29. Willa
29
willa
The door slams behind Beckett, and the tears tracking down my cheeks come faster.
This shouldn’t be difficult. Saying goodbye to a man I’ve spent less than a week with. Elias and I were together over three years, and while I’ve grieved him and his death for a while, this somehow hurts more. I didn’t know an already broken—but healing—heart could ache like this. I didn’t know I could hurt like this. But god does it hurt.
I throw myself on the couch, surrounded by Beckett’s scent, tears gushing from my eyes. I have to pull myself together, get over this and myself, and follow Beckett’s lead. He’s not all weepy and devastated by my leaving. Which makes me cry harder.
How can he not be affected by what we’ve shared? Is his heart made of steel?
As much as I shouldn’t, I let myself wallow in agony for a solid fifteen minutes. When the timer I set goes off, I brush away the tears, pick myself off the couch, march into the kitchen, pour myself a cup of coffee, and plate a few pancakes for breakfast. I don’t bother with the fruit—who has the time to wash and cut it—and eat breakfast in silence. AJ is screaming inside my head, demanding me to get her story told, but I’m ignoring her. I’m ignoring everything, my focus solely on drinking the coffee and eating the pancakes.
Once breakfast is done, I go into Beckett’s bedroom and block out everything but my next task: pack up my belongings.
One by one, I toss everything into my suitcase, holding my resolve and stoicism, not letting it crack.
“You’re strong. You’re a warrior. You’ve got this,” I repeat as a mantra over and over. Until it’s Elias’s voice in my ear.
“You can walk away. Pick yourself up and start again. You’ve done this before. You’re stronger now. You’re a warrior.”
I don’t allow the tears to fall, but I hug myself tightly, imagining they’re the arms of a strong male.
Problem is, I’m not sure whose arms they are.
True to his word, Beckett’s gone a little after seven. He whisked in, changed his clothes, and blew back out the door, the sound of the truck’s engine louder than ever.
A final nail in the coffin.
Dramatic Willa is out in full force today. To get rid of her, I drown her in a bath. Over forty-five minutes I soak, my mind listing everything I have to do once I’m home.
Grocery store.
Write chapters.
Email my editor.
Unpack.
Miss Beckett.
“No.” I shout the word in the empty bathroom, emphasizing it, erasing it from the list.
I try again.
Plan a book launch.
Meet with PA about new graphics and merch.
Research the workings of middle schools .
Miss Beckett.
“STOP IT WILLA! Get a grip.”
I drain the water but not ready to face reality, I stand under the showerhead, my tears mixing with the falling water. When the water runs cold, I shut it off, sheathing myself with Beckett’s fluffiest towel. It’s clean from the closet, but hell if it doesn’t smell like him.
I’m not helping the situation but perpetuating it.
Snapping out of it, I dry off, walking to his bedroom. There’s a text from him on my phone.
I’ll be back around twelve. Car will be ready. Have everything packed.
I read the words too many times, the finality in them settling like a rock.
I press on, getting dressed in the laundered lingerie he bought me because apparently, I’m a sadist now, set to torture myself at every turn. I’ll think of him every time I wear them, which defeats the purpose of letting him go. But it’s not like I’m good at letting things go . . .
Dressed and all packed, the clock shows I have fifteen minutes until noon. I sneak on social media but am too overwhelmed by the notifications of not checking it for a few days. Instead, I rummage through Beckett’s pantry, stealing a few snacks for my road trip, laughing at the package of hot cocoa Oreos still hiding. I’m half-tempted to move it, so he doesn’t get frustrated with me, but in the end, I leave it where it is. I’ll never know the repercussions of my actions. I don’t let the intensity of that filter in.
The back door opens as I’m sliding the snacks into my backpack.
“Willafred, your chariot awaits.”
Ugh. His use of my full name doesn’t help lessen any of the emotions swirling through me. He seems more upbeat now, less trodden like when he scurried away earlier .
“It’s all fixed?” The tiny bubble of hope forming that he wouldn’t be able to fix it bursts.
“The bumper is like brand-spanking new. My finest work, if I say so myself. And I picked out the perfect place for a farewell lunch. You’re going to love it.”
