Chapter Thirty-six – Opalite #2
He pressed his finger firmer into my lips.
“I also called Cleaver. He and the sheriff and Cooper are still sorting through all the details, but Chelsea is trying to lay as much of the troubles as she can at Carter’s feet, hoping to keep the charges against her down.
She says it was Carter who spread the Sterno at your dad’s.
He thought your dad wasn’t home, and when your dad walked into the kitchen, Carter knocked him over the head, thinking he’d die of smoke inhalation and that would be that.
When the house didn’t burn to the ground, they changed their plan of attack.
They wanted you out so you’d stop helping your dad, but also so you couldn’t claim your half of the estate when your dad died.
“The sheriff got even more information when Gavin showed up at the station, wanting to file a missing persons report for Chelsea because she hadn’t shown up at the studio.
When they questioned him about Chelsea’s whereabouts for some of the incidents, they were able to piecemeal most of what happened.
It’s likely she was the one who smashed your windshield.
And Cleaver found a pair of steel-toed boots at the Helmers' place, so we think she attacked you too, trying to place the blame on a firefighter…maybe even me.”
My insides squeezed tight. Beckett saw it and hurriedly rushed through the rest. “Anyway, it looks like Delilah is in the clear. She wasn’t lying or covering for Carter.
It was just that he and Chelsea were tag teaming, so they’d each have alibis for some of the events, making it nearly impossible to pin the whole thing on either one of them. ”
“So, the sheriff doesn’t need me…for anything else?”
“They have your initial statement, but you’ll likely need to talk to the DA about how she killed Carter.
I told Cleaver they’d have to wait until at least tomorrow.
We need a break. We’ve earned it. You’ve earned it.
You’ve spent your life caring for others, my Maisey-girl.
For one damn day, let someone else—let me—care for you. ”
I wasn’t exactly sure why, but it was those final words that caused the tears to finally break and pour down my cheeks. Maybe it was simply the entire emotional roller coaster finally screeching to a halt and allowing my mind and heart to catch up.
Beckett’s expression softened, and he wiped my cheeks tenderly. “Have I told you how much I hate it when you cry?”
“It makes me look even more ghastly, but I can’t stop.”
“You’d know I was lying if I said you looked perfect,” he said, running his thumb along my jawline. “But even exhausted and hurt and sick, my Maisey-girl is still the most beautiful soul in the room.”
I wasn’t sure how that was possible when I knew I looked a mess.
I hadn’t dried my hair last night or used any of the products I usually did to fluff it up, which meant it was clinging to me like a sheet of plastic wrap, only dark and stringy.
And I was sure my face was pale and shadowed, eyes red-rimmed from tears and whatever virus had taken hold of me.
I was probably the most unattractive I’d been in a really long time, especially in front of another human.
“As I’m the only soul besides yours in the room, it doesn’t take much to be the prettiest,” I tossed back.
Beckett chuckled, and the smile that accompanied it hit me square in the chest again. “You have a gift for that.” I raised a brow, and he continued, “For qualifying compliments. Making them seem less.”
He was right. It was a bad habit I hadn’t broken, even with therapy and years of trying.
But knowing Beckett thought I was beautiful, knowing he still wanted me regardless of how I looked or how screwed up my life was, helped push those destructive thoughts to the background.
Not in a bad way that meant they’d bite me in the butt someday, but in a way that said they were truly healed.
Not just scabs that would crack open, but scars that proved I’d survived.
“You’re right. Say it again,” I said softly.
His brows lifted. “You’re the most beautiful woman I know. Not just in this room, but in the entire world. You’re the only one who turns my head, Maisey. The only one who makes me feel like I’ve just climbed a mountain in full turnout gear and as if I could soar through the sky at the same time.”
“Thank you,” I said, heart thudding, body going loose and heated. “For seeing me as I want to be seen.”
“That’s closer.” He leaned in and kissed my forehead. “I’ll be right back. Don’t move, and drink your tea.”
He looked at his dog, who had moved from Beckett’s side to curl up at my feet next to Dorothy. “Make sure she doesn’t move, Traitor Vader.” The dog lifted his head and woofed. “Good boy.”
When he left the room, I slid my feet out of the blankets, and the dog sat up and whined.
“A woman’s gotta pee, Vader. I’ll be right back. I promise.”
When I stood, Vader barked his disapproval.
“Maisey!” Beckett hollered a warning from the other room.
“Bathroom!” I yelled back, grimacing at the pain that slanted up my throat before patting the dog’s head and whispering, “Tattletale. See if I buy you any more of those jerky strips you love.”
Vader butted my hand with his head as if in apology and followed me to the bathroom and back, while the kitten watched us with lazy eyes. Just the short little jaunt to the restroom wore me out, so I did exactly what Beckett and his dog wanted and lay back down.
Vader joined me again, doing three complete circles before lying down with his chin on his paws, watching me carefully, as if he was ready to bark again if I moved.
“You really are a traitor,” I teased.
