Everly After (17 page)

“I woke up with a dog,” Ollie shouts to us over his shoulder.

I would laugh if I could only shake the ugly way he looked at Everly. It hits me—the truth—that this could be another mistake. I glance nervously at her as she struggles with her suitcase. She won’t let me help, but I shorten my stride a bit. I can’t ignore how her lips are set into a straight line. I bet she has that passive look to her eyes, too—that she’s shut everyone out again.

“I had a bottle of mayonnaise thrown at me, Beck. I mean, once I remembered where I might have procured a dog, I brought it back, but the girl was angry enough to throw condiments at me.”

“You’re an idiot, Ollie.”

He mumbles something, shifting his large backpack onto his other shoulder before ducking onto the train.

Everly grabs my hand and tugs hard. When I spin around, she has the camera I gave her in hand and pushes up to her tiptoes, snapping a shot of us. It’s only a picture, but it makes Gare Du Nord shrink in around me. I take her bag and nudge her forward, trying to balance things between us. She’s good at throwing me off.

Ollie’s seat is a few rows away from ours, thankfully, but he pulls me aside. Everly yanks her bag back, smiling at me over her shoulder like an imp, and then rushes down the aisle to find our seats.

I’m watching her struggle to fit her bag on the overhead rack when Ollie elbows me in the stomach. “Do you know who she is?” he whispers harshly at me.

I grab his bag and toss into the overhead none-too-carefully. “Yes,” I answer, meeting his fucking judgmental glare.

But there’s that small bit inside me that’s screaming
liar
. Everly and I know nothing about each other. I think we both like it that way, but now we’re on a train heading to London together. Eventually, we’ll have to face that truth that we’re strangers.

“Have you Googled her?”

“You have, you asshole. I saw how you looked at her.”

Ollie sinks down into his seat, throwing his hands on top of his head with a sigh. “She’s not what you need, Beckett. That bird’s a fucking mess.”

“Now you’re going to be my mother?”

“I’m being a friend, mate. All I’m saying is be careful.”

I don’t remember why I asked him to come to London with us. It certainly wasn’t for his dating advice. He’s hungover as fuck, and he can try to pretend he’s been on the pull in Paris but I know better. Ollie can wag a finger at me all he wants, but he’s trying to forget Gemma. Wild parties and French girls won’t fix what’s broken there.

I slap the back of his head, grinning when he winces. “Don’t worry your pretty little head.”

If he objects, I don’t hear it because I waste no time getting back to Everly. She’s staring out the window as we pull out of the station, chewing on the sleeve of her striped shirt. I toss my bag overhead and settle down next to her, glancing over a few times without knowing what to say. My knee starts that nervous bouncing, so I run my hand over my jeans, tipping my head back to look over the seats in front of us. I focus on the bald man two rows up, how the light bends and swirls over his shiny dome like a gazing ball.

Everly places her hand on top of mine, and I suck in a pained breath. I wish she’d stop surprising me today. Her nails are mint green now. Everly always has rainbows at her fingertips and bags of glitter in her Louis Vuitton.

She leans against me, reaching up to ruffle my hair. “You’re not bald yet. No worries there.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue when I look down at her.

I’m broken
.

Instead, my stomach sinks as her eyes soften and her lips bend into the realest smile I’ve seen from her now that Paris is slowly disappearing behind us.

I’m broken.

Those sins we need to atone for weren’t abolished in that lake. I carry them around in my bones, and I can’t shake free from them. The nightmares, the screams, the blood. I can sit on a couch and talk about everything, but I’m not sure it’s going to be enough. That’s supposed to fix me and so far…

“So we’re doing this?” Everly asks, nestling against my chest.

My hand curls around her waist, hauling her beside me. She seemed relaxed earlier, but I hear the doubt in her voice, too, as if she recognizes the two of us are on a high-speed train, barreling toward London to have our hearts broken. Second-class tickets for another destructive life event.

She stretches one of her long legs and drapes it over me. I draw circles over her knee, worshipping the person who invented denim cutoffs. I trace my fingers down her smooth calf, then slowly up to her thigh. She shivers beneath my touch.

I guess we’ll have to hold each other together until we figure out what we’re doing.

