CHAPTER 9
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M allory had a concussion . That was the only plausible explanation for the dreamscape playing out in front of her. She sat in one of her favorite places with the man of her dreams, and could still taste him on her lips. That kiss had been core-shaking, bringing her to the brink of insanity—of a meltdown. Every cell in her body was on fire and begging for more.
How was Beckett so calm right now? Not only was the world ending outside, but they were casually eating like they hadn’t just made out like teenagers. God, that kiss. It was hungry and filled with years of tension and longing. That couldn’t all have been one-sided, right? He instigated, so clearly he was into her.
Didn’t he feel this? Was that kiss the result of too much pain meds and the adrenaline of the day? Why wasn’t he spiraling down the rabbit hole like she was? Pulling her briefly from her musings, she felt the warmth of his hand in hers.
Beckett held her hand as he shoveled his second helping of chili fries into his mouth. His thumb gently caressed over her knuckles while he ate like he had been on a deserted island for centuries. And to think, just ten minutes before he was devouring her like that.
She watched him, willing him to say something perfect, something romantic to prove he felt this connection between them. Instead, he turned to her and asked, “Are you going to eat that ranch dressing?”
Mallory couldn’t help it, she burst out laughing. The last weeks’ worth of muddled emotions spilled out of her in hysterical laughter. Beckett’s grasp on her hand loosened and she pulled free to dab at her eyes with a crumpled napkin.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, clearly alarmed by her outburst. His mouth hung open so wide, she could have shoved the entire bottle of ranch dressing inside.
Mallory propelled the chair back with a clatter, striding to the sink for a glass of cold water. After chugging half the contents in one go, she let out a long exhale and leaned back on the counter. Once again, he asked, “What’s wrong, Mal?”
Her mouth opened to reply, but she didn’t have the words. Technically, nothing was wrong. She was eating one of her favorite meals and had just had the best kiss of her life, but there was still so much that needed to be said, so much that needed to happen, before she’d feel completely at peace with their kiss.
Waving her arms around her, Mallory scoffed. “How are you not freaking out right now?”
Beckett frowned, looking outside the kitchen window at the roaring storm. “It’ll blow off soon. We’re safe here.”
“Are we?” she shrieked. Gesturing wildly between them she added, “What did that mean?”
“Huh?” Beckett tossed his napkin on the table and struggled to stand. He attempted weight on both legs before wobbling like a toddler.
She took a step closer and gently pushed on his shoulders, keeping him seated. “Don’t get up. You need to stay off your feet for a few days.”
“Then you come over here and tell me what the hell is going on.”
“You start,” she countered, easing back into her seat and facing Beckett. She adopted her ‘Nurse Lawson’ face, as her coworkers called it. Her stern expression had cut through the nonsense in the ER, yet now it didn’t seem to have the desired effect. She wanted answers, or at least a vague explanation to keep her from needing an overnight stay at the psych unit.
His head dipped for a moment while he collected his thoughts. When he raised his head, his glasses were crooked, matching his sheepish grin. “I’m guessing this is about the kiss and not your undying Midwestern love for ranch dressing?”
Mallory snorted. “You could say that.”
Beckett reached out with his good hand, snagging hers and keeping it in a vise grip. “I hope I didn’t upset you, but I had to do it.”
Mallory was incredulous. After the last two years, she couldn’t believe her ears. Maybe he did have a concussion? “You had to?”
Beckett gave a firm nod before soldiering on. “I had to, Mal. I don’t know if it’s just the craziness of today, of having you here in the farm house, or the last two years of guilt, but I can’t do this anymore. I can’t pretend you don’t drive me crazy. I can’t pretend that I don’t want to be with you.”
“I drive you crazy?”
Letting out a humorless laugh, Beckett squeezed her hand. “I’m so sorry about what happened after Gram’s funeral.”
The mention of their last time together took the air from her lungs, and Mallory had to focus on breathing. “I don’t want to talk about that,” she whispered.
Which, of course, was a lie. Not only did Mallory want to talk about it, she wanted to dissect every moment of that interaction. Like the archeologists who found the Rosetta Stone, she needed to decipher every detail until she was satisfied—until she understood what he was talking about.
“Tough, because I do. I’m an absolute ass. I should have stood up for myself, for us, and told Evan to knock it off with the matchmaking. But I panicked and screwed everything up.”
