Chapter Eighteen Beckett
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
BECKETT
This slow burn is excruciating
I DON ’ T HAVE ANY AFTERNOON CLASSES ON T UESDAYS, SO I HEAD HOME around noon and spend the day lounging on the couch in my boxers, watching dumb videos on my laptop and eating pretzels. It’s one of the few snacks Will keeps in the house. He follows our nutrition plan to a T, which means nothing tasty roams these halls. Unless you’re talking about my dick.
I’m surprised he even allows pretzels. I was reading the nutritional breakdown earlier, and the sodium content in one bag is fucking insane. These pretzels are delicious, though, so I’m not ratting myself out to Will by telling him about this new sodium development. If he’s too lazy to read the back of the bag, that’s on him.
Around noon, I finally drag myself off the couch and try to muster up the motivation to work out. It’s a cardio day. I should probably go for a run, but the weather has turned on us. Winter has asserted dominance over autumn. So now it’s fucking cold out.
It’s times like these I wish I still lived in Australia. In fact, it’s kind of shitty of my parents to grant me ten years of glorious sunshine and no blizzards, only to move us to Indianapolis, where blizzards rule the land. Granted, I’m the one who then chose to attend college in New England, so every nor’easter I’ve endured since is on my conscience, not theirs.
Speaking of my parents, Dad calls as I’m sliding into a pair of track pants. Fuck it, I’m facing the frigid wind.
“Hey, kid,” he says. “Just wanted to check in. See how you’re doing.”
“All good. I’m about to brave the elements and go for a run.”
“No practice today?”
“Had it this morning.”
“Cool cool.”
“What’s wrong?” I demand.
“What? Why do you think something’s wrong?”
I snort. “Because you said ‘cool cool.’ You only say stupid things like that when you’re upset about something and don’t know how to bring it up.”
“I got a job offer,” he blurts out.
“For me?” I wrinkle my forehead.
“No, for me.”
“Oh. I didn’t know you were thinking of leaving Winchester Motors.”
Dad has worked for the Australian-founded car design firm since he was in his early twenties, climbing up the corporate ladder and reaching a rung high enough that when the company decided to open an American office, he was asked to oversee the entire division.
“I wasn’t. A headhunter contacted me.”
“Isn’t that, like, against the law? Can they really just poach you from other companies? It’s not some sort of antitrust violation?”
“Do you know what antitrust is, Beck?”
I sigh. “No.”
His laughter echoes in my ear. “Well, it has nothing to do with headhunters. But either way, this is a great gig. Twice my current salary. Not just corporate duties but the chance to work closely with the head of design. I didn’t realize until I heard the details how much I’ve missed being involved in that aspect of the job. All I do at Winchester these days is paperwork.”
“Whoa, this sounds awesome. What are you worried about? Leaving Winchester high and dry?”
“No, that’s not it.”
“Then what’s the issue?”
“It’s in Sydney.”
My breath hitches. “Fuck, really?”
I can’t stop the burst of excitement. I’d love it if my folks moved back to Sydney. I visit every summer and stay with my cousins, but if Mum and Dad lived there full-time, I’d be able to go home as often as I wanted without feeling like I’m imposing on Aunty Suzanne.
“This is excellent news,” I tell him.
“You think so?” He sounds hopeful.
“Hell yes. You’ve talked about wanting to move back home for years.”
“I have, haven’t I? See? I told her that.”
I fight a smile. “Her, as in Mum?”
“Your mother is very unhappy about this.”
“Why?”
“She doesn’t want me to take the job. It would be uprooting our entire life for a second time. She doesn’t want to go through that again.”
“But she’d be going home .”
“She said she doesn’t consider it home anymore.”
I suppose that doesn’t surprise me. Mum has lived in Indy for almost twelve years now. She’s become ingrained in the community, built real friendships, a solid career. She fixed up our house from top to bottom.
But Indy isn’t home. And it’s damn ironic that the guy who only lived in Sydney for ten years considers it more of a home than the woman who spent thirty years there before relocating.
