by Linda Kage
“Beckett,” she whispered sternly. She sounded panicked and concerned. I wanted to tell her I was okay. Except I wasn’t.
I clamped my fingers around her wrists where she was still cupping my face, wanting to hold onto her if this was it…if I was dying.
She shook my cheeks. “Dammit, Beck. I said breathe.”
I floundered. I couldn’t do it. I had no idea what was wrong, but it felt as if there was no air anywhere. She was leaving, and my life was over.
Hissing a curse, Bailey leaned down and pressed her mouth to mine. It was hard to tell if she was attempting to preform CPR, or what, but she didn’t blow into my mouth; she just…she kissed me.
Holy shit. Her soft, pillowy, sweet lips flattened against mine, and my nostrils flared before my lungs opened, and I inhaled. Deeply.
I drew her essence into me, parting my lips and moving my fingers from her wrists so I could bury them in the satiny softness of her hair. Urging her chin up, I aligned our faces in order to taste her fully.
My mouth slanted, our tongues touched, and my body pinged with need, shooting little electrical currents out every nerve ending.
Her mint toothpaste and flowery lotion flooded my senses. I wanted more. So I rolled her onto her back and climbed on top of her, fitting myself between her thighs before I kissed her again, spiking my tongue deep and fisting her hair in my hands as I thrust my hips hard against that sweet nook between her legs.
“Oh, my God,” she gasped, arching her head back so she could suck in air as she wound her legs around my waist and ground her core tighter against the straining erection in my pants.
She was so warm there; I wanted in. The need in me was strong, and I took greedily, racing my hands over her, urgent to feel every soft curve as I bit and licked my way down her throat.
She was receptive to me. So receptive. The heels of her feet dug into the top of my ass as her fingernails gouged through my shirt and bit straight into the backs of my shoulders. I latched my teeth around her collarbone and clutched her bottom, tilting her up as I rubbed myself back and forth against her, mimicking the act of entering her.
She whimpered hungry sounds that came straight from her throat, urging me on. I found the hem of her nightshirt and smoothed my hand up her thigh until I reached the back part of her panties. Her breasts pushed against my chest and her shallow pants drifted across in my ear right before she bit the lobe, making me groan. My fingers slipped inside her underwear.
She was wet. Holy shit, she was so warm and wet, and my fingers already knew how easily they could thrust inside her.
Except she jerked under me, going rigid and pressing her hands against my chest. “No. Wait.”
Her rejection was so profound I almost wept. Frozen on top of her, I didn’t immediately move. It took me a second to comply, my digits right there at her entrance, so close to sliding into Heaven.
“Beckett,” she whispered, still applying pressure to my chest. “Stop.”
I hung my head, blowing out a steadying breath, then I rolled off her to lie flat on my back, needing to cool off before I could even process thought again.
Her breathing was still labored, she was definitely still as turned on as I was. I wanted to roll back to her and try to coax more from her. I knew I could do it. I knew I could tempt her into continuing. I could make her scream and beg for more, for all of it. But I gulped and fisted my hands at my sides. My body howled in denial, unable to accept the fact it wasn’t going to get what it wanted.
I realized I’d never stopped when I’d been this turned on before.
Hell, I’d never been this turned on before.
“This was wrong,” Bailey finally said, turning her face my way. “It was all wrong.”
I had no idea what to say to that. I wanted to argue; it had felt pretty damn right to me. It’d felt more right than anything with any girl I’d ever kissed before. How could she fucking say it was wrong? How could she not feel what I’d been feeling?
That was the biggest blow to take, realizing she hadn’t felt it too.
But if she hadn’t, then she hadn’t, and it killed me to respect her wishes.
I blew out a breath, ignoring the buzzing of need still roaring through me. I said nothing, just rolled out of bed, and started for the door. I couldn’t even apologize for kissing her, because I wasn’t fucking sorry. That’d been the best kiss of my life.