There they were, the words Mallory had waited two long years to hear. And the worst part was, she had no idea what to say or do about it. Swallowing hard, she wondered when this gaping void in her chest would close. It was impossible to deny that his words affected her, but she still felt there was something standing in their way.
“You don’t want Evan to know about us.” It was a statement, not a question.
Beckett’s Adam’s apple bobbed a few times as he gulped. Mallory wouldn’t say a word until he answered her. She could sit there all night in the farm house’s warm kitchen, surrounded by the memories of her childhood and the scents of milkshakes and burgers. If Beckett needed a century to find his words, she’d wait him out. Hell, she felt like she already had.
To punctuate her point, she pulled the last of the milkshake from her cup, the whoosh of air through the straw the only sound between them. Finally, after adjusting his glasses and muttering something under his breath, Beckett snagged her gaze.
“I want to tell Evan about us, but I want to do it right.”
Mallory snorted. “What’s the wrong way to tell him? Hire a pilot to write it in the sky? Take out an ad in the local paper? Do a viral TikTok?” She really was curious, as it seemed foolish to hide anything now. Everyone was an adult, or at least on paper. Hell, if Evan could get engaged to the love of his life, why couldn’t she share a lousy meal with hers?
Wait a minute...she didn’t mean love with a capital L, right? It was too soon to fall back into that headspace. Her heart couldn’t handle that again, could it?
“Do you still have Gramps’s secret stash?” Mallory asked, striding around the table toward the walk-in pantry.
Beckett’s chuckle followed her as she went scavenging for liquid courage. “Third row in the right-hand corner. Behind the cannister of oatmeal.”
Mallory returned with a bottle of vodka and two juice glasses. After splashing a generous shot into each, she slid a glass toward Beckett. “To all of those who wish us well,” she started, raising her glass to clink.
“And all the rest can go to hell.” Beckett finished their toast and downed his vodka in one. His eyes watered, but he rallied. The nurse in her screamed that alcohol with his meds was a bad idea, but so was this entire evening, so she let it ride.
The vodka coursed a hot trail down her throat, and Mallory relished the burn. Beckett nibbled on a cold French fry for a moment before he continued, “I want Evan to know this is real.” Shoving the plate aside, he added, “I want you to know this is real. Mallory, you’re it for me. I’ve been an absolute idiot for years, and I’d like us to figure this out.”
“You mean for real? You’d be my date to family dinners? We’d go to Evan’s wedding as a couple? We eventually move in together?” Her voice grew higher with every question.
Beckett nodded, each statement making his smile bigger.
“And if it came to it, you’d want to marry me? Have a family?”
Reaching out, Beckett cupped her cheek. She worried about his injured hand, but she leaned into his touch. The warmth of his skin seeped through the dressings, anchoring them together. How had she gone this long without Beckett touching her; holding her close?
“I want all of that with you. If you’ll give me a chance, I’ll make it up to you.”
Yeah, she needed to get to a doctor. There was no way she heard that right. “Just like that?” she asked, leaning closer so Beckett could cradle her face in both hands. The scratch of the bandages grounded her to the moment—to the potential madness.
Despite his work as an accountant, Beckett’s hands were calloused and worn, like an old pair of work boots. She loved knowing he used his hands to keep the farm house looking nice, that he wasn’t afraid to jump into a situation to help. These were hands she trusted, hands she knew intimately.
His voice a low grumble, Beckett said, “It’s not just like that, Mal. We’ve been trying this for years.”
Trying —six little letters strung together for maximum impact.
“Yeah, Beckett. We have tried this forever.” Unwilling to show her hand, but knowing it needed to be said, she continued. “What if we’re not meant to be? What if all of these years of miscommunication were signs we aren’t supposed to be more than friends?”
Beckett’s hold tightened, but only slightly. “You really think that?”
Mallory shrugged helplessly, unsure what to think. It was all too much right now. Beckett’s words, his proximity, the memories this old house held, everything threatened to crush her, leave her broken and begging for mercy. “I don’t know what I think anymore. We’re basically the human equivalent of a yo-yo.”
She didn’t want to be negative, but she felt she owed her heart more than a few platitudes and a milkshake. Perhaps Beckett picked up on that too, because he said, “I’ll prove to you that this is the right thing. That we’re right. I promise, Mal. I just want one more chance.”
Closing what little distance remained between them, Beckett kissed Mallory. It was a sweet kiss, their lips falling into a familiar rhythm. Mallory’s hands ran down his shoulders, coming to rest on his forearms. The bandage tickled her fingers, and she pulled back with a groan. “We should probably check your bandages before sleep.”
