Everly After (24 page)

Beckett fills up the open doorway, then stills.

“What is he doing here?” Hudson asks.

He reaches for me again, but I jump back, the corner of the counter digging into my back. I look pleadingly to Beckett to fix this. He’s fixed me; he can fix this, too. But Beckett remains in the doorway, watching Hudson with his fists clenched at his side.

“What is he doing here?” Hudson demands again through gritted teeth.

I stumble through my mind for an excuse to put off Hudson so he’ll turn and leave. My heart feels as if it’s going to explode in my chest, beating over and over against my rib cage.

“I came over to drop off last her paycheck.” He holds up a slip of paper for Hudson. It seems to pacify him.

Or it does until Hudson darts forward and grips me tight. My stomach roils, and I think I might be sick.

“Let go.”

But he speaks over my plea to Beckett. “Then leave. She has it now.”

I try to wiggle out of his hold, but he crushes me until I gasp from the pain. “You’re hurting me.”

A mad chuckle rumbles inside of him. “Well, you’re killing me.”

Beckett steps closer. “Let her go, Hudson.” When Hudson doesn’t, Beckett takes another step, his hands outstretched. “Let. Her. Go.”

I try pulling away as Hudson’s laugh unfurls around me. It’s the sound of a person falling apart, quick and messy. I blink back my tears and swallow the bitter taste in my mouth. “Hudson, please.”

He releases me in jerky movements until I take a step away. I think I take about five more before he grabs my arm, whirls me back, and strikes his palm against my face. I fly into the counter, hitting my head. The floor rises up to meet me next.

The room spins as I cradle my forehead, the blood seeping through my fingers. I feel so cold. I know I’m going to be sick, but I can’t focus, can’t move, even as I hear fighting. I see the whirl of them around my apartment. I hear bone crash against flesh. I smell blood. I can taste the salt of tears in my mouth. I’m screaming, but I have no idea what I’m saying. I try to push up onto my feet to stop them, but I sway and fall again. My throat is raw, and my eyes are blurring. There’s blood on my hands. I swear Beckett is going to kill Hudson.

A third figure comes in, and I hear the fight being broken up. The stranger comes up to me next—my neighbor, speaking to me in English and French—but I can only stare back. I’m shaking, trying to bring everything into focus.

“Doctor?” he asks me in French.

I shake my head. I think he talks to Beckett or threatens to call the police, but I can’t focus on anything except for the sound of Hudson. He’s crying—weeping, actually—somewhere in my apartment, and I want to throw up.

Beckett sinks down on his knees in front of me. “Fucking hell, Everly.”

I don’t want him touching me, either. He broke Hudson. We’ve both broken him, and now I’m bleeding on the kitchen floor.

Beckett gently lifts me up so I’m standing and inspects my head. He grabs a dish towel and presses it over the gash. At least, I think it’s a gash. It feels more like a hole. Or maybe that’s just me. I’m just an empty space now.

Beckett’s face is bruised and swelling up. Blood is trickling down his left eyebrow, and his knuckles are raw.

It’s too much. I duck out of his hold and stumble into the bathroom. I kick the door shut as I throw up until my stomach is empty and full of pain. All the while, I hear Hudson. He’s fallen apart, and I can’t put him back together. I can’t. I know if I try, I’ll lose myself, too.

Beckett

I’m in the queue for sushi when my mobile buzzes.
Hudson,
the text reads.

Shit.

It’s pouring outside. I slip over the cobbles in my worn trainers as I run back to her flat and take the stairs two at a time, my body alive and buzzing. Hudson is danger, and I’ve missed it. I’ve missed the threat. I crave that.

But it has nothing to do with danger. Not really. Not once I see his hand strike her face. I’m off like a shot, my fists pounding into the bastard. I can’t tell the difference between now or the past, hearing my mother’s screams as my father beat her before it was my turn. I’m not going to let that happen to Everly.

When the world finally seeps back into the focus, my knuckles are split open, and I’m gasping for air. Hudson’s knocked to the floor, crying. He’s fucking crying like we’re kids on the playground. I only wanted to protect Everly.

There’s a man with Everly. He’s threatening to call the police, but I wave him off. He can call the fucking Armée de Terre, I don’t care. He storms out, and I’m left with her bleeding in my arms again.

