at the edges. I see her try to stand up out of the corner of my eye and my teeth clench in an audible snap.
“Sit the fuck down.”
“B-b-ut the couch. I’m all wet.”
“Evie, I swear to god. I don’t give a shit about the couch.” I rip one of the blankets off the other and throw it on the hardwood at her feet, the fire beginning to snap behind me. My gaze drags up her huddled body on the very edge of the armchair, from her waterlogged boots to her dripping sweater.
“Take off your clothes,” I bark, before stomping my way through the cabin to my bedroom.
I wish I could be softer, more comforting, but my body feels pulled tight, everything a second away from collapse. I can’t stop replaying the moment she appeared over the hill, the way her body swayed and then fell out of view. Like a flower wilting on the vine. I can’t stop seeing the way she pulled into herself as I turned her over, hands grasping at nothing.
I ball up the comforter from my bed and stalk towards the living room. Evelyn is standing again, her back to me as she fumbles with her clothes in front of the fireplace. All she’s managed to do is kick off her shoes, her shaking hands attempting to loosen the button on her soaking wet jeans.
She looks at me over her shoulder, a faintly pleading look that evaporates all of my anger and replaces it with a tender ache. “Beck, I c-c-can’t - “
“It’s alright.” I toss the comforter with the other blanket and curl myself around her back, gently moving her hands to her sides. Her wet sweater soaks my shirt as I slip the button of her jeans free, the backs of my knuckles brushing against the soft skin of her stomach as I work at the zipper. I jerk the heavy material over her hips and she makes a small noise, a thin exhale from her nose. Goosebumps appear on her skin as I work the wet jeans down and off her legs.
“Sorry,” I mutter, my hand around the back of her knee as I try to help her step out of them. My thumb traces absently over delicate skin. She’s still so cold.
Something that sounds like a laugh garbles out of her, her hands cupping her elbows and her chin pressed to her chest. “Nothing you h-haven’t seen be-f-fore.”
I clench my jaw. “Doesn’t mean it’s an open invitation,” I tell her, my voice gruff with frustration. I’m too focused on the circles beneath her eyes and the pale blue tint of her lips to notice anything else—the sticky cold that her skin is coated with, her clothes stiff and unyielding. I get back to my feet and lift the hem of her shirt, guiding it over her head. I’m careful not to tangle her hair when her whole body gives a tremendous shake, the shirt thrown to the floor with a heavy plop. I smooth my palms down her sides in a vigorous rub and her whole body shivers.
She’s nothing but thin cotton and bare skin in front of me, her shoulder blades curved like folded wings as she hunches forward. I reach for the comforter and wrap it around her front, hesitating for half a second before grabbing my sweatshirt and pulling it off. I tug at my t-shirt too, leaving my chest and torso bare. Evelyn looks back at me, dark eyes heavy and exhausted.
“That’s n-n-nice,” she murmurs around another ferocious tremble, her chin and the curve of her lips barely visible above her blanket cocoon. It would be cute if I wasn’t so damn worried, her dark hair still a wet clump against her forehead.
I duck into the comforter with her, my arms slipping around her stomach and guiding her against me until her bare back rests snug against my chest. I suck in a sharp breath when every frozen inch of her presses against me, her hands moving from the blanket to clutch at my arms instead.
I need seventeen more blankets. One of those hot water bottle things my mom used to put in our beds when we were kids.
“W-warm.” Her exhale is a sigh of relief. It’s three shuffling steps to the couch that isn’t covered in soaking wet clothes. When I collapse back into it, I make sure to keep Evelyn against me, guiding her body above mine until she’s sitting sideways, her legs tucked over my lap. I wrap my hand around her ankle and squeeze, my thumb rubbing at the jut of her bone.
We sit in silence, the fire growing in the hearth until the room is glowing with it—the crackle of the flames urging me to settle. I can feel the heat licking at my shins and I angle her body until she’s as close as she can be, tucked right against me.
“You called m-me Evie,” she says somewhere into my neck, her palm sliding from my wrist to my elbow. She nuzzles closer, greedy for warmth.
“That’s your name, isn’t it?” I give in to the urge to brush my lips against the shell of her ear, using my fingers at her back to gently comb through the ends of her hair. It’s still dripping and I wrap the edge of the comforter around it, trying to squeeze out some of the extra water. I should have brought her a towel. Made her tea in the kitchen.
