Everly After

by Rebecca Paula

  I wipe my pink lipstick off his lips and grab his hand, following him in to a packed table of his friends. I only recognize Ollie, who spots me and looks away. I’m not sure what his problem is, but it’s nothing new. Beckett can decide for himself who he wants to spend time with.

  He makes the introductions, and everyone is very polite like true British gentlemen. Some seem a little more eager to meet me than others. I wonder if Ollie’s told them who I am or if they recognize me on their own.

  We have a few beers before a girl comes over and sticks her hand out at me. “Gemma,” she says. She looks a bit like a rabbit, big teeth and a small mouth. I look around, nervous, but she smiles at me, strawberry blonde hair curling past her shoulders. “I had to meet Beckett’s girl.” She blinks her charcoal eyes, then grabs my hand.

  I shake her hand as the rest of the group laughs. Well, except Ollie, who suddenly appears like he’s contracted malaria. “Everly,” I say. It comes out as a whisper. Something about being called “Beckett’s girl” makes me want to hide under the table.

  He draws me against his side and kisses my temple. “She was engaged to Ollie before he joined the marines,” he whispers. That explains why Ollie just downed his beer and grabbed another out of his friend’s hand. “Want to go? Maybe this was a bad idea.”

  “The band’s coming on soon.” I tip my head up so my lips brush his ear. Beckett’s hand squeezes my waist. “I’d like to stay.”

  “So what did you study, Everly?” Damien—I think—asks.

  I look around the table, everyone’s eyes glued to me. “Anthropology.”

  For whatever reason, everyone always seems to expect me to say fashion or marketing. I’ve liked the collected surprise when they discover I have a brain in my head. Maybe someday I’ll even get my PhD. I have ambition—I’ve just misplaced it lately.

  “How long are you in London?”

  I can’t remember the name of the guy who asked, but Ollie sinks closer to the table.

  “We’re supposed to leave tomorrow,” Beckett cuts in.

  Gemma slides her beer over to Ollie. “You look like you might need this.”

  The group starts laughing—everyone except me. I notice the way Gemma pales as she meets Ollie’s wounded stare from across the tiny pub table.

  “What are you doing with your degree now, Everly?”

  I wish Damien would shut up. I have no life ambitions at the moment except to remember that Tuesday follows Monday. The bigger plans can wait. Need to wait. I can’t handle my life more than a breath at a time right now.

  I don’t answer.

  Ollie drains his beer and stares at Beckett. “Well, she’s smarter than our boy here. He never finished his degree.”

  I spin around to Beckett, unable to hide my surprise. I bet I’ve embarrassed him. This is something we should know about each other by now, but it’s never come up. Or we’ve ignored this part of ourselves. The past, I mean.

  “I was already reporting for your uncle in Egypt by then. What’s the point?”

  A glass smashes behind the bar, and Beckett’s hand clutches mine so tight I think it might crumble. I catch Ollie watching us, the way we cling to each other like we’re drowning whenever we’re out in public.

  The rest of the group goes back to chatting, dropping their inquisition. Of me, at least. They joke about Beckett’s less-than-stellar boarding school performance, the usual antics of a guy in college when he was at Cambridge for two years. I laugh a bit, but I notice the way he tugs at his collar, the way he forces his smile. I never let go of his waist.

  We’re saved when the lights dim and the band comes out onto the tiny stage. We sneak away from the table and creep closer, pushing through the crowd so we’re under the blue house lights.

  Neither of us cares much about the band. Seems we only needed a bit of distance from the rest of the group before we’re picking up where we left off before we came into the club. We drift farther away, farther into a dark corner. Lips become fingers, fingers find flesh, and pretty soon I think we’re going to have sex in the back hallway.

  “Let’s go back to our room,” I whisper in his ear.

  I’m not sure if he even hears me, but I’m leading him out, past the table of his friends all wearing stupid looks on their faces. Beckett salutes them and then rushes up and kisses me as though he needs them to realize I’m a good decision. I go along with it because, with his lips over mine, we feel like an amazing decision.