Dad’s like me, though. Every year at Christmas, he and I stare at the snow beyond the window and get the same look on our faces. The one that says we could be surfing right now . Sure, snowboarding’s sick, but the holidays always fall in the middle of hockey season. Coach would break my leg for me if I risked breaking that leg on the slopes during the season.
“So, what? You’re not going to take it?” I grab a T-shirt and slip it over my head, then bring the phone back to my ear. “Just like that? You’re saying no because Mum says no?”
“I don’t want to say no. I really want this. But marriage is a two-way street.”
“Marriage is also about compromise.”
“She already did that once,” he reminds me. “Your mum compromised by moving to America when she didn’t want to.”
“Yes, and now she loves it here. Right now, she’s saying she doesn’t want to return to Sydney, but eventually she’ll love it there again too.”
“Why are you so gung ho about this, Beck?”
“I just like the idea of having you guys there.” I hesitate for a beat. “If you were, maybe I’d move back too.”
“Would you really?” Dad sounds surprised.
“Maybe. I don’t know. I’d have to think about it. But I definitely think you should do it. Do you want me to talk to Mum about it?”
“I do, but then she’ll think we’re ganging up on her, so let’s hold off for now.”
“When do you need to give an answer about the job offer?”
“They said I have until December to let them know. The starting date isn’t until the spring.”
“That gives you time to work on her. If you need to tag me in at Thanksgiving, give me the signal.”
He chuckles. “Thanks, kid. Now go on your run. I’ve kept you on the line long enough. Talk to you later.”
“Later.”
I pull a hoodie on and tuck my keys and phone in the front pocket. I hate running with my keys, but Will isn’t home from class yet. I pop my earbuds in and, for the next hour, try to blast away the sound of the keys jingling in my pocket. I return home sweaty and cold but feel better after a hot shower and some leftover pizza.
I resettle on the couch to find my laptop dead, so I grab Will’s off the side table because I’m too lazy to go look for a charger. I open his computer to find an unsaved document on the screen. Something called The Virgin and the Blade , by something called Lourdes.
What the fuck is he reading?
Curiosity gets the best of me, so I lean back and start to read. And…damn. This…sure is something. The author used the word effulgent three times in one paragraph. I don’t think I’ve ever used it once in one lifetime.
There’s a note in the sidebar. I click on it to find a comment from Will that says: Lourdes, nobody uses the word effulgent. It’s very off-putting .
I snicker under my breath. And for some inexplicable reason, I keep reading, getting sucked into the story. I had no idea Alexander the Great had a huge cock. Is that historical canon? I could look it up, but it’s more fun to text my teammate Nick, whose girlfriend is a history major.
ME:
Yo, ask Darce if Alexander the Great was known for having a big penis.
NICK:
No.
ME:
Please?
NICK:
ffs one sec
He texts back about ten minutes later. By then, I’ve already gone back to chapter one to read the story from the beginning. This is how I learned that the blade they keep talking about is sometimes an actual dagger and other times his hard dong. They still haven’t boned, though. This slow burn is excruciating.
NICK:
She says no and why do you ask.
ME:
I’m reading Alexander and Queen Elizabeth fanfic.
NICK:
Why are you this way, Dunne?
I grin at the phone and go back to reading. A minute later, another message arrives.
NICK:
Darcy wants the link to the fanfic.
I’m a bit disappointed when I realize there’s nothing after chapter seven . Will is apparently proofreading the story as it’s being written.
Swear to God, though, if Lourdes throws in the twist that Alexander the Great is a time traveler, this piece instantly soars into five-star territory.
When I hear the front door opening, I snap Will’s computer shut and reach for the TV remote. I did not just spend the past hour reading weird fan fiction. Nope.
“Hey.” He pops his head into the living room. “I’ve got news.”
“Yeah?”
“Oh yeah.”
He saunters down the hall toward the kitchen. From the other doorway that separates the two rooms, I glimpse him at the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water. He twists off the cap, leaning against the doorframe.
I roll my eyes at him. “Are you going to share this news or keep me in suspense—”
“I know who Charlie is.”