I draw away and move us onto our sides so we’re facing one another. “I’m not sure what I want anymore. I don’t know.”
She’s never let go, still surrounding me like she always does, forcing me to face a future I didn’t count on.
“Beckett?”
I kiss her for a few minutes, forgetting to answer. The damnedest thing is I feel a bit lighter now, having this secret out between us. Feeling as though I don’t need to hide myself from her. Admitting that I’m not as strong as she thinks I am.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she whispers against my lips when we break apart. “Take me away this summer and tell me all your stories. I want to get lost in you and me.”
Everly
“Pack your things,” Beckett says, spinning me around. He whirls us into my bedroom and starts throwing stuff onto the bed, one arm still wrapped tight around my waist. We’ve been back in Paris for twenty minutes, and we’re not wasting time leaving this city. I reach for the few dresses draped over the dresser and throw them over his shoulder.
“Put me down,” I say with a laugh. When he doesn’t, I peck kisses across his face. “It’ll be faster if I can pack myself.”
“Four arms are better than two.”
“Right now, your two arms are holding me to you.”
“Just the way I like it.”
I pull back and scrunch my nose at his handsome, lovely face. “Beckett Reid, you charming, charming man.”
He slowly lowers me. I scrape against the hard line of his body. His eyes soften, the amused smile relaxing to something else entirely. He looks as if he’s going to speak before he draws me in for a slow, intoxicating kiss. When we’ve finished, my legs are wobbly.
I shake my head, trying to knock away this growing feeling between us. I can lose myself to it later. When I’m out of Paris.
“You’re quite good at that,” I say on a long exhale, the warmth of his lips still on my mouth. Another confession, another thing I can’t take back. I hope not another mistake.
“Good at what, pet?” He cups the back of my head. The low timbre of his whisper convinces me that packing can wait.
“Making me forget everything.”
He leans down for another kiss, an innocent press of his lips against mine. “Then I guess I’ll have to keep kissing you until you remember. That’s important, too.”
Sometimes that sounds nice, to be woken up again and remember what it is to live life. After our time in London, I almost believe it can happen. I’m Princess Aurora, waiting for that one kiss to wake me from a cursed sleep.
I kiss his cheek, then playfully push him away. “Will you go already? I have to pack. Have places to see.”
“People to kiss?”
“Not if you keep me from packing, you smug Brit.”
He laughs as he exits into the living room. “I’ll be right back. I’ll grab some sushi for us, and then we’ll pack you up and head to my place so I can do the same.” The door closes behind him, a loud thud echoing against the nervous flutter of my heart. I sink onto the bed, clutching a shirt he tossed there with a stupid grin on my face. Beckett’s in such a hurry to be with me, to make it out of Paris to spend the summer. With me.
I’m rushing around my bedroom, packing the few things I have, when I hear knocking at my door. I know Beckett didn’t lock it, so I’m confused.
“Back already?” I tease, opening the door.
It hasn’t been long enough. Hudson is standing there, dripping wet, his eyes bloodshot and unfocused.
I choke on his name.
“Expecting someone?” he sneers at me. There’s something off about him. More so than usual. A strange sort of fear chases up my spine. I grab my phone from my pocket to text Beckett.
“Fuck off, Hudson.”
I stumble as he pushes past and then whirls around, his arms and legs all awkward. He crushes me to him, his grip rough. “You left me,” he whispers darkly. “I told you I love you, and you left me.”
He tries kissing me, but I squirm in his arms. I shove my hands against his chest, but he only jerks me tighter, his lips moving over my face. I feel the hot prick of tears in my eyes as panic washes over me.
“You can’t leave me,” he says over my head. “You’re mine.”
Fighting isn’t helping, so I try to pacify him. “I won’t,” I lie. “I won’t, Hudson. I’m sorry I left.” I pinch his face between my fingers, maybe too hard, but right now I feel…
God, I don’t even know. I don’t want him here spoiling things again. I want my life back. Whatever life that is. I’m finally happy, and now he’s back to ruin it all. I’m never allowed to be happy if Hudson is around.
