The Cost of Living (ARC)

by Emilie Lucadamo

  He hears Adam rush across the room, by Beck’s side in an instant. “Easy,” he urges, placing a hand on Beck’s shoulder. Beck jerks away and immediately regrets it. “Just breathe.”

  Beck takes a shuddering breath and winds up choking on a sob. He presses a fist to his mouth, humiliated and furious and lost.

  “Hey, stop crying. Come on.” Adam’s hands paw at his face, but Beck twists to keep him from getting too close. He hates falling apart like this. The last thing he wants is for Adam to see what a mess he is. As soon as he catches sight of his blotchy face, tears and snot making his cheeks damp, he’ll be disgusted. He’ll walk away (and he should, because Beck’s freakin’ dead) but God, Beck can’t stand the idea of him walking away.

  He doesn’t want to be alone right now. He doesn’t want Adam to leave.

  Adam just keeps prodding, no matter how much Beck tries to keep him at a distance. “Beck, come on,” he insists, running his thumbs along Beck’s cheeks. “Look at me. You’re okay. It happened, but you’re okay now. You’re alive, and everything’s gonna be fine.”

  “You don’t know that—” Beck hiccups and bites down on the rest of his words because he sounds pathetic.

  “Yes, I do.” And of course, Adam sounds assured as ever. “I know that because I know you. Maybe I don’t know you well, but I’ve seen enough that I know you won’t stop fighting until everything’s back to the way it should be. Because you’re that stubborn.” Beck gives a wheezy laugh, half a sob. “And you’re strong enough that you can do it.”

  “I can’t get my life back,” Beck rasps, shaking his head. “I died, it doesn’t—it doesn’t work like that, I’m dead—”

  His voice breaks on the last word, ending in a whimper. Beck pulls away from Adam once more and buries his face in his hands.

  “That ain’t true,” Adam says, and he almost sounds angry. “Look at yourself. You’re alive, Beck. You’re the most alive person I know.”

  “I’m not,” Beck insists, but Adam catches his wrists before he can go on. Stunned into silence, Beck doesn’t struggle as he is pulled forward and doesn’t even protest when his hands are guided away from his face.

  Adam takes Beck’s chin and guides it upwards, until he has no choice but to meet Adam’s eyes. “Look,” Adam orders, and Beck has to. “Look at me and tell me if I’m lying. You’re going to be okay.”

  There isn’t an ounce of dishonesty, no flicker of uncertainty in his gaze. The confidence Beck finds instead is overwhelming. He opens his mouth, inhaling shakily, and finds that he can’t tear his eyes away from Adam’s.

  The dark pools are steady and warm, filled with a surety Beck only wishes he could feel within himself. He wants to lose himself in them; he wants to immerse himself in that calm and drown.

  Adam still has a hold on his wrists; his thumb strokes slowly along Beck’s veins, while the hand resting beneath Beck’s chin comes up to cup his cheek. Adam’s touch is as steady as his eyes, as warm as the breath that escapes through barely parted lips.

  “Look at me,” Adam says again, and Beck can’t look away.

  He can’t speak, even if he wanted to. Adam finds his voice where Beck’s is lost. “You’re more alive than anyone I’ve ever met. You’re funny…and stubborn, and determined, and loyal, and unique. I’m amazed by you, Beck.”

  Beck takes a breath, and hardly feels it fill his lungs. At this point, the air he’s breathing is mostly Adam’s, and he is close enough to see the flecks of midnight brown in his otherwise black gaze.

  “You’re alive,” Adam whispers, and Beck feels the words against his lips.

  When Adam kisses him, he soars. It is a firework show bursting inside his chest; it is the finish line at the end of a race; it is the opening song of a rock concert; it is thrilling, it is electrifying, and it sends life pulsing through Beck’s veins. He kisses back with as much force as he can manage, fearful of hurting Adam but terrified of him pulling away.

  They move against each other’s mouths until they are compelled to part for breath. Beck pulls back, only long enough to gasp against Adam’s mouth, before he presses forward once more. Beck’s shoulders hit the headboard of Adam’s bed, but he doesn’t care—nothing else matters when the man on top of him is holding him like he never wants to let go.