  Beckett

  So much for English drizzle. Fat drops pour down and soak us as I try to hail a taxi, which is damn impossible on a Saturday night. Everly drops my coat from over her head and dances alongside the busy London traffic. Her heels are on the sidewalk, and she’s laughing, her arms spread wide. Rules aren’t for Everly. Life’s too big for her to live inside a box.

  This girl is magic. She’s wild incantations. She’s the spark that lit me back to life and I’m burning for her.

  If I wasn’t sure before, I am now. I want this girl so fucking bad.

  Everly

  Trying to have sex in the back of a cab in London is apparently poor form. Our driver yells at us for the fourth time, but I don’t climb off Beckett’s lap and he doesn’t stop kissing me. By the fifth warning, my dress is hiked up around my waist. Beckett only tells the cabbie to drive faster.

  I fall off his lap then, laughing too hard.

  When we whirl into our room some twenty minutes later, the door crashes back against the wall, denting the plaster.

  “Shit,” Beckett says with a laugh. I’m riding him piggyback, my heels clutched tightly in my hands. I wave around until I find the door and slam it shut. He backs us up so I can slide in the deadbolt.

  “Maybe we should make a Do Not Disturb sign?” I ask, leaning close to his ear. He shakes his head, his arms reaching back to spin me around so we can kiss again. I’m glued to him and don’t want to let go. Afraid to let go.

  He’s a fever dream that comes at me, again and again, until he suddenly breaks and I’m the sole survivor. It’s like the way the water licks the shore, each wave shifting the sand until there’s a new shoreline years later. It’s small but changing. Consuming but bearable. I break in his arms, but his kiss puts me together again, slowly building a new Everly who can laugh and love.

  And I hold on a little tighter because I think that, with Beckett, I might stand a chance.

  I reach for the bottom of his T-shirt and yank it off. He steers us in the direction of the bed and sets me down, ducking to avoid hitting the bunk overhead. He unzips the back of my dress, only to discover I’m not wearing a bra, and he groans, his body searing hot beneath my fingers.

  His hands wrap around my rib cage and hoist me up higher onto the mattress. We’re wet and hot and everything is sticking like honey, and there’s this fire burning around us that feels like a backdraft, ready to explode.

  It feels so different with him. My stomach is butterflies, my heart hammering against my chest, and I’m struggling to catch up, to race ahead and find the Everly who knows what to do. With Beckett, she’s taken a backseat, and now I’m the happier girl, the one I like to pretend I am—except I don’t think I’m pretending anymore.

  “Lift your legs,” he says, trying pull off the bottom half of my dress. We both laugh and I try to shimmy my hips, but the fabric is glued to my skin. I reach out to help, but he swats my hand away, his brow set with determination. I laugh again, tipping my head up to the bunk above with a stupid grin on my face.

  The air is cold when he finally pulls it down my legs. I reach for his jeans, pushing up onto my elbows to draw his lips against mine as I unzip them. Beckett rolls away to strip them off, and then things go quiet.

  I’m thirteen again in that boathouse with Hudson, fumbling and awkward because I don’t know what to do. I shut my eyes, trying to force away the image of that night, trying to remember that I’m with Beckett. Why am I so nervous?

  I open my eyes. Beckett is braced ove
r me, a small smile on his lips. “Hi,” he whispers. “Still with me?”

  I inhale and nod, but I think I might fall apart any minute now.

  “You have too many wrinkles on your forehead, pet.” He leans down and kisses them until a deflating rush of air escapes my lips and I sink into the mattress. “Better?”

  I pull him tighter, my body on fire and ice-cold at the same time. “Please kiss me. Don’t let go.”

  His hands are giants on my body, burning against my soft flesh as he trails them over my curves and angles, hooks his fingers into my panties and drags them down my legs. He sits back on his knees and looks me over.

  “We don’t have to do this.” Beckett bends down and kisses the scar on my knee.

  I clamp my eyes shut and shake my head, the blush climbing high on my cheeks. “You’ll make me feel good?”

