Delicate

by K. L. Cottrell

  It was nothing.

  No matter how it felt at the time, it was nothing.

  No matter how it feels now, it was nothing.

  He’s sorry and so am I, so it was nothing.

  I sigh.

  So does Beckett.

  Shortly, we start withdrawing from our hug. As it ends, I wonder if he feels as cold without it as I do. Looks like he might.

  “You need to call your mom again,” he reminds me.

  Ah. Yes, I do. Before I hung up with her earlier, she demanded that I let her know once we were safely back home.

  “Yeah, I’ll do that.” My eyes drop to my purse at my hip, somewhere within which is my phone. “Just…uh…make yourself at home, okay? As always.”

  “Thanks,” he tells me softly, “as always.” A moment passes before my shoulder gets enveloped in a brief squeeze; he’s walking around me. “Um, want some water?”

  Go away, stupid chills. That’s a friend touch.

  His question registers with me. All of a sudden, I feel parched. “Oh, yes. Thank you.”

  “Sure thing.”

  I’ve just gotten my phone out when I hear him making noise in the kitchen. Since he isn’t around to see it, I roll my shoulders and tilt my head from side to side, popping my neck, resolving once more to shake all this off.

  Admittedly, I can’t shake the fault lines away, but maybe they’ll go back into hiding after a little while longer.

  In fact, I’m sure they will.

  I close my eyes while I measure out another breath.

  Then I pull my purse off and hang it on a hook, head for the couch, and get ready to call the rest of my family.

  - 11 -

  B E C K E T T

  one year and eleven months ago

  “You sure?” I ask Noelle as she walks to the far side of the car from the front passenger door. “I don’t mind riding in the backseat so you can sit by Cliff.”

  “I’m sure,” she insists brightly.

  Noelle Bright-ly.

  Chuckling to myself, I tune in to what else she’s saying.

  “The backseat is small. I don’t want you cramped behind Cliff and having Theo’s car seat all up in your business.”

  Cliff jogs over, illuminated by the porch lights of their duplex. He’s done locking the place up.

  “Ellie,” he interjects, “you know we can just—”

  I laugh more heartily at the eye-roll her nickname yields.

  “—and put it in the trunk. Theo isn’t coming with us. And hey, babe?” He laughs, too, as he gets a good look at the exasperation on her face. “You also know you brought ‘Ellie’ on yourself, right? When you think you’ll get used to it?”

  “Why do you guys hate me?” she asks, though not grumpily. “And I know we can move the car seat, but we’ve got it anchored in and everything. I’ll just sit in the back—I promise it’s fine.”

  Gotta say I believe her.

  “Okay,” I give in. “Thank you. And we don’t hate you.”

  “Sure ya don’t.” She points at me. “But you’re welcome.”

  Cliff saunters up to her with an affectionate air, so I swing into the passenger seat and allow them a few murmured seconds to themselves. As I expect, she starts giggling because whatever he’s saying is warm-toned. When they get in the car, too, they’re as happy as ever.

  They’re always happy.

  Not literally, of course—no one is always happy. But they make each other far happier than not; they’ve been brilliant spots in each other’s lives these last four years, and because of that, they’ve been brilliant in mine as well.

  They and Theodora are my favorite people on this planet.

  I kind of wish the kiddo were coming with us to dinner since I didn’t get to say hi to her before Noelle’s parents took her for the night. I’m always delighted to see my not-niece and she’s always delighted to see me.

  We’re finally celebrating Cliff’s recent job promotion, though, and when Noelle’s parents heard of our plans, they were adamant that the three of us should go on by ourselves. So we’re going.

  “Chili’s?” I ask as we all buckle up.

  Cliff nods. “Yep! ‘Cause damn old Del closed his damn restaurant, the damn….”

  I groan like I always do at the mention of our beloved wing spot—well, nacho spot.

  Noelle tsks sympathetically from behind us. “Sorry, guys.”

  “My heart will never heal,” Cliff sighs.

  I sigh too. “Nor will mine.”

