Down for the Count (Bell Buckle #4)

Chapter 1 Beckham

BECKHAM

Ikilled him.

That’s what ran through my mind as I stared at the coffin sitting at the head of the aisle.

My best friend died because of me. And because of me, he wouldn’t live to see his thirtieth birthday.

Hell, he wouldn’t even live to see his twenty-eighth birthday—the one he was supposed to be celebrating in four and a half months.

Instead, I would be there on that date. Living.

Breathing. Doing everything he should’ve been doing.

What a selfish fucking thing it was to die.

Grieving was cruel. I was happy before all of this, laughing at Garrett’s jokes over the stupidest shit, watching him eat dirt every time he got bucked off the back of a bronc.

He was the whole reason I got more serious with saddle bronc riding to begin with.

The reason I packed a duffel bag full of clothes and hit the road and had the best fucking time of my life.

And now he was dead.

And I got to keep the memories.

Like I said—cruel. Selfish. Horrible.

Now, I sat in the back row at yet another funeral, remembering all of it.

But Garrett’s burial wasn’t today.

It was months ago.

Not an ounce of guilt had lifted off my shoulders since then, cinderblocks of regret holding them so far down I might as well be six feet under right next to him.

But rather than it being my body in that casket reflecting the cloudy sky above, it was another man.

The man who I wasn’t even sure deserved a funeral to begin with.

Parker Summerhill’s father.

Parker, the girl I spent the first eighteen years of my life loving, and the last ten years of my life missing.

I hadn’t seen her here yet, and I was half convinced she wouldn’t even show. I wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t.

The man was a piece of shit—always drinking instead of doing what any father should: taking care of his family.

Her mom wasn’t the best either, though I spared her a little more credit.

She’d fight and yell with Parker’s dad day in and day out, telling him he needed to do better, but then she’d turn around and be just as big of a failure.

But the day after Parker turned eighteen, her mom died.

Her death was both sides of the coin. It ended her suffering of lung cancer from years of smoking in their little singlewide, but in turn, left Parker with her dad.

Three days after her mom passed, before the funeral was even held, Parker left town.

And I hadn’t seen her since. Hadn’t heard from her.

Hadn’t stopped thinking of her. Hadn’t stopped hating myself for letting her go, but fuck—I left, too.

I said goodbye to her, looked her right in the fucking eyes as I did, and said I couldn’t go with her because I wanted to get more involved in rodeo.

To ride broncs for money. To enjoy my twenties with my friends.

Hell, I invited her. But she said no. She wanted to travel to ranches around the country and learn all she could about cattle ranching.

I told her I’d take her anywhere she wanted once I struck gold, but that wasn’t enough.

She wanted out of this town. Wanted to live her life the way she always should have.

Really, I think she only wanted to get the fuck away from her dad.

I didn’t blame her.

Parker and I, we both had our flaws. Mine was how I set my sights on something, and I got it, no matter the sacrifices. Hers? Wanting to run.

“She’s still such a sweet girl, just like when she was growin’ up,” said some lady with a scratchy, shaky voice from next to me in the back row.

I didn’t look up from the photo of Parker’s dad’s face printed on the thick cardstock in my hand, knowing the lady was talking to her friend on the other side of her.

“Too bad she left like that,” the other woman noted, her voice like nails on a chalkboard.

“Wonder where the dad is,” the first one added, straightening in her chair to look up the rows of seats.

In the casket, I wanted to say, but kept my mouth shut. Did they even know whose funeral they were attending?

Despite my knowledge of who was about to be placed six feet under for the rest of forever, I wasn’t really here for him. No, that bastard didn’t deserve an ounce of anyone’s attention.

I was here for Parker.

I wasn’t afraid to admit I was selfish when it came to that woman. Though I’d had Parker before, I still wanted her.

I attributed my bouncing leg and chewed lower lip to grief. The seven stages and all that. And I knew, as much as any, that getting into a relationship so soon after a big loss was probably not the right thing to do.

I was kidding myself, though. Overthinking the possibility of her like I always did.

Like when I walked into a gas station store and expected to see her at the soda machine, filling her cup to the brim with Dr. Pepper.

Or when I’d show up to a vet office and hope that fate had led her to the same one, on the same day, in the same hour.