My heart skips because of his kindness, the glee lighting him up, but also because of the way he’s not bothered by me leaving. Like we didn’t just share the most intense week ever, as if I’m truly a stranger.
I turn away, not wanting him to see the threatening tears in my eyes. It’s stupid to be so emotional, so attached to him, so fearful of leaving, but still, a panic attack tries to claw into me.
Burly arms assail me from behind. Like a lifeline, I grasp on tightly.
“We weren’t supposed to meet. Revel in the time we got together, even if it was way too short. You’ve got stories to tell. I’ve got cars to fix. We’d be in each other’s way. It’s better like this.”
Though the evidence is in his saddened tone, the question begs to be asked. “Is it?”
“I’m telling myself it is. It has to be enough.”
“I get to say goodbye this time, but it’s hard. It’s difficult to form the words, to say what I need to before I get on the road back home. To tell you how appreciative I am for everything, Beckett. To express my gratitude for what you gave me back this week. I’m a writer, I should have the words, but I’m not sure the right words exist to convey what I feel in my heart, what I owe you.”
“You don’t owe me a thing, Willa. You’ve given me more than I could have ever wanted, and that’s enough.”
I twist in his arms, adjusting to peer up at him. My eyes glisten with tears, an exact match to his. It could be my undoing if I let it.
I can’t let it .
“It feels like it’s been more than a week. Like I’ve known you for years. That’s insane, right?”
I giggle, the watery sound the only noise in the room. “Guess that makes me insane, too.”
“You’re exquisite. I can’t wait to find your newest masterpiece in the bookstores. I’ll smile and think how proud I am of you, and then promptly forget I know you.”
It’s a horrible thing to say, but I laugh, knowing exactly what he means.
“Every time I see anything related to Christmas, I’ll wonder what you’re doing, and then pretend you don’t exist.”
“Perfect coping strategy.”
“I’d like to think so.” I won’t be successful in the slightest, but with time, the pain will fade. I learned that with Elias. It won’t ever go away, but it won’t be a raw hurt forever.
“We should go. You have a drive ahead of you.”
“But first lunch.”
“And a coffee for the road.” He brushes his arm across his eyes, erasing the emotion. “Are you all packed?”
I nod. “Are we driving one car or two?”
“I chose a place on your way out of town, so I’ll take mine so you don’t have to backtrack.”
More of the elation deflates, knowing our time is limited.
“Okay. Help me load my car?”
“If I must.” His tone is playful, contrasting his words. “Lead the way.”
We each compose ourselves, a silent agreement on how the other feels.
Outside, my car looks great, with not even a hint of a dent. Beckett loads up my bags and instructs me to follow him. With nothing else left to do, I have no choice .
Twenty minutes later, he pulls into the lot of a small tavern just outside the Winterberry Junction town limits.
It’s straight out of a fairy tale with a brick exterior, a large chimney on the front wall, a red door, and complete with a thatch roof. Strings of white lights line the exterior. It’s fitting for what I’ve learned about Winterberry.
“Are you ready to have your taste buds wowed?”
“They’ve been pretty impressed lately. You sure this place has what it takes?”
Beckett wraps his arm around my shoulder. One more thing I’m going to miss about this guy—the way he’s always unabashedly touching me. “Have I not proven my trustworthiness?”
“Repeatedly. It amazes me how many times you’ve proved it. So maybe this is the time I’m let down.”
“Never, Bundy.”
Add his nickname for me to the list of things I’ll miss. I’ve lost count of how many items are on the mental file. It’s probably for the best.
“Let’s hope you’re not wrong.”
Once inside, he leads me to a booth, following the “Seat Yourself” sign. A waitress comes over to take our drink order, openly flirting with Beckett. He does his best to ignore it. Whether it’s for my sake or he doesn’t want to encourage her, I don’t question it.
A glance at the menu, and I choose a burger, asking Beckett to order fish and chips so we can share. After ordering, he grabs my hand, interlacing our fingers.
“So, a three-hour drive home?”
“Give or take, barring any stops for gas or to pee. I already checked the weather for the entire route, and it’s clear skies. No storms to contend with.”
“No more rescues for you.”
