Chapter 11 Parker
PARKER
Beckham had tried to prepare me for this dinner as best he could.
Growing up, the Bronsons were like a warm blanket after a long, cold day, wrapping you in their embrace and giving you sanctuary.
There was never a day where I didn’t feel at home in their house.
But tonight, I worried I wouldn’t have the same feelings, and I’d have no choice but to mourn the loss of it.
Back then, I fit in. Now I was walking into a house half full of people I knew, and half full of people who were complete strangers.
Beckham’s siblings had formed their own relationships over the years, and my only hope going into this was that they all accepted me, and that none of the Bronsons resented me for leaving Bell Buckle.
“It’s going to be okay,” Beckham affirmed, setting a hand on my thigh to stop the bouncing. We were heading up the driveway to the main house, and the sight of it, even from this distance, had a bowling-ball-sized emotional pit dropping to the base of my stomach.
“You don’t think they’ll hate me?”
He aimed a frown at me, the look laced with concern. “They’ve been asking about you like crazy, Park. I wouldn’t take them being eager to see you as them being pissed off.”
I picked at the side of my fingernail. “I’ve missed them. And I know we have to have the hard conversations, but I just…” I dropped my head. “I could really use the good right now.”
His hold on my thigh tightened slightly. “Is there something you need to tell me?”
I looked up to find his body stiff, his grip on the wheel white-knuckled. “What do you mean?”
He shifted, but the movement seemed forced, like he was trying to loosen his muscles. “About the asshole who got you pregnant and left.”
My heart started racing at the mention of him. “You’re bringing this up now?”
He heaved a breath before shaking his head. An internal battle raged behind his eyes. “I need to know, Parker.”
“Know what?”
“Did he hurt you?”
My eyes widened. Daniel had never been abusive, but when he found out I was pregnant and I planned to keep it? Well, he hadn’t been happy, and that may have slipped into his physical reaction to the news.
“No.”
“Are you lying?”
“Beckham, now’s not the time.”
He let out an incredulous, humorless laugh. “You’re lying to me.”
The hurt behind that statement sent knives digging into my conscience as regret quickly hit me.
“He didn’t hurt me before. But when he found out I was pregnant, he recommended I get an abortion, and I told him I wouldn’t get one.
” I’d thought about that option for all of two minutes before I shoved the idea into a locked box.
The moment I saw those two lines appear, I’d cracked.
The hard facade I tried to uphold in certain situations was nowhere to be found at that moment.
I wanted this baby, regardless of who the father was.
His hand spun on the wheel, leather creaking below his grip. “What’d he do?”
“He pushed me.”
Thankfully, we’d made it to the end of the driveway. Otherwise, I was sure Beckham would’ve hit the brakes right in the middle of the road.
“He did what?”
His eyes held the promise of death. There was no question about it.
“I think I was in his way—”
“Don’t make excuses for that asshole.”
Shame had me casting my gaze to my lap again.
“Did you fall?” he asked, softening his tone.
I nodded. “I went to the hospital that night, just to make sure everything was okay.” I met his stare again. “The baby is okay. And I never saw Daniel again.”
Beck’s teeth ground together before he tore a hand through his hair and moved his focus out the windshield. He was staring at the ranch, but it was like he wasn’t really seeing it.
“Beckham, I’m okay.” I set my hand on the one he still had on my leg. “None of that was your fault.” Because I knew Beckham. Knew he’d blame himself if he could, because holding that responsibility was easier to him than accepting he had no hand in stopping the bad things that happened.
“I should’ve never let you leave,” he whispered.
“And what were you going to do? Stuff me in your truck while you went off to ride broncs?”
“If it would have kept you safe.”
But both of us knew that wasn’t even close to a possibility. We were both too eager to be free to be contained. It was what had torn us apart.
Through the windshield, I saw the front door swing open, and a little girl with long brown hair came barreling out in short sleeves and fuzzy slippers. She shouted something as she bounded to the truck.
“What do you want to tell them about the baby?” Beckham asked, his tone low despite his eyes lighting up at the sight of the girl.
“They think he’s yours?”
“If Wyatt talked to them, then yes.”
“And if he didn’t?”
There was a long, heavy pause, and our gazes met.
Beckham would sacrifice everything for me, but I didn’t want him to pretend for my sake.
“If you want me to say he’s mine, I will.”
He showed no hesitation, and it made my chest sting.
But I didn’t get the chance to answer as a woman who looked nearly identical to the girl appeared on the porch, tears in her eyes and a pained expression on her face.
