Page 32 of Slow Burn

“The stars are beautiful tonight,” I breathe into the darkness, tugging the hand knit blanket tighter around my bare shoulders.

“Yeah, I guess you don’t get to see this many in the city,” Beck says. “It’s my favourite part about living out here, where there’s no light pollution.”

“I forgot how bright they can be, and how many there are.”

In the dim light, I can’t see where Beck is looking, but I can feel it. His gaze heats my skin, a subconscious physical reaction, like his eyes are flint and something sparks to life inside of me.

“You don’t remember sitting out on your roof looking for the constellations?” He asks.

It feels like forever ago now, but it was the night where everything between us changed. That was back before Beck didn’t have a chip on his shoulder all the time. It was back before I had lost myself.

He spent a lot of time at our house as a teenager, and now understanding more about his upbringing, I can see why. We had a picture perfect family, a loving household filled with laughter and joy, and Beck hardly ever wanted to leave. Which is why he stayed over most weekends, when he wasn’t busy helping out on the ranch.

One night, as I did most nights, I climbed out the dormer window of my bedroom, onto the roof that hung out over the front porch to stargaze. Beck must have heard me, because he climbed out through Austin’s window, next to mine.

We sat mostly in silence. But there was a brief moment where he turned and looked at me, our eyes connecting for a long, quiet moment. I thought Beck might have kissed me, then. I think he would have, had Austin not decided to join us and interrupt the moment. Ever since, Beck has kept his distance from me.

“Of course I remember,” I say. I peer into the shadows of his eyes, just like that night, trying and failing to read the emotions there.

“Why did you really leave, Lyla?” Beck asks, his voice almost strained.

I shrug, even though I’m pretty sure he can’t see it in the dark.

“In a small town, when something happens like what happened to my family, you can’t get away from it. Everyone knows, and everyone has expectations about how it’s going to affect you,” I explain. “It was like I was under a microscope. At first, my emotional outbursts were normal, it’s what people expected of me having just lost my parents. But soon… It’s like they all moved on, and they wanted me to move on too. I was never going to get over it, but I started pretending. I pretended I was fine, pretended I wanted to go to high school parties again, date boys again. But the second I did, it was like that was wrong, too.”

Beck makes a low humming noise as he nods, taking in what I’ve said. I’ve learned he always takes his time responding, and I’ve also learned that what he has to say is usually worth the wait.

“Whatever other people think, Trouble, that’s just their opinion. They don’t know what goes on in here.” He circles his index finger over his chest. “They can never know the true depth of you, the multitudes within you. You are allowed to grieve your parents and enjoy your life here for them.”

I take a bite of my peaches and drag the spoon out of my mouth slowly. “Who knew you were full of so many wise words,” I say. The only word I’m fixated on, though, is that nickname, and how this time he said it without any hint of judgement. In fact, he’s used it almost in a way that feels… endearing,

“They’re true,” Beck replies. “And I have plenty of sage advice. I’m not just a hardened, surly, hot cowboy, or whatever you think of me.”

I lean over and nudge him, shaking loose a laugh from both of us. Beck goes still, until he turns and regards me.

“Lyla…” he starts, and my heart thumps in my chest at what Beck is going to say next. I’ve thought about that night more than a few times. I’ve thought about how it would have been to kiss Beck. What would have happened if he did. And I’m thinking about it now too, about what he would taste like.

Peaches and whipped cream.

“You have some…” Beck reaches his hand up toward my face, and I lean into the rough pad of his thumb as he wipes the corner of my mouth. “Whipped cream.”

“Oh,” I say, trying to conceal the disappointment I can’t quite explain. “Thanks.”

Beck’s thumb lingers next to my mouth for a second longer than is friendly, if you can ever call wiping whipped cream off someone’s face friendly. There is nothing unsexy about the way he swipes it across my cheek, and my eyelids flutter shut.

His hand pulls away, sucking my breath out of my lungs and bringing me crashing down to reality. “I should really get going.”

Beck stands and gives me his back as he heads inside. This time, I don’t stop him. I follow him in, and say goodbye at the door as platonically as I can. Like I wasn’t just imagining sucking his thumb into my mouth and swirling my tongue around it.

Later, I lay in bed staring up at the ceiling, unable to get comfortable. Every time I move the ancient metal frame squeaks and groans under my weight. And every position I find is wrong. My body feels different after having Beck’s eyes on it, after having his hand on me.

My phone lights up on the nightstand, casting a blue glow in the room. When I turn over and look at it, there’s an e-mail notification.

From: [email protected]

Subject: (no subject)

Hi,