This girl…
“I can’t remember the last time I ate,” she says with a blush.
We settle down onto the quilt and watch cranes fly over the marsh. We make small talk until she stands and marches to the water’s edge.
“It’s too cold to go for a swim.”
“I know.” Everly bends her knee backward and slips off one flat, then the other. She rolls her jeans up and tiptoes into the icy water. Tilting her face up to the sun, she yells at the top of her lungs.
I jump up at the noise, the blood in my veins icy from panic.
Everly glances at me over her shoulder. “I’ve been holding that in for too long.” Then, as if it never happened, she skips onto the rocks poking out from the shore. She gestures for me to follow, and I do because I’d follow her anywhere. She dips her legs into the water and splashes them in small circles.
“Come here.” She pats the rough rock with her hand, the late-afternoon sun glistening off the stacked rings on her fingers.
I slide down behind her, and she settles against my chest, back into my arms.
“Are you cold?” I whisper into her ear.
She shakes her head, taking hold of one of my hands and lacing her fingers with mine.
“We should talk.” I sound pathetic, but I owe her an apology. There’s still this huge gap between us. We have to cross it, or there is never going to be anything solid for us to stand on.
Her body is so frail against mine. I feel everything—her heartbeat, her ribs expanding and collapsing with each breath, the shake of her head at my request.
She peeks back at me over her shoulder, her eyes sad. “I don’t know what there is to say. I think we both understand each other. Let’s just put it behind us. All of it.”
“Still, I’m sorry I hurt you, Everly.”
I brush her hair away from her neck to drop a kiss there and spot a small heart tattoo tucked next to her hairline. It’s so like Everly to be full of surprises. She’s a woman of contradictions, a spirit who is free and trapped. I kiss her neck until she sighs and turns around. We kiss there in the sun for a while, slow and testing, like we’re learning one another with each press of our lips.
“Do you think that works with people, too, Beckett?” she asks later.
“What works?”
“People. Can people be taken apart piece by piece, then be put back together?”
I rest my chin on top of her head as she plays with my hands, tracing my palms like a fortuneteller. “The truth?”
She nods, pulling my hand up to her lips for a kiss.
“No,” I say. Her lips turn hard against my skin, puckering against my wrong answer. “People fall apart and come back together again, but they’re never exactly the same. There’s always going to be a part that’s left behind. Even if it’s a sliver. It’s the penance we pay to live fully.”
I laugh at myself. That’s exactly the sort of line someone would expect a fledgling novelist to say. Not only am I a nervous wreck around this girl, I’m a cliché as well. Lovely.
“At least you’re honest.” She drops my hand, and I stiffen, expecting her to leave. I’m not ready for that yet. I like what we’ve carved out for ourselves this afternoon. Outside of Paris, we understand each other. It’s nice to finally be with someone who appreciates the beauty of quiet. The necessity of it.
Everly stands and faces me. “You know what I think?”
I look up at her, shielding my eyes from the sun pouring around her small frame, and shake my head. “I never know what you’re thinking.”
She grabs the hem of her T-shirt and yanks it over her head in a quick swoop, then chucks it at my face, laughing. I peel it away and place it beside me on the warm rock. She’s already stripping out of her jeans, not trying to hide from me, not embarrassed.
“What are—”
She throws her jeans at me and dives into the pellucid lake, slicing through the water almost without a splash. A church bell rings out in the distance, echoing in the quiet aftermath of Everly’s quick jump into the unexpected.
I’m on my feet, waiting for her to come up for air. I clutch her jeans at my side when she finally springs up from the water, sputtering.
“I was thinking—” She brushes back the tangled hair from her face. “—I never swam in a French lake.”
I chuckle. “Isn’t it cold?”
“Freezing. Jump in. We have sins to atone for.” She waves her hand and dives back down, blowing out bubbles that ripple across the surface. When she reemerges, she waves again, but I shake my head, happy to be stranded on this rock. I’ll have even more to atone for if I jump into this lake with Everly.