The kitten, obviously tired of rest, crawled up his back, played with his thumping tail, and then went scampering off to find some mischief. Vader looked at me, then in the direction the cat had gone, and back to me.
“Go play, I’ll be good,” I promised. But he didn’t budge.
I grabbed my phone, called the hospital, and talked briefly to Dad, who said exactly the same thing as Beckett. Stay home and rest. After hanging up with him, I texted Fallon. She replied she’d heard from Beckett and to not worry about anything but healing.
I was just putting the phone back when Beckett returned with a tray piled with food and drinks and books.
“Whatchya got there?” I asked.
“Just your standard bed picnic requirements.”
My heart swarmed with more happy memories. “I haven’t had a bed picnic in…” I shook my head. Maybe since before Mom had died.
Beckett put the tray down on his side of the bed, sliding under the covers. “Snack?” he asked, waving a package of Pop-Tarts.
I shook my head. “Not yet. Maybe later.”
He stacked the pillows so he could sit up against them and the headboard before pulling me closer so my head rested on his chest. He pulled a book from the tray, opened it to the middle, and just as I was about to complain he hadn’t brought a book for me too, he started reading aloud.
I realized it wasn’t just any book, but one of my favorite comfort books—On the Ropes.
It was a swoony, friends-to-lovers story with a retired boxer and a filmmaker by Kathryn Nolan.
It had a great message about community and a smoking-hot sex scene in a car at the famous Philadelphia Rocky museum steps.
“What are you doing?” I breathed out.
He raised a brow, lips quirking. “I would think it’s obvious, darlin’. I’m reading.”
“But you aren’t starting at the beginning.”
“I’ve already read the beginning. And as beat up as this copy is, I’m assuming you’ve read it a few times too. So, I figured I could start where I left off, and you’d still be able to follow along.”
I swallowed hard, and this time it wasn’t because my throat was sore.
This time, it was because I knew the book well and was aware of just where we were at in the story.
My cheeks flushed as he started in just before the steamy scene.
And when he got to the hottest part, I couldn’t help my body’s reaction to not only the words but to Beckett saying them.
I shifted against him, starting to pull away, but the arm he’d draped around me tightened.
“You’re making it hard to read, darlin’.”
“It’s just weird…not only knowing you’ve been reading romance for years but having you read it to me.”
He looked down, lips quirking. “Not ashamed, are you?”
“No!” I snapped back. “There’s nothing shameful about romance.”
“Do you get turned on by them?” he asked, setting the book on the other side of him.
I shrugged, my cheeks flushing.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said, lips widening into a full-blown smile.
“Me too. There was this shower scene in one that had me hard as a rock.” I inhaled sharply.
“And the entire time I was taking care of myself, I was wishing it was you there, in the shower with me, doing just what that couple had done.”
Sore throat? What sore throat? I felt nothing but heat and desire. Nothing but want at his words so casually spoken. So casually offered. Beckett had always been that way, making sex and desire and lust seem normal. Not mundane, but acceptable.
“This scene. The way he’s working her up, making her come apart. I like that too.” He studied me with a heated look full of the desire I felt. “Shall we try it ourselves?”
My mouth popped open, and he chuckled before reaching over to push my chin closed and skating his thumb over my lips. “I’ve heard the dopamine release that comes with an orgasm is good for the immune system. An elixir, even. Might make your cold feel better quicker.”
My heartbeat ratcheted up a notch, slamming into my ribs with a thud, thud, thud. A sensual pounding that thrummed all the way through me.
“There’s no scientific evidence either way,” I managed to tell him.
I was flat on my back with him above me in a flash. His hand skated down my T-shirt, finding the hem and gliding underneath it. My skin lit up like sparklers going off wherever he touched.
“Let’s test the hypothesis,” he said.
I put my hand over my mouth and spoke from behind it. “I’m serious, Fireball. No kissing.”
He stared at me with eyes that looked like he’d already eaten fire. They were ablaze with want. Passion. Desire.
“Fine, no kissing…on the mouth,” he said and then proceeded to touch me everywhere else with fingers and lips and tongue.
He traced patterns along my ribcage and over my belly, and in a flash, my shirt was gone, and he was paying homage to my breasts, igniting me from the inside out.
The fire in his eyes leaped wild and free through me, my body responding to every stroke and lick in a way I’d never realized it could, never quite believed was possible, even when I read about it in my stories.
“Beckett.” The word tore from me. A whispered plea. For more. For less. For this feral climb to the summit to last for an eternity. For the cataclysmic release to wait a little longer, just so these perfect minutes with him could be dragged out. So I could savor them for a lifetime.
He grinned up at me, slowly moving downward, taking my sleep shorts and underwear with him and leaving me bare right before he put those long, muscled fingers to use once more.
Before he put that delightfully sexy mouth to work again on my hip bones, my thighs, and finally, where I longed for him most.
The moan I let out sounded otherworldly, as if the veil had been crossed.
He took me up, up, up with skilled precision. With dedication. With determination.
And when I shattered, when I burst over that top and cried out his name, there was nothing but joy and love in the air.