Still Beating

O N E   Y E A R   E A R L I E R

“You’re probably going to think I’m a weirdo, but I sorta got you a Christmas present.”

My brow furrows in confusion, my eyes glazing over with equal parts curiosity and spiked eggnog. Then I feel like a giant dick because I didn’t get her anything. Cora and I have never exchanged gifts before—well, except for that one year I gave her a vibrator shaped like Santa Clause that said, ‘Ho, Ho, Ho’ as it vibrated. She, in turn, gifted me with a sharp punch to the shoulder. “Shit, Corabelle. I didn’t get you anything.”

Cora sits on the couch, one bronzed leg draped over the other as a champagne flute dangles from her hand. I’m sitting across from her on the floor, leaning back on my hands. The sequins of her red cocktail dress sparkle against the Christmas lights, a festive compliment to her bright, green eyes.

It’s honestly annoying how pretty she looks.

“It’s probably for the best that you didn’t.”

I’m certain we’re both thinking about the Santa vibrator when a rosy blush kisses her cheeks.Ccontent © exclusive by Nô/vel(D)ra/ma.Org.

I shoot her a sly grin. “Well, hand it over. Is it a car? Tell me it’s a car.”

Mandy shoves her pointy fingernail into my arm. “Why would Cora get you a car?”

“Because she loves me.”

“Ew.” Cora sets her champagne down on the coffee table in front of her, bending over just enough to reveal a dangerous amount of cleavage. I look away. “Only you would confuse love and hate. I’m sure it’s very complicated for your itty-bitty pea brain to keep straight.”

“You two are ridiculous,” Mandy mutters through a slow breath. “I need more brownies.”

Mandy stands up on her wobbly heels, and I can’t help but wonder why she’s been wearing stilettos all night in her parent’s living room. She disappears into the kitchen, leaving me alone with the more aggravating sister.

Not that I mind. Sparring with Cora Lawson is pretty high on my list of preferred activities.

She thinks I’m an idiot, and I let her think it. I get a rise out of the incredulous look in her eyes when I say or do something stupid. It’s part of our game.

“Whatever, Corabelle. Show me what you got.”

“Don’t call me that.” Cora delivers her classic, irritated glare, then leans over the armrest of the couch to retrieve a gift hiding underneath the tree. “Catch.”

She tosses me the present wrapped in colorful twinkle lights, and I catch it with skillful ease, winking at her as I start to open it. “You’re pretty good at wrapping. Did you take a class on it?”

Another glare.

I continue to peel back the paper and discover a book. I’m not a reader—I prefer podcasts and audiobooks. But I suppose it’s the thought that counts.

“Of Mice and Men,” Cora states, reaching for the spine of her wine glass and bringing the rim to her lips. “It was required in sophomore English class, but I think it’s safe to assume you never read it. It’s a good one.”

I purse my lips together. She’s right about that. I never read it. “Well, thanks. That’s actually kind of nice of…” My voice trails off as I start flipping through the pages.

They’re all blank.

Every single one of them.

My head snaps up and I twist the book around, feeling bad that she ordered a defective one. “Uh, slight issue,” I tell her.

Cora sits up straight, blinking slow. She stares at me in what looks to be utter confusion before replying, “Crap. I didn’t think you’d notice.”

Ah, hell.

Next Christmas? It’s on.

“Goodnight, Mr. and Mrs. Lawson. Merry Christmas,” I say, waving to my second parents, my arm slung around Mandy’s waist. “Thanks for the great dinner.”

And for the delicious eggnog with a fantastic amount of rum.

I sway from one foot to the other as Mandy tries to hold me steady. I see her mouth ‘I’m driving’ to her parents as we head towards the front door.

I notice Cora slipping on her winter coat, gathering her bag of gifts as she follows us out. Before she sweeps past us, she pulls something out of the giant bag and slaps it against my chest.

“For you,” she mutters, her face unreadable.

I look down at the book—Of Mice and Men. Only, this time there are words.

“Read it. You might like it.” Cora spares me a final glance, then blows a kiss to Mandy as she moves to the door. “Merry Christmas.”

She disappears outside, her sugar cookie scented body mist trailing behind her.

Mandy puckers her lips, studying the book in my hand. “We can donate it. She’ll never know.”

I trace my fingers along the cover, smiling at my very first Christmas present from Cora Lawson. I shrug. “Nah. I think I’m going to read this one.”