“That’s the plan.” We share a smile. His is pained, and mine most likely mirrors it. It shouldn’t be this difficult to part ways .
Try telling that to my heart.
“Will you write today?”
My head shakes, the action more dramatic than it needs to be. “I’ll get everything unpacked and ready to start bright and early tomorrow. I’ll order groceries to be delivered so I have food. But, I’m excited about the ideas for scenes and chapters. All thanks to you.”
It was always my plan to get back to writing this week, no matter what. Having Beckett’s help breaking the writer’s block was much better than my original idea. If left to my own devices, even with nothing but my laptop, Wi-Fi, and phone at the cabin, I would have found excuses. Not only did he give me my writing mojo back, he did it without bribery and me making excuses.
Perhaps there was a little bribery . . .
“You’re welcome.”
The waitress drops off our plates, winking at Beckett. So rude when I’m sitting right here. She doesn’t know this is our last meal and whatever started between us is over.
“Don’t be surprised when she leaves her number on the receipt,” I joke.
“Hasn’t worked the first five times. Odds aren’t in her favor.” He pours ketchup on the burger and fries.
I don’t stifle the chuckle. “Good for her for going after what she wants even if you’re clearly not interested.”
As we consume the meal, there’s more idle chitchat, his plans for the rest of the week, our New Year’s plans, stuff we haven’t yet talked about. About halfway through, Shania and Autumn stroll through the door, Shania’s eyes lighting up when she spots us.
“Willa. You didn’t leave yet. I was so sad I didn’t get to see you at Christmas brunch, but my mom made me go to my other grandparents’ house.” Her nose scrunches in disgust, making her opinion known.
“I’m on the road as soon as lunch is over, but I have something for you in my car. Are you guys eating here or taking it to go?”
“We usually take it to go, but I bet Mom will let us stay. If that’s okay with you.” She looks between us, giving Beckett pouty lips, which he most definitely can’t say no to.
He waves at the empty spots next to us, making room for his sister on his side when Shania slides next to me.
“Wait. Let me grab your gift from the car to open while you wait for your food.”
“She got enough gifts at Christmas, the girl doesn’t need anything else.”
“Way to make a girl feel good about giving your kid a gift, sis,” Beckett chides. Autumn’s cheeks flush pink.
I’m too excited to share my secret that I don’t let it bother me. “Be right back.” To Beckett, with a pointed finger, I say, “Do not eat the rest of the zucchini fries.” I rush outside, grab the gift for Shania, and return, handing it over. “It’s all I had with me.”
“Willa, this is so kind of you. At the risk of more derision from my brother, you did not have to get her a gift. Not because she doesn’t need anything else, but because you don’t owe her anything.”
I shrug. “Ah, I kinda do.”
Shania digs into the wrapping paper I stole from Beckett’s stash. I chose the one most fitting for the teen from his collection. “Collection” is the only way to describe how many rolls of paper he had in the basement. She squeals when she rips the first gift open, a hardcover copy of The Puzzle Problem , book one in the Hidden Clues series.
“Willa! You had this with you? This is amazing. I only have the paperbacks.” Pure joy infiltrates her expression and her voice, confirming she deserves this gift.
The box of hardcovers has been in my car for over two years. I could never bring myself to take them out after Elias put them in.
“I love this edition, but want to know my favorite part? ”
“Duh.” Shania rolls her eyes at my ridiculous question.
I take it from her hands, flipping to the page where I signed it, personalized to her.
Shania does a double take at her name and the signature, the pieces not falling into place. “I don’t understand. How does it have my name in it?”
I grab a napkin and a pen and sign my pen name. The moment it clicks, she jumps from the booth, her hands waving wildly, her mouth open but no sounds emerging.
It’s Autumn who speaks first. “You’re Evelyn Ravenhurst? The Evelyn Ravenhurst?” she shrieks. Thankfully, the few other patrons aren’t paying us any attention, nor do I think AJ Hart books are their jam. “You’ve been here all this time, and we didn’t even know? How did we not know? How are you here? Are you bullshitting us?”
I don’t take offense to her surprise. “I wouldn’t do such a thing. I promise you I’m Evelyn Ravenhurst.”