  Now I hear her trying to stifle a giggle, so I turn and catch her eye. She presses her lips together and raises her eyebrows, shooting for an innocent look, but I’ve caught her.

  Wistfulness aside, I have to laugh.

  “What’s up?” Cliff wants to know as he gets the car moving.

  “Your fiancée thinks it’s funny that we miss Wings by Del so much.”

  He gasps dramatically, then grins into the rearview mirror. “What? Blasphemy!”

  “I’m sorry!” she says on her own laugh. “I love you! Beckett, you tattler!”

  “Hey! Don’t do stuff I have to tattle about and I won’t tattle!”

  She reaches up here and thumps my arm, and I quickly thump her back before she can get away again.

  Cliff says, “Yeah, get her, Beck! My heart hurts double now—can’t go to Wings by Del and can’t trust my girl with my pain!”

  We all laugh.

  When she reaches forward now, it’s to transfer a kiss from her fingers to his cheek. And as it has been since the day he met her, the smile she brings to his face is nothing short of shining.

  “Nah,” he amends, “Chili’s will be great ‘cause I’m with my family. I love y’all. Thanks for being with me.”

  Smiling, too, I reply, “Absolutely. Always have been, always will be. We love you too.”

  “Absolutely and always,” Noelle agrees.

  Cliff holds out a fist for me to bump, so I oblige him, and then he sends another grin to Noelle in the rearview mirror.

  It’s crazy to think back to the day we met her. He and I were just two boys going about our stupid lives, not having any idea that the girl across the room was about to change us. He didn’t know he was minutes away from meeting his true love and the mother of his child. I didn’t know she would end up being my second best friend—I didn’t know that was a position anyone could claim.

  Look at all of us now, though.

  Good times lie ahead of us tonight, as usual.

  And as usual, I’m deeply grateful for the ones we’re already in. The ones we’ve already had.

  Cliff and I waited so damn long for good times.

  Now that we’ve managed to sever ties with our parents either by choice or by force of death, as happened with my dad thanks to a heart attack, we’ve been able to enjoy more of life than ever before. And it has been amazing.

  I didn’t always know amazing things really existed. Didn’t always know love really existed, or trust, or happiness.

  God, the lessons I’ve learned thanks to Cliff.

  “Oh, hey, Beck,” he pipes up. “I forgot to tell you: my boss said the fix you recommended worked!”

  More good stuff, indeed!

  Pleased, I ask, “Yeah? His PC is running faster now?”

  “Like the wind, brother!” Pleased, too, he shoots me a smile through the evening shadows. “Thanks again for that. I’m not a total dumbass about tech, but you’ve got me way beat. You’re legitimately smart about that kind of stuff. I probably couldn’t have figured it out even with Google.”

  We laugh because, love the dude though I do, he’s pretty well telling the truth.

  “No problem at all,” I say.

  “Pff! You took the time out of your day to listen to me relay what another technologically challenged person was struggling with. You’re the shit.” With his eyes still on the road, he points a finger-gun at me. “Therefore, he is offering you some money for your assistance, and I don’t wanna hea
r any arguments.”

  Now I frown. “What? No way. It was so—”

  “No arguments!”

  I do argue with him about it, though. I intended to call the whole thing a favor, just a kindness for someone who needed a bit of help. It didn’t take me ten whole minutes to figure out why that guy’s home computer was running slowly. How could I accept payment for something like that?

  But Cliff refuses to change his stance on it, and Noelle backs him up.

  Frankly, it gets a little frustrating. I don’t feel comfortable accepting money for such a small task. How is that a hard concept to grasp? Why do they care so much about it? It is nowhere near a big deal.

  I say, “It just doesn’t feel right for someone to pay me for helping, okay?”

  There’s a pause between us all.

  I barely have time to hope they’ll drop the matter before Cliff’s tone comes out calm.

  “It’s okay to accept the good things you deserve, Beckett.”

  A full silence falls inside the car as the words knock against my brain.

  They pack a harder punch than I was ready for.