“You hav - haven’t called me that in a while, is all,” she replies, lazy and slow. Her shaking has slowed, her jaw finally relaxing from the tight clench of her teeth. I stare down at what I can see of her face, her dark eyelashes fanned against the rise of her cheek.
“I li - like it,” she tells me—a statement. She pauses and breathes out a heavy, watery sigh. “I missed it,” she adds—a secret.
I move my hand to her back, slowing my touch until my palm rests along the center of her spine. I spread my fingers wide and listen to the sound of her breathing. I match mine to hers.
“I missed it, too,” I confess.
The chill starts to leave her skin as I continue to hold her, a soft light from the fireplace filling the room. One of the kittens appears at the edge of the couch, her tiny face turned up in concern. Evelyn’s body relaxes against mine and I adjust my grip, nudging at her once with my nose. “Hey. I don’t think you should sleep. Talk to me for a few minutes.”
She grumbles something under her breath, shifting around in my lap until her arm is low around my back and her knee is hugging my side. She’s using me as a human pillow and the thought makes me smile, some of the tension finally slipping from my shoulders.
“About what?” she asks.
“I don’t know. What do we usually talk about?”
“I usually ask you a bunch of questions and you g-grunt at me.” She laughs into the bouquet of daisies on my shoulder, the delicate petals fanning out over my chest. She traces over it gently—the long stems, the thin ribbon inked between them. Her thumb trails to the hollow of my throat and she leaves it there, nose at my collarbone. I adjust her in my lap.
I can’t think when all her skin is pressed to mine. I can hardly breathe.
When I don’t offer anything in the way of conversation, she sighs. “Tell me something about the sky.”
I tilt my head back against the couch and consider, stretching my legs out beneath the coffee table. “There’s a meteor shower at the end of April,” I start. Her legs shift and I’m distracted by the weight of her against me, her bottom lip dragging against my skin. I breathe in slowly.
“I know,” she tells me. “I saw it on your f-fridge.”
I forgot I put the map there. Usually one of the cats collects it for their nest and I have to extract it from between stolen shirts and a necktie I’ve worn twice.
Evelyn’s weight becomes heavier against me, her forehead nudging at my chin. I jostle her slightly, my hand sliding across her skin. “Come on, honey. Stay awake with me.”
She whines and it sends a bolt of heat rocketing through my blood. I clear my throat and grapple for something to fill the limited space between us.
“I read online that it’s considered a common shower.” That’s what the article said. Common. Like a bunch of dust, rock, and ice leftover from the creation of the solar system isn’t something incredible. When did we stop marveling at the world around us? When did we stop looking at the stars?
“Meteors come from comets?” She mumbles it into my neck, lazy and slow.
I nod. “Yeah.” I slip my hand down to her hip and squeeze once. “Bits of comet, I suppose. When the remnants start to fall through our atmosphere, they catch on fire.”
“When you p-put it like that,” she laughs, a slight catch in the sound. “It sounds beautiful.”
I smile against her temple. “It is, though. It is when you think about it. These things are circling the sky for—god knows how long, really. And then we knock into their way and they start to fall, lighting up the sky as they go. Think about every kid that looks up to the sky and sees that flash of light. That’s magic, isn’t it?” Eight years old and standing in my parents’ backyard, corn stalks up to my knees and my pajamas a size too big, the hem of my pants dragging. A flash of light and my heart in my throat. A wish made on a star. “What in the hell is common about that?”
“I told you, I’m not going.”
I peer out of the kitchen to the living room where Evelyn is wrapped up in four blankets on the couch, a mug of tea cupped gently between her hands. The cats have all burrowed in various spots in her cocoon. I can see Vixen by her shoulder, her tail curled gently over the back of Evelyn’s neck. With a purely selfish impulse, I brought her one of my flannels to wear and I can make out the rolled sleeve as she brings the mug to her lips, the collar stretched wide over bare skin.
Gus stopped by not too long ago, the ambulance barreling into my driveway. Evelyn had been mortified, hands curled tight to her chest, quietly asking if bringing the behemoth was really necessary. Gus had chuckled and unloaded his bag, gently checking her over.