Shania finds her voice. “Willa . . . whatever your last name is, you are freaking Evelyn Ravenhurst? I am meeting Evelyn Ravenhurst? Is this real life?”
“Yep.”
“Pretty cool, huh?” Beckett exclaims.
When Autumn clues into what he’s saying, she swats his arm. “You knew all this time and said nothing? You’re no longer my favorite brother.”
He holds up his hands. “Not my secret to tell. Heck, you’re lucky Willa likes your kid enough to share it. She could have left here, and you’d never have been the wiser.”
His voice stumbles on the word “left,” and all the feelings I’ve tamped down try to reemerge.
“Can I hug you?” Shania asks, her voice watery with unshed emotion.
“Bring it in, girl.” I open my arms wide but am not quite prepared for her onslaught .
She whispers in my ear so no one else can hear, “You’re my favorite author. And I’m not saying that because you’re here.”
“I’d be okay if it were the reason, but I know you’re not saying it because you know. That’s why it was okay to tell you.”
A tear drips from her eye as she pulls away. “I don’t know why I’m crying. I’ve always wanted to meet her. You,” she corrects with a snort. “I’m a bit overwhelmed.”
“I get it. The first time I met an author I admire, I pretty much told her I wanted to have her babies.” I can’t believe the words came out of my mouth. Both then and now.
“Will you take a selfie with me? With the book? Can I tell my friends? Is that okay? I know you’re not big about sharing pictures on social media, but I promise I won’t send them the picture. I’ll show it to them and that’s all. They won’t think it’s as cool as I do because they don’t read much.”
“Tell whoever you want.”
“Wait until Alanna gets wind you were here. She’s going to go bananas she didn’t get to meet you.”
“Beckett has books to drop off at the book store. I’m sure glad I never took them out of my trunk after all this time.” I point to Shania’s other gifts. “Books two and three. I’ll send the others when I get home. Anything else you might want?”
“A Hidden Clues bookshop hoodie like the one you were wearing. Oh, and some stickers or bookmarks. If it’s not too much.”
“For my biggest fan? Never.” I bring her to my side, giving her another hug, her excitement bleeding into me.
The waitress interrupts our soiree, taking Autumn’s and Shania’s order while Beckett and I order dessert. Over the shared meal, Autumn and Shania ask me all kinds of questions, most of which I can answer. Some I can’t because even I don’t know the answers, but some I’m not at liberty to say.
When the food is gone, our stomachs full, and my bladder empty, as much as I don’t want to leave, it’s time to get on the road to guarantee I’m home before it’s too dark .
“I should probably head out.”
Beckett drops his card on the table. “Lunch is on me. Give us a few minutes.” He doesn’t wait for their response but drags me outside to the side of the building.
“I want to say goodbye to them.”
“You will. Stupid or not, I can’t let you leave without kissing you one last time.”
The word “kiss” out of his mouth has me pushing up to tiptoes and bringing my lips to his. He reaches under my thighs, lifting me into the air.
Our tongues duel, a last dance, a last goodbye. Neither of us rush it nor hurry. As much as I want to take it further, hell, have it last forever, I don’t. Beckett doesn’t push it either, but too soon, he’s lowering me back down to the ground, my lips swollen, my eyes wet.
“This is it.”
“Yeah.” He pushes a hand through his hair. “The only thing I regret is not having enough time, Willa.”
“Same. This week was exactly the opposite of what I thought it would be, but exactly what I needed. Imagine that.”
He trails his finger up the side of my chin. “I’m gonna miss you.”
“Me too. So much.” I want to tell him so much more, but I leave it all unsaid. “Back to reality.” I want to tell him not to forget me, but that’s selfish. Of course, he needs to forget me to move on, to find someone to spend his life with. Just as I need to do the same.
“There’s a disposable cooler in your car with snacks and a few meals, a little parting gift from me and the town of Winterberry. So you don’t forget us.” His expression is vulnerable, like he’s embarrassed about the gift when it’s the sweetest ever.
“Like I ever could,” I deadpan. “Nothing about this week is easily forgettable, especially you, Beckett.”
