Page 96 of Slow Burn

“I think I’d kill you if you did,” he says.

My shoulders drop with relief, at the normalcy of his tone, at his acceptance of Lyla and me being together, at the knowing that Austin and I might be alright after all.

Chapter 37

Beck

TWO MONTHS LATER

“Is that everything?” I set down a box of my dad’s belongings in the living room of the small rancher, and put my hands on my hips as I survey the place. I have a lot of memories here. Late nights spent with Lyla going over the ranch finances, sitting on the back porch eating peaches and whipped cream, the first night we spent together in the shower.

The pang of nostalgia I feel when I think back to it all only lasts a second, because now I’m reminded that all the best parts of life with Lyla are yet to come.

“That’s about it,” my dad says.

“Are you sure you don’t want any help unpacking?”

He waves me off in a nah gesture. “I can handle it from here. I’m not so decrepit I can’t unload a few boxes. Besides, it doesn’t all need to be unpacked today.”

We already spent the morning carting boxes from the big house across the yard to what used to be the guest house–Lyla’s house. He had suggested the move, saying it was time for me to be the man of the house. I’d managed to bring the ranch back from the brink of bankruptcy, so it was only right that the big house would be mine and Lyla’s.

It also helps that the guest house doesn’t have stairs, which have been more and more difficult for my dad to manage. But I still worry about him, on his own down here, and I study his weathered face looking for any signs that he might have changed his mind.

“You got your CPAP machine all plugged in and ready to go?” I ask. I left it out of the boxes and brought it down here myself, so it wouldn’t get lost.

“Already set up on my night stand.”

I walk over to the fridge and open it. It’s been stocked with groceries–Lyla’s doing–and it makes my heart warm to see how she’s taken care of him. She’s thought of everything he might need, down to the oat coffee creamer she got him hooked on.

“You don’t have to worry about me, Beck. I’ve taken care of myself for years, I can handle living on my own again. I’m looking forward to it if I’m honest. Won’t have you kids keeping me up all night anymore.”

“Shit,” I say. Lyla’s been staying in my room ever since we reconciled and decided to give our relationship a fighting chance, and we’ve been in a real honeymoon phase of sorts. Sometimes it’s easy to forget my dad has been living down the hall. “Sorry. You can’t hear…”

“Nothin’ I haven’t heard before, son.” He pats me on the shoulder as he passes by me to head into the living room and start unpacking some boxes there. “You better get home to her now.”

“Alright. You call if you need anything. Night or day. I’ve got your appointment schedule on the fridge, Lyla will take you to any during the week. I know I don’t have to say it, but you’re always welcome for dinner, every night. And if you don’t feel like having dinner with us, I’ll bring it down to you.”

“That girl really has rubbed off on you,” my dad says with a chuckle.

I tilt my head, eyebrows twitching together.

“I’ve never heard you talk so much in your whole damn life.”

Lyla is flitting around the kitchen when I get back to the main house and open the sliding door to step inside. She’s been just as hard at work moving herself in here as I’ve been moving my dad out.

I stop and admire her for a moment, before she realizes that I’m here. She’s humming a bright and cheerful tune, walking around barefoot, a long floral skirt swishing around her legs, and a tank top that hangs loosely on her frame, no bra, as usual.

She’s a fucking goddess, and she’s all mine.

“You’re back,” she says, flashing me a wide, beaming smile as she fluffs some throw pillows that were not on my couch when I left this morning. They’re a multitude of bright colours, kind of a bohemian design, and I chuckle softly to myself as I notice other colourful additions she’s added to the otherwise neutral backdrop of the house.

It hasn’t exactly been decorated, since it’s just been me and Dad living here, but the things Lyla has added work. They aren’t my taste, but Lyla could paint a fucking mural of cartoon farm animals on the wall and I’d let her. Whatever will make her feel like this is hers now. Ours.

More than anything I want her to envision a long life together here. So if she wants multicoloured throw pillows, plants in terracotta pots, and a butter yellow table cloth, I’m all in.

“I’m back,” I say.

She stops what she’s doing and strides over to me, throwing her arms around me and planting her lips on mine. She tastes like peaches and sunshine and my heart feels like it’s going to burst out of my chest.