The Second Life of Everly Beck: The Tethered Soul Series Book 2

by Laura C. Reden

“What if I told you, that . . . when I walk out on this bridge, I get memories, too?”

  Beck’s arms slowly dropped to her side and her eyes slanted in pain. Her face was soaked with sympathy and stained with fury.

  “What if I told you that . . . I know why you’re afraid of the water?” A small sound came burbling from Beck’s throat, and she cupped both her hands over her mouth. “What if I told you, that you are my . . . home? And that I’ve loved you since before you moved in next door.” I shrugged.

  I didn’t know what else to tell her, but it sure as hell would not be that we were already married! Not yet anyway—not while she was a flight risk. Home. The word stuck in my head. It wasn’t the perfect choice, yet it was the closest thing to it. And somehow, it held more meaning than love. The word used by every other person in this world with a crush or infatuation. But none of them had survived death for their loved one. We had something unique, and it didn’t have a title.

  Beck swiped a tear that fell from her eye, and she peered back at the bridge behind me. She pointed down at the large arch but couldn’t choke out what she wanted to.

  “You remember, don’t you? Some of it, at least?” I asked. Beck’s head shook up and down. Demanding. “I can fill in the blanks, Beck. If you let me,” I pled. Closing the distance between us, I placed my hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged away. She’d turned to stone. Sharp as an arrow. And I was her target.

  “I only have one question. Who. Are. Those people?” Beck’s pointer finger shot out like a cannon and exploded into a plume of accusation and betrayal.

  I looked down the bridge, fearful of who I might see, then grabbed my chest and sighed when nobody was there except the gentle spring breeze. “Which people?”

  “Those people, Easton! The ones that had this entire bridge dedicated to them! Who are they!? Because one of them is you . . . and I don’t know the other!” Beck yelled, her voice splintering into past and present lives.

  I was so worried for Beck, I’d forgotten all about my name being on the plaque. I rubbed my eyes, shaking my head at the impossible situation that I’d found myself in. “OK, you want to know the truth?” My voice had risen to match hers. It wasn’t the time to lose myself, but I was exploding with repressed emotions, and her tone was taunting me. “Those people, Beck! Those people who died on this bridge twenty-one years ago . . . They’re us!” I threw my hand down, driving my point home. Home. I watched as Beck became unglued. Large tears streamed down her face, and her pale complexion was now red in the heat of the battle.

  My heart pounded in my chest, and I could hear the blood pumping between my ears. I regretted yelling at her and needed to show her how sorry I was. That I’d be there for her. I reached out for her as she stepped back. Her body was trembling.

  “No! Don’t touch me!” Beck’s eyes laced with the fear of the unknown. “You. You’re the crazy one!” Beck took one more slow step back.

  “Beck, don’t do this,” I pled.

  “You’re crazy!” Beck screeched, fleeing to her truck. She started her ignition as I tried to open the passenger’s side door, but by the time the door was half open she’d hit the gas and sped off, nearly taking my arm with her. I stumbled, trying to catch my footing as I jogged into the middle of the bridge with my arms reached out wide.

  “Beck! Come on! Fuck!” I spun on my heels as a car horn sounded too close for comfort. And this time . . . this time, it was Beck’s dad.

  I leaped out of the way, and for a split second, he and I locked eyes. “Damn it!” I said to myself, tilting my head up to the blue sky, my hands square on my hips.

  I took to the edge of the New River Bridge, thinking of the day I almost jumped. My heart had filled with sorrow as the rain pelted down on me. I’d lost everyone I’d ever loved. And worse, I had stopped letting them in. I had locked my heart up so tight, I couldn’t breathe. I’d been mourning for hundreds of years but somehow still found a way to hurt myself worse. I’d been suffocating, and as I stood on the bridge’s rail, I knew that it could all be gone in a moment’s time. My pain erased. And for a few short years, I would forget all the agony I’d brought onto myself. And in that moment, I had committed to starting over.

