Page 59 of Slow Burn

“It’s okay,” I say, my voice tender and soft. “I wanted to come down to check on them, but clearly they’re already taken care of.”

I reach a hand up to rub Willow’s velvety snout, and she breathes a contended breath, warming my hand.

Lyla shoots me a restrained smile, and it looks unnatural on her face. It wounds me that she’s filtering herself around me, that she’s being careful about what she wants me to see.

“I’ll go,” she says quietly. “If you have work to do here, I can go.”

Pain lances through my chest at her guarded tone, at her thinking I don’t want to be around her. It’s the last thing I want her to think.

“Lyla…” I start, but I’m struggling to find the right way to explain why I pulled away from her the other day. Anger sizzles under my skin, frustration at my lack of skill putting my feelings into words. “About the other day…”

“You don’t have to explain yourself, Beck,” she says. “I’m trying to do better, I promise. I’ll figure my shit out.”

“I hate when you do that,” I grit out, my molars grinding together. My tone is harsher than I anticipate, gruffer than I hoped, and Lyla flinches. “Don’t jump to conclusions. I want to explain. Just let me explain instead of assuming it was about you.”

“But wasn’t it?” Lyla stands now, arms placed firmly on her hips.

“No, Lyla. It was–” I start, but I’m cut off by the sight of water–a lot of water–beyond the concrete floor of the barn. And it’s starting to seep inside. “Shit.”

I stride past Lyla, forcing myself to ignore the pained look on her face.

Focus.

I need to be in problem-solving mode now. I peer outside and into the dark. An inky puddle of water extends out from the barn, and is high enough that it’s finding new areas to spill into. As the water comes down in droves, heavy drops create ripples on the surface like waves at my feet.

Lyla is standing next to me now, her face scrunching in concern.

“What do we need to do?” she asks, assessing the damage.

My mind snags on the word we, because somehow under all of this tension between us, she’s still in this. She still cares. She’ll set aside her own troubles to help the people she cares about.

I search her face for any remnants of the anger and hurt I projected at her, finding only worry etched into her brow.

“We need to start digging.”

Chapter 24

Lyla

I don’t hesitate to jump in and help.

The storm is relentless, and it doesn’t care that Beck and I have issues to address, things to hash out. It doesn’t care that Beck kissed me, and that I wanted him to, and that when he pulled away I felt the sting of rejection more acutely than the day I got fired.

It pays no attention to the palpable tension between us, like the crackle of electricity in the air before lightning strikes. A charge is building, opposite forces doing a push and pull until one of us is going to snap.

I won’t let it be me. I refuse to react, to have the outburst Beck is probably anticipating. I want to prove him wrong about me. I want to show him I can control myself and my emotions.

So when he hands me the shovel he’s pulled out of the tack room, I take it from him without a word, pull my hood down over my head, and march out into the night. He finds another shovel and does the same, working beside me as we dig a trench that will allow the water to run away from the barn instead of towards it.

But the rain is now a torrential downpour, and it doesn’t matter that I was wearing waterproof boots and a rain jacket because the muck is nearly up to my knees and water seeps in through the seams of my coat.

The storm brought with it a cold front, and in the dark with the wind and the rain, a chill runs through me to my marrow.

I keep digging.

I keep digging because the animals need us to keep digging until the water has changed direction. I keep digging because it’s the only thing giving me an outlet for the pent up hurt and anger I’ve felt. The only thing keeping me from lashing out at Beck.

I’m covered head to toe in mud, every inch of me filthy and wet. The wind blows my hair into my mouth and I keep pushing it back, smearing my face with dirt.