9. NIXIE
NINE
NIXIE
What the hell was I thinking? I mean, really, Beauden?
I just hate-fucked the guy who ripped out my teenage heart and threw it away.
I must be losing my mind.
Tucking the blanket tighter around me, I snuggle closer to Tiberius. My whole body still aches with worry for him, but he lets out a sleepy little grumble that gives me hope.
He’s going to be fine. I repeat it like a mantra in my head. It helps that the heat from the fireplace is warming up his blankets. I bet with a few hours of decent sleep, he’ll be back to his playful self in no time.
Sleep. God, that’s what I need. I close my eyes and will it to come, but all I see is Beauden. The look in his eyes when we were frozen in that moment. Heat swirls inside me until I remember how he looked when I pulled away. Gutted. That’s the only word I can think of.
But why? We are nothing to each other. Old flames who had one rough, delicious, epic mistake of a backslide. It was the heat of the moment. Nothing more.
And yet, that look lingers.
I shift under the blanket, my cold joints already sore from lying on the floor. My toes are still freezing. My hair is a damp mess of tangles.
I hate this. It’s not just being back in the mountains, or coming to grips with losing my mom, or even seeing Beauden again. It’s all of it.
What I really hate is feeling… so much.
Life is easier in the city. There might be a million people living and working around me, but when I’m in my apartment, it feels like it’s just me and Tiberius. Yeah, I have an incredible team that helps me in my business, but it’s not like we’re close. We all work remotely.
There are entire weeks that go by where the only human interaction I’ll have is on my computer screen. And when I need time or space to think, I can just unplug. Literally. Turn the computer off, grab a book, and take a breath.
Here, now, with the history and the memories and everything, I’m suffocating.
I let out a huff and sit up. As much as I need sleep, it won’t find me until I find a way to quiet the noise in my head. Which is just one more reason why the city is better. The hum of people and traffic might be never ending, but it’s enough to drown out this internal chaos.
Unlike now, when all I hear is the crackle of the fire and Tiberius’s gentle breathing. Somehow, it’s amplifying the internal grind.
And then there’s Beauden. I don’t hear him, but I can feel him. Turning, I glance over my shoulder and prove myself right. He’s right there, sitting on the couch, wrapped up in his own blanket, holding a steaming cup in his hands.
“I made you some hot chocolate.” He nods toward the cup sitting on the coffee table between us.
My mouth waters, but I can’t tell if it’s because something hot and sugary sounds like just what the doctor ordered, or if it’s because of the way Beauden is looking at me.
He really is different. The boy I knew was a bit of a troublemaker but not in a cruel way. And with me, he was kind and loving, and endlessly patient when I told him I wanted to wait until the night of graduation to sleep together.
I missed that boy fiercely, but there’s more to Beauden now. Back then, he was a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Sweet and simple. Comfortable. Now, he’s a four-course meal with a glass of aged whiskey —deeper, more complex— and I don’t even know which fork to pick up first.
Maybe that’s part of the problem. Over the years, Beauden has become this formidable creature. A force unto himself. I would be lying through my teeth if I said he wasn’t intimidating.
Whereas I hide behind my computer.
It’s not that I don’t like what I do. I love it, in fact.
When a good person or a good organization is unfairly targeted for whatever reason, my company steps in to defend them.
We right the ship, clean up images, repair reputations, and make sure the world knows the truth.
I can intimidate with the best of them when I’m in my element, but not because of how I look or my physical presence when I walk into a room.
Beauden has that presence. That quiet authority. And around him, the wounded girl that still lives inside me feels so small.
He arches a brow, and I try to remember what he said before I got lost in my own head.
Hot chocolate. Right.
I scooch closer to the table and grab the metal mug gingerly. My fingers aren’t as cold as my toes, thankfully, but I’m still shaky and unsettled. When I bring the mug to my lips and sip, my eyelids flutter. It’s the perfect balance of rich and chocolatey, with enough heat to warm me up inside.
“Thank you,” I say quietly over the rim of the mug.
Beauden just dips his head.
I’m halfway through my drink when I finally give in to my body’s protests and stand.
It’s awkward clutching the blanket and trying to carry the mug without spilling it, and yeah, I realize how foolish I’m being.
It’s not like he hasn’t already seen what’s under the blanket, but right now, my pride is all I have.
And that’s questionable.
Scanning the room, I see three real options: I could sit at the opposite end of the couch from Beauden, which is a hard no. That would leave less than three feet between us. I could go lay down on one of the bunk beds, but I know I would just toss and turn. Which leaves me with the kitchen table.
It looks homemade. Not like someone built it out of two-by-fours and old pallets, but roughhewn lumber and a hand-sanded top. It’s nice in a rustic way, and sturdy enough.
I angle my chair so my back is mostly to Beauden. I can still see Tiberius if I turn my head, but I really just need to be alone for a little while, and this is as close as I’m going to get. Unless I want to go back out to the outhouse.
No and thanks.
There’s no telling how long I sit there, my head spinning as the hot chocolate cools between my cupped hands. I hear Beauden get up and put more wood on the fire, and I brace for him to say something, but he doesn’t.
When I hear him sink back onto the couch, I let out a heavy breath. I’m also mildly irritated, which is totally irrational.
I can’t seem to make up my mind. Am I hurt? Angry? Frustrated? Is any of it about what just happened? Or is there some part of me that is itching to have it out about what happened all those years ago?
I know the answer and it’s all of the above.
A log pops in the fireplace, and I flinch.
I glance over my shoulder, but everything looks exactly the same.
Beauden is still watching the fire, Tiberius is still sleeping peacefully.
So, I turn back to the table. Firelight glitters off Beauden’s keyring, and without thinking, I reach out and slide it toward me.
I don’t necessarily have to talk to the man to learn more about him.
Picking them up quietly, I see the skeleton key we used to get into the cabin, one that probably goes to his truck, and a couple of others. But I don’t have a chance to mull over what they might open because a small silver charm snatches my focus.
It’s really just a cheap coin with a willow tree imprinted on it. The thing is dented and scarred, like it’s been through hell, but I would recognize it anywhere.
All the air leaks out if my lungs.
Maybe I’m hallucinating?
I bite the inside of my lip hard, until I taste copper, then I run my thumb over the ridges of that damned willow.
Nope, not hallucinating, and a flood of memories hits me all at once. I remember trying to find a gift for Beauden for graduation. Something he could take with him that still held some meaning. And when I spotted that silly little coin, I thought it was fate.
Why? Because willows are resilient, just like I thought we were. Because they can grow just about anywhere there’s water.
If you cut a branch off a willow and plant it in rich soil, it’ll grow into a tree. No seeds needed.
I remember telling him that, and that was how I saw us back then. We could grow anywhere, as long as we were together. The way he looked at me, like it was the best gift anyone had ever given him.
Tears blur my vision.
I can’t believe he held onto it all these years. And not just held on. From the way it’s battered, he’s carried it with him. Everywhere.
Closing my eyes, I lay my head on my forearms as the tears fall. The fire crackles and my chest hitches, but I hold it in. I hold it all in. Because the last thing I want is for Beauden to hear me breaking down— over him.