He waves at me, and I wave back, getting a sleepy smile from his mom, too.

  When the doors chime open, the kid bolts, running for the door in a mad dash so that his mom has to scramble to catch up to him.

  “Matthew MacLaine, why are you running!?” she yells, the empty lobby tossing back her voice in echoes and echoes. I stand, stock-still, waiting to see if the kid’s going to make a break for the street, my muscles already tensing if I need to make a bolt for it and stop him from getting out.

  “Matty?” I call, and the kid whips his head towards me, a grin on his face, head tilted as if inviting me to play a game. “Oh, you’re Matty.” I wave my hands again, and Sera? Yeah, Sera looks at me. I’ve finally connected the dots.

  “Ah, shit, little Elena! Sorry, it’s morning. You—” She jabs her pointer finger in the air towards Matty, flips it over and crooks it nice and slow, reeling the kid in. “Over here now. This is Aunt Katie’s cousin, Elena.”

  “Oh! You go to my school!” Matty says, practically skipping over to us, his shoelaces coming untied, and it’s automatic for me to stoop down and tie them for him, like I do with all my kids.

  “I think you go to my school,” I say, grinning up at him. “What grade are you in now?”

  Matty punches the air with four fingers held up, and Sera laughs at him. “Wow, fourth grade. Fourth grade was the best,” I say, but Matty just shakes his head.

  “Sorry, Elena, I’ve gotta take him to school and I’m already running late. You know how it is. I’ll call Katie and we’ll hang out soon, okay?” Sera says it like it’s a foregone conclusion instead of something that we’ll all scramble to get down on our calendars. She smiles, her teeth showing, eyes closing with it, and there’s a burst of happiness in my chest for her.

  I hardly know her story. Katie’s been tight-lipped all these years. It’s wild that Sera’s here, living in my building with her kid and the guy she’s living with, too.

  Our worlds are converging with a few collisions in between.

  I don’t know all of Sera’s story, but what I do know sounds too familiar—abusive parents, getting away from them and then somehow finding Matty and the guy she’s with.

  Changes happen all of the time, whether you’re apparently ready for them or not.

  Look at Sera. Hell, look at Cousin Katie.

  If life can change so drastically for them, surely it can for me, too.

  It definitely could, if I just let it.

  After school’s wrapped up for the day, I drive over to Beckett’s condo building the cookies a total hit, the kind that has limited parking spaces for visitors, but I’m able to swing in my little VW Golf in one and get buzzed inside and head up to Beckett’s unit on the sixth floor.

  When I knock on his front door after exiting the elevator, I’m not expecting him to be wearing his infamous Bruins jersey. My mind searches through the Habs game schedule that’s always in my noggin, or in my calendar app, but the Habs aren’t playing tonight. So it’s just the Bruins playing some other opponent that I don’t really care about right now.

  Beckett looks...he looks cozy and comfortable and it’s doing things to me, the way he looks so approachable and attainable. I’m affected even confronted by sweats and that stupid jersey. He’s not even naked, not showing even a sliver of skin. He’s standing in sweatpants, and a t-shirt (I’m guessing) with a frayed collar around his throat, and the jersey hanging off his frame, and still...he looks great.

  “Hi,” Beckett says, opening the door wider for me and I take a step inside. “Come on in. I’ve ordered us pizza and it should be here soon.” Beckett leans down slowly and kisses my cheek, then when I give him the nod, he leans close and presses a kiss to my lips, just a quick hello, before pulling back and smiling at me.

  “How was school today?”

  I grin back at him, toeing off my shoes and moving inside, I place the beer I know that Beckett likes on the kitchen counter until my coat’s being taken from me and my purse is being set aside. After the beer is secured on the counter, I turn to look at him, arms raised.

  He smiles gently and moves to pull me into his arms, giving me a hug to end all hugs, the kind that makes me sigh, lets me sag a little into his hold, trusting him to keep me from falling.

  When did we get here, when did I get to this place, being comfortable with him when he used to be nothing but a stranger and now he’s holding me upright like he always will?

