Page 16 of Willow Embers
Except, knowing she’s cold, curled up on the floor across the room, it feels like I’m failing her all over again.
NINE
NIXIE
What the hellwas 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.
