Page 56 of Slow Burn

Lyla is a shooting star, and I’ll be her gravity.

I kiss the spot next to her mouth again, and trail my lips down her jaw, down the long column of her mouth as she leans back to give me more access to it.

“Beck…” she breathes.

My eyes open as I pull back to look at her, but I see something in the distance. At the top of the driveway, two glowing red brake lights flash before turning out onto the street. In the dark and in the rain it’s impossible to tell what kind of car it is, whose car it is.

One of the ranch hands, maybe? Nash?

My stomach sinks, sweat forming on the back of my neck in the humidity.

Or, I think, it could be Austin.

Suddenly I feel like I’m being split in two, my loyalty breaking, snapping, being torn in two different directions. It all crashes over me at once. Not only the thought that Austin, or anyone, might have seen us, but the years–decades–of friendship I was willing to throw away.

I think about how unsuspecting Austin was at the party earlier, how much faith he puts in me to respect the unspoken code that forms the basis of our friendship.

Worse, I think about the promise I made Austin when I went to pick Lyla up from that party, when I found her heartbroken and crying. I didn’t hesitate to go when Austin couldn’t.

Promise me, you’ll take care of her.

I did, I promised him.

I trust you. He’d said it to me then, and he said it to me recently, too. Austin trusts me with the only person he has left on this planet.

“I can’t do this Lyla.” I roll my forehead against hers, squeezing my eyes shut to force myself to pull away. As perfect as Lyla is, as much as it physically pains me to pull away from her, I do.

“What’s wrong?” Her brown eyes search my face as I lift her off the railing and set her down on the porch.

“You’re right. We can’t do this,” I say. “I can’t do this.”

“What about—” Lyla’s voice cracks and her eyes well with tears, and the sight of it is a fucking knife to the heart. The one thing I promised I’d always do–take care of her–I’ve failed at. Like I’ve failed at everything else.

Emotion rises like a tide within me, feelings that I don’t know how to verbalize, feelings I don’t know how to process. I only know that I want to be alone.

I don’t have time to explain any of this to Lyla, or tell her I need time to think about this, because she’s already running down the steps and out into the rain.

Away from me.

Chapter 22

Lyla

The rain hasn’t stopped for the last three days. It continues to pour down, one of the worst rain storms the area has seen in decades.

Weather systems normally blow through quickly, releasing a lot of rain and wind all at once, but the sun always comes out shortly after. There’s always hope at the end of it all.

Not this week. This week, the weight of everything settles heavily on my shoulders. I’ve tried to do yoga to clear my head, to move through the murky feelings that are making themselves at home within me, but the house doesn’t exactly have the kind of floor space I need, and every pose I attempt ends up with my whacking myself on the furniture.

I tried calling Sutton, because if there’s anything that helps me it’s talking. I’m a verbal processor, and I learn a lot about myself and what I need by saying it out loud. Unfortunately, with the rain and the flooding, she’s been tied up helping farmers in the surrounding area with their animals.

That leaves Skye, and I don’t particularly want to have a conversation with Skye and explain that the reason for my funk is because of how good Beck’s tongue felt in my mouth.

So, with no one to talk to, I’ve been spiralling inward.

The weather does nothing to help my melancholy mood, and I’ve resorted to hunkering down in the guest house, busying myself so I can’t dwell on the events of the last month. Getting fired, running back to my hometown with my tail between my legs, the rollercoaster that has been my relationship–or whatever you can call it at this point–with Beck…

Ever since the kiss, he’s gone back to being standoff-ish, distant, avoidant.