I frame her face in my hands, intending to speak. Until I met her, I was capable of speech. But now? I swallow down the doubt and Ollie’s useless warning and kiss Everly because I need to know this won’t be the end. I’m not sure why she’s here on this train with me, but she is and I’ll prove everyone wrong. I’ll prove myself wrong.

Our kiss deepens, and she practically crawls into my lap before a throat clears above us. I guess PDA isn’t appreciated on the Eurostar. I offer a halfhearted apology, but my attention is on Everly climbing over to her seat, quietly laughing as she reaches for her purse. She takes out her ticket, quickly swiping at her swollen lips, then hands it over to the attendant.

She’s back in my lap as soon as he moves on. I take out my phone and snap a picture of us. Everly peeks out from behind her glasses, blowing kisses and ruffling up my hair. I’m just looking at her, too preoccupied to bother posing.

I lean closer and whisper, “You taste like dessert.” I like the way she blushes. “I want to kiss you again. Drink you up.” She rests against my shoulder, and I lick the shell of her ear. I can’t help it. “Until you knock me over I’m so drunk on you.”

Everly twists in my arms so our foreheads are pressed together. “I hope that’s not all,” she whispers back.

“No, that’s not all, pet.”

I reach into my pocket for earbuds and plug them into my phone. I hand one to Everly, and then the two of us settle back around each other and listen to music the rest of the way to London, our hearts intact for now.

Everly

“Are you sure you don’t mind? You can come. I can tell—”

I wave Beckett off and slip on my sunny yellow flats. “No, go ahead. It’s for work, and I don’t want to interfere.”

The private room we booked at a hostel is small and steamy and smells like his spicy soap after his shower. I wanted to join him, but I’m not sure what we’re doing exactly. For once, I don’t want to jump straight into bed with a guy. I mean, I do. Badly. It’s just that I want this to be different with him, too, even if I don’t know why.

“You wouldn’t be interfering,” he says with a lazy grin.

He’s leaning against the wall, scrolling through his phone, wearing a white button-down with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. It’s hard to figure out who he is when he does this. Some days he dresses up all business-like; other days he’s wearing holey sweatshirts and worn jeans and Chucks. It’s like how he speaks French so flawlessly but is British through and through. Or how he seems so comfortable traveling the world but can suddenly be afraid of his own shadow.

I wonder who Beckett Reid is because, without ever discovering the answers, I keep kissing him. I keep finding myself opening up and showing him who I really am, even though I’m trying not to do that. It’s hard with him. With the way he looks at me as though he understands. How, when we’re close or his lips are on mine, for those few precious minutes, the world’s a better place and I’m just a girl kissing a boy. I’m not Everly Monteith. I’m not running from mistakes. I’m that girl I dream about, the one who’s happy in the sun.

I’m staring down at my hands when he comes up beside me. “What are you thinking about?”

I laugh. I’m being an idiot. What
am
I thinking about?

“You’ve got this look on your face like I’ve kicked a puppy.”

I wring my hands together before I meet his curious stare. I lean closer, bumping my shoulder against his. “No, no puppy kicking. Just thinking.”

“Are you mad I’m leaving? I won’t be long.”

It makes me angry that he asks questions like this. No one ever wants to know what I want. If I were here with Hudson…

I stop there. I’d never be here with Hudson because I don’t want him like I want Beckett. I’m better now, I think. I won’t fall back into who I was with Hudson.

“No,” I say. “I’m going to go for a walk. Won’t miss you at all.” I grab the pen in my purse and write the hostel’s address on my forearm.

Beckett points, his usual “what are you doing now?” look evident in his arched brow.

“In case I get lost.”

“Are you planning on getting lost?”

Does anyone? I shrug him off.

“So you won’t miss me?” He turns me to face him, his hands running up my bare legs until he grips my waist and lifts me so I straddle him. “Not at all?”

I kiss him first, tugging his lower lip between my teeth. His hands travel up my body, cupping my breasts.

“No.”

“Not even a smidge?” His fingers trace the line of my dress, half on fabric, half on my skin, altogether burning. I close my eyes and imagine he’s one of the sketch artists at Place du Tertre near the Sacré-Cœur, drawing my body one stroke at a time.

