Page 2 of Everything After

The line is silent; only the sound of his bike comes through the line. “You still there?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I whisper.

“Good.”

Time passes slowly, and I expect to hear Anthony’s car approach. When I hear the rumble of his bike off in the distance, relief washes over me. But I can’t be too sure yet.

“Is that you?” I ask quietly.

“Almost there,” he confirms.

I pull myself up and peek around the building to see Beckett’s bike screaming down the road. I am preparing to ride again for the first time in more than seven years. When he gets closer, I step out and end the call so I can shove my phone into my bag and throw it on.

Beckett tears into the parking lot and reaches behind him to grab the helmet he brought with him. I know the drill, so I grab it and shove it onto my head before quickly climbing onto the back and wrapping my arms tightly around his waist. He pats my arm as a silent way to communicate to me that he’s got me before taking off.

I stay pressed to him and relax as we glide through the corners. I keep expecting headlights to show up behind us, but they don’t. The ride is much longer than it took him to get to me, showing just how fast he was traveling when he got my call.

When he pulls into a gravel driveway, he slows down to a crawl as we approach a house. I don’t recognize it, but it’s been so long since I’ve been in Pinecrest.

The bike shuts off, but I don’t let go of him right away. I am too afraid to face the world right now. Beckett gently rubs my arm, letting me take my time. Eventually, I climb off the bike, and he follows suit.

He pulls his helmet off and sets it down. He’s a rugged man with a full beard, neatly trimmed short. His dark brown hair is short, but not buzzed. He’s just as bulky as he was seven years ago, but somehow has managed to become even more tattooed. He’s stunning.

“Can I?” he asks. I nod, and he carefully takes my helmet off. My reddish-brown curly hair is tangled from where Anthony was gripping it as he dragged me through the house. My scalp is still tender, too. I tasted blood after he hit me in the face, so I’m sure that amounted to at least a bloody lip and a bruised cheek. I have handprint bruising around my throat and it still feels like he is trying to deprive me of oxygen.

“I’m sorry I called so late,” I whisper, dropping my head. Beckett gently pulls my face up and cups my cheek.

“Let’s get you in the shower, hmm?” he suggests softly.

“I won’t be in your way. I just need to lay low for a while and…”

“Shower. Sleep. Everything after,” he says. “Let’s go inside.”

Beckett leads me into his home, setting our helmets on the table by the door. The minimal decor tells me his style hasn’t changed a bit. He is a simple man.

As we get to the back bedroom, he goes to the closet to find a T-shirt before walking into his bathroom and turning the shower on.

“Take your time. Once you are dressed, you can get some sleep. We can go see your folks in the morning,” he tells me.

“Okay,” I whisper.

“Look at me, Sia,” he says, lifting my chin again. “You are safe here. Okay?”

“I know.”

“Good. Shower. You smell like dirt and sadness,” he says, making me smile a little.

Beckett steps out of the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. Alone should feel nice, but I’ve been so alone for so long that it's suffocating. I am gasping for air before I even realize that I’m panicking. Beckett opens the door and just hugs me. He doesn’t say a word.

After a while, he pulls back and holds my face. “How can I help?”

“I don’t want to be alone, but… can you stay close?”

“How about I keep the bathroom door open, and I can sit on the bed and watch TV,” he suggests. “When you get done, you can come lay with me, and we can find a movie to turn on.”

“Okay,” I say quietly.

“Go on. I’ll be right here, Sierra,” he says.