I try to sleep, I really do. Instead, I just lay here, listening to the generator hum outside, staring at the nightlight that started all this tonight. My body remembers his hands. His mouth. The way he devoured me like he had been starving.
I press my face into my pillow, my breath catching as the weight of everything settles in, and cry quietly, hoping the distance between our rooms is far enough that he can’t hear how pathetic I am.
BECKETT
Inotice the exact moment that the rain stops. It’s right before dawn, and it feels off. Too quiet, like the whole world is holding its breath.
I do my chores on autopilot. Ride out to feed the horses and check on the foal. Check all the fences. I counted the cattle when I realized one of the posts had broken, and the wire was torn. Counted them again when I realized I didn’t even know if I was actually counting.
The creek is still roaring, and not a trace of the bridge is to be seen. The road past it is lined with standing water. No one from the county will be out today, probably not tomorrow, either.
I try to convince myself I’m annoyed by it, but I’m not.
When I get back to the house, I see smoke curling out of the chimney, and it makes my heart clench to know that my girls are in there, warm and safe.
Fuck. Not my girls. My girl. My daughter and my friend, Clover.
I fucking hate how that sounds.
I wipe my boots off before going in through the mudroom, where I slide them off.
The house is quiet, and I stop in my tracks when I see into the living room.
Clover is on the rug in front of the fireplace, wrapped in one of my flannels that is too big for her, with an open book on one knee. Lennon is lying with her head in Clover’s lap, half asleep, hair a mess, with her fingers curled into Clover’s sleeve.
They look like they belong there, like they’ve always been there.
I swallow whatever emotion is crawling its way up my throat.
Neither of them notices me. Clover speaks in a low, calm voice, and Lennon hums in response. Something tightens in my chest so hard that it’s painful.
I rub at my sternum with my knuckles and shift my weight, which causes the hardwood floor to creak. Clover looks up at me, and for a second, it looks like she might say my name.
“Morning,” she says instead.
Lennon looks up, her face lighting. “Dad!”
She scrambles to her feet and barrels into me, and I lift her into my arms.
“Hey, Beetlebug,” I say, pressing a kiss onto the side of her head.
Clover stands slowly, smoothing the flannel out.
“How’d you sleep?” I ask, keeping my voice as even as possible.
She shrugs. “Pretty okay, I guess.”
A lie. I’ll let it go.
“How’s the bridge?” She asks as I let Lennon slide back down to the floor and watch her run back to the fireplace. Clover smiles at her, and I see the way she relaxes when Lennon is happy.
“Still gone,” I laugh. “It might be a while before I’m able to get the materials to fix it. The county road is still flooded, and I don’t think the county will get to it soon.”
She nods, and after that, we fall into a rhythm. I cook them breakfast on a camping stove and make coffee the old way. Clover tries a sip of it and makes a horrified face, which makes me genuinely laugh. It lights her up, and I swear to myself I’ll laugh more around her.
She rolls up her sleeves and washes her dishes after we eat, humming under her breath.
I keep my distance, but not because I want to. I don’t trust myself not to cross the room and pull her to me and make myself a big hypocrite after what I said last night.