“You can’t.” He seems to be trying to look at me, but I can’t follow his eyes. “You can’t. You can’t.”
“Okay, fine. Fine, Hudson.” He’s scaring me. This is the worst I’ve ever seen him. “Where am I going to go?”
“You’re a lying bitch,” he snaps. “You already left. I came by, and you weren’t here.”
“Well, you haven’t been nice to me,” I yell. His lips tighten, his grip on my hip growing painful until it feels like he’s going to break it again. So I soften my voice—anything so he’ll let me go. “My plane ticket is there on the counter. Same day as yours. We’re going to Italy like you wanted.”
“And you’re going to stay with me?”
I lie again because he won’t be able to find me next time. “Sure, Hudson.”
“Stay with me.”
“Why do you keep asking me to stay?” I wrestle out of his grip, far enough away, but I don’t trust him. I don’t know what he’s done, and I don’t know what he’s thinking. The blank look on his face is scaring me.
“You need to stay with me, Ev. I need you to stay with me. This is going to work.”
Where the hell did Beckett go?
“I love you. You have to stay. You need to stay.”
There’s that word again—love. Hudson doesn’t love. He knows nothing of the idea of love. But he thinks that, with me around, everything will be better for him. I’m just as toxic to him as he is to me. We’re as fucked-up as Sid and Nancy without ever having truly loved one another. I won’t let him kill me, too.
Beckett fills up the open doorway, then stills.
“What is he doing here?” Hudson asks.
He reaches for me again, but I jump back, the corner of the counter digging into my back. I look pleadingly to Beckett to fix this. He’s fixed me; he can fix this, too. But Beckett remains in the doorway, watching Hudson with his fists clenched at his side.
“What is he doing here?” Hudson demands again through gritted teeth.
I stumble through my mind for an excuse to put off Hudson so he’ll turn and leave. My heart feels as if it’s going to explode in my chest, beating over and over against my rib cage.
“I came over to drop off last her paycheck.” He holds up a slip of paper for Hudson. It seems to pacify him.
Or it does until Hudson darts forward and grips me tight. My stomach roils, and I think I might be sick.
“Let go.”
But he speaks over my plea to Beckett. “Then leave. She has it now.”
I try to wiggle out of his hold, but he crushes me until I gasp from the pain. “You’re hurting me.”
A mad chuckle rumbles inside of him. “Well, you’re killing me.”
Beckett steps closer. “Let her go, Hudson.” When Hudson doesn’t, Beckett takes another step, his hands outstretched. “Let. Her. Go.”
I try pulling away as Hudson’s laugh unfurls around me. It’s the sound of a person falling apart, quick and messy. I blink back my tears and swallow the bitter taste in my mouth. “Hudson, please.”
He releases me in jerky movements until I take a step away. I think I take about five more before he grabs my arm, whirls me back, and strikes his palm against my face. I fly into the counter, hitting my head. The floor rises up to meet me next.
The room spins as
I cradle my forehead, the blood seeping through my fingers. I feel so cold. I know I’m going to be sick, but I can’t focus, can’t move, even as I hear fighting. I see the whirl of them around my apartment. I hear bone crash against flesh. I smell blood. I can taste the salt of tears in my mouth. I’m screaming, but I have no idea what I’m saying. I try to push up onto my feet to stop them, but I sway and fall again. My throat is raw, and my eyes are blurring. There’s blood on my hands. I swear Beckett is going to kill Hudson.
A third figure comes in, and I hear the fight being broken up. The stranger comes up to me next—my neighbor, speaking to me in English and French—but I can only stare back. I’m shaking, trying to bring everything into focus.
“Doctor?” he asks me in French.
I shake my head. I think he talks to Beckett or threatens to call the police, but I can’t focus on anything except for the sound of Hudson. He’s crying—weeping, actually—somewhere in my apartment, and I want to throw up.
Beckett sinks down on his knees in front of me. “Fucking hell, Everly.”