  That was, until Beck had pulled over. Her green eyes had shone even in the storm’s wrath, her life burning bright as the end neared. I took pity on her at first, but quickly felt my heart beating again. I hadn’t felt that alive in centuries, and I had no idea what it was. Not until she tried to distance herself from me had I realized that my heart was opening to her. And as I’d taken her in, all the pain from lives lost simply fell into place. Like the ebb and flow of an ocean’s current—lives lived, lives lost, lives journeyed onward. And somehow, Beck’s love had showed me how to accept it all. She’d thought she needed me because she was dying. But really, I needed her, because I was living and I didn’t know how.

  Chapter 18

  Stranded with nothing more than my toxic stream of conscious worry, I walked toward the new house. At some point, I’d call for a taxi, but for now, it was probably best for me to walk off some steam. It wasn’t the first time Beck and I had fought, but it was the first time she’d found out her life was a lie. All of it. Every single thing she knew to be true, shattered in a moment’s time. I didn’t try to convince myself that I understood. Instead, I took out my phone and texted her to come back. I begged her to turn around and talk to me. Five text messages later, and she hadn’t replied. Not even burbling dots, a sign of an attempt. Three phone calls later and she had turned off her phone altogether.

  I walked a couple of miles before calling for a ride, but it still wasn’t enough to clear my mind. And I imagined no amount of miles would cure what had manifested in my heart, soul, and gut. As if the day couldn’t get any worse, the taxi dropped me off at the house that had been left to air out. I hadn’t even gotten my mattress.

  Later that night, I was fortunate enough to find a dead raccoon tucked behind my refrigerator. It was a monstrous pile of fur decomposing in the tight space. Tiny worms slurped through the open holes in its flesh. The sight was enough to make someone sick, and I had a long debate in my head over which was worse: the sight or smell. After the debate was settled—it was the smell—I used all of my trash bags as gloves. The better option was the purple gardening gloves, but I still wanted to keep those for Beck, in case she returned. When she returned. I scooped up the rotting raccoon and ran him to the nearest outside trashcan. As for the juices left behind, I’d have to wait until I bought bleach and rags from the store the following day.

  I skipped dinner. I’d like to say it was because of a broken heart, but truthfully, it was a combination of the hollow feeling inside my heart and the worms that took my appetite away. I’d nearly thrown up three times when taking the body out. It wasn’t a strength of mine. No matter how many awful things I’d seen in my time, my stomach never grew stronger. Nor did my gag reflex, which matched that of a teenage girl. The smell had improved greatly with the removal of the raccoon, and I left the windows open to vent the house that night. When the sky grew dark and the air chilly, I retreated to my car. It would be a miserable night without sleep, but I couldn’t bring myself to crawl back to the hotel when I had just bought a house. Maybe it was the stubborn part of me, but I’d sleep in my car for a week if I had to. It wouldn’t be the first time, and I was sure it wouldn’t be the last.

  Bundled in two jackets, I used a pair of rolled-up jeans as a pillow. At some point in the night, I fell asleep despite the cold and discomfort. I woke frequently to unknown noises and nightmares centered upon the New River Bridge. It was Beck and I drowning again in a trapped car and her eyes watching me painfully. It was my death in 1727 when I was trapped in a burning house. Smoke filled my lungs as the heat encapsulated me. It was World War I when a bullet pierced my chest. Blood drained slowly until my limbs ran cold and I no longer feared what lay ahead. It was my first life . . . when I died as a child at the hands of my father. Beck watched them a
ll while I lived every death, back-to-back. I’d never felt so exposed—not in my unconscious or waking hours. I had a lot of history to unpack, and the look in her eyes reminded me that I was not normal. Nor would I ever come to be.

  I tried to sleep after waking in a puddle of my own sweat, but after the nightmare, I lay across my back seat, forcing shut my eyelids and racing mind. Losing Beck would be worse than all my deaths put together. Would she still want me now that the truth had been exposed? I didn’t know how much of it was within my control, but if she had become a Tethered Soul because of her bond to me, I’d have to believe that she wouldn’t walk away. At least, not in every lifetime.