She said my name, but I kept going until I reached the door. Once there, I paused and pressed my forehead and one hand against the wood, not wanting to leave with her thinking I was mad or disappointed, not wanting our last night together to end with this kind of discord.
My chest constricted, because I wasn’t sure what to do, what to say.
“I’m sorry,” she was the one to whisper.
I’m honestly not sure what hurt more: that I couldn’t say those words myself, or that she did.
“It’s fine,” I answered, petting the door gently as if it were her, and I was comforting her, letting her know I couldn’t hate her, no matter how much she didn’t want me. Then I turned the handle and slipped out into the hall.
I’m not exactly sure what I’d hoped to accomplish when I’d snuck into her room—I’d just known I needed to tie loose ends and make sure things were still okay between us—but now I was certain that things were worse between us than they’d ever been.
I’d just fucked up royally. I’d just ostracized the only person who believed in me.
Chapter 29
BECKETT
The first Thanksgiving for me to spend away from my family was different, and yet achingly familiar.
After I returned to my borrowed room, I didn’t sleep well—if at all. I tossed and turned, reliving the kiss with Bailey in my head, knowing she was still just down the hall, even though she now felt hundreds of miles of away, and she’d only move farther away by the end of the day. If worrying about how I’d just ruined our friendship hadn’t kept me up all night, then her absence would have, because it really was true: I couldn’t sleep without her next to me. Everything just felt wrong.
My body was stiff and sore as I changed into the clothes I was going to wear for the day. And lately, I knew sore. With the amount of bruised flesh, torn muscle, and battered bones I was carrying around, I knew sore on an intimate level. But the kind of sore I shouldered this morning was different, it went deeper and punched harder as if it had pierced my very soul.
Bailey was the reason. Not that I blamed her for my misery; it was more like an awareness that she’d kept this kind of ache at bay before, but now that she wouldn’t be around any longer, it crept in boldly, attacking me at my most vulnerable points. It was as if the essence of me was tender and aching.
Which sounded like crazy bullshit. So I was never going to repeat that thought again.
Honestly, I didn’t know how I’d make it through without her anywhere on the farm. And worse, I wasn’t sure what to expect when I saw her today. Did she blame me for the kiss? Had it ruined our relationship? Would she even be able to look me in the eye now? Where did things stand between us?
Hell, maybe I should’ve apologized last night. Anything would be better than losing her completely.
My heart raced with anxiety as I opened my door and peered into the hall. The corridor was empty. A shaft of early morning sunlight flared through a window at the end of the hall and spread across the floor, pointing a diagonal path to the start of the staircase. I blew out a breath and left the room, glancing pitifully at Bailey’s closed door as I passed, following the light to the stairs.
On the first floor, the smell of bacon drew me to the kitchen where Ben and Booth were up and active, Bailey’s dad at the stove and her brother pulling a jug of milk from the refrigerator. I paused in the entrance, not sure what to do.
When Ben glanced over and noticed me hovering, he greeted me with a smile I’m pretty sure I didn’t deserve, especially if he knew where my hands had been on his daughter a mere six hours be
fore. “Hey, look who’s up. Are you hungry, Beckett?”
“I could eat,” he said, stepping forward, pressing my hands together and ready to get them busy. “What do you need me to do?”
With a grin, Bailey’s dad turned to face me fully, pointing his specula at me, bacon grease dripping from it and everything. “Now, that’s what I like to hear, someone willing to wade in and help out.” Two pieces of toast popped up from the toaster, so he pointed his drippy spatula that way. “Get to buttering.”
“Yes, sir.”
I did eagerly, and Ben asked me about my potato-peeling abilities as I opened the butter tub.
“Any experience?” he wondered.
With a nod, I said, “Actually, yes. My mom put me to work peeling potatoes almost every holiday.”
