CHAPTER 9 #2
Beck pulled something small from his other pocket and held up a thin silver box. “Here,” he said, and then flicked the lid open, and after sparking the wheel, a flame spouted out. A lighter. “Explode.”
“Fill in the blanks however you want.” Beck slammed his chair forward, the legs cracking against the ground hard enough to make me jump.
“I hate Alderton-Du Ponte—almost as much as I hate everyone in it.” And then he got to his feet.
“While this has been a nice little chat around the dinner table, I, in fact, am the odd one out. And illegally parked.”
Jamie, silent nearly the entire time, started to stand. “Let me walk you—”
“I can show myself out.” Beck didn’t meet anyone’s eyes. “Brightons. Pebble Brain.” Then, without another word, he strode toward the front door.
The tension didn’t vanish when he left the room, though. My body still felt wound tight, like a rubber band about to snap. Dad’s expression didn’t change. Didn’t flit to me and didn’t blaze with anger. He stared at the hallway as if he could see straight through the walls, watching Beck go.
And then I noticed something dark still sat on the chair Beck had abandoned. His car keys.
For a second, my brain snagged on it. Beck had forgotten his car keys?
I waited a moment, sure he’d have to awkwardly come back in for them, but he didn’t.
Was this his way of forcing me to come after him?
Biting down on my lip, I picked them up, squeezing them in my palm before following after him.
When I opened the front door and found Beck still on the porch, I immediately assumed I’d guessed correctly. It’d been some elaborate scheme to get me back outside. But then I froze.
Beck’s back was to the door, and he gripped the metal railing tightly, as if it were the only thing keeping him upright.
His head was bowed, and even though his back was turned to me, I could hear the ragged, almost gasping breaths he drew in, as if he hadn’t been breathing the entire time he’d been at the table.
He hadn’t left his car keys on purpose. He’d been so desperate to leave that he hadn’t noticed they weren’t still in his pocket.
I’ve never wanted to explode, Beck had said that night. But I have wanted to disappear.
Back then, I hadn’t understood what he’d meant. Hadn’t thought of his words as a confession. Now, the memory left me hollow. My throat tightened to the point that the next breath I pulled in was a small gasp—one that had Beck’s shoulders tensing.
He didn’t turn. “It’s impolite to eavesdrop,” he said, his voice strangled. Forced.
“You… dropped these.”
Beck straightened slowly and turned around even slower. His eyes latched onto the keys hanging from my fingers, and they hardened. He reached for it, but I didn’t immediately let go. “Drop them, Nell.”
“You’re upset.”
“Drop it, Nell.”
“Why did you even come inside? Why didn’t you just ignore my dad’s offer for a drink and just leave?” And, even though the words burned like acid on my tongue, I added, “You—you brought this on yourself.”
Beck let out a laugh that wasn’t a laugh at all. “I am a glutton for punishment.” His chest had steadied, but those eyes were bright. “As evident by you.”
I pressed my lips together, letting go of his car keys.
Beck looked at them for a moment, something shifting as the tightness of his spine loosened further. I wondered if he felt like he’d won—or had lost. “Did I perform exactly how you hoped I would? Did I lie just how you wanted me to?”
“I—I didn’t want you to—”
“You did. Why don’t you ever listen to me, Nell?” His words were exasperated. “You, of all people, can’t hide what you’re thinking.”
People don’t realize how bad they are at hiding what they’re thinking. “And you think you’re so good at it?” At my sides, my hands curled into fists, unwilling to let it go. “Talking back to my dad like that in there—you think that wasn’t obvious?”
A humorless smile touched his mouth. “What was obvious?”
“That something he’d said before hurt you.”
I couldn’t imagine what it’d been, though. My dad had never been cruel to anyone. Emotionally distant, sure, but never mean. What could he have said to Beck that’d left such a mark?
Beck, like he always did when he felt cornered, changed the subject. “At least I didn’t tell them what came before the fire, huh? I doubt that’d go over well for you.”
Before the fire. Before the shouting, and the sirens, and the shame. When my hand had been in his. When I’d leaned in.
“Why didn’t you?” I demanded, holding my chin high as if that alone could make me feel confident in what I was saying. As if confidence alone could save me. “You could’ve made me look bad in front of my dad, in front of Carter. You could’ve ruined it all then and there. Why didn’t you?”
“Some aces are better kept up your sleeve.” Beck swung his keys around his fingers, and they made a light jingle. “Did it make you uncomfortable? Is it uncomfortable that only you and I know the truth of what really happened?”
Heat climbed my neck. “You’re better off pretending like it didn’t happen,” I told him. “Other people have forgotten it and moved on. You should, too.”
“Have you?” Beck asked, and I found myself looking at his plush top lip, watching the letters form into words on his mouth. “Have you moved on from ruining my life?”
I flinched from the accusation as if it were a blow I could dodge. I couldn’t, though. It landed square in my chest. “I didn’t ruin your life,” I threw back at him, voice savagely strong. False. “You did that all on your own.”
Beck’s green eyes glinted. “Maybe.” And then he smiled, but it didn’t touch his eyes. “Not sure when I’ll see you next. You’re kind of right, you know. It’s not that fun being where you’re not wanted.”
The words hurt, probably just as much as he’d hoped they would.
You should’ve stayed with whatever parent you were with, because no one wants you here.