I try to soothe her, but she’s too upset. Everly shoves me away to go hide in the bathroom. I hear her throw up, over and over, as Hudson is crying on the floor.

Fuck.

I walk out into the hallway and sink down, staring up at the ceiling like there’s going to be a fluorescent sign buzzing overhead, bright letters flickering:
La réalité n’existe pas.
I hear a faint buzz, like the dreamed-up words are inching their way into my life, sinking deep into my bones. Until they are my reality. Until some of this makes sense.

She catches me walking back through the door. She rubs at her mouth like she’s erasing away the memory of my kiss, the cold look of disgust filling her eyes. Everly throws off my hand when I touch her. Maybe if I explain, maybe if…

She creeps closer to Hudson, who’s still lying over the broken coffee table, covering her precious stack of maps. They’re ripped now, covered in wet footprints and blood.

“Hudson,” she asks. “Are you okay?”

I don’t want him touching her again, so I edge nearer to them both.

His eyes stare up at the ceiling, flat and bloodshot. “No more.” His words are quiet and hard. It looks like his lips never parted.

“No more what?” Everly asks. She rests on her knees, her hand hovering above his head.

His eyes fill with a flash of life, staring me down. His hand reaches for Everly and I tense again, but he lays it over her cheek, all soft-like. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

He drops his hand and gets up, still staring at me, his eyes empty. He shuffles to the door, but I can’t move until I hear Everly crying. I reach down and haul her up next to me, pulling her close. Blood and tears cover my T-shirt now, the two of us shaking together.

Hudson freezes as he’s about to close the door behind him. He stands awkwardly for a moment. “I loved you.”

Then he’s gone.

It’s quiet as the door shuts, and there’s no air. It’s a million fucking degrees, and I have no idea what to do. Part of me wants to chase him down and knock him out, and the other half wants to pack Everly up and take off for my aunt’s place before it’s too late. It’s changing. All of it. I can feel it slipping away faster than I can grab everything and put it back in order.

Everly slumps against me. I hook my arms under her knees and carry her to the couch. She’s shaking, but I try to calm her down and check out her head. I still can’t find where she’s bleeding from.

I lift my shirt to wipe some of the blood away. Always my shirt. I bite back the nervous joke and decide I need to find another towel to clean her up. There’s a large gash over the crown of her head, but it looks more superficial than the one from her fall at my flat.

“At least you don’t need stitches.”

She nods, but she won’t look me in the eye. I realize then she’s not coming with me. It all swells up inside me and bursts—the fear, the panic.

Shit.

I march into the kitchen and get a glass of water, then dig through the bare cupboards for some aspirin. There isn’t any. There’s nothing in her kitchen. She’s been surviving in a filthy box, living off cigarettes and booze all spring. That only frustrates me more as I yank open the medicine cabinet. It’s filled solid with prescriptions, some not even made out to her. I toss them over my shoulder, a few bursting open as they collide with the floor. I should flush them all. The cabinet is all but cleared when I finally happen upon a bottle of aspirin. I tear off its cover and pour a few out into my palm.

La réalité n’existe pas.

“Take these.” I hold my hand out, waiting for her to do something, then wave it again when she doesn’t move. Finally, she accepts them and swallows a few, spilling water over herself.

I step away and pace by the balcony door until I can’t stand it anymore and wrench it open. The rain sprays into the room. At least the air is cool, even if it doesn’t help.

A person can only take so much before it wears them down. I can’t lose her, but she’s there on the couch, looking at me as if she hates me. I might as well be back at work, chasing down impossible leads and getting shot at.

“You don’t have any ice, and you really should put some on that before it swells up,” I say. Her eyes are vacant when she peeks up at me. I had her smiling earlier, teasing and full of laughs, and now she’s broken and bleeding, lost in that hole she falls into. I don’t know if I can get her back this time. “Everly?”

“I don’t want to leave.” It seems like forever until she adds, “He might come back.”

“He might, and I don’t want you here for that.”

“He’s sick, Beckett. Hudson’s sick, and he needs help.”

“Has he done that before? Hit you?”

Her “no” happens too quickly. I know it’s a lie.