  Since I couldn’t fall back to sleep, I was up before sunrise. It was one of the most beautiful views our earth offered, yet so many rarely saw it because it was easier to stay nestled in the warmth of blankets. Today, not only did I want to see the sunrise, but I needed it. Watching the morning unfold, my existence was a fresh slate, which made the necessity to move forward with Beck all the clearer. And if I was being honest, my house could use a couple of extra hours airing out.

  I started my car and cranked on the heat before making my way to a nearby gas station. It was there that I got not one but two coffees. The gas station clerk sympathized with me and the dark gaunt rings framing my eyes. She told me I should go back to bed, and whatever I had planned for the day could wait a few extra hours. I smiled warmly, but I knew that there was no hiding from my problems—the same way that Beck couldn’t hide from hers. They’d be there, life after life, always waiting. And while the extra sleep would sure be nice to rid the fire from my eyes, it wouldn’t make my day any easier.

  I double-fisted my coffees to the car and started up the mountain. There were many spots with spectacular views and places large enough to park a couple of cars side by side. I pulled into the very first one I came upon as the sky lightened. I checked my phone again, but there were no messages from Beck.

  I wondered if I should go to the college and continue my charades of being a student or if I should give her the space and truth that she deserved. Personally, I wanted to track her down, spew the truth out all over her and give her no other choice but to absorb it. If she was going to leave me, it better be that she knew the truth and still chose a different path. I wasn’t OK, however, with her leaving me under any misconceptions of who I was or what had happened. Still, I knew what I should do. Respect her space. Give her time to compartmentalize. Allow her to come back to me all on her own.

  The sun released its brightly burning rays from the horizon and I watched with a sorrow-filled heart. They say it’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. And as I watched the full strength and beauty of the sun emerge that morning, I agreed. Heartbreak was worth it. Sure, my life would go on in endless despair for centuries to come, but I was better for knowing her.

  I wasn’t surprised to see an unknown vehicle sitting in my driveway when I pulled up to my house, even though I had invited no one. Before I could park my car, I saw Brooklyn, with her long, dark-chocolate locks, emerge from the vehicle. She slammed her door and crossed her arms at her chest. I didn’t know what was coming, but I could make an educated guess.

  “Good morning, Brooklyn. I see you found my house,” I said.

  “Easton, I don’t know what the hell you have done to Becca, but you’ve really thrown a wrench in my plan,” Brooklyn snapped.

  “Your plan?”

  “I basically had her feeding out of your hand! And this is how you repay me? Could you have . . . less game?”

  I’d never seen this side of sweet Brooklyn, but I never doubted it existed. “What are you talking about?” I grabbed my bag of bleach and rags from my trunk and walked up to my house. Brooklyn was quick on my heels.

  “You said she was your soulmate! I’ve been doing everything in my power to match you two up. And then you unravel it in one afternoon! She never wants to see you again, and what’s worse than that? She went running to Nolan last night!” Brooklyn shut the door behind us and her nose wrinkled when the air hit her nostrils.

  “Nolan!”

  “Yes!”

  “Well, why did you let that happen?” I said.

  “Me?” Brooklyn’s jaw dropped.

  “I’m sorry. You’re right, I know. I’m sorry,” I said. Placing the bag on the counter, I mindlessly pulled out my cleaning supplies while I told myself I deserved this. A long stint of silence spanned between us. “I’m sorry, why are you here?” I asked, suddenly confused.

  “You sure do have a lot to learn, you know that?” Brooklyn scowled.

  I threw the rags down on top of the plastic grocery bag and gave her my full attention. Whatever she came here to say, she’d better say it before I shut the door on her. I was in no mood, and she didn’t know what she was talking about.

  “And I suppose you’ve got it all figured out?” I asked.

  “Well, a lot more than you have. I mean, what have you been doing all of this time, anyway?”

  I looked around the house and turned up my palms. “I bought a house. And I took a decomposing dinosaur to the trash last night with my bare hands. I bought a bed. What have you been doing?” My brows knitted together. My fondness for Brooklyn was fading.