The first wave of nostalgia and homesickness hit then. I couldn’t help but wonder who Mom had assigned to potato-peeling duty for today. From the sound of it, Britt wasn’t likely in any condition to chip in. Maybe Dad had helped her. Or maybe they hadn’t even felt the need to prepare a big, full Thanksgiving meal at all. Maybe with money so bad, their spirits down, and a fourth of the family—me—gone, they hadn’t bothered. They could be sitting around the living room with TV dinners on trays as they watched the Macy’s Parade for all I knew.
I hoped that wasn’t the case. I hope they’d carried on tradition without me, that money was better, that Britt was better. I hoped they were okay.
The urge to call them rose. I wanted to check in, make sure things hadn’t gotten worse. But I shook my head and finished buttering toast for Bailey’s family. If my relatives wanted me bothering them, they’d call me. I’d stay out of their business.
“That’ll be your first duty as my new employee then,” Ben said, jerking my attention back to the present. “You can start peeling potatoes for dinner after we’re done with breakfast.”
I nodded, ready to earn my keep. “No problem. I’d be happy to.”
Bailey showed up just before we ate, stumbling into the room still in her nightshirt and yawning, and completely getting out of cooking duty, a fact her brother decided meant she should take over clean-up then.
She smacked him on the back of the head as she passed behind his chair. He called her a brat, but she was too busy punching me lightly in the side of the arm and moving to the counters to fetch her own breakfast to immediately react.
Finally, she flipped him off with a grumbled protest before pausing at the sidebar where extra breakfast was warming.
“How’re you doing, Beck?” she finally addressed me once her back was to me and she was busy piling scrambled eggs onto a plate. “Your bruises don’t look so bright this morning.”
I studied her, silently willing her to look at me so I could gauge her mood, but she refused to glance over.
I murmured, “I’m fine,” as I turned morosely back to the table, only to find her dad watching me curiously.
I internally cringed, wondering if I looked like a lost puppy being abandoned by its beloved owner, because that’s pretty much how I felt. Quickly, I lowered my attention to my plate. It took Bailey sitting in the chair across the table from me to get me to look up again.
She didn’t seem changed or affected at all. But what did that mean? Was she so disgusted or humiliated she wanted to pretend it had never happened? Had seeing me have sex with Melody and then me turning to her barely two weeks later turned her off? Except, no, that wasn’t her style. She was too open not to blurt-out what she thought about things. So that had to mean it just hadn’t affected her at all. She’d helped stupid Beck get over a panic attack and then she’d nudged him back into his place when he’d taken it too far. The issue was probably completely over for her and out of her mind.
But that made my chest ache, because it wasn’t over for me. It wasn’t out of my mind. I’d kissed her, and I’d liked it. I wanted to kiss her again. A lot. Except she’d already forgotten about it and moved on.
That made me disjointed and quiet throughout breakfast, trying to orient myself to this new reality, this new environment. Bailey, Ben, and Booth were all so relaxed and at home—probably because they were home—it made me feel like the outsider I was. I kind of wanted to leave, except there was nowhere else to go, and Bailey was here.
This was the “different” portion of my day.
With a sigh, I powered through all the differences. Breakfast passed, and we were all assigned tasks to do, keeping us busy. Ben had Bailey whip together a cranberry salad that had nuts and whipped topping in it, while Booth helped me with the potatoes. Time passed quickly with everyone working and Booth occasionally tossing a potato peeling at Bailey, or Bailey beaning him back with pecan shrapnel. More of her brothers arrived, the oldest—Brock—baring pies that everyone gathered around, offering to taste-test, and the other brother Braiden with a pregnant wife.
Things grew louder, I was introduced as the new “Blaine” since I’d be taking over his duties on the farm, not as Bailey’s friend, and every time I’d tried to back away to the fringes of the conversation and just observe, someone else would pull me back in with a question or comment I’d be forced to answer.
The Prescott family was loud and boisterous and reminded me a lot of Bailey in that they usually just blurted out whatever was on their mind, be it PC or not. That part made me smile and stay drawn in, because they were all just so…Bailey.
When we ate, the food was so familiar to everything my family had on Thanksgiving that I once again wondered how they were doing.
