Chapter 12
BECKETT
Inotice the exact moment that the rain stops. It’s right before dawn, and it feels off. Too quiet, like the whole world is holding its breath.
I do my chores on autopilot. Ride out to feed the horses and check on the foal. Check all the fences. I counted the cattle when I realized one of the posts had broken, and the wire was torn. Counted them again when I realized I didn’t even know if I was actually counting.
The creek is still roaring, and not a trace of the bridge is to be seen. The road past it is lined with standing water. No one from the county will be out today, probably not tomorrow, either.
I try to convince myself I’m annoyed by it, but I’m not.
When I get back to the house, I see smoke curling out of the chimney, and it makes my heart clench to know that my girls are in there, warm and safe.
Fuck. Not my girls. My girl. My daughter and my friend, Clover.
I fucking hate how that sounds.
I wipe my boots off before going in through the mudroom, where I slide them off.
The house is quiet, and I stop in my tracks when I see into the living room.
Clover is on the rug in front of the fireplace, wrapped in one of my flannels that is too big for her, with an open book on one knee. Lennon is lying with her head in Clover’s lap, half asleep, hair a mess, with her fingers curled into Clover’s sleeve.
They look like they belong there, like they’ve always been there.
I swallow whatever emotion is crawling its way up my throat.
Neither of them notices me. Clover speaks in a low, calm voice, and Lennon hums in response. Something tightens in my chest so hard that it’s painful.
I rub at my sternum with my knuckles and shift my weight, which causes the hardwood floor to creak. Clover looks up at me, and for a second, it looks like she might say my name.
“Morning,” she says instead.
Lennon looks up, her face lighting. “Dad!”
She scrambles to her feet and barrels into me, and I lift her into my arms.
“Hey, Beetlebug,” I say, pressing a kiss onto the side of her head.
Clover stands slowly, smoothing the flannel out.
“How’d you sleep?” I ask, keeping my voice as even as possible.
She shrugs. “Pretty okay, I guess.”
A lie. I’ll let it go.
“How’s the bridge?” She asks as I let Lennon slide back down to the floor and watch her run back to the fireplace. Clover smiles at her, and I see the way she relaxes when Lennon is happy.
“Still gone,” I laugh. “It might be a while before I’m able to get the materials to fix it. The county road is still flooded, and I don’t think the county will get to it soon.”
She nods, and after that, we fall into a rhythm. I cook them breakfast on a camping stove and make coffee the old way. Clover tries a sip of it and makes a horrified face, which makes me genuinely laugh. It lights her up, and I swear to myself I’ll laugh more around her.
She rolls up her sleeves and washes her dishes after we eat, humming under her breath.
I keep my distance, but not because I want to. I don’t trust myself not to cross the room and pull her to me and make myself a big hypocrite after what I said last night.
Lennon goes to check on the chickens and play outside for a bit, and Clover drops down on the couch beside me.
“This is nice,” she says quietly. “Minus, you know, the biblical flood occurring both in my home and out of yours. Maybe I’m a water witch or some shit,” she says, laughing.
I look at her suspiciously. “The signs are all there,” I say accusingly, which makes her laugh more.
“Yeah,” I say, circling back to what she said. “It is nice.”
Silence stretches.
“I’m glad you came and got me,” she breathes, tilting her head to look up at me.
I turn my head before I can stop myself. Her hair is a mess, her eyes are hooded, and her mouth looks entirely too enticing.
“I am too,” I confess, leaning in to her.
Her hand clutches my sweater, pulling me in.
Our lips clash together, and it feels so goddamn familiar.
I didn’t know my lips could have a home, but here it is.
I run my hand through her hair, grasping the nape of her neck, tugging gently.
She smiles against my lips, and my heart shatters.
There it is. I will never get over that.
She moans quietly as I tighten my grip, and I move my lips down her neck.
My other hand snakes under the flannel she stole from me and shoves her bra up over her breasts.
I feel her nipples harden under my touch as I slide my palm down over her.
She sucks in a breath when I take one in between my finger and thumb, pinch, and pull. A throaty noise escapes her.
She pulls away, and before I can tell her to get the fuck back here, she straddles my waist, pressing her center down on my cock. She leans down and presses her lips back against mine, taking control of the situation. She rocks against me, breathy little pants escaping her. I can tell she’s close.
The front door slams, and Clover throws herself off of me, flying to the opposite end of the couch. I grab the throw blanket and quickly throw it over my lap.
“Man, the chickens are pissed,” Lennon says, kicking her muddy boots off right in the middle of the floor.
Clover bursts into laughter. “Hey, now you get to put fifty cents in the swear jar,” she tells Lennon.
“Pissed is a bad word?!” She clasps her hand over her mouth, realizing she said it again.
Clover continues to laugh and gets up to get the muddy boots off the floor and put them in the mudroom.
The rest of the day goes slowly and simply. More chores. Chopping firewood. Easy laughter fills the house.
I want to touch Clover. To brush her hair back. Kiss her forehead. Hold her in the quiet moments between the chaos, but I can’t.
After Lennon goes to sleep, I stand in Clover’s doorway again, making sure she gets settled in.
“Think the power will be back anytime soon?” She asks, sliding under the quilt and adjusting herself on her pillow.
“I don’t know, honestly. Once the county can get out and fix the bridge, they should be able to get to the transformer.”
She nods. “I want a hot shower or bath so bad,” she groans. “And I want to text Brynn to let her know I’m okay. She’s probably worried about us.”
“I texted her and the folks before the power went out the other night, to let them know we were flooding and that we would be okay. Sometimes, service drops out here in bad weather, so I warned them.”
She looks so cozy, curled up in the mountain of pillows. I want to ruin it, pick her up, throw her over my shoulder, and take her to my bed. Instead, I clear my throat and rap my knuckles against the dresser twice.
“Well, if you need anything . . . ” I trail off. It’s become our little routine.
“I’ll holler,” she says sleepily.
I lie in bed a while later, staring at the ceiling. Somehow, the house feels way too empty and way too full at the same time.