Delicate

by K. L. Cottrell

  I move my free hand over and wrap it around his wrist in return, though my fingers don’t quite encircle it. My current thoughts meld with something we were saying a few minutes ago. “You’re a superhero, too, you know.”

  He chuckles heartily, like he thinks I’m kidding.

  “You are,” I tell him. “Really. Theo and I both think so.”

  Shaking his head, he replies on a smile, “Nah, I’m nothing special. Definitely nothing compared to him.”

  I blink at how nonchalantly he says it.

  And I’m suddenly filled with so much sharp emotion that it makes me breathless—that I find myself releasing his wrist and capturing his jaw, startling him.

  “I never wanna hear that from you again, Beckett Slater,” I nearly snap.

  Just like that, his casual amusement is gone. In fact, he’s holding my gaze so attentively now that I think he may have even put breathing on pause.

  I continue, “It’s one thing to feel like you’re not Cliff. That’s rooted in fact because no one is him. No one can be. But it’s something else to feel like not being him makes you less than.” I give his face a gentle shake. “You are not less than anyone, Beck. And you’re not some knock-off version of the superhero Cliff was—you’re a full-fledged superhero all on your own, and it’s perfect. We love it. Just like we always have, we love you because you’re you. Do you understand?”

  For many long moments, I can’t read his expression.

  Then I can read enough of it to discern that I’ve hit a nerve.

  I try to figure out whether he’s angry or not, but I’m interrupted when he yanks a breath into his lungs and me into a hug.

  He hugs me so tightly it almost hurts.

  It’s been a while since he last hugged me quite like this.

  But I welcome the discomfort of it—I do my best to give it right back, because I’m happy he appears to have heard me.

  “Thank you,” leaves him in a humble whisper. The breathy words warm my shoulder, into which his face is halfway buried. “I’m sorry. I—I don’t even know where that came from.”

  I do.

  I’ll never forget what I know of his childhood, what I know he heard about himself before Cliff befriended him and started showing him the respect he deserved—and after, too, though at least he had someone on his side then. I know he spent so long being hurt emotionally, not just physically. Being told he wasn’t smart or likable, and being asked, ‘What’s wrong with you?’ any time he failed at something, and being conditioned to anticipate harsh words and even harsher actions when he made a mistake. I know he had twice as many people tearing him down as he did building him up.

  He’s come a long way from those fragile and insecure years, but certain thorns remain, and sometimes they prick when he least expects it.

  Sighing, I rub a soothing hand over his back. “Don’t be sorry. I’m sorry if it sounded like I was griping, ‘cause I wasn’t trying to. I just want you to know you’re wonderful—it hurts me when it sounds like you might not know it.”

  He sighs, too, loosening the tension in his muscles. “No, don’t be sorry either. Thank you. Really.”

  I nod. “Always.” After it pops into my head, I add, “Super Beck.”

  Thanks to our hug, I can feel his laughter rumbling to life. It’s extremely pleasant, and hearing it leave him is even better.

  But what takes the cake is the easy, laugh-laden kiss he stamps up onto my temple, the comforting likes of which I haven’t been blessed with in many months.

  It’s something else I’m glad to have back.

  “If I don’t get a cape for my next birthday,” he says, “I will be highly disappointed.”

  That makes me laugh.

  We lean back and out of the hug, and I warn him, “Don’t tempt me. I could find one without any problems.”

  I’m delighted to see his smile is the right kind of easy, not that kind from before—not the kind people unthinkingly slip into when the echoes of their low self-esteem resurface disguised as a joke. It is not acceptable for this man to walk around feeling like he’s nothing, no matter the circumstances, and I’m glad to have reminded him of it.

  We all falter, all doubt ourselves, all hear the whispers of whatever ghosts still linger from our pasts, so it’s important for us to have people who can stabilize us. People who have our backs, whether we need to be stopped from stumbling too close to the edge or safely caught after we’ve fallen over it.

  It’ll always be heartbreaking that we don’t have Cliff anymore, but it’ll always be heartening that we have each other.