“My hand is the literal last thing on my mind.” Beckett laughed, and Mallory couldn’t blame him. But for as eager as she was to explore this newfound connection, her heart pleaded with her to take it slow.
They had a history, and she prayed they had a future, too. Because no matter how things ended before, something felt different this time around. Maybe they were simply more mature, maybe they had nothing to lose. Either way, Mallory wanted to see where this went. She could only hope they wouldn’t get lost along the way.
*
“I can make it up the stairs,” Beckett said through clenched teeth. His pain meds had worn off, and he grimaced as he climbed each step. His weight was entirely on the railing, and he felt Mallory behind him. “Maybe you should go ahead of me,” he suggested. The image of him losing his balance and taking her with him made his stomach sour.
“Pfft, not a chance. I’m tougher than I look.” Her hand pressed into his lower back, steadying him as he progressed. His legs wobbled like a newborn calf, and he was grateful for Mallory’s medical background. This was probably the least sexy he’d ever been...except maybe that horrible year of acne freshman year.
“I don’t doubt it,” he replied. Granted he’d only seen her in action at the hospital for a moment, but he saw how respected she was by her peers. It made him so happy that she was following her dreams and making a career for herself. Yet the dark smudges under her eyes gave him pause, the concern that she worked too hard never far from his mind.
When they reached the top of the stairs, he shuffled into his grandparents’ room. The room across the hall had been his, but most of the furniture was now at his apartment. Mallory strode ahead and turned on the nightstand light. A warm glow filled the space, and Beckett eased onto the chair in the corner. “I’ll get the linens and make the bed. I haven’t done anything since Gramps—” but he couldn’t say a word.
He hadn’t been in this room much since Gramps passed, and he suddenly remembered why. Sitting downstairs with Mallory over dinner, he thought he could handle anything. Things felt more certain, clearer, when she was with him. If he was honest, a tiny part of him had hoped to see the old man sitting in bed yelling at the TV, devastated that the Guardians lost another game.
But the bed was empty, stripped down to the mattress and waiting for its owners to return. Beckett didn’t know if he believed in heaven, but he wanted his grandparents to be together, enjoying themselves. His gold standard for happily ever after began with them, and watching Mallory now, he hoped his own happy ending was within reach.
“The linen closet is in the hallway, right?” Mallory took a step toward the door, but Beckett stuck out his crutch to stop her progression.
“Can you, um, wait a second?”
Nurse Mallory jumped into action. “You need your pain meds. I can’t believe I forgot.” Before he could stop her, she bounded down the stairs and returned a moment later with a glass of water and a fistful of little white pills. “Take two of these, drink all of this, and I’ll get you more within six hours.”
Ever the dutiful patient, Beckett took the pills and drank the water. As he slid the glass onto the dresser, Mallory snatched his hand. He linked their fingers together and tugged her closer, but it was no use. She pulled free and rested her index finger on his wrist, counting his pulse. “I was trying to have a moment here, Nurse Lawson.” He huffed, but she didn’t look at him.
“You laugh,” she argued, “but all I need is you keeling over. Evan would never forgive me for killing his best man.” She winked to soften the blow, finally leaning down to kiss his cheek. “Any dizziness or pain in your neck or head?”
Beckett blew a raspberry with his tongue. “Mallory, come on!”
She flicked his forehead and groaned. “Are you going to be a bad patient?”
Beckett beamed. “I’m planning on besting your top patient, but first I want a kiss.”
“Scandalous! I’m telling Dr. Shuptar.” Mallory knelt in front of him.
Using his good hand, Beckett traced a line of freckles from her ear down to her collarbone. She shivered at the contact. “You need your rest,” she protested weakly, inching closer to savor the heat of his touch.
“And so do you.”
“I’ll stay up here with you, but no funny business.”
Beckett replaced his finger with his mouth, kissing a pattern down her neck. The tart aroma of her perfume drew him in, beckoning memories of summer berry picking and sun-kissed skin. “I’ve never been called funny a day in my life.”
Mallory giggled. “I don’t know, Emily still thinks you look like Conan O’Brien.”
He couldn’t help himself, Beckett let out a bark of laughter. “Wow, way to kill the mood, Mal. Here I am trying to seduce you, and you bring up my least favorite celebrity comparison.” He needed this, the feeling of Mallory against his skin, the taste of her burning his lips...he craved a distraction from it all. He craved Mallory, full stop.