I stare at her across the kitchen island while she helps her mother slice the ham. Her hair bounces back and forth along her back in champagne waves, her emerald dress landing mid-thigh, and a serrated carving knife shaking in her right hand.

“Want me to finish up, sweetheart?” Bridget proposes, and I wonder if she sees what I’m seeing.

Cora dismisses the offer with an abrupt shake of her head. “I got it.”

Slice. Slice. Slice.

Back and forth. Careful and slow.

I want to slide up behind her and wrap my arms around her petite waist, whispering in her ear that it’s okay. Everything’s okay. But I can’t do that because my fiancé is standing beside me posting Christmas memes on Facebook and she wouldn’t understand.

“Oh, my God. Allie is engaged!” Mandy announces, beaming with excitement as she taps away at her keypad, reindeer ears bobbing atop her teased head of hair. “She better ask me to be a bridesmaid.”

Slice. Slice. Slice.

“Ooh. I forgot Allie’s brother is recently single—do you think Cora would go for him?”

My eyes shift from Cora’s careful cuts to Mandy sipping on a glass of holiday punch. “What?”

“Jason. Remember we went to his Superbowl party? He was dating some chick then, but I swear he kept checking my sister out.” Mandy slurps her punch through a red straw. “Cora thought he was cute.”

I don’t realize I’m tensing my jaw until it starts to ache. “It’s a little soon, don’t you think?”

“She’s been single for three years, Dean, and she’s almost thirty.”

“Yeah, but she’s still recovering from a trauma. She’s probably not looking to date.” I chew on my cheek as I avert my eyes back to Cora, who successfully finished carving the ham and is now transferring the slices to a festive serving plate. “She needs more time.”

Mandy glances up from her phone and her cocktail, a knowing grin blooming on her face. “You’re protective of her now, aren’t you? That’s so stinkin’ sweet. You’re like a worried big brother.” She releases a whimsical sigh. “I always knew you two would work out your issues.”

Fuck. The term ‘big brother’ makes me want to gag. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Well, as her sister and primary wing-woman, I’m going to set something up. Maybe we can do a double date to ease her into it.”

My jaw keeps ticking, and I want to slap it. “I don’t think I liked Jason.”

Actually, I don’t even fucking remember Jason, but I’m confident I don’t like him.

Mandy gives my chest an affectionate pat. “You don’t have to like him. You’re not the one who’s going to get naked with him.” She shoots me a teasing wink and chugs down the rest of her punch.

My stomach feels queasy as my mind flashes with images of Cora getting naked with some douchebag. It’s way too soon. And maybe I am protective, but how can I not be? I’m the only one who understands what she endured during those three weeks in Hell. If anyone is going to have her back, it’s me, and I won’t apologize for it.

I make my way over to the alcohol cart adorned with a bowl of spiked punch and rum-infused eggnog. Mandy and Cora’s little cousins are running around, chasing each other with red and green glow sticks, while the adults mingle in the living room awaiting supper. I spoon myself some punch with the ladle and chug back the entire glass in a four gulps. Then I serve myself another glass, then another, until I’m feeling well-past buzzed by the time dinner is over and we’ve made our way to the Christmas tree for the gift exchange.

I’m sitting on the floor with my back to the front of the couch, my legs splayed out in front of me as Mandy sits behind me and rubs my shoulders. I’m nursing my sixth, and hopefully final, glass of punch, watching with bleary eyes as Cora unwraps one of her gifts across from me.

It’s a sweater.

She forces a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. No one seems to notice but me.

It’s my turn to open a gift.

It’s a sweater.

I also force a smile.

When one of the little cousins tears through a gift bag and pulls out a police officer costume, he jumps up and down with excitement. He keeps digging through the tissue paper and shouts, “Cool! Handcuffs!”

My stomach pitches and my gaze settles on Cora, who starts scratching at her wrist and fidgeting in her chair. Her eyes dance over to me, but only for a moment before she excuses herself from the festivities and disappears up the staircase.

Shit.

I wait a few minutes until it doesn’t look obvious that I’m following her, then I announce to Mandy that I need to use the bathroom. But Mandy is too absorbed in a conversation with her aunt about weighted blankets, so my escape goes unnoticed.

