Chapter 3 Parker
PARKER
Ignawed on my lip the entire drive to Beckham’s double-wide. Questions about the last decade swirled around in my head as I followed his truck, begging to be voiced once I got out of my vehicle and came face-to-face with him again.
What had he been up to? Did he have a girlfriend? A job? Did he still ride broncs? How was his family?
Was it even my business?
Did he hate me for…everything?
I shouldn’t have come back to the motel after my father’s funeral.
I should have gotten right back in my truck and driven far the fuck away.
But where would that have landed me? I had nowhere to go.
No one to help me care for this baby. And while the latter wasn’t changing, having a roof over my head for the foreseeable future definitely added a semblance of safety to the situation at hand.
The way Beckham had been so adamant about me staying with him didn’t make me think I was a burden. Or at least, I hoped I wasn’t. Beckham had always been sweet to me. And his home, coming into view as we turned down his driveway, was proof that he hadn’t lost his humanity over the years.
The back door of my truck swung open as soon as I parked, and Beckham appeared, grabbing my luggage. My eyes darted to the bag before meeting his patient gaze.
“Ready?” His tone was calm, like he was approaching an injured animal and didn’t want to spook it.
With a swallow, I nodded. He closed the back door and came around to my side before I could open it.
As I swung my legs out, he took a step back, his shoulder leaning against the door so I could walk past him.
Once I was a few feet away, he shoved it shut, then came to a stop beside me as I stared up at his home.
“Not what you expected?” he guessed.
I shook my head, my hands involuntarily coming up to rest on my stomach. “No. It’s exactly what I pictured for you.”
He let out a breathy chuckle. “A double-wide, huh? I didn’t think I was that disappointing.”
I elbowed his arm. “You’re not disappointing, Beck. It’s perfect.”
The following silence had me glancing his way, spotting a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth before he continued onward to the front door. Once there, he set my bag on the porch and dug his keys out of his pocket.
After the door was unlocked, he shoved it open, gesturing for me to go first while he grabbed the handle of my luggage. I strode past him, taking in the space as I entered.
Despite appearing to be an older double-wide from the outside, the interior seemed newly remodeled. What looked to be faux white granite merged into the short backdrop of the kitchen while the cabinets sported a warm, honey oak color, giving a warmth to the space.
As we passed the kitchen directly beside the front door, I walked into the living room where a brown leather couch sat in front of another piece of oak furniture—the coffee table.
The bare space made it seem like he’d just moved in. That, or he was really bad at decorating, save for the giant longhorn skull hanging on the wall directly above the TV.
“Did you recently buy the place?” I asked, trailing a hand over the back of the couch.
I looked over my shoulder to find him pausing at the entrance to a hallway.
I did my best to ignore the way his muscles flexed under the strain of my luggage.
His biceps always had a way of pulling me in, but now they were bigger.
More toned. And that was only based on what I could see with his jacket on.
God help me when he takes it off.
He shifted the handle to his opposite hand before running fingers through his mussed-up hair. He’d abandoned his cowboy hat on the hook by the door. “Yeah, sort of.”
I waited for him to go on, but when he simply stared at me, I offered a closed-lip smile. His eyes darted to my mouth before his tongue flicked out and over his lips, so fast I barely noticed it. Then he tilted his head in the direction of the hall, and I followed.
“I have a guest room,” he explained as he stepped to the side by an open door, allowing me to walk in ahead of him. “It’s not much, but it has an attached bathroom. No tub, though. If you want to take a bath, you can in mine.” He set the luggage on the beige-and-ivory checkered comforter.
“That’s fine. I don’t know if I can take a bath anyway, with…” I trailed off, my focus moving down to my belly before back to him. “While I’m pregnant.”
A line formed between his eyebrows, a look of worry washing over him before he quickly masked it. “I, uh, know someone else who’s pregnant.”
I gave him a curious look.
As soon as he noticed the look, he held his hands out, cheeks flaming. “Not because I just go around meeting pregnant women. Callan’s girlfriend, Sage, is pregnant. She has another kid, a little girl named Avery”—his expression warmed at the mention of her—“so she might have some tips.”
Nostalgia at the mention of his brother had me smiling. I never thought I’d hear about the Bronsons like this again, and now here I was, hearing their names like I’d never left. “Thanks. I’d really like that.”
I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed Bell Buckle.
Now that I was here, the guilt of leaving all those years ago threatened to rip off the bandage I’d stretched over the wound this place had left.
I hadn’t had many friends when I lived here, save for the Bronsons, because my family were outcasts.