  “Adam,” he whispers. “Oh God—”

  Just as suddenly as it began, Adam jerks away, out of Beck’s grip. Stunned, Beck struggles to grapple with his empty hands and burning lips. He feels naked without Adam against him. As he sits back up, brow furrowing in confusion, he finds Adam struggling to his feet.

  Beck’s jaw drops in surprise and dismay. “Wait! Sorry—do you not like people who say ‘Oh God’ while kissing? Does it weird you out? I didn’t know you were religious—I could never, ever do that again—”

  Adam scrambles backwards, away from the bed and away from Beck. He is wide-eyed. For some reason he looks horrified, and Beck has no clue why.

  “I’m sorry,” Adam spits out. “That was—inappropriate. That was wrong, I should never have done that—”

  “Adam, hey!” Beck tries reaching out, but Adam stumbles backwards towards the door. He can feel his heart sink, a heavy rock weighing down his stomach. Does Adam not like men after all? Or does he just not like Beck? Did he do something wrong?

  “I gotta—I gotta go,” Adam says, and he looks so upset that it twists Beck’s heart. “I’m sorry, Beck.”

  He sprints out of the room, slamming his door behind him. A few seconds later, Beck hears the apartment door shut as well.

  He collapses back against the pillows, a moan tearing from his throat before he can stop it. This is what whiplash feels like. Stunned and confused, Beck struggles to comprehend why Adam acted like he’d hurt him as he rushed away. The only rational explanation is that Beck must have done something wrong—but what?

  Hell if he’s going to let Adam get away without an answer. One of the things you learn coming back from the dead is how stupid it is to waste time instead of acting. Beck refuses to let Adam run away from him.

  He sprints out of the apartment and double-times it down the stairs, only to find Adam’s shop empty. He isn’t sure what he expected, but the counter unmanned and the bookstore deserted isn’t it. With no sign of Adam, Beck backtracks, shutting the door behind him and turning back to the hallway.

  Like the first time he ever saw it, the same image of old TV game shows flash into his head. There are three doors; behind one is the person Beck is searching for. If he picks the wrong one, he might not find Adam, and if he picks the right one—

  What will happen then?

  He can’t overthink it. Beck lunges towards Door Number Three and finds Adam in his magic room, sitting in the middle of the same circle he drew for Beck hours ago.

  “Adam,” he gasps, and the other man starts. Adam begins to rise to his feet, but Beck is already moving towards him. Before he can escape, Beck catches his shoulders and holds him tight, forcing him to look at him.

  “Why’d you run away?”

  He’s never seen Adam look this uncomfortable. He is shamefaced, unable to meet Beck’s eyes, and he squirms as if he’s only just restraining himself from yanking out of Beck’s grasp. “What did you want me to do, Beck?” he demands. “I kissed you.”

  “Yeah…you did.” Beck tries to bring a hand up to the side of Adam’s face, but he turns away. “And I gotta admit, Adam, I’ve wanted that to happen more than once, but that wasn’t how I imagined it would go.”

  “I shouldn’t have done it. You’re upset, you’re crying, and I just…took advantage.”

  “You didn’t!” The absurdity of the statement makes an incredulous laugh bubble up Beck’s throat. “Not at all! Adam, it’s okay.”

  “It isn’t.”

  “I wanted—” Adam looks up at him sharply, as if only registering Beck’s confession of a minute ago. Beck takes a steadying breath before he continues. “I wanted to kiss you. I wanted you to kiss me. I didn’
t…didn’t think it would happen.”

  Adam huffs incredulously. “Why not?”

  “I…didn’t think you liked me.”

  “Beck, you think I’d let someone drag their friends into my house at three in the morning if I didn’t like ’em?” Now Adam’s the one who looks amazed, in an indignant sort of way that suits him a lot better than his earlier shame. “Or do a spell for someone I don’t care about?”

  “You did a spell for me,” Beck agrees, and finds himself nodding. “You did. Because you…care about me?”

  By the look Adam gives him, it should have been obvious.

  Slowly, they sink to the ground. Adam is still in Beck’s arms, only now he isn’t pulling away. He’s pressing closer, allowing Beck to run a hand through his hair, brushing his fingers over the smooth curve of his jaw. Adam’s skin is warm, and Beck is enchanted by the smoothness he feels under his touch. “Tell me why you did the spell for me, Adam,” Beck says softly, and Adam’s eyes flutter shut.