  “Hey!” he whispers, his eyes suddenly full of charming mischief. “Wanna watch Planet Earth now that Theo’s asleep?”

  Although I manage not to laugh as loudly as I feel like, there’s no resisting that idea.

  “Um, yes,” I chortle back in kind. “Yes, I do.”

  - 5 -

  N O E L L E

  six years ago

  “I love you,” I giggle between kisses, “but if you don’t unhand me, you’re gonna be late.”

  Cliff grins against my lips. “I love you, too, and yep! It’s all your gorgeous fault.”

  He plants another smooch on me and sneaks in a light snap of my bra strap. I fully laugh, then wiggle away from those lips and out of his arms.

  What should’ve been a quick goodbye kiss at his front door has turned into a minute-long procrastination, and he really didn’t have that minute to spare—he should’ve been in the car already. His grandma is expecting him at nine, and she’s big on punctuality even on a Saturday, and he’s cutting it close.

  His green eyes are bright as his thumb comes up to caress my cheek.

  “Yeah, I do need to go,” he concedes. He darts in for one last kiss. “I’ll be back in a couple hours! Hold my heart, will ya?”

  He pretends to pull his heart out of his chest and hand it to me. I grin and take it.

  “I will,” I assure him. “Have fun out there!”

  In short moments, he’s out in the late-September morning, finally on his way to do yardwork for his dad’s mom. Like her son and daughter-in-law, Agnes isn’t a warm person, but she isn’t quite as cold as they are, either; Cliff likes to call her ‘the least of three evils.’ Ever since his grandpa passed away, he’s been handling the lawn care for her, for no reward except him knowing he helped her.

  Gosh, I love him.

  I love Cliff Cavill so much, even after only three and a half months, because he’s just…good.

  He’s good when you’d expect him to be and when you wouldn’t.

  He’s good when people are looking and when they aren’t.

  And that goodness is so contagious that I’ve become a better person myself, even though I wouldn’t say I was ever a bad one.

  Cliff has especially rubbed off on his best friend over the years, but in a different way. I’ve been learning a lot about both of them since they’re basically brothers, so I’ve found that while Beckett also wasn’t a bad person before Cliff, he did struggle to be a strong one. I don’t know everything about his childhood, but I know a lot. His parents aren’t just cold, they’re truly terrible—drinkers with short fuses who find their power in aggression and abuse, not love. What’s worse is that two of Beckett’s relatives are on the police force, so Mr. and Mrs. Slater often find a way to slither out of severe punishment for things. But despite all they’ve done to him, Cliff has managed to bring light to his life and even help Beckett start shining a light of his own.

  It’s inspiring, truly, to know what those two guys have weathered together. I have an awesome friendship with Ceceli, so we’ve referred to ourselves as sisters before, but…well, to tell the truth, that’s almost a joke compared to the bond between Cliff and Beckett. They’ve gotten each other through hardships that Ceceli and I haven’t had to experience.

  And even though their families are still finding ways to mistreat them, things are better than ever for them. They’re twenty-one, attending
college while working, building lives for themselves. All the time, they’re finding more freedom.

  I’m so proud of them.

  In fact, I think they’re the most inspiring people I know. I’m beyond blessed to know them.

  A stray shudder skips through me. I abruptly realize I’m directly in the path of the AC vent, out of which a blast of cold air has just shot—it’s hitting all the bare skin I haven’t covered up yet. I spent yet another night here last night, and Cliff and I gave in to yet another playful seduction when we woke up this morning; afterward, since we were alone here, I just threw on my bra and panties before hurrying to find him some breakfast in the kitchen.

  I grab the change of clothes I brought with me, then head off to brush my teeth and get in Cliff’s shower. The plan is that once he’s done at his grandma’s, we’re going to meet up with Beckett for lunch. I don’t tag along for all their visits to Wings by Del because I want them to hang on to a good amount of their best friend time, but they always say I’m welcome, like the sweethearts they are. So I’ll be joining them today.