“There you are.” Autumn’s voice crests the corner before she does. “Car looks good. Guess you were able to hammer out the dents after all, huh? Didn’t even need the new part?”
Her comments don’t sink in right away, but by the way Beckett’s eyes close and he mutters something under his breath, I’m missing something. I rewind what she said, especially the part about “new.”
Something clicks.
“You didn’t need to wait for a part?” I accuse, my voice shaking. “I could have left before now? Like days ago?”
Beckett says nothing, but his expression gives away his answer. Guilt and shame encroach his handsome face, his eyes darting to the ground, not meeting mine.
The news hits me like a load of bricks.
On the one hand, I’m grateful for the time with him, for the breakthrough I had, for the closure I needed.
On the other, he lied to me.
That hurts. It hurts more than leaving did a few minutes ago.
I try again, hoping for his words this time, his explanation of why he did it. “Beckett?”
He blows out a breath, his vision going everywhere but on me. “In my defense, I didn’t know if I could get it done at first.”
“But when you realized?” I prod when he doesn’t continue.
“I didn’t want you to leave.” His answer is so nonchalant, so matter-of-fact, so honest. There’s not a trace of deceit in it. “Scratch that. I couldn’t let you leave. Not then. Not without more.” He finally meets my gaze, his full of remorse and sadness.
As much as I would have liked him to have been completely truthful, would it have mattered? Would I have left earlier? Depending on when, I can’t say I would have.
“Why didn’t you tell me? I would have understood.”
He laughs humorlessly. “Tell you I was falling for you after knowing you for a few days? Scare you off? Make you think I was crazier than the serial killer you pegged me as from the start? That wouldn’t have gone over well. ”
Everything after “falling for you” lands on deaf ears. “Because it’s crazy, absurd, insane. And yet, I get it. Because I was feeling the same.”
His eyebrow raises. “Was feeling?”
“Am,” I amend. “Am falling for you. Fell for you.” I throw my hands in the air. “I don’t even know at this point. But I don’t like how you lied,” I rush out, needing him to know how I feel.
He steps closer, eliminating the distance between us. “I swear my intentions were only because I wanted to see what this was between us. They weren’t to keep you here against your will.”
“Weren’t they though? I was prepared to leave, but you took the option away from me.”
My emotions are all over the place. I want to be upset with him, but I’m not sure I can. Nor does it matter. Regardless of why he did it, I’m leaving today. Now.
“I have to go.” I push the words from my mouth, but as I say them, they’re not the truth. I don’t have to go. What’s waiting at home for me? Nothing that can’t be accomplished here.
“I know. And this time, I won’t keep you here. Not even for selfish reasons. Not even because I fell for you harder than when I told you I couldn’t fix your car without a new part. Not even to see what could develop between us. Your life is there, mine is here. We’d never work, anyway.”
“Right,” I agree. “For all of those reasons, I need to go.”
I don’t consider telling him to ask me to stay. Because in the long run, I’ll only get hurt again if what I think this is doesn’t work out. I can’t put myself in that spot. I can’t expose my already battered heart to more heartache if either of us decides this won’t work. Better to cut ties now. I can get over a week of knowing Beckett.
I can do it.
Rather than draw out the inevitable, I fall into his arms, stealing more comfort than I should. If there’s one thing I can’t do right now is be selfless.
“Thanks for a great week, Beckett Nicholas. My world is forever changed by knowing you. I hope you find a woman who’s going to live up to your incredibly high standards, and she makes you happier than you could ever imagine.” I stop myself from saying: I wish it were me. As much as I wish it, it can’t be.
He cups my chin in his hands. “It’s been my pleasure, Willafred Gibson. My absolute pleasure. Go home, write all the books, and now and again, think of me, k?”
“Absolutely. Every time I watch a Hallmark movie, it’s only you I’ll think of.”
He leans down, pressing his lips to the top of my head. I hold back the dam of tears knowing it’s the last time he’ll ever do it. I have to be strong.
I give him a final squeeze, understanding I have to be the one to walk away.
After quick hugs to Shania and Autumn, I scramble to my car, my heart fracturing after just being sewn up, leaving behind a piece that will always belong to Beckett Nicholas.