  When did that happen?

  “That bad, huh?” He laughs as he lets me sag a little against him. “I thought the whole point of graduating school was never to go back,” he says, voice rumbling underneath my ear, the entire side of my face pressed against his chest. He starts rocking us a little from side to side and before I know it, he’s spinning us in a slow circle, like a planet orbiting the sun.

  I snort out a laugh. “Yeah, yeah. Zoe’s doing great, you know. Really great.”

  I feel Beckett nod against my head, pressing his cheek there, my heart twisting and turning in my chest, like it somehow wants to get closer to his.

  Not now, don’t do this now, not when I’m really starting to trust this.

  Don’t fall too fast, not again, Elena. Haven’t you already learned your lesson?

  Emotions and feelings are the worst.

  I pull back a little from Beckett’s embrace, and he drops his arms away from my body, even if it’s not what I want.

  We’ve explored some of my physical boundaries to an extent that he’s been telegraphing every single move towards me, every single touch slow and measured, giving me ample enough time to say anything, to move away if I can’t give verbal confirmation for some reason.

  It hurts just as much as I think it’s sweet, and it’s exactly what I need.

  Wouldn’t Beckett be happier with someone who isn’t as skittish as I am, who didn’t go through what I did?

  Why am I letting what Frankie did (what was his fault and never was my fault) affect this, too? Am I always going to do this, give that asshole that much power over me, and surrender to the fear?

  Beckett’s phone rings, an actual ringer and not a vibrating buzz, which startles me a little before he gives me a sheepish grin and presses the phone to his ear. “Yeah, come on up.” He glances at me, taking a step back, tilting his head at me, inquisitive, playful. “Food’s here.”

  “Wait, wait,” I say, making a break for it towards my purse, intent on paying this time around (I’ve been getting practically free hockey games, I have to do something to pay him back), but Beckett’s already at the door, closing it behind him, and when I make a grab for the doorknob, it won’t twist so I can open the door. Damn him and his insane grip-strength.

  Beckett comes back inside with a box of pizza, big enough that I worry at the monster-sized pieces and how many I’m actually going to eat, before I shove that thought away. Beckett doesn’t care how much I eat, or how much I don’t eat. He’s not concerned with any of that, only that my hunger’s satisfied. I know that, I do.

  So why am I worrying at my bottom lip and hunching my shoulders inwards?

  I straighten out, pull in a deep, deep breath through my nose, concentrating on breathing slow and steady.

  “I’m going to use the bathroom,” I say, and Beckett nods, those whiskey eyes tracking my every move, like he can see right through me. Would that be so bad, though, showing him all those ugly parts of me that I carry around each day, that I hide with my black outfits and my over-the-top makeup when I can get away with it?

  Would it be so bad?

  If I think about it, my ugly parts are kinda the reason why Frankie was a dick to me, used those parts to make it out to be my fault for whatever reason when I couldn’t figure out what he wanted from me, when it wasn’t, it wasn’t my fault.

  I glance at my reflection, surprised to find my face looking a little strained, but not buckling under the barrage of negative thoughts that are threatening to swallow me whole. I opt for turning the faucet on, letting cold, cold water cool my fingertips then place them at the back of my neck, the shock reminding me that I’m more than just my thoughts, that I have a body, too.

  A body that’s hungry and would really like to hang out with her boyfriend.

  I pull in another deep breath, closing the faucet, and then step back out into his living room. The pizza Beckett bought is sitting in the middle of his coffee table, the box wide open. He’s sitting on the floor, wiggling in place as his eyes are glued to the screen, the countdown for the game to start running down all the way from five to one, and then it’s off, the drop of the puck loud in his living room.

  I watch him for a second, the doubt clouding my mind, my senses, wanting him to look at me but afraid to just ask.

  I was always afraid to ask for what I wanted.

  I don’t want to be that person anymore.

  I move to sit down beside him, watching him more and more rather than watching the actual game. It looks like it’s my turn to watch him being completely entranced by what’s going on the TV, how Boston is playing, hardly focusing on eating, on drinking the glass of water he’s prepared for me, with ice, because that’s just the way I like it.