  Soon, I’m clean and comfy in my clothes. The clock on my phone says Cliff has been gone about forty-five minutes; I’ve got plenty of time to deal with my hair and makeup before he comes back.

  Maybe I’ll even do something extra cute with them. I’m in such a good mood, and—

  A loud noise at the front door startles me.

  Heartbeat suddenly racing, I stop rubbing at my wet hair with my towel.

  Is someone jiggling the doorknob?

  It sounds like it, but what the hell? Who the hell would be doing that?

  Now they’re knocking loudly.

  I step out of the bathroom to gaze across the little apartment, wide-eyed, growing hot with nervousness.

  Beckett, maybe? Lately he has been staying with the girl he’s seeing, but this is technically both his and Cliff’s apartment. Like Cliff, though, he would have a….

  No, he might not have a new key, I realize. The maintenance guy finally replaced the loose locks yesterday, and we haven’t seen Beckett since then because he was at Maria’s. He hasn’t had time to collect one of the new keys.

  Quietly, I go over to look out the peephole. I’m sure not expecting company, so just in case it’s not a surprise visit from Beckett, whoever is out there probably isn’t anyone I want to alert to my being here alone. Or is it better to let them know the place isn’t empty?

  At the door, I go up on my tiptoes and peek out.

  Then I suck in a sharp breath, fling my hair towel over my shoulder, and hastily open the door. It is—

  “Beckett?” I burst out worriedly.

  My heart skips whole beats as I get a much better look at the blood on his face than what the peephole allowed. There’s an ugly cut on his left cheek, and his bottom lip is busted.

  His eyes had been on me right at first, but now they’re cast down to the ground. One arm is hanging at his side while the other hand clutches his elbow—there’s blood on him in those places, too, I see now.

  Oh my God!

  “What happened?” I demand.

  When I look back up at his face, I also see a blush seems to be filling his cheeks.

  “Uh….” His voice is low and shaky. “Um. Hey.”

  I can’t stop staring at him.

  He swallows hard. “Is…is Cliff here?”

  I shake myself and step back from the doorway. “No, he’s doing yardwork for his grandma. Come in, though! Come in and let me help you!”

  He hesitates. Licks carefully at his lip. Shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

  Then he looks up at me for the smallest second ever.

  And there isn’t any doubt about it: he’s embarrassed.

  Embarrassed to the point that he looks younger than he is—vulnerable, even.

  My heart doesn’t like that. Doesn’t like the ideas I’m starting to get about how he might’ve ended up this way.

  He stammers around his busted lip, “Sorry I—if I scared you with the door. I don’t know…uh….”

  “No, the locks—it’s fine. Maintenance fixed those other flimsy locks yesterday. Different key now. Cliff hasn’t had a chance to tell you yet, I guess.”

  I reach toward his shoulder but take care not to actually touch him. Who knows where all he’s hurt? I don’t want to make anything worse.

  “Come in,” I insist.

  Finally, he steps forward. Once he’s gotten through the doorway, I peer outside to see if anything or anyone looks sketchy, but it’s a no.

  I shut and lock the door, then turn to him. “Do you want me to drive you to the hospital?”

  Though the shake of his head is slight, his expression bursts with dismay. “No. Please.”

  I don’t like his clear aversion to that idea, nor the fact that it means professionals can’t help him. But this is his call. I won’t try to talk him into doing something he doesn’t want to do.

  That’s not to say I won’t do anything at all, though.

  I look over him with a nod of understanding. Then I gesture toward the kitchen. “Go sit at the table, okay?”

  Again he hesitates, but again he ultimately does as I say. I slip back to the bathroom, toss down my hair towel, and grab my phone so I can text Cliff and let him know what’s going on. Then I hurry to return to Beckett.

  He waits wordlessly at the small dining table in the corner while I gather some first-aid stuff: a zip-top-baggie ice pack, a clean washcloth and bowl of warm water, some antibiotic cream, a couple other small things that look helpful to my worried brain. Surely it’s a good idea to have as much on hand as I can find. The internet will help me if I get overwhelmed.