She laughs and flings her wet bra at my chest, her eyebrows raised in invitation. “Skinny dipping is like Paris. It’s always a good idea.”
Fuck me.
She crooks her finger for me to join her, and hell if I don’t strip off my T-shirt without wasting another second.
“Is this a date?”
My hand pauses on the zipper of my jeans. I keep my eyes focused on the rock as I kick off my Chucks. “Do you want it to be?”
“I’m tired of you asking me what I want.” She grins up at me, her hand cupping water, ready to swat it in my direction. The threat of getting wet is nothing compared to Everly. “What do you want? Do you want this to be a date, Beckett?”
I pull off my jeans, turning to try to hide my hard-on, and cannonball into the icy water. I hear her stifled shriek from above and pull myself through the water, loving the burn in my arms with each stroke, the urgency in my lungs for air, the way it deepens when I refuse to surface.
I shove off the sandy bottom and shoot up from the water, dragging a deep inhale through my open mouth just before a wave of water collides with my face.
“Well?”
I cough, clearing my throat, not fighting back my laugh for once. My eyes sting when I open them and see Everly floating in front of me. “Your top is off.” My voice is husky. “Might as well be a date.”
Her teeth loosen their hold on her bottom lip as her mouth stretches into a gentle smile. “We make terrible friends.”
“Possibly.”
“We might be bad for each other.” Her voice drops to a shaky whisper, her blue eyes hooded.
I don’t care anymore about good or bad, mistakes, or the inevitable disaster floating toward me. I do what I want for once.
My hand reaches for her waist, and I drag her forward until her breasts brush against my chest. Her fingers slide up my front in a bumpy line, her wide eyes locked on mine. We’re both skinny dipping in the daylight, and I don’t care. I don’t care if a meteor strikes Earth and blocks out the sun, if Kurt Cobain comes back from the dead, if I get a call that I’ve won the Pulitzer. I can’t care with her body against mine. Truth.
I slant closer, my lips tasting the fresh water beaded on hers. I lick it away before I whisper, “Definitely.”
Everly
In the morning, I wake up to kind blue eyes. I blink a few times to make sure he doesn’t disappear. I think I’ve dreamed him up.
“Hiya, pet.” His voice is low and rough from sleep.
Beckett’s here. For real. Not made up in my head.
I close my eyes and nuzzle back into my comforter, smelling the reminder of our swim in the lake yesterday, the crispness of the wild that wrapped around our skin and sank deep into our bones. I feel free. I’d be happy to be stuck in that afternoon forever.
I fell asleep in his car last night on the ride back to Paris. Then I fell asleep with him in my bed. I’ve never done that before. I’ve never slept with a guy and only slept.
He nips my nose.
I laugh and open my eyes back up. I’m not sure why I’m suddenly so shy. “Hi.”
Beckett licks his lips and runs his hand through his hair. It’s wild and messy, and I fight the urge to put it back in order. I like seeing him this way—fresh from sleep. I like the smell of him on my pillow and the way his lips linger sof
tly over mine, like he’s dreamed of kissing me all night. Like he wants to be lost in me, too.
“Listen,” he starts. He brushes back my hair, looking past my shoulder. “I have to leave for a few days.”
I try to fight back the cold washing over me, but it wins and I tense up. I’ve been a bitch to this guy, and he’s had enough. I’ve chased him off. Like everyone else.
“I have to go to London. Sort some things out for work.”
I force a smile, but my stomach sours. I scoot back, trying to untangle myself from the stupid blankets and sheets, but their hold is like an ankle monitor and keeps me stuck. I need a cup of coffee, a cigarette, a shower. To see if I still have a job or find a place to go to next if I don’t. Anything to escape. I need…
“I want you to come with me,” Beckett rushes out. I slump back into bed. “I don’t know if anything is happening—” He waves his hand between us. “—but we’re never going to find out here. I have to leave for a few days—”
“I’m leaving Paris,” I blurt out. I’m not sure why I do. I don’t want to ruin this.