  Dating Frankie was never like this—he didn’t notice things about me unless he wanted his way, wanted to manipulate me in some way or to his line of thinking.

  Why was I so stupid? Why did I let myself stay in that kind of situation?

  Because everyone around you (except for Katie) was telling you it was for your own good, that this is how it was gonna be...

  There’s a commercial break, and Beckett glances over to me, his eyes glazed until I see him fading back into the present moment, almost like a scene of a movie, becoming present in the here and now.

  “Oh. Hi,” he says, blinking at me like he’s just realized that I am, in fact, sitting next to him.

  “Hi, Beckett,” I say, tilting my head at him, moving close enough to hand him a napkin.

  “Ah, shit, really? I got cheese in my beard?”

  I laugh, leaning in close enough to kiss his cheek, his beard soft against my skin. “Just a little. What’s a little extra cheese in your life?”

  Beckett sighs, dabbing at his face with the linen napkins he’s pulled out, and glances over to me, eyes searching. “Everything all right?”

  I nod, slowly, deciding to let him in, just a little. “I’m a little jittery,” I tell him. “Nervous.”

  Beckett blinks and stops wiping at his beard, stuck in the middle of the movement. “Because of me?”

  I shake my head. “Not entirely because of you. I just...I’m nervous being here.”

  Beckett’s eyebrows furrow. “Because of me, right? Elena, I’m not going to pressure you into doing anything you don’t want. I’m not going to do that. Do you even believe me?”

  It takes me a second too long to answer, and his shoulder tense up, his entire body hunching into the space he’s created for himself on the carpet, like he’s pulling in all his cells and atoms and molecules moving them away from me.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I mumble, sensing the worry rising. Why am I messing this up?

  “No, I don’t want you to apologize,” he says, eyes practically blazing, and my throat flares with pain even as it tightens up. “There’s nothing to apologize for, baby, nothing.”

  “Things would be easier if we weren’t dating, huh?” I say what’s been on my mind finally, for once. He could find someone else, but they wouldn’t be me.

  “Please don’t say that, please don’t. I want you here, I promise I do.”

  “You sure about that? You could have anyone you want, you know.”

  Beckett shakes his head. “But I don’t want anyone else, I want you. I want to be right next to you. I do.”

  “Beckett,” I sigh, and I don’t know what to say, what to tell him that’ll make this better.

  “I’m not going to pressure you into anything. Not once, not ever.”

  “People say things like that all the time,” I say, wanting to make a run for it but making sure I stay planted next to him. “And tons of people don’t mean what they say.”

  “Have I ever given you the idea that I would be that type of person? Have I ever lied to you?” Beckett asks, the game resuming, but he doesn’t look away from me. Right now, I’m the most important thing in the room and he’s looking directly at me.

  Not that I ever caught you in a lie...

  Shit.

  I shrug. “I’m sorry, I’m feeling off today.”

  “Do you want to take a nap? We don’t have to watch the game,” he says, fumbling for the remote, as if he’s going to turn the TV off, when his beloved Bruins are playing.

  “But the game...”

  “Screw the game. You’re not feeling good, so let me know if I can do anything to help. The bed’s made, and I have extra blankets if you don’t want to sleep underneath the covers. Or you can sleep here, and I can connect my headphones wirelessly to the TV and watch the game. Whatever you want. If you want a door between us, then you can take my bedroom, or Zoe’s room, whatever you want. Just...whatever you want, Elena.”

  My heart flip-flops and plummets only to rocket back up and lodge at the base of my throat, making me faintly nauseous.

  What would have happened if I met Beckett first, if I knew what it was to be taken care of, to take care of him, to want to take care of him that it didn’t feel like a necessity.

  What could have happened? Would I actually be married to a man who loves and respects me?

  “You can watch without headphones, I don’t mind. Can I sleep here, though? The couch is super comfortable.” I pat the cushions for emphasis, and he just nods quickly, getting to his feet and sliding on his socked feet to the linen closet.