  “I’ve got magic in my blood,” he explains, voice a low murmur that Beck has to lean in even closer to hear. “I grew up in New Orleans, in the French Quarter, where magic’s just another part of life to most folks. My grandmother was a priestess. She’d been practicing the old traditions since she was a little girl, knew more about them than anyone. She could summon, curse, heal… She was the most powerful witch I ever saw. My grandfather was an exorcist by trade. When my papa grew up, he followed in his footsteps.” Adam takes a deep breath, leaning into Beck’s hold. One of his fingers is tracing a gentle pattern on the back of Beck’s shoulder.

  “Papa was killed by a demon when I was ten. Maman was left to take care of three kids, and Grand-mère helped some, but we all had to fend for ourselves. We all found our own ways—with or without magic. One of my sisters became a witch; the other decided she wanted nothin’ to do with magic. And me, I left New Orleans behind. I got rid of the accent, and got rid of the person I used to me. I ran away.

  “After I left, I swore off magic—didn’t want any part of it in my life. I wanted to get as far from it as I could, so I moved to a small city, where I hoped I wouldn’t find any. But you don’t choose it, it chooses you, and by the time I opened up this shop I knew more about the hidden worlds than anyone else you could find around here. When the Tresser Corporation tracked me down, they gave me cash in exchange for helping ’em with whatever they need to know. And…they need to know a lot. So that’s what I became—a librarian of sorts. But not a witch. Never real magic.”

  He bites his lip, and when he raises his head again, he looks frightened. “Until you, Beck. I don’t know why it’s different for you, but it is. I care about you more than I’ve cared about anybody in a long time.”

  “I—why?”

  “I don’t know,” Adam says, and laughs. “You’re…alive. You’re so alive, and not even dying could change that. I can’t help wanting to be close to you.”

  Adam’s hand comes up to cover Beck’s. “I feel like you’re changing my mind,” he whispers, “and it’s terrifying, but I don’t want it to stop.”

  Beck can’t breathe. Adam is close, so close that he can feel his words murmured against his skin, and the last thing he wants to do is pull away. If Adam’s really spent the whole of his life being afraid of what magic can take from him, then what does Beck represent—what magic can give?

  If that’s what he is to Adam…he’s okay with that.

  “Adam,” he murmurs, and when Adam tilts his head up, Beck kisses him again. It’s shorter than the last—slow, gentle, a tender press of lips. Beck doesn’t push, and when they both pull away, Adam looks awestruck.

  “Now I know you,” Beck whispers, “and you know me. That’s a pretty good start, huh?”

  “I want to know you more,” Adam spits out, impulsively, and then looks surprised at himself. Beck—more than experienced with his mouth running away from him—can’t help the grin that breaks across his face.

  “Me too,” he admits, and Adam’s eyes warm until they look close to melting. “Why don’t we? We can go out together—learn more about each other—not move so fast—”

  “But we don’t have to move slow,” Adam hastens to add, and Beck giggles.

  “No, not slow. Just fast enough.”

  Adam looks up at him, dark eyes twinkling with something that Beck could almost swear is magic. He looks happier than Beck has ever seen him, warmth spreading across his face like dawn breaking over a morning sky. Beck can feel the same warmth spread within him, drowning out the turmoil of earlier and replacing it with something warm and self-assured. He can’t remember the last time he felt this happy in his life.

  His life. He was alive, and he died. Then he came back to life. All of this is true, and it’s okay, because Beck is alive now.

  He is alive, and he has never been more certain of that than with Adam’s lips pressed against his. With Adam in his arms, Beck’s heart feels ready to burst out of his chest, and he’s never felt this way in either of his lives. It’s thrilling. It’s exhilarating. It’s hopeful.

  It’s a new start, and that’s what Beck needs. Instead of putting the pieces of his old life back together, Beck needs to start fresh. A brand-new slate—after all, how often do people get to come back from the dead?

  He’ll call his parents. He’ll reenroll in school. He’ll fix things with Dylan. He’ll have Adam too, which is more than he could have expected.

  If this is his new life, Beck is glad Adam is here to help him begin it.

  Chapter Eight

  HE STARTS BY making phone calls.