Beckett rolls onto his back and throws his arm over his face. “Yeah. Okay,” he says with a sigh into his elbow.
I’m terrible at this, at letting someone close.
“Hey,” I whisper, pushing onto my knees. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t go.” I pull his arm away and frame his face with my hands. He doesn’t say anything, just studies me like always. I swing a leg over his waist and straddle him, never letting go of his face. “I don’t know why you want me to come with you, but I’ll go if that’s what you want.”
His hands rest on my waist. “What do you want?”
World peace. A puppy. A clue about what I’m doing with my life.
When I take too long to answer, Beckett lifts me into the air, his feet bracing my stomach as I drape over him, my long hair sweeping against his face. I can’t stop giggling as he waggles his brows, demanding an answer.
“I’ll go,” I repeat again. I grab his hands in mine as we make a sort of bridge. I close my eyes, waiting for the sudden drop, but he lowers me down slowly, carefully.
I pin his hands over his head, not ready to let him go. “I have to go.” I kiss the tip of his nose. “I really need to leave Paris.”
The refrigerator kicks on in the kitchen.
“I do as well.”
His hands fight mine, but I push them back into the pillow. “I can’t stay.”
“I have to go back to work. My job…”
“So we’ll go to London and do what?” I don’t like the worry that ripples across his forehead, so I kiss him instead, ignoring the need for an answer.
We’re like dominoes, Beckett and I. I’ve tipped us forward until everything is set in motion. I can’t stop us from colliding, so I should enjoy the fall while it lasts. But I know the end is coming, too. The quiet. The day where everything has fallen and there’s nothing left but a mess.
If he wants to go to London, no strings attached, I can do that.
I’m fine.
He flips us so he’s braced over me. He tugs at the hem of my shirt, and I sit up and let him strip it off. We break our kiss for one, small second, which seems all too long.
Dog tags spill out of the neck of his T-shirt, and I grab them, tugging him closer so I can read them. He said he was a journalist, but I don’t think they have dog tags. Those are for soldiers.
Beckett grips my hand, his eyes begging me to let go. I uncurl my fingers, shame pooling in my stomach.
“Sorry.” It’s always something to split us apart, and I’m starting to think there’s a reason. I’m a broken girl, and apparently Beckett has secrets of his own, too. Bad ones.
He sighs and pushes up to his knees, tucking the dog tags back under his shirt. “It’s okay. I have to go pack. If you still want to go…”
“If?”
“I didn’t mean to freak out right then. I understand if you don’t want…”
What I want is to finish what we keep starting. I want Beckett—I’m just not sure if he wants me. “If you’re not scared of me, then I won’t run from you.”
His traces his finger down my nose, over my lips, along my throat, and between my breasts to rest his warm palm at my belly button. And just as slowly, he licks his lips and shakes his head. “I don’t scare easily.”
I pull at his shirt until he lowers back over me. “Good, then.” I kiss him hard, licking at his lips until his tongue swirls around mine. He tastes like coffee. I open one eye and shove against his chest. “What time is it?”
“Am I that bad that you need to know when I’m leaving?”
I hold back a laugh. He’s the very opposite of bad. I’m simply confused. “You taste like coffee.”
“You slept until two, pet. I needed caffeine.” He points at the Starbucks cup sitting on my dresser, right there with his wallet and keys. “Yours is in the kitchen.”
“Shit.” I let go of his shirt. “I’m probably late for work.”
“Everly?” His voice sounds sheepish. He tilts his head to the side. “You don’t have a job anymore.”
I toss my head back and laugh, my hands yanking my hair taut until the sweet sting ripples over my scalp. I can’t do anything right.
“You didn’t show up for a week.”
“It was that long?” I rake my hand over my face, like if I distort it enough, I might piece together the missing hours and days in my head like a puzzle. It doesn’t work. “What’s today?”