Beckham was out of the truck in an instant, leaving his door wide open as he met the little girl halfway.
He scooped her up, hurrying toward the porch and up the steps.
Seconds later, Callan emerged, coming to the woman’s side and setting a hand on her elbow.
The two men studied something on her hand while the little girl buried her face in Beckham’s neck.
The sight had my heart skipping a beat.
I climbed out of the truck, quietly closing my door and then Beckham’s before crossing to the porch. My approach felt like I was imposing on a private family matter, and the knowledge that I wasn’t part of it had me blinking back tears. I blamed the pregnancy hormones.
“You need stitches,” Callan stated as he inspected her hand.
“Cal, it’s fine,” the woman insisted.
As I hit the top step, I saw the blood dripping down her arm.
“He’s right,” Beckham agreed. “That cut won’t heal right on its own.”
“But Avery—” she started.
“I’ve got her.” Beck ran a hand up and down the little girl’s back.
The woman looked from Beck to Callan before settling her gaze on me. Her eyes widened before her mouth popped open. “Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry. You must be Parker. I’m Sage, Callan’s girlfriend.”
She went to hold out her hand, but stopped as she remembered she was pressing a rag to her bleeding finger.
I waved her off. “It’s okay. Keep pressure on that. It’s nice to meet you, Sage. Sorry about the…” I glanced at the blood dripping down her arm.
“I was cutting fruit when Avery ran out here like a bat out of hell because she saw Beck pull up. I thought her scream was because she got hurt, and the knife must’ve slipped when I looked up.” Her focus moved behind me before turning to me and Beck again. “Did you two come together?”
I looked at Beckham to answer that, but he stood there stiff as a board with Avery sniffling in his arms. I wasn’t sure when she’d started crying, but I was sure she felt guilty.
“We did,” I answered, and braced for the barrage of questions. Are you dating? Is this his baby? When did you find time to get together, let alone have a baby?
“We should go,” Callan urged, placing a palm on Sage’s lower back.
His suggestion had a trapped breath loosening from my chest.
Sage sent a sympathetic look at Beckham. “Are you sure it’s okay? I know this dinner was for Parker, and the last thing I want to do is take any attention away from that.”
He frowned at her. “Sage. You accidentally cut yourself. This wasn’t some malicious plan. Please, go. I’m more than happy to watch Avery.”
Something about her hoping she hadn’t ruined the night had me wondering about her past—if there was a pattern there, and if this worry came from somewhere deep.
“We’ll send you updates,” Callan said, leading Sage toward the porch steps.
“Mama,” Avery called out, reaching for her over Beck’s shoulder.
Callan squeezed Avery’s hand while Sage reached up on tiptoes to place a kiss to her cheek. “I’m okay, honey. It’s not your fault. Mommy’s just clumsy sometimes.”
“Like me?” Avery sniffed.
Sage nodded, a reassuring smile on her lips. “It must run in the family.”
After they departed, Beckham turned to me and opened his mouth.
“Don’t apologize,” I said quickly.
He snapped his mouth shut and lowered Avery to the ground.
I smiled down at her. “You must be Avery.”
She nodded, rubbing puffy eyes.
“You know”—I lowered myself to a crouch in front of her, ignoring how it was becoming more difficult with my growing belly—“I’ve accidentally cut myself plenty of times.”
“You have?” she asked.
I held out my arm, pointing to the scar on the inside of my elbow. “This was from barbed wire.”
She studied it, angling her head to get a better look. “Mama said never to play with that.”
I dipped my chin in agreement. “Your mom’s right. It’s super sharp. But the important part is that it healed.” I dropped my arm, meeting her gaze. “Your mom’s going to be okay.”
Her bottom lip puffed out. “I just don’t want her to be in pain.”
Beckham ran a hand down the back of her head. “Your mom’s strong, Aves. Just like you. She’ll be good as new once they stitch it up.”
She craned her neck to look up at him. “Will the stitches hurt?”
“Maybe. But after, she’ll feel a lot better.”
He didn’t sugarcoat it, and Avery seemed to appreciate that as she gave a firm nod.
“Now, run on inside. We’re right behind you,” Beck said.
She gave him a quick hug around the waist before darting inside the farmhouse. When the door clicked shut, I turned to find Beckham studying me.
“You ready?”
I inhaled a steadying breath, nerves seeping right back into my bones. But even as my palms grew clammy, I knew this was what I wanted.
“I’m ready.”