  I get everything laid out next to Beckett and get my hands washed, then pull a chair up close to him and sit down too.

  Before I can say anything, he speaks with careful diffidence, his eyes lowered once more.

  “I’m sorry for bothering you. For just showing up. I really didn’t wanna go to Maria’s, but I couldn’t call Cliff or you, and I didn’t even think to see if his car was outside when I got here. I just….”

  I shake my head even though he doesn’t see it. “Beckett, no. You are absolutely fine. You aren’t bothering me.”

  In fact, I’m pained for him in a new, albeit smaller way. Though he and Maria haven’t seemed crazy serious, they’ve been dating for a couple months and he’s been staying at her place more often recently. I’d have thought he would be rather comfortable with her by now, not shying away when he needs help.

  Still, no, he’s not a bother to me.

  I hand him the ice pack I threw together. “Here, put this on your lip for now so I…” blowing out a breath, I glance over his battered form, “…so I can do something helpful to someplace else.”

  He gingerly touches the pack to his lip, then winces and withdraws it, then puts it back on.

  More softly than a minute ago, I ask, “What happened to you?”

  A heavy sigh leaves him. It deepens the slump already in his shoulders, heightens the mortification radiating from him.

  He pulls the ice pack away slightly and mutters, “My dad.”

  My heart seems to drop into my stomach and leap into my throat at the same time.

  Grimacing, he shuts his eyes. “I needed some deodorant from the store, and I saw him in the parking lot. Tried to pretend I didn’t. Wanted to get away from him. Didn’t want any trouble.”

  His eyes drift back open and fix unseeingly on the mesh knees of my leggings, I think.

  “But he didn’t like being ignored, and there was no one around to stop him from teaching me not to be disrespectful.”

  I close my own eyes and inhale slowly.

  Damn that man.

  Damn him.

  I’d had an inkling that he was the cause of this, but I hadn’t wanted to focus on it and let it bloom. It was too sad—and infuriating—a notion.

  I open my eyes and catch Beckett’s blue-gray ones looking at me. The
y’re shadowy; they always are when his family is on his mind. His parents know exactly how to steal away the brilliance he and Cliff have worked on cultivating since they were eleven.

  What is wrong with people? How can anyone be so mean? How can anyone be so mean to their own child?

  On top of that, it’s sickening to know that being friends with the right people can get awful behavior swept under the rug. Even if a bystander had been able to help Beckett, how much good would it have done in the end?

  I’m sure he’s about to look away again, but I do it first. His injuries need attention.

  My hand wants to snatch angrily at the washcloth I set aside, but I make it behave. I want to neither startle Beckett nor accidentally knock anything off the table and onto him. Still, restrained though my hand is, I can’t keep frustration from flushing my skin and puffing out of me on a hard exhale.

  But somehow, I don’t have any trouble keeping my voice gentle as I wet the cloth in the warm water.

  “I’m so sorry. You deserve infinitely better than that. He can go to hell.”

  After a long few moments, he mumbles, “Thank you.”

  I scoff. “You don’t have to thank me for that.”

  Another beat of silence passes.

  Then: “Do you not know what a kind word is worth, Noelle?”

  The question hits me right in the heart.

  I look up from wringing out the excess water in the cloth. Even with those shadowed eyes, his hurt lip, and the bloody cut on his cheek, gratitude stands out in his expression.

  What a sight that is.

  And he has a point, I realize. I said he doesn’t have to thank me for treating him well because being treated well is a human right, but his dad doing the opposite is the whole reason he’s here. I’d be willing to bet that monster was as hateful in word as in action; there’s no way Beckett felt respected at all. It’s not hard to see why my support is valuable to him.

  I admit, “I do know what it’s worth.”

  His nod is small. “It’s worth everything.” With a wince, he shifts slightly in his chair, then flicks his glance around the kitchen and connecting living room. “So I appreciate it. You saying that stuff and…wanting to help.”