“But I don’t want to call them tonight,” I admitted barely above a whisper.
“Then you don’t have to,” Beck said with so little fanfare but with utter finality, I had to admire him. He didn’t soften his edges or bend to the will of anyone. People got him completely as he was, or they didn’t get him at all.
I loved his harshness, his gruff exterior, the tough shell he worked hard to maintain. Because it made the glimpses of that soft, gooey center all the more rewarding.
“C’mon.” He gripped my hips and tugged me off the counter, then guided me to his bathroom. “You’ll feel better after a shower. Towels are in the closet. We can wash those scrubs tomorrow. I’ll, uh… I’ll grab you something to wear tonight.”
I was so tired, but a shower sounded heavenly, especially since I was still filthy and smelled like…well, like I’d just escaped a house fire. Would it be weird to ask him to stay in here with me? Probably, since the shower had a see-through glass enclosure that would leave absolutely no mystery between besties. So I nodded, and he stepped out of the room, his eyes briefly locking with mine in the mirror just before the door latched behind him.
Exhaling a heavy sigh, I braced my hands on the sink and hung my head. There was so much to do, so many calls to make, so many things to replace, I didn’t even know where to start.
But I could get to all that tomorrow. Right now, all I needed was a shower and a heaping dose of Beck’s personal brand of comfort.
CHAPTEREIGHT
EVERLY
Twenty minutesand five hair washes later, I was fresh and clean and…still smelling faintly of smoke. I had no idea how long I’d be giving off that campfire aroma or how many showers I’d have to take before the scent would completely disappear, but I hoped it wouldn’t linger for too long. I didn’t want the constant reminder of what’d happened tonight clinging to me while I tried to figure out what I was going to do.
Magically, a stack of Beck’s clothes had been waiting for me just outside the bathroom door when I’d opened it, wrapped up in one of his surprisingly plush towels. I tucked myself back inside and slipped into the garments, letting his familiar scent wash over me and comfort me in a way I hadn’t anticipated needing. Tears pricked the backs of my eyes, but I didn’t let them fall as I pulled on one of his T-shirts and stepped into the pair of far-too-long sweatpants sans panties—I was going to have to go commando until I could replace my undergarments. Wearing his clothes felt like a constant hug, and I’d take all the hugs I could get right now.
I didn’t think the full impact of what had happened had even registered completely, but these waves of emotions still washed over me at random times, the despair over all I’d lost nearly overwhelming. But I’d figure out a way to get through it. I always did.
Once I was dressed, I padded out into the main area. Beck’s apartment was nice. Tidy without being rigid—there was a stack of mail on the counter, the book we’d been reading this week on a side table, and a couple pairs of shoes haphazardly tossed by the door—and warm without being stuffy. But it was small, just a bedroom, bathroom, and one main room that held a galley-style kitchen and the living area, which housed only two leather recliners, a small table between them both, and a TV large enough to fit right at home in a sports bar. Luckily, the loungers were super comfortable, so Beck could sleep in his room, and I could stay out here by myself.
Except…I didn’t want to.
My entire life, I’d prided myself on my independence. I was the kid who’d been babysitting by the age of eight and helping prepare dinners by the time I was ten. I was the self-starter who entertained herself and took care of what was needed without any reminders. I’d always just…handled things. But right now, after experiencing the scariest night of my life? I didn’t want to handle things by myself. I didn’t want to be alone.
At the creak of the floor, Beck turned his chair around to face me, his gaze roving over me from head to toe in an appraisal that felt weighted. His eyes were a little more scrutinizing, his gaze a little more intense. A shiver racked my body—no doubt a lingering effect from my earlier adrenaline crash—and I wrapped my arms around myself so he didn’t get an unwanted eyeful of my nipples.
He lifted his chin toward the small end table between the chairs. “Made you a grilled cheese. You need to eat.”
I didn’t want to mention that it was after midnight or that I wasn’t hungry. In the years we’d been friends, I’d come to realize how he showed he cared was through cooking, so I was going to eat it—as much of it as I could, anyway. Especially when he’d made my number one comfort food—which he always fancied up with Parmesan-crusted homemade bread—and especially because I knew he must be crawling out of his skin right now, not knowing how to help.
Five minutes ago, I might not have known how he could help, either. But right then, it was clear as day. I needed my person, and that just happened to be the grump who’d reluctantly let me into his life, little by little, because I hadn’t allowed it any other way.
He glanced over at my chair—yes, mine. The one I sat in every Wednesday as we worked our way through old classic shows and every Sunday for book club and nearly every Friday for movie night. My favorite blanket was piled in the seat, looking soft and comforting. But not as comforting as the gruff man with a permanent scowl on his face. Gone was the baseball hat he nearly always wore, and he’d changed into a T-shirt and sweats—both of which looked just as cozy as my blanket.
So instead of sitting in my usual spot, I walked straight to him, ignoring the nest he’d built for me, and dropped into his lap, tucking my legs up to my chest and resting my head on his shoulder. This was no longer new for us. It’d taken some time, but we were officially over that awkward stage I’d thrown us into in the first place. The first time I’d hugged him, he’d stood there, completely frozen and arms hanging limply at his sides, until I’d laughed and physically wrapped them around me and told him to squeeze. Every time after had gotten a bit easier, and now it was a given that he was getting a hug hello and a hug goodbye and that we’d probably also have some sort of cuddle in the middle.
But now, he froze beneath me, his entire body going rigid, hands gripping the chair arms, and I wondered if I’d finally pushed too far. I might have needed that physical comfort, but it’d been a long night for him, too, and maybe he just wanted to be left alone. And, well, I was just going to have to deal with it.
“Sorry, I’ll—” I shifted to get off his lap when he set his hands on me, holding me in place.
“Don’t,” he said, his voice gruff and low. Goose bumps erupted on my skin when I settled back into him, his body heat a stark contrast to my other side.
When I didn’t make a move to get up, he plucked the blanket from the other chair and draped it over me, nestling me in against him. Then he grabbed the plate of grilled cheese and put it right under my nose. “Eat.”
“Have we entered the single-syllable part of the night?”
“What? No.”
I giggled as I took a small bite of the sandwich. “That might’ve been two words, but still only a single syllable each.”
“Don’t make me feed you.”
I tipped my head back and grinned up at him, which earned me an eye roll in response. As Beck turned on the TV and cued up the search bar to find us something to watch, I ate my sandwich, nixing every suggestion he gave—all seven of them.