  “Oh my god.” Brooklyn’s face displayed a mixture of confusion and amusement, but mostly it was the amusement that twinkled in her warm honey eyes. “You don’t know?” she asked, though it was more of a statement.

  I looked her up and down, from head to toe and back again. What was she hiding from me? I let out a slow, measured breath and then asked. “Know what?” in a tone that was sharper than I intended.

  Two car doors slammed shut, and I knew that my bed had arrived at the worst possible time. “Know what, Brooklyn?”

  Her eyes flicked to the front door as a loud knock rapped against it. For a second, I stilled, giving her the opportunity to explain, but when she didn’t speak up, I went to open the door.

  “Hello. I have a setup today for Easton Green.”

  “Yes, that’s me.”

  “Sign right here.” I signed the paperwork against the door and handed it back to the man wearing blue coveralls. “If you show us where you would like it set up, we can get started.”

  “Absolutely. Right this way.”

  The men came in, carrying several large boxes. I shot a look to Brooklyn, begging her to wait, but when I returned, she was already gone.

  It was nearly three days before Beck showed up at my front door. And when I realized she’d come back to me, I had the distinct feeling that Brooklyn was partially to thank. Beck stood with a bag of hot food and a can of deodorizer spray in hand. We stared at each other, sizing one another up in silence. So much tension passed between us, but I still wasn’t sure where she stood. From what I could tell, she was here to say her goodbyes, and for that, I wasn’t ready. “You’re early. I wasn’t expecting you for a week, or two.”

  Beck rolled her eyes. “You weren’t at school . . .”

  It was as good of a time as any to flush out my lies. “I don’t attend Norton University, so there was no point in going to school if you didn’t want to talk to me.”

  Beck’s eyes lifted as she took it in. I could see her wheels turning. She was questioning other things I had told her. I ran my hand over my jaw and looked down at her shoes. Her feet twisted in trepidation.

  “Look, I’m sorry I left you on the side of the road. It was kind of an asshole move.”

  “It was,” I agreed.

  “I feel like . . . I should run wildly in the opposite direction from you. But what can I say? You have this weird piece of me. You always have.”

  “We belong together, Beck. Don’t run from me. Stay.” I encouraged her.

  “Well, I wouldn’t have come with dinner for two if I was going to apologize and leave. Can I come in?” she asked.

  “Oh, yeah, come in.” I held the door open and resisted running my hand down her back as she pa
ssed by me.

  “It’s . . . surprisingly better.” Beck shrugged. “But I think I should still spray this.” She gave her can a little shake.

  “Yeah, go ahead.”

  Beck walked around the house spraying an obscene amount of deodorizer into the air while I sorted out the bag of food she had brought over. I didn’t have the heart to tell her I’d already eaten. “I can’t believe mildew smells that bad!” Beck muttered.

  “I think I’ve gotten used to it. I barely smell it anymore. But let’s take the food outside,” I said. There was a small stone bench in the backyard we could eat our dinner on. Beck nearly emptied the can in the kitchen air before joining me outside.

  “I’m actually a little surprised you came back. I mean, I knew you would at some point, but I wasn’t entirely sure how long you would make me wait,” I said.

  “I didn’t want to come back here,” Beck said.

  My jaw tightened, and my stomach dipped, “You didn’t?”

  “As you could probably imagine, I have a lot of negative emotions associated with you. It’s no cakewalk to look at your face and wonder if something was real or a nightmare.” Beck’s hair fell in front of her face, and she tucked it behind her ear.

  I nodded, hating the way my very face brought her pain. “Then why are you here?”

  “I have . . . so many questions. I have questions so loud I can see them when I close my eyes. I have so many questions that I’m physically sick. My stomach is knotted, and my is head pounding. And if I have to go through one more night like I had for the last few nights, I might as well drown myself all over again!” My gut wrenched. Beck swallowed hard and looked down at her lap as she placed one soft hand over her mouth. Then, timidly, she turned to me. “That is what happened, right? We drowned?”

  I re-wrapped my taco and placed it back in the bag. There was no way I could eat my way through this conversation. “What exactly do you remember?” It was as good as any place to start.