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“Ellie?”
The whisper wakes him. He turns in bed, hair soft and tousled, eyes dazed from sleep. He looks at Bev, whispers his name back at him with a teasing smile. “Bev?”
He’s always teasing. He lets the top sheet slip down over his bare chest, knows Bev is looking, even smirks a little and raises his eyebrows as if to say, What now?
Always teasing, always confident. But when Bev rolls over again, turns his back on him without another word, it’s always Ellie who reaches out and touches him.
It’s always Ellie who pleads with him, “Don’t go.”