“It’s my work whip,” he told her, two fingers pressed to the delicate skin on her wrist as he took her pulse. “Next time I’ll rent a limousine.”
I had made a sound at that. There won’t be a next time. We won’t ever be re-visiting this little trip to the pond again. The next time Evelyn goes there, it’ll be one-hundred-and-two and sunny. I’ll put her on one of those backpack leashes. Now that the fear is gone, I’m left with nothing but a buzz of frustration. I have to hold myself back from sitting close to her, scooping her up against me. I want to feel the heat thrumming beneath her skin. I want to wrap her in seven more blankets and lock her in this house.
I slam the box of tea bags shut and toss the metal container in the cabinet, making enough noise to wake the dead. I somehow manage to not dislodge the phone cradled against my shoulder.
“Oh, now you’re telling me things,” Nova snips on the other end of the line. I can imagine her pinched face, the way her hands clench into fists when she’s pissed about something. “You’ve got a woman—a high profile social media starlet, mind you—staying with you for weeks, and you don’t say anything to anyone. But now you’re telling me. Okay.”
“Didn’t want to make it a thing,” I explain. I also didn’t want all of my sisters showing up on my doorstep. I watch as the social media starlet shifts on the couch, her hand petting at one of the cats. It’s their own fault if they haven’t been paying attention to the phone tree.
“You could have mentioned something at dinner this week.”
Evelyn had been at Stella’s place when I attended family dinner on Tuesday night. I brought her home a Tupperware container of potato salad and she ate it for breakfast, three days in a row.
“There was nothing to mention.”
Nova snorts.
“I have no idea how long she’s staying and you guys get … weird.”
They get invasive. All of the rooms in this house would have suddenly found themselves occupied by the sisters Porter if I so much as mentioned Evelyn’s name.
“We don’t get weird.”
I keep my thoughts to myself. It’s not worth the argument.
Nova circles back to her original point. “You have to go.”
“I absolutely do not have to go.” Evelyn’s blank expression morphs into curiosity, a question on her brow when she glances over to me. I roll my eyes. “I fixed the Carter thing. Harper can be on your team again.”
“Harper doesn’t know anything about botany.”
“She knows some things.” Like plants need sunlight and water to live, but that’s probably it.
“Do you not care if we win?”
“Nova.” I stir some honey into my mug. “Please believe me when I say that I could not care any less about your chances at winning.”
She sucks in a deep breath and pauses. I can hear her devious little mind plotting on the other end of the phone. “Alright, well,” she sighs, a gust of breath. She’s probably sitting cross-legged in her tattoo studio, a sketchpad open on her lap. “I’m sure it will be fine. Mom will be disappointed you aren’t there, but you can always visit her another time.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Went right for the kill-shot, didn’t you?”
She snickers. “I play to win the game, big brother.”
“I’m hanging up now.”
“Tell Evelyn I say hi.”
I toss my phone on the counter with a clatter and shuffle back into the living room, kettle in hand. I top off Evelyn’s mug and collapse back against the couch with a sigh, her feet automatically digging under my thigh. They’re still cold and I consider getting back up for a thick pair of my socks. Maybe the ones she stole three days ago that she thinks I don’t know about.
She watches me over the top of her mug, blowing gently on the steam. Comet lets out a content purr and jumps onto my lap, twitching her tail at my hip before settling into a furry little heap across my knees.
“What are you avoiding?”
“Hm?” I can’t think when she looks like that, my flannel over one shoulder and her bottom lip at the edge of the mug.
“You said you’re not going. What won’t you be attending?”
I drop my eyes and busy myself with a frayed edge of the blanket. “Trivia night at the bar.”
“Did Carter ban you or something?”
I snort. I’d like to see him try. “No.”
“It sounds like fun,” she says as she takes a sip from her mug, brown eyes fixed on me. Her voice has more of a rasp to it than usual, a huskiness that has me shifting in my seat and remembering what it was like to hear that voice in bed. Now that she has color back in her cheeks and I’m less frantic with worry, I find myself considering the stretch of smooth brown skin of her shoulder. How soft she felt with my arms around her. Her nose in my neck and her hands curled around me.
She holds my stare and waits. I pack those thoughts away.