Bailey nudged my elbow when I’d spaced out too long. “Everything taste okay?”
“Hmm?” I glanced up and forced a smile. “Yes. It’s delicious. Just like at home.”
The ache must’ve shown in my eyes because her expression turned sympathetic. Leaning in closer, she murmured, “I’m sure they’re missing you too.”
The fact that she understood what was wrong with me made me feel better, but I wasn’t sure how to deal with thinking of my family missing me. I kind of wanted to be mad at them for turning their backs on me when I’d needed them most, and yet, I kept hoping my phone would ring.
It never did.
Instead, the Prescotts welcomed me as one of their own, and I began to grow more accustomed to them and grateful to them as the day wore on.
The brother with the pregnant wife left first, with her yawning and in need of a nap. Then the oldest brother wished us a happy Thanksgiving and took his pies away. Booth received a text and cleared out just when kitchen clean-up started.
So Bailey, and her dad, and I were the only three left to straighten the kitchen. After we did, we migrated to the living room and settled on the couch as the second half of a football game started on the television. Ben kicked up his Lazy Boy and promptly took a nap.
Bailey barely sat on the other end of the couch as me for five minutes before I caught her glancing at me from the corner of my eye. So I turned to meet her gaze. An entire lifetime of feelings passed between us in that one stare. Craving, sadness, affection, appreciation, confusion, comfort. Neither of us had to say anything. We knew this was goodbye.
Suddenly, she began to blink before she turned her face away and popped abruptly to her feet, announcing, “Well…” which woke her dad mid-snore. She heaved out a long breath and rubbed her stomach like any satisfied person might after eating a Thanksgiving feast. “I probably better get on the road, so I can make it back to Granton before dark.”
Ben yawned and checked the time. “Leaving already?” Then he shook his head as a glimmer of melancholy crept over his face. “Seems like your trips home keep getting shorter every time.”
She paused by his Lazy Boy to kiss the top of his balding head. “If I didn’t have to work tomorrow, I would’ve stayed longer.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He swatted playfully at her leg after she straightened and moved away. “I know the real truth. Your old man’s just cramping your style. Time to get back to that posh, big city college life.”
Bailey laughed and shook her head. “You are such a dork. I’m gonna go grab my bag from my room. Be right back.”
As she trotted off, starting up the stairs, I gazed after her, feeling frozen and forlorn. This was it. She was leaving. I wanted to rebel, and yet I knew that was ridiculous. She had to return to school. But it felt all wrong for her to leave like this. Things might be fine for her—she certainly hadn’t acted as if anything were wrong between us—but they damn sure weren’t fine for me.
“Huh,” Ben spoke up thoughtfully from his chair. “Bailey’s never kissed me goodbye before. Strange.”
I glanced his way to find him tenderly prodding his forehead as if the impression of her lips there had left a tangible mark on his skin. I have no idea why that spurred me into action, but I sprang from the couch where I’d been forcing myself to stay put, and I hurried up the stairs after her.
She’d already retrieved her overnight bag and had the strap hooked over her shoulder. Now she was standing silently with her back to the door as she faced her room as if trying to remember something she was sure she was forgetting to take with her.
I wanted to say, me, you’re forgetting me. I wanted to go back with her more than anything. But I knew that was selfish, and it’d be best for both of us if I stayed.
Hearing me, she turned, and her chest expanded as she drew in a deep breath. Finally, she appeared regretful about leaving me behind. It was like a balm to my heart. No idea why. I just felt better knowing this was as hard of a moment for her as it was for me.
Suddenly, I knew I could handle this, because I knew we were in it together.
I stepped forward. “Here.” Reaching out, I took her bag before she could protest. “I’m carrying this down for you.”
“Oh, you shouldn’t.” She reached after me as I turned away. “Your ribs.”
“I’m carrying it down for you,” I said with more force.
When she spoke again, saying my name, “Beck…” it was soft and uncertain, and it stopped me in my tracks.