  I hear him fall back onto the mattress. “You say things like that and it’s like you want to fucking ruin me.” He tugs at my ankles, dragging me down to him until his hands are on my waist, pulling me upright. Beckett cups my face in his hands and leans forward so our noses touch. “Of course I want you to feel good.” He doesn’t close his eyes, so we’re having a staring match of awkward proportions. “I think we should wait, pet.”

  I toss my head up and swallow up a groan. Why do I have to complicate everything? It’s not like I’m a virgin. I’m not sure why this is so hard.

  “No, I’m being stupid. Take off your boxers and let’s go.”

  Beckett laughs and kisses my cheek. “You’re such a bossy little minx.”

  I pull back so I can get a better look at him. I can’t help it. I lick my lips at the sight of his, imagining them warm on my body. “Do you like that?”

  I guess I say the wrong thing again because the small, teasing smile on his face drops and his brows draw down.

  “Truth or dare, Beckett?”

  His shoulders roll back, and he slowly glances up at me. I forget that I’m sitting there naked until his hand bridges the space between us and lightly touches the curve of my breast. “Dare.”

  A group of hostel guests are playing Kings in the rec room. The cheers fill up the hallway and creep through the paper-thin door to our room. It’s too much noise. I grab my phone from the floor and play M83. When I turn back around, Beckett pushes forward on his hands and kisses me.

  It’s different from our other kisses. It’s not too gentle, not too desperate. It’s a kiss that makes me lean in to meet him in the middle. It makes us equals. It makes the stupid fears in my head quiet, and I believe again that what I need is now with Beckett.

  I feel like I’m waking up, kicking toward the surface when we break for air. Our breathing is shallow, and I’m kneeling between his legs, my naked body against his. The dim streetlight outside shines around us.

  “I want you,” he whispers. “I want you so fucking bad.” His fingers twist and curl in my damp hair.

  I reach down between us and cup him in his boxers, running my fingers over his length. I move my mouth to his. “That’s not a dare.” My words are a rough rumble.

  I hear his sharp hiss when I take away my hand and press against him with my middle. My hands glide up his front, his neck, and rake back into his hair. I tug him closer and kiss him before he can say anything more.

  I remember his words on the train, about how he wanted to drink me up until he gets drunk. I believe that now, too. His tongue swirls around mine, and I feel myself slipping away, my body burning again like it was in the back of that cab. With a stroke of his finger, Beckett brought me back to the present. He’s magic like that.

  His hands cup the backs of my thighs, and he lifts me up and sets me down on my back. His dog tags sweep over my chest, and I shiver.

  “I want you, too.” I wrap my hand around his neck and draw him back down to my lips. I rock against him, refusing to break apart, refusing to let things catch up with me so I fall apart. I forget everything, but the goodness of his lips on mine, the rough sweep of his fingers over my shoulder.

  I pull at the band of his boxers, protesting when his hands leave me to kick them off. He lays his weight on me and brushes back my hair.

  “Look at you.” His voice hoarse. “How did we end up here?”

  I don’t know if I care much. My hands roam over his back, pulling him closer, desperate to get lost in the way I fade into him. Beckett rolls off me and dives for his bag beside the bed. I hear the crinkle of foil and then feel him press against me.

  I raise my hips to meet him and cover my mouth to bite back a moan as he sinks into me. For once, I don’t feel empty, especially not when I meet his burning gaze. He kisses away the words on my lips, holding my hands over my head against the soft sheets.

  Outside our room, the game of Kings grows crazier, and it sounds as if there’s a fight on the sidewalk outside our window, but in our room, it’s the two of us. Like we’ve found our own piece of London in this rundown hostel. It’s him and me, my body and his, and enough kissing that my head grows dizzy and my body begins to tighten.

  “You feel so good,” I say with a sigh. I try to stay quiet, but he rocks his hips against mine and I suddenly don’t care if the others can hear us. I’m not sure I care about anyone except for Beckett in this instant, and that’s something new for me.

  “Do you feel good?” He mouths the words against my collarbone. His hands tilt my hips, and he sinks deeper into me. “I want to make you feel good, too, pet.”