  In fact, as the moments pass, it starts feeling like they’re little pickaxes chipping away at that frustration…and, beyond it, a bit more of the inner brick wall I’m apparently still working on dismantling.

  And it’s interesting, I’m realizing now, how the little truths in life are sometimes just as hard to internalize as the big ones.

  It took me a while to believe big things like, ‘It’s not okay that my parents beat me all the time,’ and, ‘I’m not really a worthless waste of space,’ and, ‘I can get away from this hell and make a nice life for myself.’ But here I am, coming up on twenty-six years old, also having a hard time with something little—here I am, instinctively feeling like it would be wrong to relish a small show of respect just because it is small. As if I can’t be properly appreciated for or take pride in something unless I’ve met certain requirements. As if only specific triumphs have value.

  And here Cliff is encouraging me once again.

  Like I have for so long, I trust him.

  I believe he’s right that it’s okay to accept the good things I deserve. No matter their size. Just like it’s okay to reject the bad things I don’t deserve, no matter their size.

  “All right,” I finally concede, diffident but content. “I’ll let him pay me. Not a lot, though.”

  In the green glow of the traffic light we’re approaching, Cliff breaks out in a proud grin.

  Noelle claps from the backseat. “Yay, Beck!”

  “Awesome, dude,” he agrees with a nod of approval. “Now that you say that, I don’t know how much he’s thinking about, but I….”

  My attention is yanked from him to something outside his window: headlights speeding in our direction, unexpectedly perpendicular to us.

  Before I can react, we’re being—

  —

  Noise.

  My ears are picking up on a noise.

  A strange one. Something weak. Like…a whimper.

  A scared noise. Or a noise of pain.

  Pain.

  The word echoes through my head, then through the rest of me.

  I’m in pain, I’m starting to….

  What? I answer the rasp of my name from nearby.

  Except I haven’t really answered. I just thought the word.

  “Beckett,” it comes again. Weak and whimpered. Scared. Pained.

  “Wh…?” I find the energy to somewhat mumble.

  More noise is registering with me.

  It’s even stranger than the other kind. I don’t know what it is.

  But I do hear crying now.

  “Cliff,” comes that same voice. Feminine. Familiar. “Cliff! Beck!”

  Noelle.

  That’s Noelle, and she’s crying. She might be in pain. I am in pain, and….

  My eyes have been closed. I work to open them. But the world is hazy and bright, and it makes my pain worse—the pain in my head—so I shut my eyes again.

  And I hear the stranger-than-before noise again, along with my name.

  Not in Noelle’s voice this time.

  That can’t be Cliff’s voice, though. It’s barely a voice at all.

  It seems to take forever for me to get my eyes open and keep them that way. My head is really hurting now, and I feel a little better when my eyes are shut, but something…something isn’t right, and I need to….

  I’m looking at Cliff through the bright light slanting into the car from outside.

  He’s looking back at me. His eyes are stuck on mine where he’s awkwardly twisted up in his seat.

  My brain tries to process the rest of what I’m seeing.

  Because I think I’m seeing blood.

  A lot of blood.

  All over my best friend.

  In his hair. On his face. Soaking through his gray shirt.

  And beneath Noelle’s crying and babbling in the backseat, I can hear the stranger-than-before noise coming from him.

  It’s wheezy.

  It’s wet.

  It’s him struggling to breathe.

  My lungs pull in a breath that’s jagged from dizzy alarm, not because I’m struggling to breathe—I can breathe, and Noelle can, but—but not—

  I rasp out, “Cliff,” and clumsily throw my left hand his way. It doesn’t connect with him. There’s no blood on me there, although I’m noticing the metallic taste of it in my mouth, the prickle of it through my hair. “Cliff?”

  “Is—is he ok-kay?” Noelle judders out frailly. I don’t think she can see him. “B-Beck?”

  The dark blood is spreading through his shirt. Dripping and glinting down his face. Like whatever wounds I can’t see are doing worse and worse damage by the second.