The words I’d thrown at him like knives seemed so much more cutting now that my anger had evaporated.
I couldn’t believe I’d uttered them in the first place.
But I couldn’t take them back. I just kept my mouth shut, clenching my teeth so tightly that my jaw ached. I-N-E-V-I-T-A-B-L-E.
Beck reached toward me and gently smoothed the palm of his hand over my hair. His fingertips feathered through the strands ever so slightly as his eyes traced his movement, and I froze. I didn’t know why I didn’t try to bat his hand away. I didn’t know why I held still for him, but I did.
No, I knew why. My fluttering lashes and heart knew why. And I hated it.
I-N-E-V-I-T-A-B-L-E.
“Your hair is a mess,” Beck murmured, and that was when I realized he was taming the tangles from the drive in his car. His expression was remote and unreadable. “If you want to look pretty for Carter, you should at least run your fingers through it before you go back inside.”
And then, without another word, Beck dropped his hand and turned around, heading down the sidewalk to his car. It was a miracle someone hadn’t come yet to complain about the blocked roadway. He took his time slipping into the convertible, as if life followed the pace he set.
Beck didn’t look at me again before pulling away from the curb.
Now I was the one reaching over and gripping the porch railing, drawing in a steadying breath.
I felt trapped and free-falling all at once.
Four years ago, reading Beck had been easy—almost as easy as reading Jamie.
But the calm bravado he’d donned inside was nothing but an act, revealing that he was just as unsettled by the game he was playing as I was.
And there was nothing I could do but sit back and hope that he grew bored with the game. And pretend that I wasn’t secretly hoping he wouldn’t.
Nothing good would come from engaging with Beckham Jennings, but I was a magnet drawn to him anyway. That was the thing with crushes, and crushes on boys like Beckham Jennings.
They were dangerous.
Especially when they had aces up their sleeves that would ruin girls like me.
Swallowing hard, I let myself back into the house, and Dad’s voice floated down the hallway. It’s impolite to eavesdrop, Beck had said, but I found myself doing it for the second time.
“What do you like about my daughter, Carter?” Dad’s voice was flat. “It seems you’re very interested in being her friend.”
“I’m still getting to know her, and what I do know is great. I do want to be honest, though, Mr. Brighton. I—I am interested in your daughter romantically.”
I cringed a little at the awkward declaration, also because it dashed some of the hope that we could just stay friends.
This was a good thing, though, that Carter was making such a statement to Dad.
Dad would be happy that the son of his college best friend liked me.
Impressed. It was exactly what I’d been wanting, and yet my chest rose and fell fast, just as Beck’s had on the porch.
“She’s very determined,” Carter went on. “We’ve talked a bit about her college plans, and her ambition—”
“Is silly.” Dad’s voice was hard.
And all at once, my chest froze.
There was a seven-year age gap between Destelle and me, and I could distinctly remember what it’d been like when she was my age now.
I’d been ten, she’d been seventeen, and both of our parents had been almost obsessed with her future plans.
Hounded her to fill out applications and apply to scholarships and walk down the path they’d wanted.
They’d pressured her, pushed her, tried to mold her into someone Destelle truly had no interest in being.
Even now, years later, I could remember exactly what she’d said when she snapped.
One day, when I don’t come home for holidays and never call you on your birthday, think of this moment.
In the end, though, our parents had relinquished their grip on her. They’d let go of the dreams they’d had for her in order to keep her in their life. They’d let her choose her own path.
And even though they’d given her exactly what she’d wanted, she’d followed through on her threat anyway. She did not come home for holidays or remember to call on birthdays. With the freedom she’d been given, she’d walked away from us.
“It’s misguided,” Dad amended, his voice tired. Like he didn’t want to talk about me anymore. “To think you have your entire future mapped out at seventeen is almost irresponsible. A form of brainwashing society has normalized.”
The support he’d given Destelle so easily, so willingly, was something I couldn’t even win over.
Even when my dreams aligned with the ones he’d so badly wanted for her, they were meaningless in his eyes when it came to me.
Ever since March, ever since his bad case, he’d decided I wasn’t good enough. Misguided. Silly.
“Oh. Um.” Carter fumbled with Dad’s intensity. “I—I agree with you a bit there, I suppose. The—the part about the future mapped. I guess. But it is nice when someone is passionate about something.”
I thought of his Mr. ASMR channel. I thought of myself, hands empty of something that I felt passionate about. Except for impressing my father.
“Don’t let anyone tell you what to do with your life, son.” Dad let out a slow breath. “Find your own path. Don’t choose some path that’s meaningless to you just because it meant something to someone else.”
Staring at the opposing hallway wall, I felt something crack in my chest. M-E-A-N-I-N-G-L-E-S-S.
I didn’t know why it was so impossible for him to encourage me.
He’d gone to law school. He’d become a lawyer, and then later, a judge on the Connecticut Superior Court.
M-I-S-G-U-I-D-E-D. He was supposed to be proud of me for following in his footsteps.
He was supposed to congratulate me on my choices. He was supposed to cheer for me.
I didn’t go back to the dining room. Instead, I went upstairs to my bedroom, locking myself inside, and texted Jamie to tell Carter I wasn’t feeling good.
S-I-L-L-Y.
I resented Destelle even more for having been freely given everything I wanted and throwing it away instead.
And maybe that was why forgetting Beckham Jennings had always been impossible—we’d always been one and the same.