Beckett slips his hand beneath the deep neckline of my navy dress and skirts his fingers over the Chantilly lace of my bra. We haven’t eaten breakfast, and I have a feeling I’m his with the way he touches me, kisses me. He sips me and takes me in, and I am so completely lost. I’ve never felt this way before—overwhelmed. I’ve never been with someone who wanted to take their time to explore me, to make me feel good instead of chasing after what feels good for them.

I guess I’ve only ever been with selfish pricks. Or it never mattered to me. I don’t think I cared much until now—now that I know what I should want.

I sigh into his mouth, trying to speed up our kiss and push it back into something familiar for me, but he slows down. When I protest, he breaks away completely. I miss his lips on mine as soon as it ends.

I swallow back my regret and try to wiggle out of his lap. “There’s no chance of me missing you unless you leave.”

“That’s funny. I miss you already.” He tips my chin up so I meet his gaze and winks.

I laugh, sliding farther away on the bed’s comforter. Beckett reaches out and hauls me back, the two of us bent so we don’t knock our heads on the bunk above. He kisses my nose, my cheeks, my lips. It starts off sweet but quickly tumbles into something hot and desperate. Exactly what I want.

And as if he catches himself, he stops and clears his throat. “I’ll give you a chance to miss me then.” He picks me up and moves me off his lap, then grabs his phone off the dresser and heads out the door.

I’m left stunned in the middle of the bed, my hair all mussed, my dress pushed up around my knees, my lips swollen. When my phone chimes with a text, I crawl off and search for it, finding it on the floor beside the nightstand.

Miss me yet?

I laugh.
You can’t leave me like that
, I text back.

Like what?

I can’t stop grinning down at my phone. My hand shakes as I type.
You can’t stop a kiss like that and just leave
.

The door’s card reader buzzes and Beckett storms back into our room. Before I can protest, he scoops me off the bed and picks up where we left off. My legs wrap around his waist, my arms hook around his neck as he cages me against the wall. It happens so quickly I can’t make sense of what’s up or down. Our kiss deepens until my chest burns for want of air. I pull at his shirt, wanting to touch him, ready to lose myself in him because he’s just that good at kissing me and making me forget.

But my mind catches up and I remember there’s a reason I was getting dressed to leave. There’s a reason why he’s not wearing a T-shirt I can pull up over his head. He has to be somewhere.

I stop our kiss, blowing out a nervous breath.

His eyes meet mine, and they’re still full with hunger, raw and primal. It makes my heart trip.

“You have a meeting,” I say.

He ducks his head next to my shoulder and kisses my neck. “Give me a minute. I need…”

I look up at the ceiling and do the same—gather myself. It feels like we’re always this way, always so close to something that will change us. We’re pushing through to discover the unknown, but I really want to know what it is we’re searching for. It’d be easier than running into this mess blindly.

“You’re worth being late for,” he whispers into my ear. When I look back down, he kisses the tip of my nose. “But I have to go for real this time.”

I nod. “For real.” I won’t lie—I’m still hoping he’ll change his mind and throw me back onto the bed and have his way with me, but Beckett’s not like that. He’s careful with me.

“Then stop missing me and go.”

“Going. Right.” He kisses me again, and the two of us laugh as he battles to keep kissing me and I try to wiggle out of his hold. Finally, he slips me down the front of his body, the scent of lemons and clove wrapping around me until my feet are firmly on the floor.

“Bye, pet. For real.”

He winks, then shuts the door, and I’m left standing in our hostel room wondering what the hell just happened between us.

Again.

Beckett

“How are you doing?” Hugh asks from the opposite seat.

I twist my pint between my palms—left then right, left then right. “Fine,” I say at last.

My mind’s not focused on the ugly mug opposite me. I’m still seeing Everly’s face when I burst back into the room. She looked as if she never expected me to come back. Jesus, the look in her eyes—the way she lit up when I kissed her—is enough to push a sane man to drink.

Which is probably why I am.

“You sure?”

I snap my head up to meet his beady eyes full of judgment. “I’m already seeing a shrink in Paris. I don’t need another.”

He holds his hands up, surrendering. The fucker. He knows better. “What’s so bad about taking a local post? Getting a local beat?”