I hear shattering before I realize what I’ve done. Fragmented glass blows back from the kitchen wall and scatters across the floor. I look to her and the cup I just propelled into the kitchen…fuck.

Everly remains still, her lips in a set line, unfazed by my burst of anger, and that pisses me off more. “I’m fine,” she insists quietly. “I’m more worried about him.”

I scratch the back of my neck, darting my eyes to the floor, avoiding that blank stare of hers that guts me.

“Leave, Beckett.”

There are so many bad decisions between us now. Maybe too many to sort out whatever we have. Whatever it is that we are to each other.

“Please.” She keeps her focus on her hands. “I want to be alone. I’ll be better in the morning. Have your car packed and pick me up tomorrow. I’ll be ready.”

I search for an excuse, anything to change her mind, but I settle on the truth. “You’re hurt.”

“So are you,” she shoots back.

Everly stands and grabs the maps from the floor, mumbling as she crumples them into the tight balls and tosses them on top of the shattered glass in the kitchen.

I should clean it up. I should do something to comfort her or say something to help fix this. Be there for her. But I’m an asshole and I think we’re both a little shook up over what just went down. We don’t fit together here like we did in London. We’re falling apart, and I don’t think there’s a way to stop it.

I throw my hands into the air with a shrug. “Fine, Everly.”

I walk to the door slow enough to call her bluff, waiting for her to break and say something, but she’s silent. She’s stronger than me, but I don’t care who wins and loses right now.

I spin around and stride back to her, softly kissing her on the forehead.

She melts against me with one hushed sigh. “I thought you were mad at me,” she whispers. Her hands flutter over my face. “You should clean up. You’re bleeding.”

“I wasn’t mad, not at all…” It’s hard to say, but I swallow and try again. “I was scared. For you.” I brace my hands around her face as she looks up at me, wide-eyed, the two of us realizing the enormity of what I just admitted. “Come back with me tonight. We can pack your things in the morning. I don’t want to leave you here. You’re hurt and…you can take the bed even. I’ll sleep on the couch. We don’t—”

I’m still desperate for it, for her to agree to come with me.

“I need to be alone.” She winces once she pulls away. “In the morning…” Her voice dies off as she closes her bedroom door.

She’s told me a lot of lies, but this one hurts the most. I’m left in the middle of her living room as the rain slants inside and gathers in a puddle, drop by drop.

Live and let die, right?

I race out into the downpour, ditching my car, running until I’m soaked through and miles away from where I should be heading. But I don’t care.

I don’t fucking care anymore.

Everly

I wake up the next morning to an empty bed with no word from Beckett. Or Hudson.

I have a giant lump on the back of my head, and my hair is a crusty mess of dried blood. I’m used to this though—the ugly aftermath of my recklessness. It hurts, but I don’t mind the pain much.

The balcony door is still open when I go out into the living room, and there’s a pool of water in my living room from the rain. The sad coffee table is even sadder, crushed from the fight last night. Its splintered legs stick up like the Himalayas.

A pigeon flies in and pecks around the floor, drinking from the puddle like it’s in the middle of a park. I guess I do live in a zoo.

I wave my arms for it to leave, but it carries on ignoring me with another coo. Apparently only the male half of the human population will pay attention to me. Most of the time, anyway.

As if I need another reminder of last night, a shard of glass pierces the bottom of my foot, and I hop into the bathroom, frowning once I notice the medicine cabinet has been raided. I limp into the shower and pry out the jagged piece, watching the crimson spiral down the drain.

Part of me wants to stay in bed for the day. I can hide under the covers and pretend to be someone else. Anyone else. Anyone other than me, stuck in Paris again—left broken, my heart confused.

I don’t like this feeling, what Beckett does to me, how I feel like I’m the realest version of myself after our trip to London. It’s funny, but for so long, I wanted to feel something. That’s why I led Hudson back to my apartment back in April. That’s what started this whole mess. I wanted to feel things, but now that I do, I think it’s easier to shut everything out.

I’m fine.

I am going to get out of this city and spend the summer with Beckett. And if it turns out we have something, then we’ll figure it out together. And if not, I’ll find another place to go—a new job, a new life. I can be reborn until I find the one version of my life that I like.