Not for any reason other than my parents didn’t like me hanging out with anyone.
They had their secrets, and the last thing they wanted was their little girl sharing them with the town.
It was why Beckham and I mostly snuck around. Why I only saw Lettie, his little sister, and Brandy, her best friend, when I stopped by their ranch on my way home from school. Or the mornings after I’d stay the night in Beckham’s bed.
All the risks I’d taken, all the sneaking around, was for Beckham.
Everything was for him. For us.
Until we both left.
The rustling of fabric had me flicking my gaze back to him, only to find he’d taken his jacket off and was slinging it over his shoulder.
He rubbed at the back of his neck, the movement causing his shirt to rise slightly.
I glimpsed the hard muscle of his stomach that dipped into a well-defined hip bone.
The sight had me clearing my throat, turning away to hide the heat in my cheeks.
He must’ve noticed the sudden change in my demeanor, or maybe he felt the room shrinking like I did, because he stepped back toward the door, his face nearly looking pained.
“This isn’t weird, is it?” I asked, stopping him before he could leave. At the motel, I was content to stew in the silence. But here? It was deafening, knowing he was barely four steps away, across the hall, with only walls separating us.
“I invited you here, Parker. It’s not weird.” His hand rested on the knob, and my focus shifted from his face to his arm. It was then that I noticed the tattoo on the inside of his left bicep.
“What’s with the longhorn skull?” It was similar to the one I’d seen hanging in his living room.
The corner of his mouth twitched, as if my change of subject amused him. “Story for another time. Why don’t you settle in? I’ve got some things I have to do.”
Deflation hit me like a bullet. “Oh.”
His features pinched. “It’s not that I don’t want to—”
“It’s okay,” I interrupted, not wanting him to feel guilty. “I’m the one intruding, anyway. You have your stuff to do.” It was weird not knowing him like I did before. And yet, he was still the same Beckham. Just…grown up.
Guilt showed in his gaze, and I hated that I put it there.
He opened his mouth, but closed it again before landing on “Yep.”
He hesitated, lips pursing like he wanted to say more. I wished he would.
He started to swing the door shut, and my hands twitched with the urge to stop him again.
Let him go, I told myself. You’re making a fool of yourself.
I stepped forward, my control slipping. “Beck?”
He paused, the door nearly shut, and met my eyes in response.
“It’s good seeing you again.”
The barely visible tension in his shoulders seemed to dissipate instantly. “You too, Park.”
Then he shut the door, leaving me alone.
I stared at it, listening as his boots faded back into the living room. A door shut, and I assumed he had left.
Slowly spinning around, I heaved a breath. The minimal decor of the room had a cute farmhouse feel, like he’d let Lettie and his mother, Charlotte, pick out the decorations and bedding.
The rug under the bed had hints of brown and green, pulling in warmth from the dark oak bed frame.
There was a single plant on the dresser, but upon closer inspection, I found it was artificial.
I rubbed a plastic leaf between my thumb and forefinger before trailing a finger along the wooden top of the dresser, making my way to the window.
I nudged the curtain aside, finding dust pluming into the air like a cloud behind Beckham’s receding truck.
I really was alone in Beckham Bronson’s house, then.
My gaze traced over the rolling fields that stretched for miles before admiring the looming mountains in the distance. Puffs of fluffy white clouds cast shadows over the land, their shapes indecipherable.
The sight stole my breath.
For all the memories Bell Buckle held for me, there were always enough good ones to outweigh the bad.
For the longest time, I didn’t know where my place was.
I lived in my horse trailer with its attached living quarters for years, not knowing where I truly belonged, but feeling content all the same.
Leaving Bell Buckle had felt like the start of an exciting adventure.
I’d never left home much before then, since my parents didn’t like—and couldn’t afford—to travel.
Getting out of this town was the start of me truly finding myself.
But now that I was back, staring at the landscape and reminiscing on all those times I saw that same mountain behind a smiling Beckham—standing tall while his brothers teased me and Lettie, watching over us as we cried and laughed and lived—I realized maybe I didn’t have to go looking for my place after all.
I’d had a good life, despite the hardships.
My best moments were thanks to Beckham. When I’d come to his house crying over a fight my parents had gotten into, or when I’d sneak him into our house to watch a movie on his phone while my parents were passed out, he was the reason a smile always found its way onto my face after a storm—no matter how severe.
My palm rested on my stomach and I closed my eyes, inhaling deeply. I held it before blowing it out, then gazed out the window with a new outlook.
No matter what happened in the coming months, between my life and my baby, I knew without a doubt that everything would be okay.
It always was when Beckham was around.