  Beck’s cell phone is dead, so while it charges Adam is kind enough to let him use the phone in the corner of the bookshop. Beck sits at a table, on the phone with his university directors as he tries to inquire about picking up where he left off. He doesn’t outright say “I came back from the dead”; in turn, the woman on the phone doesn’t inform him that it’s not possible to reenroll with all his credits intact.

  As he navigates the channels of this tricky conversation, Beck watches Adam at work. At his usual place behind the counter, Adam is meticulous. He sorts through the store’s records, takes stock of the cash register, and greets every customer who comes in with a polite smile. Adam’s attachment to his shop is obvious. He knows every book, every title, and gladly helps people find what they’re looking for.

  It’s fascinating to watch Adam in his element. More than once, Beck finds himself distracted from his phone call. Adam smiles down at a book in a particular way, or huffs to himself as he reshelves something, or mutters under his breath, and it’s just… Well, he’d have better luck focusing in the middle of Cirque du Soleil.

  “Sir,” the woman on the phone prompts after the third time Beck trails off in the middle of a sentence. “I can’t answer your question if I don’t understand it.”

  “Right. Sorry.” He forces himself to snap back to attention. He’s been going in circles over this topic long enough that his brain feels fried. He’s starting to wonder if it would be easier to not go back to school at all. “If someone who’s been through three years of college drops out, then reregisters—umm, where would they be, tuition-wise?

  “Did the student have any scholarships?”

  “Uhh, ha-ha…yeah, no.” A familiar chime rings through the shop (a ward, Adam explained earlier, signaling someone is about to enter), and Beck forces himself not to look up. “No, nothing like that—uhh, sorry, I mean, they were already a junior—”

  “Oh. Hey,” Adam says. “I was callin’ you before.”

  Beck frowns down at his papers in frustration. Trying to make sense of the information he’s scribbled down is like solving a thousand-piece-puzzle when all the pieces are the same color.

  “I know,” a familiar accented voice replies. “I got your messages.”

  Startled, Beck looks up. He recognizes Sophie in an instant. She stands with her back to him, approaching the counter and Adam in slow, heavy steps. Her blue
dress looks wrinkled. Her dark hair is loose, hanging in her face, and the pocketbook slung over her shoulder looks heavy enough to bludgeon somebody with.

  A sharp pain shoots through Beck’s head, and the pen he’s holding slips from his fingers. He comes close to dropping the phone, too, but manages to remain steady. His first thought is that something must have happened over the other end of the line; suddenly there is a screech of static in his ears, and his head feels blurry.

  It takes him a second to realize that it isn’t the phone at all. It’s him.

  He manages a small groan as he slumps forward, hand coming up to cradle his pulsing skull. The voice over the phone line goes ignored. Slowly, he brings the phone down to rest on the receiver once more. Out of the corner of his gaze, he sees Sophie take another step closer to Adam, and a stone drops into his stomach.

  “Hey, are you okay? You don’t look good.” Adam’s voice is heavy with concern. He takes a step out from behind the counter, even closer to Sophie. Beck wants to scream at him to stop, but once again finds himself paralyzed.

  “Sophie—” Adam cuts himself off. His silence speaks more than any exclamation of horror could. Sophie lifts her head, hair falling away from her face, and Beck already knows Adam is seeing bottomless darkness in place of her eyes.

  (He’s been here before. This has happened before. He’s seen this beforebeforebeforebefore—)

  “Get out of her!” Adam snarls, voice dipping low in a rage so fierce that it sends a jolt down Beck’s spine. It feels like a lightning strike—Beck’s nerves are electrified for a single second, but it’s enough to break the spell that rendered him helpless. He lurches to his feet, a shout already tearing from his throat, as the possessed Sophie pulls her hand from her pocketbook.

  A large, silver knife gleams in her grip. She lunges.

  “Adam!”

  Adam staggers backwards, nearly tripping over his own feet. He regains his balance just in time to dodge the knife that comes swinging towards his head. As he flees behind the counter once more, Sophie is hot on his trail; the blade in her hands is a shining omen of death. Beck’s legs can’t carry him fast enough. He sprints across the shop, but before he can reach them, Adam darts into the hallway, and the door slams shut behind him.