  Tears are dripping down his face, too, as his glazing eyes slide toward the backseat just a little, just an inch, in Noelle’s direction.

  “I…love….”

  His words are as frail as Noelle’s. But unlike hers, they’re sluggish. Defeated.

  Defeated?

  But why…?

  No.

  Oh—no, no.

  No.

  “Cl-Cliff, hey, just—” I bumble out, finally getting my hand around his bloody arm. He keeps looking toward the backseat, blinking more and more slowly, wheezing worse and worse. “Just wait a second. Don’t—uh—”

  A click precedes Noelle’s breathless yelp, and I hurl a worried look at the backseat. She has undone her seatbelt and tipped in our direction, one hand trembling out, her eyes searching for Cliff. She’s bleeding, too, but not like him—not at all like—

  Another string of garbled words hits the air.

  A sob is jerked out of her, a choked noise out of me.

  ‘I love you, Noelle.’

  He got it out. He said it. The whole sentence.

  He worked to force it out when he can barely get air into his lungs.

  “I love you too,” she whimpers, still trying to see and reach him but not quite being able to because of however she’s hurt. “Cliff, I love you!” Then, without looking at me, “Beckett, is he—is he hurt? W-why does he—he s-sound—?”

  “He’s hurt,” I quake out. “He’s bleeding. But—but it’s okay. It’s okay. Listen—Noelle, Cliff, listen, it’s gonna be okay.”

  I believe it.

  He has to be okay.

  He has to be okay.

  He just looks worse off than he is, that’s all. He sounds worse than he is.

  He said he loves her because he does, not because he’s saying goodbye.

  He isn’t…

  …he isn’t looking toward the backseat anymore. He isn’t looking anywhere. His slow blink isn’t opening back up.

  My heart claws violently into my throat.

  “Wait, no, no!” I burst out frantically. “Cliff! No!”

  “What?” Noelle demands amid sharpening gasps. “What is it?”

  Cliff’s eyes flutter back open. His
fading attention finds me again.

  Fucking hell!

  I wobble out, rushed, “God, don’t—listen, brother, just hang in there! It’s okay! Someone—” All at once, I notice glass got shattered at some point and that I can hear faint chatter in the night outside the car, even what might be a siren. “I bet someone called 911! Stay awake, okay? Just stay awake! Help is—is coming!”

  Noelle rushes out words of her own, but I can’t concentrate on them. All I can concentrate on is how Cliff is wheezing worse. Bleeding worse.

  And how his overflown eyes are going unfocused.

  He’s slipping away from us.

  He’s slipping away.

  “No,” I refuse out loud.

  “Take…care of…”

  His slow, slurred mumble sends my head into such a fierce shake of denial that I almost can’t stand the pain.

  “…my girls, Beck.”

  ‘Take care of my girls, Beck.’

  White-hot panic fully erupts through me.

  “Cliff, stop!” I shout. “Fucking stop! Don’t talk like that! Don’t—CLIFF!”

  His eyes have fallen shut once more.

  I shake his arm hard, but he doesn’t respond. His head just bobs from me jostling him.

  No, God! No, please, don’t do this!

  It occurs to me that I can’t hear the wet wheezing anymore.

  Horrified, I stare at him.

  Oh my—oh my fucking—

  Noelle has grown hysterical with confusion and fear. She’s shouting more things I can’t comprehend.

  Noelle. The woman Cliff loves.

  In a sickening, stomach-clenching rush, I think next of Theodora. His daughter. Their daughter.

  ‘Take care of my—’

  A desperate cry fires out of me.

  “Fuck! Come on, man! We need you! Come on, we—” My voice cracks, and I realize I’m shaking him as hard as I can. “Cliff, please—”

  But he isn’t moving.

  He isn’t making any noise.

  He’s still. He’s quiet.

  He isn’t breathing.

  Oh my God.

  Oh my God.

  It ricochets around my skull and around the inside of the car, louder and louder each time, stricken, agonized. “Noelle, oh my God! Noelle, oh my God!”