21. Beck #2
His eyes are cast down into his lap now, and I roll my beer bottle in my hands, picking at the label until I’ve almost taken off the entire sticker.
It’s easier to focus on than the feelings his admission has brought up.
The memories of my childhood that were never really a childhood.
After Mom left, the onus was on me as the eldest child to step up.
For my siblings, for the ranch, for all of it.
My dad stands and places a heavy, comforting hand on my shoulder, stopping next to me as he heads back inside the house.
“All I’m saying is that maybe it’s time to let some light into that walled up heart of yours. Maybe it’s time to have a little fun.”
I nod, and peer up at my dad’s kind, weathered face. He winks and tilts his head over to where Lyla is standing, before leaving us alone on the porch.
She’s got her hands resting behind her on the railing. The overhang of the roof sticks out far enough to keep her dry, but the humidity has caused the short hairs around her face to curl.
“Austin and Nash finished cleaning up and left for the barn,” she says with a soft smile.
I set my beer down and stand, taking a few steps toward her, close enough that she’s tilting her head up to look at me, but still an excruciating foot away from her.
“And you did as you were told and supervised, right?” I enlisted Austin and Nash to do all the clean-up. Lyla wasn’t about to let me do any work on my birthday, but I wasn’t going to let her do it herself after the effort she put into planning today, either.
“Right.”
The wind catches a strand of her hair and blows it across her face, and I can’t help but think about how she’s breezed in here and turned my life upside down. At the beginning of this, I thought having Lyla at Wild Sage would be a bad thing, that she would change too much.
She has. She has changed me, and only for the better.
Without thinking, I reach toward her and brush the piece of hair away, off her face, tucking the lock behind her ear. My hand lingers there for a second, my fingers grazing the corner of her jaw, and her eyes flare. Her breath hitches, a sweet shade of pink staining her cheeks as she holds my gaze.
I step forward. It’s a risk, standing close to her like this.
“Did you like the party today?” Lyla asks, her voice soft and low.
I nod. “I did, very much.”
The corner of her mouth lifts, and I want to kiss her there.
“I think I saw you crack a smile once,” she says, poking her finger into my chest.
I take her hand in mine and hold it against my pec, wondering if she can feel the steady beat of my heart.
“Doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy every minute,” I say.
“Did you?” Lyla says, her dark lashes flickering as her brown eyes dart back and forth between mine.
“Yes.” I’m not good with my words, or saying how I feel, but I think maybe I can show her.
I close whatever space is left between us, Lyla’s back firmly pressed against the railing.
Between the yoga putting me in a relaxed fog, the one too many beers I’ve consumed today, and Lyla standing in front of me in her snug fitting yoga clothes, I’m not thinking clearly. My mind is hazy, but I don’t care.
I raise my hand and bring it to cup the side of her slender neck, rubbing my thumb along the corner of her jaw.
Her head imperceptibly leans into my touch, eyelids fluttering closed.
I lean closer, close enough that I can smell her light summer fragrance, like lemons and marshmallows.
She smells like sunshine, even on a rainy day.
I hover close to her for a second more, taking in this moment, taking in her.
The soft lines of her beautiful face.
The face I’ve dreamed about ever since I was a teenager.
The face I thought would never stop haunting me when she left.
I take in the moment because I know once I kiss Lyla, I’m going to be changed forever. There will be before kissing Lyla and after kissing Lyla, and that will become my measure of time, my measure of significance for everything in my life.
Other things are going to change, too. Some for the worse, perhaps. But Lyla’s proximity to me is intoxicating, and I’m drawn to her as if she has some kind of gravitational pull, like she’s pulling me into her orbit.
I kiss the corner of her mouth, feather-light and tender, and then I kiss the other. Lyla hums, her hands running up the front of me, landing on my chest.
Her eyes open slightly, and she whispers into the space between us, her voice forming a wisp of a cloud in the cool evening air. “We shouldn’t,” she breathes.
My mouth quirks up into a half smile. “When has Lyla Morgan concerned herself with what she should or shouldn’t do?”
Lyla whimpers, the pained sound of someone who knows they want something off limits.
I crash into her, so she doesn’t have a moment longer to second guess this, and so I don’t either.
My mouth meets hers, our lips fitting together like they were made for each other.
She opens for me, allowing me to sweep my tongue in and find her own.
She moans, and I take a sharp inhale, trying to experience as much of her as possible all at once. Trying to make up for all the years I’ve thought about doing this very thing, and denied myself the opportunity.
My hands drop down to her waist, trailing over the curve of her hips, finding the soft flesh of her ass in those leggings, and I lift. She perches on the railing, wrapping her thighs around me to steady herself, but I’ve got her. I’ll always have her.
Lyla is a shooting star, and I’ll be her gravity.
I kiss the spot next to her mouth again, and trail my lips down her jaw, down the long column of her mouth as she leans back to give me more access to it.
“Beck…” she breathes.
My eyes open as I pull back to look at her, but I see something in the distance. At the top of the driveway, two glowing red brake lights flash before turning out onto the street. In the dark and in the rain it’s impossible to tell what kind of car it is, whose car it is.
One of the ranch hands, maybe? Nash?
My stomach sinks, sweat forming on the back of my neck in the humidity.
Or, I think, it could be Austin.
Suddenly I feel like I’m being split in two, my loyalty breaking, snapping, being torn in two different directions. It all crashes over me at once. Not only the thought that Austin, or anyone, might have seen us, but the years–decades–of friendship I was willing to throw away.
I think about how unsuspecting Austin was at the party earlier, how much faith he puts in me to respect the unspoken code that forms the basis of our friendship.
Worse, I think about the promise I made Austin when I went to pick Lyla up from that party, when I found her heartbroken and crying. I didn’t hesitate to go when Austin couldn’t.
Promise me, you’ll take care of her.
I did, I promised him.
I trust you. He’d said it to me then, and he said it to me recently, too. Austin trusts me with the only person he has left on this planet.
“I can’t do this Lyla.” I roll my forehead against hers, squeezing my eyes shut to force myself to pull away. As perfect as Lyla is, as much as it physically pains me to pull away from her, I do.
“What’s wrong?” Her brown eyes search my face as I lift her off the railing and set her down on the porch.
“You’re right. We can’t do this,” I say. “I can’t do this.”
“What about—” Lyla’s voice cracks and her eyes well with tears, and the sight of it is a fucking knife to the heart. The one thing I promised I’d always do–take care of her–I’ve failed at. Like I’ve failed at everything else.
Emotion rises like a tide within me, feelings that I don’t know how to verbalize, feelings I don’t know how to process. I only know that I want to be alone.
I don’t have time to explain any of this to Lyla, or tell her I need time to think about this, because she’s already running down the steps and out into the rain.
Away from me.