“I don’t—” I break off and consider not finishing my sentence. But she prods me with her toes and I sigh. “I don’t like going into town.”
“I’ve gathered that.” Another sip. “You go grocery shopping in the middle of the night.”
Not the … middle of the night. I usually wait until half an hour before the shop closes, when I know they’ve restocked the strawberry jam and the fudge cookies. The store is almost always empty and I don’t have to talk to anyone over cans of soup.
Social anxiety. Sound sensitivity. Fancy terms for my general discomfort around other people. My parents sent me to a therapist when I was ten years old, overwhelmed by all the noise around me. The worst of it was in school, when I couldn’t get the damn noise to … stop. All the chatter around me felt like the worst sort of buzz under my skin, settling into a deep ache that pounded like a metronome through every inch of my body.
I couldn’t focus. I could barely speak. It was miserable.
“Beckett?”
Evelyn touches the top of my knee lightly, guiding my attention back from the table to her open and eager face. It’s the part I like best about her, I think, her curiosity and kindness. Her desire to help where she can, however she can.
When she says something, she really means it.
She frowns at me and I wish I could swipe at it with my thumb. Make everything a little bit easier for her. Be half as good at this as she is. A shiver slides down the smooth line of her neck and I reach forward to adjust the blanket higher. I think I’ve got a heated blanket around here somewhere. An extra quilt or two in my room.
My knuckles brush her throat and she shivers again, a little shimmy of her shoulders and a clench of her jaw.
“Still cold?”
She shakes her head, a dazed smile kicking up the corner of her mouth. I feel her gaze like a touch on my skin, dancing down my cheek and cupping at my jaw. “I’m okay,” she finally says. She wiggles down further in her blankets. “Is it people?”
I hum, distracted again by her hands around the mug. Her nails are a pale pink. The same color as sand on a beach. A perfectly ripe peach, sitting pretty on a tree branch. “What?”
“You’re not exactly a talker, Beck,” she grins at me. “Case in point.”
I huff a laugh and tuck the edges of the blankets tighter around her. “I don’t know how to explain it,” I tell her slowly. “I’ve always had trouble talking to people. I try to avoid large groups if I can.”
I’m most comfortable with people I know. Outside, if I can be. Something about seeing the sky above me loosens something deep in my chest and makes everything … easier. I don’t think so hard about what I have to say. I don’t trip over my own thoughts.
“The first time we met,” she begins, her eyes squinted in thought, remembering. “You came right up to me and asked me what I was drinking.”
The first time ever, I think, that I approached a woman at a bar instead of letting someone come to me. It had felt necessary that I talk to her. A tug, a pull—whatever you want to call it. I saw her sitting there and I wanted to be sitting right next to her.
“The bar we met in was empty. Do you remember?”
She nods. “There was a baseball game on the TV in the corner. I stopped in because I smelled the french fries from the street.” She grins. “The ones that you stole half of.”
I did steal half of them, after I was two shots of tequila deep and her hand found my thigh under the table. “I chose that bar because it was the least crowded place on the street.” Then I saw Evelyn and I didn’t want to go anywhere else. “Plus, everything gets quiet when I look at you.”
She gives me one slow blink, lashes fluttering. Her eyes dance between mine, bottom lip caught by her teeth. “Would it help?”
I rub the edge of the blanket again, the worn blue gray material soft under my touch. “Would what help?”
She tilts her head to the side and reaches over me to set her mug on the side table. Her hair brushes my forearm and I’m the one shivering.
“If I came with you,” she says. I swallow hard and become fascinated with the legs of the coffee table. “Would it help to have a friend with you? At trivia?”
I don’t want to be her friend. I want to be the exact opposite. I want to be the people we were when we were away from everyone else. I almost say it, biting down on the inside of my cheek to keep the thought to myself.
“I don’t know,” I answer slowly. Probably not. I’m most comfortable with my family and even then, it’s a challenge for me to sit somewhere with so much sound around me. Trivia night is an … event. It almost always ends with Dane carting people to the drunk tank at the station. Last time, he had to put Becky Gardener in the back of his cruiser for launching a plate of chicken tenders across the room.
“I’ll go with you,” she says, just as slowly. “If you wanted to try.”