Chapter 16
BETH
M aple makes me nervous. She hasn't spoken to me since that day a week and a half ago that she came to get me outside the infirmary, to tell me that Knox was awake and asking for me.
It'd surprised me, because I'd figured he wanted his ex-wife.
Even if they were divorced, a part of me thought he'd want something that was comfortable and routine.
When she'd come out the door telling me he wanted me? I'd almost cried right there.
Today, she and I are working together in the kitchen. And I'm doing my best not to make it full of tension and awkward.
I watch as she moves around the space with the muscle memory of someone who knows where everything is.
Which makes sense since she's been here longer than I have.
I allow myself to gaze, comparing our looks for a brief second.
She's pretty in a way that makes me feel plain by comparison.
I'm short where she's tall, with dark hair that falls in a smooth wave down her back even now, and the kind of bone structure that looks good no matter what the circumstances are.
Even though we don't have skin care to speak of any longer, she still looks like she moisturizes.
I catch myself remembering what she and Knox looked like together, and then immediately hate myself for it. Because the cheerleader and the quarterback? They were fucking hot. Everyone talked about what beautiful babies they would've had.
She reaches across me for a jar on the shelf above the prep table, and I step back to give her room, and that's when she finally speaks.
"He talked about you, you know." Her voice is even and matter of fact, like she's commenting on the weather.
Not on something that's potentially going to change my life.
I look over at her, not sure what to say to that, and she keeps her eyes on what she's doing.
"When Ryker helped bring him in, and they got me?
He was half out of it from the blood loss, before Dr. Harmon got the pain medication into him.
" She pauses, unscrewing the jar lid, her eyes fluttering down to it as she says the next words.
"He said your name four times. I counted.
" She finally looks at me then, and her expression isn't hostile the way I've been bracing for.
It's much more complicated than that. It's the look of a woman who maybe thought she had another chance to make things right.
Only she's realized there's no longer a chance and she has to make peace with it, or let it eat her up from the inside out.
"Take care of him," she says simply. "He deserves someone who will. "
"I will," I say the words just for the two of us to hear.
"I should've known what I had before I lost it. But we were young, and thought we had our whole lives ahead of us. Even when we signed the divorce papers..." she trails off for a second. "I thought there was maybe a chance we'd get back together. No one counted on a global disruption."
I'm pushing my luck, and I know that I am, but I have to ask. "He mentioned something about the two of you possibly trying to get seats in the shelters."
She laughs. "We never would've made it. Never.
Even the threat of the end of the world wasn't enough for us to put our shit aside.
I mean think about that." She says it with a small smile on her face.
There's no bitterness in the words, or even any wistfulness for how things might have been.
It's a truth she's had time to get comfortable with and come to grips with.
She sets the jar down and leans her hip against the prep table, arms crossing loosely over her chest, and for the first time since we started working alongside each other this morning some of the distance I've been careful to keep between us disappears.
"Knox and I wanted completely different things," she sighs, the faraway look in her eyes going back to a time that was probably much simpler than it is now.
"I wanted a city. Restaurants, events, something happening all the time.
Jokes on me, huh? He wanted exactly what you see out that window.
" She nods toward the small opening above the prep table that looks out over the river and the garden beds.
If someone had asked me what a homestead looked like from the 1800's?
This is it. "He wanted roots. He wanted to dig himself into the dirt of a place and make sure he was working to help it survive.
Knox always wanted a depth of community and family I could never understand.
" She picks the jar back up and turns toward the stove.
"I thought that sounded boring when I was in my twenties.
Funny how the world ending has a way of making you reconsider what actually matters.
" She's quiet for a moment, stirring a pot.
Whatever's inside makes my mouth water and my stomach clench.
"Anyway," she says, her tone bringing us back to the present.
"The point is he never stopped being that man.
The one who wanted something worth protecting.
" She glances over her shoulder at me, just briefly. "I think he found it."
I don't know what to say, so I just smile, then opt for. "Hopefully you and I can be friends? There aren't a lot of people here yet, and I feel like those of us that are here should stick together."
"Yeah." She smiles back. "We can be friends. Just know that it still hurts a little to see my ex-husband handsy with you. That's on me though, not on either of you."
I get it. I'd be pissed to see him handsy with anyone else, too. "Understood."
"Speaking of." She nods for the door.
Knox is doing much better than he was when he was confined to a bed. He’s been out of the infirmary and into the house we were provided with for a week. Now? He can walk without much pain, and when I see him coming through the door, he takes my breath away.
He's cleaned up since this morning, his dark hair pushed back from what is now a jaw that's shaved.
Not completely but enough that I can see his jawline, and he's fucking handsome in a way that's devastating.
He's wearing a clean shirt that someone here must have found for him, rolled at the sleeves, showing off the tattoos moving up and down his forearms, and his wrists.
He moves carefully, still favoring his left side just slightly, but the color is back in his face and his eyes are sharp, meaning he hasn't had to take a painkiller today.
He'd lived in a fog the first few days after we arrived.
He'd needed to so that his body could heal.
He scans the kitchen the way he always does any room he walks into, a leftover habit from law enforcement, and then his eyes find me and a smile spreads across his face.
He crosses to where I'm standing and without any preamble or self-consciousness about who else is around, he drops a kiss to the top of my head and slides his hand around my waist, pulling me into his side.
It's so natural that it's like we've been doing it for years instead of weeks.
I let myself lean into him, just slightly, and feel his hand press a little firmer against my hip holding me tightly.
"How are you feeling?" I ask, tipping my head back to look up at him.
"Better," he says, and the way his eyes move over my face when he says it makes it clear he isn't just talking about the wound. "I talked to Ryker about us staying. When you can get a break, we'll have a conversation?"
"Sounds good to me. I'm with everyone fixing lunch today.
" One of the things I learned the morning after we got here was that everyone is expected to pull whatever weight they can.
In the past few days I've helped with animals, gardening, organizing, and now I'm in the kitchen.
"I should get a break after lunch is over. "
"Alright, I'll come find you then."