Beckett rolls off me and sits up, facing the window. I’ve done it again. Messed us up. I don’t like the way the mattress sags, like I’m going to tumble out onto the floor and he won’t catch me.
“Wait.” The lead weight is back in my stomach. “How do you know I don’t…”
He turns around, surprise filling his features. “I own the place, Everly,” he says cautiously. “I thought you knew.”
“You’re my boss?”
“No, I just own it. It was my aunt’s. Nadine manages it.”
I don’t want to think of her or her connection to Beckett. Not now. “Well, I guess I have all the time in the world to come to London with you then.” I try to say it with a smile, but the little hope I have of leaving of Paris just shattered. I’m broke. Without that job, I have nothing. I have jewelry I can pawn, but that won’t last forever.
I look around my bare bedroom, then back to Beckett. I have to get out.
Breathe, Everly.
Beckett
I might kill Ollie if he makes us late.
I glance over at Everly, as she reclines back in her chair at Gare Du Nord. She chases a crinkled straw wrapper around the table with her fingers, focused on winning an imaginary race instead of how close we are to missing our train.
The board changes again, a flurry of cascading clicks above the early morning murmur of the station, stopping people in their tracks with the appearance of a new schedule. It’s magic, that board.
She kicks my foot under the table. “Relax, Beckett. There’ll be another train.”
I pull my thumb away from my lips, disgusted that I’ve been gnawing at it like I’m stuck in a snare. “I know. I don’t want to miss this one¸ though, when we have tickets.”
Everly leans into her hand, propping herself up on the dirty café table. “I’m still going if we miss this train. I’ll still go if we miss the next six.”
I nod, brushing it off, trying to act cool, but inside, I’m doing cartwheels. I’ll feel better once we’re on the train, on our way out of the city. I know she feels it, too. Her brows have been pinched all morning like she’s stuck asking herself the same question without a clear answer in sight.
Everly pushes back in her chair as an announcement booms over the crowd. I think I might bolt, but she stands and sets herself in my lap, wrapping her arms around my neck.
The world goes quiet then. The noise fades, my body relaxes, and I think I take a breath for the first time since we stepped foot in the bus
y station.
“Why do you need to watch a clock when you have me?” She presses a kiss at the corner of my mouth. “Re. Lax.”
She tastes like a caramel macchiato when I kiss her, sweet but bold. I forget the time, the bags at our feet, the fact that Ollie might be fucking us over and we’ll be late. I almost forget why I ever wanted to leave and go to London until we come up for air.
“So you both do breathe.”
I think I actually growl, curling up my lip like a rabid dog at my best mate for interrupting.
Everly swings her head around and knocks up her sunglasses. She slips a hand free from my neck and sticks it out toward Ollie. “You’re late. I’m Everly.”
I can’t tell if she’s annoyed or pissed, but that doesn’t matter when Ollie’s eyes narrow in recognition. He shakes her hand while he glares at me, his silent question hanging between the three of us. I never told him she was that Everly.The Monteith Everly.
“You’re late,” I repeat, trying to break the tension. Everly lowers her sunglasses and climbs off my lap, sidestepping Ollie. I guess she recognized his look, too.
The announcement cuts me off, warning that it’s the last call for our train. Everly and I grab our bags and weave through the crowd, rushing to the platform.
“I woke up with a dog,” Ollie shouts to us over his shoulder.
I would laugh if I could only shake the ugly way he looked at Everly. It hits me—the truth—that this could be another mistake. I glance nervously at her as she struggles with her suitcase. She won’t let me help, but I shorten my stride a bit. I can’t ignore how her lips are set into a straight line. I bet she has that passive look to her eyes, too—that she’s shut everyone out again.
“I had a bottle of mayonnaise thrown at me, Beck. I mean, once I remembered where I might have procured a dog, I brought it back, but the girl was angry enough to throw condiments at me.”
“You’re an idiot, Ollie.”
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