  He pulls out three fleece blankets that make me want to drool at the sight of them, and he brings them over to me, like a ring boy walking down the aisle of a church, holding out the blankets with stiff arms, hardly bending at the elbow, presenting them for appraisal and approval.

  My heart warms through at the sight, and I feel the tension easing out of me as I climb back up on the couch, lie down in the middle of it facing the screen, and Beckett takes his seat in front of me, his body bisecting the couch right down the middle, again, keeping guard as I cocoon myself with blankets. I’ve got one for my legs, one for my top half that I wear like a cape, and settle down, using one of the throw pillows to elevate my head, and watch the game from this new vantage point.

  Beckett turns around, twisting hard enough that I think he’s going to pull something so he can look at me. “Comfy?” he asks, and I nod. “Good. I’m glad. I’m here if you need anything.”

  “Beckett?” I call when he starts to turn around and my voice seems to freeze him in place.

  “Yeah?”

  “I want you to know that I appreciate all this, you, treating me this way. I appreciate it a lot, that you’re letting me set the pace.”

  Beckett nods, holding up his hand so I can place mine in his hold as he cradles my palm in both of his. “I want you to feel safe with me, always.”

  I nod and bite at my bottom lip so my chin doesn’t start to quiver and shake. “Thank you.”

  “Of course, Elena. Let me know if you need anything.”

  I shouldn’t be falling asleep with how trembly I’ve been feeling all day, excited and nervous and then excited again all day long, my brain at war with my body for most of the day so I was distracted throughout class more than once.

  Now? Now I’m just tired, just exhausted that the warmth of the fleece blankets is seeping into my muscles and bones, making my legs heavy, dragging me down into the couch cushions, heaving out a heavy breath, blinking slowly at the screen.

  It doesn’t take long for me to fall asleep to the lowered volume of the TV, my body almost curled around Beckett’s broad back, my heart skipping beats, even as my breathing evens out, and my eyes drift closed, still semi-aware of what’s happening. I can still make out the unintelligible yells of the commentators on the TV, and Beckett shushing them as if they can hear him, making me snuggle my face into the cover of the blankets so I can stop myself from grinning.

  What would have happened if I met Beckett first, if he taught me what it was like to love and be loved in return?

  What would have happened? Why did I have to wait so long for him to come into my life when I never felt so broken before?

  And what am I going to do about it, now that he’s here?

  SIXTEEN

  “Elena? Elena, the game’s over,” Beckett says, keeping his voice low, the sound of it floating to me as if I’m underwater, a little muted and a lot far away. “I’m just going to touch your shoulder, okay?”

  I grunt something unintelligible, and only when Beckett calls my name again, his hand gently rocking me do I flutter my eyes open, trying to get a blurry Beckett into focus. I shut my eyes again, turn my face into the pillow, and groan. I’m so warm right now and I don’t want to get up, I just want to sleep here forever.

  “Baby, you’re really cute when you’re sleepy, but I know you don’t really want to sleep here forever. Come on, get up for me now. I’m going to make you some coffee so you can drive home. I’d drive you home, but you need your car for school tomorrow.”

  I groan again, pulling the blankets over my head. Drive myself home? Never.

  “You’re talking out loud again.”

  I get my hand out from my blanket cocoon and give him a thumbs up, not even closing my fist properly before flopping my hand back down onto the couch.

  Beckett laughs and puts his hand at the back of my head, ruffling my hair through the blanket, which makes me thwack at him completely ineffectually, not knowing where to aim. “Come on, sit up for me, would you?”

  “I don’t actually want to,” I mumble around a yawn.

  “As much as I wouldn’t mind you sleeping over, I know you’re going to sleep better in your own bed. I know how much you love your bed.”

  I grumble, cheeks heating underneath the blanket from embarrassment just as much as from the lack of oxygen. I push down the blankets, breathe in the fresh air, and blink up at the ceiling lights, gritting my teeth at them as I blink slowly and try to get used to the brightness.