“You love it,” she teased, poking him in the side. “How many nights did we stay up and watch him?”
“Doesn’t mean I want Conan on the brain when I’m trying to woo you.” He held her as close as he could without hurting his hand.
Mallory pulled back and shook her head. “You are ridiculous. We already agreed we need to take things slow.”
“We will, but that doesn’t mean we can’t—” Another clap of thunder shook the house. A moment later, the room filled with a flash of lightning. Even in the dim light, Beckett saw Mallory pale. It was no secret that she hated thunderstorms, and it broke his heart to see her so frazzled. The woman had been through enough today.
“I better make the bed while we still have power.” She pushed to her feet and started for the doorway. Beckett watched her go, but when she returned with sheets, he panicked. No one had touched that bed since Gramps died, and he didn’t think he could muster even one night tucked into the familiar space.
The last time he was in the bed, he held his grandfather’s hand while he drifted away. The hospice team had been so kind, so patient while he broke down in the aftermath. Looking at the bed now, Beckett did not want to be close to those painful moments. Avoiding them was pointless, but that didn’t mean he literally needed to nestle into them.
Mallory unfolded the fitted sheet, shaking the fabric apart. “Stop!” he practically shouted, startling Mallory so much she dropped the sheet.
Splaying her hand over her chest, she gasped. “You scared the hell out of me.” She bent to retrieve the sheet and start again, but Beckett couldn’t handle it.
“Please, Mal.” His voice broke, and his eyes began to water. “I don’t think I can—” His words were lost to the sob that escaped his lips. “I can’t.” He covered his face, knocking his glasses loose and tumbling to the floor.
Through the ringing in his ears, he heard Mallory approach. She pulled him to her in a bone-crushing hug, muttering words of encouragement as the tears fell. This was hardly the first time he’d broken down since Gramps died, but it was the first time he’d been truly comforted by someone he loved.
“We don’t have to stay up here,” she promised, rubbing comforting circles on his back. “If memory serves, that couch is pretty damn comfy.”
Beckett choked out a laugh, his arms still tight around Mallory’s waist. Their little trio had built countless forts on the downstairs couch, and right now, he couldn’t think of anywhere else he wanted to be.
“Let’s bring the sheets. I think it’s high time we built a fort.” Wiping at his eyes with the backs of his hands, he looked around for his glasses. He didn’t have to squint long before he felt the frames slide over his ears. In the blink of an eye, Mallory was in sharp focus in front of him, a loving expression on her gorgeous face.
“I call the extra pillow,” she teased, kissing his forehead before leading the way back downstairs, a set of sheets tucked under her arm.
By the time they reached the bottom of the stairs, Mallory had her arm around him, and his head rested on her shoulder. The only sounds were the rain on the tin roof and the distance whoosh of wind around the house. It was simultaneously comforting and life affirming.
“Thanks for coming back down here. I know you’re not a fan of storms, but I couldn’t stay up there.”
“It’s okay,” she promised, steering them toward the kitchen. Dropping the bedding on the counter, she headed to the pantry. “When I found Gramps’s vodka stash, I also found Gram’s tea basket. How about a cup of chamomile before we build the fort to end all forts?”
Beckett shuffled to the kitchen table and took a seat, careful to prop his foot on the opposite chair. “Tea sounds perfect.”
Mallory went to work putting a kettle on the stove and flitting around looking for mugs and sugar. When the tea was ready, she carried everything over to the table. After sliding a cup to his side, she closed the distance and knelt in front of him. Beckett’s heart lodged in his throat at the sight of her, so relaxed in his presence. If it had been any other time, he would have her in his lap and kissing like their lives depended on it. Yet now, surrounded by the distant surge of grief that threatened to pull him under, Beckett couldn’t think of a better place to be.
This all felt right to him, even down to the farm house. While they sat in companionable silence sipping tea, Beckett wondered if perhaps he made a rash decision by moving out of the old house. This felt like home more than a stuffy apartment in Buckeye Falls, no matter how close his best friend was.
Perhaps he was too hasty and it was time to come home. Then again, maybe he had suffered a head injury and was hallucinating a future that did not exist. As Mallory gathered their mugs to put in the sink he made a decision. This would not be the last time they spent an evening together on the farm. If he played his cards right, they would sleep in each other’s arms like in his wildest dreams. Beckett would make some changes—he was coming home. And he was bringing Mallory with him.