Page 74 of Slow Burn

“I process differently than you do,” he says, his voice low, like he’s keeping himself on a tight leash. It’s a tactic I know all too well because I’ve fucking tried it myself. And you know what? It’s awful. It’s torture, having to hold everything inside all the time.

“No, you don’t process. You compartmentalize, and keep pushing. But you don’t let yourself feel your feelings to move through them, Beck.”

His shoulders drop, and I know that I’m starting to reach him. Either that, or I’m wearing him down. But if it achieves the same end, I’m ok with that.

I soften my tone now, because I’m not angry with him, and if he really wants space I’ll respect that boundary. “You can shut the rest of the world out Beck, that’s up to you. But I want all of you, all of this. Please don’t shut me out, too.”

Beck stares out the window toward the mountains, now painted in gorgeous pastel shades. When he looks back at me, his expression is open, but his eyes are… sad.

“It’s just one thing after another,” he says. “I can’t keep up.”

Air rushes from my lungs, leaving me breathless for a moment before I can speak. “You put so much pressure on yourself, Beck.”

He nods, contemplating my words, letting them settle over him.

“You hold yourself to this impossibly high standard, and then beat yourself up when you fall short. Anyone would fall short.”

“I just don’t know what to do, I can’t let this place fall apart.” His voice cracks. “It’s going to shit and it’s like all I can do is sit back and watch it happen.”

“First of all,” I say, “you’re spiralling.”

“I’m not spiralling,” Beck argues.

“Beck,” I level with him. “I am the queen of an emotional spiral. I know a spiral when I see one. It’s okay. Sometimes you need to say all of your fears and anxieties out loud so you can hear them clearly. So you can see that they don’t have as much power over you as you think they do.”

Beck looks back at me, mouth set in a straight line.

“And,” I continue. “Sometimes you need to voice your fears to someone who can lovingly tell you that you’re being a bit ridiculous. The ranch is not going to shit. We’ve made a lot of incredible moves forward in the last month. It’ll take a while, but we’re getting there.”

Beck takes a deep inhale and lets out an audible sigh. “Not fast enough. I don’t know if I can compete with this damn shoulder.”

“We’ll tackle it together,” I say, leaning up to plant a kiss on his stubbled cheek and the tension in his body eases at the contact. “Go upstairs to get changed, I’ll get you an ice pack and some pain killers.”

He does what I’ve asked and retreats up to his bedroom, while I rummage around in the kitchen to find what I need. Wade is out tonight, some of his buddies in town pick him up once a week for poker night, so I’m on my own. The ice pack is easy, but I go through nearly all the cupboards before I find a bottle of ibuprofen.

I bring the whole thing upstairs, wandering down the hall until I see the open bedroom that has to be Beck’s. I know this because I can hear him grunting, and when I come around the corner, I find him stuck with his t-shirt half off, one arm twisted trying to get loose.

I let out a laugh before going to help him.

“This stupid fucking thing,” he says.

“Wait, stop moving around, you’re making it worse,” I say, tugging on the fabric to get it off Beck’s good arm. Once it’s off, I slip it over his head and down the injured side. His shoulder looks a little swollen, but I can’t see any obvious bruises.

I swallow hard, my eyes skating over his body. I’ve seen every inch of Beck’s body now, but he still hasn’t let me have him. He’s still withholding because of some sense of honour that I both love about him and hate at the same time.

Because the more times I see Beck like this, the more I crave him.

I clear my throat, handing him the ice pack and the ibuprofen, and averting my eyes. If I stand here staring at him any longer, I’m not going to be able to hold back. What Beck can do with his hands alone was enough to have me desperate for more.

And he’s made it clear that can’t happen. Not until he can talk to Austin and tell him the truth.

“Do you need to go see someone about this? A doctor? Do you have a physiotherapist?” I ask.

Beck shakes his head as he tosses back the pills with one hand and swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

“Nah. I’ve had flare ups like this before, usually some rest and some stretching does the trick. It’ll be good as new in no time.”

My mouth twists with skepticism and concern.