I find Cora in the same place I found her the night of our reunion—sitting on the edge of the guest bed in her childhood room, squeezing the covers between her fists. She notices my presence before I speak, and I wonder if she anticipated me following her up here.

“I’m fine, Dean.”

I click my teeth together as I stand in the doorway, noting how she doesn’t look up at me. I decide to approach, stepping into the bedroom and closing the door behind me. The sound makes her flinch. “Merry Christmas,” I say in a low voice.

I can almost feel some of the tension leave her as I sit down beside her on the bed, the mattress sinking beneath my weight. Cora finally glances up at me, finding my eyes with a tiny frown. “You smell like vodka and Skittles.”

A grin pulls on my lips. “You didn’t try the punch?”

“No. But I can see that you did.” She assesses me up and down, as if the stripes on my shirt will give away the number of glasses I’ve inhaled over the past two hours. “Be careful. You look like a hot mess.”

I run a hand through my mop of brown hair, noting that the top two buttons of my dress shirt are unhooked and only one sleeve is rolled up past my elbow. I think Mandy made me wear a Santa bowtie, but I have no idea where that went. “You look sad,” I counter, taking in her vacant eyes that are missing the sparkle I’ve come to love so much.

“I said I’m fine.”

“Well, maybe I can help you be more than fine.” I nudge her shoulder with my own. “I sorta got you a Christmas present.”

Those eyes widen in surprise, her lips parting, pink and glossy. “What? Why?”

“Because you got me something last year. It’s my turn.”

Cora lowers her chin to her chest, picking at the threads on the comforter. “I didn’t do much shopping this year, so I didn’t get you anything. I feel like a jerk.”

“It’s okay. One of these years the stars will align, and we’ll both get each other something at the same time.”

She nibbles on her lip. My gaze drifts to her mouth on instinct before I redirect it back up, suddenly very aware of the way her bare thigh is smashed up against my slacks. I should probably scoot away, but the alcohol keeps me rooted in place.

I reach into my pocket and pull out a small box. “The wrapping isn’t as good as yours. Don’t judge.”

“I always judge.” Cora finally allows a smile to slip as she takes the gift from my hand. “Well, it’s too small to be an embarrassing holiday vibrator, at least.”

“Is it, though?”

She laughs. She fucking laughs and it’s the best gift ever.

“Is something going to jump out at me?” she questions, twisting the box between her hands as she studies it over her lap. “Does it bite?”

“No and no.”

Cora doesn’t look convinced, but she begins to peel away the paper, corner by corner, with careful fingers. When she pulls the top off the little white box, her breath catches as she stares down into the cotton stuffing. She’s staring at the gift inside, but I’m staring at her. I’m watching the emotions climb up her chest, then her neck, landing in her throat and releasing with a squeaky sigh. Her red-tipped fingers graze the heart pendant attached to a gold chain.

“It’s beautiful, Dean. It’s… too much.” Cora glances up at me with misted eyes, then looks back down at the necklace. She removes it from the box, letting the delicate chain dance over her fingers as she holds it up and gazes at the gilded heart.

“Open it. It’s a locket.”

Cora blinks, surprised. I can see her fingers tremble as she unclasps the two pieces of gold and fixes her eyes to the inner contents.

Still Beating.

She doesn’t say anything. I wonder if maybe she doesn’t understand, so I start to explain. “I was thinking you can wear it over your heart as a constant reminder of everything you survived. As long as it’s still beating, you’re okay.”

She is still silent.

I’m starting to doubt the gift, thinking maybe it is too much. Maybe it’s too personal. Too triggering.

But then Cora throws herself into my lap, her arms around my neck, and I feel her tears slip underneath my shirt collar. “Thank you,” she whispers in a ragged breath. “It’s perfect.”

The necklace remains clutched in a tight fist as her tears continue to fall, hard and relentless, wracking her body with everything she tries so hard to keep inside.

She doesn’t need to pretend with me, though. She doesn’t need to hide.

I’m here, and I see her—every scar, every flaw, every broken, hollow piece.

And I understand.

Blood. Blood everywhere.

So much goddamn blood.

I feel it spatter my skin and I taste it in my mouth, but I keep going. Flying fists, cracking skull, brain matter. Dreadful, painful moans… death.

He needs to pay for what he did to her. He needs to die. I promised I would snuff his worthless life away for touching her, and that’s exactly what I’m doing.

No remorse. No going back.

