Chapter Thirteen
Past—Five Months After The Fire
Tonight marks the first time Beck and I have been alone in the house since I moved in.
Eric is working a late shift at the fire department, and Blake is spending the night at Andrea’s since her parents are out of town for the weekend.
I’ve done my best to settle in here, given everything that’s happened.
For months, things have remained quiet. It feels like everyone is tiptoeing around me, careful not to say the wrong thing or draw attention to my difficult situation.
I can’t blame them, though. How can anyone know how to respond when someone is going through shitty times?
It’s uncomfortable for everyone. Honestly, I feel guilty that they have to deal with my baggage, which has followed me here.
My circumstances are quite unusual. I’m genuinely grateful to the twins’ dad for allowing me to have a place to call home.
Home. Just saying that word makes my stomach turn.
As long as I’ve known this place and family, it will never truly be that for me.
My train of thought is interrupted as Beck steps into the kitchen. “What are you making?” she asks, leaning her elbows on the counter.
I set the wooden spoon down next to the stove. “I’m making my mom’s chicken alfredo,” I reply. She tilts her head slightly, a smile playing on her lips. I laugh at her expression. “It doesn’t compare to hers, but it’s edible.”
She inches closer, eyeing my culinary creation bubbling away. “You’ll have to let me know how it turns out,” she says, her curiosity evident.
I clear my throat, feeling a bit nervous. “Well…I actually made enough for two…I thought since it’s just us tonight, we could enjoy dinner together and maybe watch something?” I glance back at her, catching a look of surprise on her face. She then tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Oh! I’d love that,” she replies. A wave of relief washes over me, calming my racing heartbeat.
Things have felt off since that night, and I struggle to find the right words to explain to her how I feel or why we’ve built this fragile wall between us.
Where do I even start? With all that has happened all at once, my mind hasn’t fully processed it all or figured out how to cope.
I’ve tried my best to shove it all down and keep it to myself, but some feelings just won’t stay buried.
And the nightmares come and go as they please—some nights are worse than others, waking everyone in the house.
During those tough nights, it’s Beck who has sat by my side.
I suppose it’s just her instinct to nurture as a female.
Sometimes I’ve jolted awake and, for a short moment, thought she was my mom.
Yet, there are also nights I can’t make sense of, where I can’t tell if I’m dreaming or losing grip on reality. Maybe both sometimes.
I don’t want things to be awkward between us, and tonight I’m attempting to set things right—not for my sake, but for hers.
She truly deserves that. I can’t ignore that I miss her; I long for the way things used to be and the feelings she pulled from me that day before everything went crashing downhill.
The real question is whether those feelings can turn into something more, and if I can let go of how things unfolded that night.
As anxious as it makes me, this is me trying to figure it out. Tonight is my chance.
I carry the prepared plates over to the couch where Beck is flipping through channels on the TV. I set her dish down on the coffee table and take a seat beside her with my plate. As she glances at our meals, a smile spreads across her face. “This looks really good, Ez,” she compliments.
I take a deep breath through my nose, nodding in appreciation.
“I hope you think it tastes as good as it looks.” I watch her closely for a moment as she twirls the pasta around her fork and brings it to her mouth.
Her eyes flutter shut for an instant as she savors the first bite.
Raising her hand to cover her mouth, she turns to me with wide eyes.
“Holy shit, this is amazing!”
I can’t help but smile. “Really?” I ask, wanting to hear her confirmation.
She nods enthusiastically. “Really!”
I take a quick bite, savoring the nostalgic flavor that floods me with memories. “So, did Esther teach you how to make it?” she asks.
Wiping my mouth, I respond, “Not exactly. After you know…my father left…spending a lot of time at home…my mom and I would cook together in the kitchen. I watched her closely and took notes. Eventually, I got to where I could whip up decent meals for her. She deserved that, you know? And she always loved it when I made her chicken alfredo.” I notice Beck set her fork down and turn toward me.
Her hair is pulled back into a high, messy bun with loose curls framing her face.
She’s dressed simply in fitted, black sweatpants and a light pink tank top.
I can tell she’s glossed her lips, but that’s about it.
I’ve always admired how she stays true to herself, never trying to impress anyone or get all dressed up. She’s beautiful just as she is.
She places her hand on my left arm. “Thank you for sharing a piece of her with me. It really means a lot, Ez.”
I raise my right hand and gently cover hers. “Of course. I know she was important to you and Blake, as well.”
For a brief moment, she looks away, pulling her hand back to rub her palms together.
“She filled in the gaps that our mother left behind…when she didn’t have to.
I’ve always loved her for that,” she confesses.
Her words strike a chord within me. I’ve always known my mom held significance for them, but I never really considered how much she and Blake missed having a mother around for most of their lives.
At least I had sixteen years of my mom’s love before she was taken from me.
I take a moment to study Beck. For someone who grew up without her mother, she has always been such a remarkable person.
She’s strong, caring, and brimming with love.
I’ve had the privilege of knowing and loving her since I was seven.
I’ve watched her remain the same Beck while blossoming into the incredible young woman she is today.
More than anything, I want to be what she deserves.
I may not have it all figured out—we’re just teenagers trying to navigate life—but I want to make the effort.
As she reaches for her fork to take another bite, I quickly interlace my fingers with hers.
She turns her head to look at me, her stunning, blue eyes reflecting a mix of confusion and something deeper.
Without hesitating, I gently grasp her face, drawing her nearer.
Our lips meet instantly, and the sensation sends shivers down my neck.
Letting my tongue slide past her lips, I feel us both hungry for this connection.
This moment is perfect—I’ve missed the taste of her lips ever since that night.
And I can sense that we’ve both craved this for months.
My mind stays focused, her name on the tip of my tongue as I lose myself in the sweetness of our kiss. Beck…my beautiful Beck.
I trace my hand from her jaw down to her chest, gently pushing her back against the armrest of the couch while keeping our lips locked together.
She doesn’t pull away; instead, she lets me guide the moment.
I plant soft kisses on her lips, then along her jawline, gradually working my way down to her neck.
My tongue glides over her smooth skin as I place purposeful kisses.
A soft gasp escapes her as her pulse quickens beneath my lips.
Pausing for a moment, I take her in. She looks up at me, biting her bottom lip, sending butterflies fluttering in my stomach.
I scoot back on the couch, gently lifting her legs and resting them across the cushions.
Taking a deep breath, I stand up quickly, reaching into my sweats to pull out a condom I placed there for if we reached this moment tonight.
As I hold it up, Beck’s eyes light up with anticipation, and although she doesn’t say a word, her gaze clearly reveals her desires.
I slowly slide off my sweats and boxers, leaving them tossed on the floor beside the couch.
Her eyes roam over my lower half, taking in the sight of me as I watch her tongue glide along her top lip.
When her gaze lands on my inner thighs, where scars from the skin grafting are visible, a wave of nerves washes over me.
Still, I keep my cool, reminding myself that my body has changed since then.
I need to reveal these parts of myself to her, gradually.
For a short moment, I catch a hint of sadness in her expression, but she quickly masks it.
Her eyes stay on me as I grip the condom in my hand and climb on the couch above her.
I lock my fingers around the seam of her sweats, slowly sliding them off her hips and down her legs.
My eyes scan over the blue cotton panties that hug her hip bones.
I run my thumb over the birthmark that kisses her lower stomach, before tugging down her panties.
She stays silent, only the sounds of our heavy breathing and my pounding heart surrounding us.