Parker likely wanted nothing to do with me. Ten years without talking, and I seriously thought I had a shot? At her dad’s funeral, for crying out loud?

And even if I saw her, what was my plan? Go up there and kiss her? Hug her? Share my condolences when we all knew the type of man Clarence Summerhill was?

As if my dreams were coming to fruition at that moment, a woman stepped in front of the casket. Her shoulders were back, black dress hugging her torso while the bottom fanned out in a loose skirt, all the way to her ankles. Her blonde hair was loose, a familiar wild wave to it.

Even though I could only see her back, I knew.

That was my Parker.

Everyone else quieted as she stood there, her head slightly angled to indicate she was staring at the closed casket. Did she see her reflection? Could she see me in it? Did she know I was here?

As fast as she appeared, she began to turn, and I flicked my eyes to my lap. I didn’t want her to catch me staring, but in my defense, it was a fucking funeral. Of course I’d be looking at the damn casket.

As the funeral went on, Parker was nowhere to be seen. She didn’t reappear until we were all standing, and I found her once again staring—this time at a massive bouquet.

I wondered who cared enough about her father to send a man-sized display of flowers. Kinda morbid, if you ask me. They were going to die, just like him. At least they provided a bit of beauty before they did, though. Her father never extended the same pleasure.

Slowly, Parker turned, and rather than only her back this time, I caught a glimpse of the side of her face. My breath hitched, chilled air swirling in my lungs with the hurricane of emotions that stirred at the sight of her again.

The last ten years had turned her from a teen into a woman, and holy fuck.

Parker was goddamn devastating.

As soon as she turned fully, my eyes fell to her slightly enlarged belly. It was disproportionate to the rest of her body, and the reason for it was clear.

My Parker was…pregnant?

I didn’t have time to dwell on that fact as her eyes locked with mine and shock settled into her features. It was as if she’d seen a ghost. Like the man who used to hold her close on those nights when her parents did nothing but fight couldn’t really be standing in front of her.

We stared at each other from across the lawn, chairs upon chairs separating us as others snacked, viewed the casket, or reminisced.

Parker and I, we didn’t have to voice our past. Those memories flashed in our eyes, electrifying the air that sat heavy between us. Every laugh, every smile, every goddamn tear that ever rolled down her beautiful freckled cheeks—I remembered them.

Maybe this was too much. Too soon after Garrett’s passing to be attending a funeral. To be seeing Parker in the flesh. Should I talk to her? Say hi? Run away and pretend I never showed?

Who even sent me the damn invite, anyway?

Could it really have been her? Did she really want me here?

I mean, she was pregnant. She probably had a boyfriend, or fuck, a husband, and wanted nothing to do with me.

Or she wanted me to be her getaway driver from this place.

And I’d do it. No question about that. I’d give her twelve more babies if she asked, too.

Fuck, what was wrong with me?

Beckham Bronson, get your shit together.

I forced my feet to move, my boots stamping down the grass as I went. I didn’t take my eyes off her, not even as some old man got in my way. I walked around him, stuck in the pull that was Parker’s orbit. She seemed hung up in it, too, those big hazel eyes sucking me in like they always did.

I came to a stop in front of her. Every time I blinked, I worried she’d disappear into thin air.

“Hey.” I mentally kicked myself. That was my greeting after ten years of not seeing her?

“Hey,” she repeated softly, her shoulders falling the slightest bit, like simply being in my presence eased some of the tension. She’d done the same thing when we were growing up.

I gestured to the casket before stuffing my hands into the pockets of my brown jacket. “I’m sorry about your dad.”

She looked a little awestruck before giving a tiny shake of her head. “Don’t be.” Her lips pressed into a flat line before she added, “He was an asshole.”

I let out a half-assed chuckle. “Yeah. That he was.”

She just kept staring, ripping me to bits under her penetrating gaze. I was sure I looked about the same right now. I rocked back on my heels, feeling even more anxious than before.

“You look good.” Her gaze darted to my felt cowboy hat before finding my eyes again. “I mean, you’ve always looked good. You just look…”

“Older,” I offered.

“More mature.”

The corner of my mouth ticked up. “Was I too childish for you before?”