It’s over.

I think I hear her voice, far away, calling for me to come back to her.

“Stop. He’s dead.”

Cora breaks through and reality sinks its teeth into me as I stare down at the grisly crime I’ve just committed. Dear God, it’s like something out of a horror film.

A fitting end to a gruesome tale.

I did this. I fucking did this. I murdered a man in cold blood with nothing but my tattered, dirty knuckles.

The motherfucker deserved it.

I’m about to jump back, get as far away from this bloodbath as I can, but then his eyes fly open. Terrifying white eyes with irises so black, so barbaric, they almost skin me alive. Earl lifts himself up on his haunches, his wide, bulbous eyes sunken into mangled flesh.

Then he reaches out his hands and curls them around my throat, his grip vice-like. Impenetrable. He snarls through broken teeth, blood misting my face as he smothers me. “That’s a very bad dog.”

It’s not over. It’s not over.

It will never be over.

I launch myself into a sitting position, slicked head to toe in sweat, my breathing coming quick and uneven. I throw my legs over the side of the bed, my hands squeezing the bedsheets, and I vaguely hear my ringtone going off in the distance as my thoughts begin to find their way back to reality. As I search for my cell phone, lost amongst the dampened sheets, I realize my head is still spinning from the alcohol. Mandy dropped me off at home around eleven P.M., and I promptly chugged a quarter bottle of vodka before passing out well after midnight.

Fuck, I feel like shit.

I locate the ringing phone and see that it’s Cora’s name lighting up the face.

It’s also two o’clock in the morning.

My heart starts to race as I accept the call and slur into the receiver, “Cora? Where’re you?”

“Dean.”

Oh, hell. She sounds like she’s crying. “Are you okay, Corabelle?”

Her sniffles are evident on the other end, accompanied by small whimpers. “I had a horrible nightmare. I can’t shake it and I’m scared.”

“Do you need me?”

I don’t even hesitate to ask. If she needs me, I’m there.

There’s a catch in her breath, and then, “Yes.”

“Gimme fifteen minutes.”

Fifteen minutes later, I’m stumbling out of an Uber in front of her small bungalow, almost tripping over my feet as I jog clumsily up the stone walkway. My forehead falls against the turquoise door, and I start pounding my fist against it as I call out, “Cora, it’s me. Open up.”

I hear her footsteps on the other side, and when she flings the door open, I almost fall forward. I catch myself on the frame, drinking in the sight of her standing there in nothing but a braless, white tank top and cotton panties. But she doesn’t seem to give a shit that she’s half-naked in front of me, because she steps backwards to allow me inside, her eyes red and bloodshot, her feet as unsteady as mine. I close the door behind me, unable to keep my gaze from roving over the body I’ve come to know so well.

She doesn’t try to hide from me.

She knows I’ve seen her far more stripped down than this.

But it’s her eyes that do me in. They look glassy and lifeless and utterly haunted. “Corabelle…”

Her bottom lip quivers as we stare at each other, only a few feet apart. “I took sleeping pills. They’re supposed to help me pass out and forget, but… the nightmares, Dean. I can’t even… God, they’re so horrible.”

I start to move forward, her tears a magnet to my aching heart. “Come here.”

Cora doesn’t falter. She runs towards me, closing the gap between us and weaving her arms around my neck.

I don’t hesitate either. Like instinct, like it’s the only thing to do, I reach under her thighs and lift her up until she wraps her legs around my waist and buries her face into the crook of my neck. I start walking. I carry her through every darkened room, down the short hallway, and into her bedroom. We collapse onto the bed, still holding on, still desperate for that spark of warmth that only seems to ignite when we’re together.

We situate ourselves onto the queen-sized bed, and I only let go of her to pull the blankets up over our bodies, then my arms envelope her once again. She’s stoned on sleeping pills and I’m drunk off my ass, and we’re messy, damaged humans clinging to each other as we battle through the storm together, but it’s okay because we’re together.

Cora curls herself into me, close enough that I’m certain she can feel my heartbeat radiate right through her as she drifts to sleep. I wonder if she can feel how broken it is.

As the alcohol haze consumes me and I begin to fade out, I lean down to kiss her forehead, chasing away a rogue strand of hair with my fingers, then grazing them down her cheek, her neck, and the front of her chest.

I fall asleep with her heart pendant clutched in my hand.