  He flips us so I’m straddling him. I grip the metal bars of the bunk above, the heat and want soaking into my bones and spreading. Then I look down at him, the world crumbles around me, and I think my heart cracks open for the lovely man below me.

  I fold in half and kiss him deep, swallowing his groan.

  I close my eyes and nod. I think if I look at him, at the way his eyes are taking me in like I’m some precious thing, I might cry and ruin tonight. I’m not going to start now, but sweet baby Jesus, do I like Beckett.

  “What—what’s the matter?” He frames my face. “I’m here right now, okay?”

  I nod. He pushes up onto his elbows and kisses my sternum, sliding deeper into me. I wrap my arms around his neck, and he draws my nipple into his mouth. He tugs, and I think I am about to fall apart because a sweet pain rips through me, spreading and growing until I duck my head into his shoulder and moan. I shudder around him in a slow ripple of pleasure. His hand cups the back of my head, his mouth pressing sweet kisses up my neck, my cheek, my temple.

  “Kiss me, pet. Stay with me.”

  I draw back and settle my hands on his shoulders, our bodies moving together a little slower, but sweeter all the same, until Beckett comes on a haggard breath. My heartbeat fills my ears, the first reminder in a long time that I’m alive, that I feel like the girl I want to be. That I can survive my life with him, with my lovely Beckett.

  He falls back, and I rest on top of him, the two of us tangled up, trying to makes sense of what just happened between us. Something real, something big. For a small string of moments, it’s changed everything.

  “I’m glad you passed out on my doorstep.”

  I smile against his chest. “I’m glad you crashed my party.”

  Beckett

  Everly hangs down from the bunk above. “What are your thoughts on the Derawan Islands?”

  I look up from the laptop and laugh. “Should I have thoughts on the Derawan Islands?”

  “You can swim with jellyfish there. They aren’t toxic anymore because they have no natural predators.”

  “Then it sounds like you want to go to Derawan Islands to go swimming with nontoxic jellyfish.”

  She scrunches her nose at me, her face growing red as the blood rushes to her head. Maybe I should have pushed us to get out a bit more these past few days or return to Paris like we were supposed to two days ago, but we’ve been content here, holing up like a pair of horny hermits, surviving on boxed macaroni and cheese and burnt popcorn.

  For on
ce, it hasn’t been hard to write, either. Everly sleeps or reads, and I write and then write some more. It’s this perfect little world, almost untouched by our real lives.

  All except for how I missed my second meeting with Tom because I was preoccupied with finding more ways of making Everly blush. I fucked that up and lost my job, but right now I don’t care much. If this could be real for a while longer, I think I might have a chance at getting my shit together. Forget the shrink—no one tells you that if you find someone who understands, that things start to make sense again. The way she looks at me, the way she kisses me—hell, anything about how she is with me is enough to make it all better.

  “Have you been before?” She lowers the map and waves it around, her body rocking as she tests her balance.

  “No.” I clear my throat, fixated on the blinking cursor. “I report in the Middle East.” Did report. “That’s where I’ve traveled mostly.”

  I can feel her watching me. For once, it’s not something I enjoy. I lean a little closer to the corner of the wall and focus on my hands on the keyboard, the words in my mind, the story there that’s strangling me from within to be told.

  Everly pulls herself up from hanging upside down. I hear her rustle her stack of maps. “I don’t think they have a hostel there,” she says, sounding a bit lost.

  I’m not sure if she means in Indonesia or the Middle East, but I don’t say anything, only type a few more sentences. The confusing anger inside me leaks out with each pound of the keyboard. I might need to get out of this box today, Everly or no. I might put a hole in something if I don’t.

  My body still feels shattered from the nightmares I had last night. I think I was screaming when I woke up, but I can’t really remember. I know I ran out of bed as fast as I could so I didn’t hurt Everly. I remember yelling at her to go back to sleep because I’m a cranky asshole. I stayed on the top bunk for the rest of the night, my face pressed to the glass of the window, trying to suck some air from London, dripping in a cold sweat. I hate those fucking sleeping pills, how they make me feel, but I wish I’d brought them with me. I couldn’t stand myself if I hurt her.