16. Chapter 15 #3
Darcy laughing at my terrible joke on the boardwalk, then going quiet when I mentioned the guys talking about the roster after practice.
Then when I took her to the lookout to watch the sunset, and we sat there with our fingers laced together, only for her phone to start buzzing with calls from Colin.
Her whole body stiffened like someone flipped a switch.
"Darcy knows something about the trade. I asked her on the pier, straight out, and she just deflected." I scrub a hand through my hair. "She didn't lie. She's too smart to lie. But I know her face now. I know the look she gets when something is difficult."
"Does it bother you? Her holding something back?"
"Of course it fucking bothers me."
"That must be hard. I can see you really like her."
I narrow my eyes. "Why do I feel like you're about to bring up my dad again?"
Poppy doesn't even blink. "Because most of your life, other people have known things about your life and decided when you got to hear them. Your father. Your brothers. Your whole family."
"Sure. Yeah."
"So a woman holding information about your career is standing on a very sore spot."
"Great. Love that for me." I pick the coffee back up because my hands need a job.
"Here's what I noticed, though." She tips her head. "When you talk about Declan, or your father, you are agitated. Frustrated. Angry, even. But just now, with Darcy… You don't sound angry with her."
"That's because I'm not."
"Why not?"
And I sit there like an idiot, because logically? I should be furious. If Declan pulled this I'd have flipped a table and lost my shit until he spilled the beans about whatever he's hiding from me.
But when Darcy's doing it?
"I don't know," I finally say. "Maybe because when she kisses me, or holds me, hell, sometimes she just fucking looks at me and suddenly I don't care. About anything. Anything except… her."
"Why?"
The waves fill the silence for a second.
Here's the thing about Darcy Madden. She sees every single mistake I make. It's literally her job. She watched me cough up the puck in front of twelve thousand people and then she typed it into a report and sent it to the guy who can end my career at any moment.
But yet, she's still here.
Every damn night, she's asleep beside me, snuggled hard against me, soft as hell and more beautiful than anyone I've ever known.
She doesn't pretend I'm perfect.
She doesn't try to sand me down into some quieter, safer version of myself. Doesn't tell me to lower my voice, stop making jokes or eat the fucking quinoa Declan keeps putting in my meal-prep containers.
She knows exactly who I am.
Loud. Reckless. Occasionally a pain in the ass.
And apparently still worth crawling into bed beside.
"I dunno, doc," I eventually say, twisting in the chair. "Maybe because when I'm with her… I'm happy. I'm finally happy."
"Maybe that's why you trust her," Poppy says. "Because she sees you for who you are, Beck. The good and the bad."
I look out at the water and don't answer that one, because she's right and I hate it.
"She asked me something else on the pier," I say eventually. "What I'd actually do if they trade me."
"What did you tell her?"
"That I want to stay. Beachside's home." I rub my thumb along the rim of the mug. "But I also told her there's a part of me that wonders what it'd be like somewhere nobody's already decided who I am. Somewhere I'm not just a Morrison brother."
"You'd really want that?"
I look Poppy in the eyes, and nod. "I'm starting to think maybe I wouldn't mind giving it a go."
Poppy nods slowly, and there's something like approval in it. "So you're thinking about leaving Beachside?"
I take a deep breath and look out beyond Poppy's balcony, to where the ocean stretches far into the distant haze. Down below, Beachside is alive with tiny figures moving along the boardwalk, the palm trees bending overhead.
This is home.
I fucking love it here.
But for the first time, looking out at all that open water doesn't make somewhere else feel quite so terrifying.
"Yeah." I pause. "Maybe it wouldn't be the end of the world."
She glances at her watch, then shifts to the edge of her seat. "You should get going, Beck. The team is waiting for you."
I look out through the open doors, and sure enough, the Bears blue transfer bus has just pulled up in the parking lot.
"Whatever happens next, Beck, you still get to decide what you do. No one else can do that."
"Thanks, Doc."
I grab my travel bag and walk out into that parking lot. The sun is hammering off the pale stone as the team bus idles with its doors open.
Finn's leaning against the luggage hold in sunglasses, arms folded.
"There he is! Becky Boy. Not struggling to keep up again, are we?"
"I was in therapy, you—"
"Sure. Sure." He takes my bag off my shoulder and swings it into the hold like it weighs nothing. "Chocolate in your pocket?"
"Two pieces."
"Good man."
Then a black convertible swings into the lot, top down, parking with more speed than the situation requires. Darcy steps out in a navy blazer, sunglasses, wheeling a hard-shell suitcase behind her.
Fuck yes.
She's really coming with us.
And just like that, the whole world gets about ten pounds lighter.