I don’t want him touching me, either. He broke Hudson. We’ve both broken him, and now I’m bleeding on the kitchen floor.
Beckett gently lifts me up so I’m standing and inspects my head. He grabs a dish towel and presses it over the gash. At least, I think it’s a gash. It feels more like a hole. Or maybe that’s just me. I’m just an empty space now.
Beckett’s face is bruised and swelling up. Blood is trickling down his left eyebrow, and his knuckles are raw.
It’s too much. I duck out of his hold and stumble into the bathroom. I kick the door shut as I throw up until my stomach is empty and full of pain. All the while, I hear Hudson. He’s fallen apart, and I can’t put him back together. I can’t. I know if I try, I’ll lose myself, too.
Beckett
I’m in the queue for sushi when my mobile buzzes. Hudson, the text reads.
Shit.
It’s pouring outside. I slip over the cobbles in my worn trainers as I run back to her flat and take the stairs two at a time, my body alive and buzzing. Hudson is danger, and I’ve missed it. I’ve missed the threat. I crave that.
But it has nothing to do with danger. Not really. Not once I see his hand strike her face. I’m off like a shot, my fists pounding into the bastard. I can’t tell the difference between now or the past, hearing my mother’s screams as my father beat her before it was my turn. I’m not going to let that happen to Everly.
When the world finally seeps back into the focus, my knuckles are split open, and I’m gasping for air. Hudson’s knocked to the floor, crying. He’s fucking crying like we’re kids on the playground. I only wanted to protect Everly.
There’s a man with Everly. He’s threatening to call the police, but I wave him off. He can call the fucking Armée de Terre, I don’t care. He storms out, and I’m left with her bleeding in my arms again.
I try to soothe her, but she’s too upset. Everly shoves me away to go hide in the bathroom. I hear her throw up, over and over, as Hudson is crying on the floor.
Fuck.
I walk out into the hallway and sink down, staring up at the ceiling like there’s going to be a fluorescent sign buzzing overhead, bright letters flickering: La réalité n’existe pas. I hear a faint buzz, like the dreamed-up words are inching their way into my life, sinking deep into my bones. Until they are my reality. Until some of this makes sense.
She catches me walking back through the door. She rubs at her mouth like she’s erasing away the memory of my kiss, the cold look of disgust filling her eyes. Everly throws off my hand when I touch her. Maybe if I explain, maybe if…
She creeps closer to Hudson, who’s still lying over the broken coffee table, covering her precious stack of maps. They’re ripped now, covered in wet footprints and blood.
“Hudson,” she asks. “Are you okay?”
I don’t want him touching her again, so I edge nearer to them both.
His eyes stare up at the ceiling, flat and bloodshot. “No more.” His words are quiet and hard. It looks like his lips never parted.
“No more what?” Everly asks. She rests on her knees, her hand hovering above his head.
His eyes fill with a flash of life, staring me down. His hand reaches for Everly and I tense again, but he lays it over her cheek, all soft-like. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.
He drops his hand and gets up, still staring at me, his eyes empty. He shuffles to the door, but I can’t move until I hear Everly crying. I reach down and haul her up next to me, pulling her close. Blood and tears cover my T-shirt now, the two of us shaking together.
Hudson freezes as he’s about to close the door behind him. He stands awkwardly for a moment. “I loved you.”
Then he’s gone.
It’s quiet as the door shuts, and there’s no air. It’s a million fucking degrees, and I have no idea what to do. Part of me wants to chase him down and knock him out, and the other half wants to pack Everly up and take off for my aunt’s place before it’s too late. It’s changing. All of it. I can feel it slipping away faster than I can grab everything and put it back in order.
Everly slumps against me. I hook my arms under her knees and carry her to the couch. She’s shaking, but I try to calm her down and check out her head. I still can’t find where she’s bleeding from.
I lift my shirt to wipe some of the blood away. Always my shirt. I bite back the nervous joke and decide I need to find another towel to clean her up. There’s a large gash over the crown of her head, but it looks more superficial than the one from her fall at my flat.
“At least you don’t need stitches.”
She nods, but she won’t look me in the eye. I realize then she’s not coming with me. It all swells up inside me and bursts—the fear, the panic.
Shit.
I march into the kitchen and get a glass of water, then dig through the bare cupboards for some aspirin. There isn’t any. There’s nothing in her kitchen. She’s been surviving in a filthy box, living off cigarettes and booze all spring. That only frustrates me more as I yank open the medicine cabinet. It’s filled solid with prescriptions, some not even made out to her. I toss them over my shoulder, a few bursting open as they collide with the floor. I should flush them all. The cabinet is all but cleared when I finally happen upon a bottle of aspirin. I tear off its cover and pour a few out into my palm.
La réalité n’existe pas.
“Take these.” I hold my hand out, waiting for her to do something, then wave it again when she doesn’t move. Finally, she accepts them and swallows a few, spilling water over herself.
I step away and pace by the balcony door until I can’t stand it anymore and wrench it open. The rain sprays into the room. At least the air is cool, even if it doesn’t help.
A person can only take so much before it wears them down. I can’t lose her, but she’s there on the couch, looking at me as if she hates me. I might as well be back at work, chasing down impossible leads and getting shot at.
“You don’t have any ice, and you really should put some on that before it swells up,” I say. Her eyes are vacant when she peeks up at me. I had her smiling earlier, teasing and full of laughs, and now she’s broken and bleeding, lost in that hole she falls into. I don’t know if I can get her back this time. “Everly?”
“I don’t want to leave.” It seems like forever until she adds, “He might come back.”
“He might, and I don’t want you here for that.”
“He’s sick, Beckett. Hudson’s sick, and he needs help.”
“Has he done that before? Hit you?”
Her “no” happens too quickly. I know it’s a lie.
I hear shattering before I realize what I’ve done. Fragmented glass blows back from the kitchen wall and scatters across the floor. I look to her and the cup I just propelled into the kitchen…fuck.
Everly remains still, her lips in a set line, unfazed by my burst of anger, and that pisses me off more. “I’m
fine,” she insists quietly. “I’m more worried about him.”
I scratch the back of my neck, darting my eyes to the floor, avoiding that blank stare of hers that guts me.
“Leave, Beckett.”
There are so many bad decisions between us now. Maybe too many to sort out whatever we have. Whatever it is that we are to each other.
“Please.” She keeps her focus on her hands. “I want to be alone. I’ll be better in the morning. Have your car packed and pick me up tomorrow. I’ll be ready.”
I search for an excuse, anything to change her mind, but I settle on the truth. “You’re hurt.”
“So are you,” she shoots back.
Everly stands and grabs the maps from the floor, mumbling as she crumples them into the tight balls and tosses them on top of the shattered glass in the kitchen.
I should clean it up. I should do something to comfort her or say something to help fix this. Be there for her. But I’m an asshole and I think we’re both a little shook up over what just went down. We don’t fit together here like we did in London. We’re falling apart, and I don’t think there’s a way to stop it.
I throw my hands into the air with a shrug. “Fine, Everly.”
I walk to the door slow enough to call her bluff, waiting for her to break and say something, but she’s silent. She’s stronger than me, but I don’t care who wins and loses right now.
I spin around and stride back to her, softly kissing her on the forehead.
She melts against me with one hushed sigh. “I thought you were mad at me,” she whispers. Her hands flutter over my face. “You should clean up. You’re bleeding.”
“I wasn’t mad, not at all…” It’s hard to say, but I swallow and try again. “I was scared. For you.” I brace my hands around her face as she looks up at me, wide-eyed, the two of us realizing the enormity of what I just admitted. “Come back with me tonight. We can pack your things in the morning. I don’t want to leave you here. You’re hurt and…you can take the bed even. I’ll sleep on the couch. We don’t—”
I’m still desperate for it, for her to agree to come with me.
“I need to be alone.” She winces once she pulls away. “In the morning…” Her voice dies off as she closes her bedroom door.
Everly After Page 18