Chapter 47
47
Josefine
I’m surprisingly refreshed after a solid four hours of sleep. Enough so, even, to conquer whatever is waiting for me in Palm Springs. I passed out while Cam showered last night, and this morning, I linger under the hot water longer than intended. I dress in a flowy white spaghetti-strap top tucked into a pair of cutoff jeans and a boho-like kimono. With my hair in a giant claw and a pair of Birkenstocks on my feet, I’m ready to head out. After filling my mom’s car with gas and grabbing coffees and bagels to-go, we are finally on the highway. If traffic is light, we should arrive at the rehab center before noon.
Cam looks relaxed in chino shorts, a fitted tee, and white sneakers. Neither of us remembered to pack sunglasses in our mad rush, so we’re donning cheap gas station frames. While he drives, I text Tyler: On my way to Palm Springs. Thank you again.
The iconic palm-lined streets aren’t as glamorous when one’s mother is in rehab on the other side. We pull up to the front of Desert Haven Recovery Oasis. At first glance, the vibe is far more luxury resort and spa than inpatient facility, especially when the valet greets us.
On the drive over, I researched a more affordable center closer to my mom’s house, but because of poor reception, I couldn’t get through to reserve a spot. Now that we’re here and the service has improved, I’ll try again. First, though, I need to see my mom. She may not agree to it.
We’re hit with a burst of cool air as we pass through the automatic doors. Just inside, I stumble to a halt. Because my ex is sitting on a sofa in the lobby. He promptly rises when he catches motion at the door and strides my way.
“Hi.” I give him a curt nod.
Cam steps closer to my side in solidarity.
“Hey, Beck.” Tyler gives me a crooked smile. His button-down is buttoned a little too down, giving me a clear view of the tattoos on his chest. What was once Josefine is now a field of pine trees. “It’s good to see you.”
I’m not sure how to reply. I’m definitely not delighted to see him, but he did pick up my mom from the hospital and drive two hours to bring her here.
I don’t waste time on superficial politeness, but I do offer my gratitude. “Thank you for your help last night.”
Why is he still here?
His eyes linger on me a little too long, and when he finally glances at Cam, he nods in his direction and scowls. “Who’s this guy?”
Looping my pinkie with Cam’s, I say, “This is Cameron. My”— oh what the hell —“boyfriend.”
He wraps my hand in his and squeezes.
It’s the first time I’ve said the word aloud, but dang, if it doesn’t feel right. Maybe introducing my new boyfriend to my ex-boyfriend isn’t the best way to declare my feelings, but I refuse to tiptoe around them anymore .
Tyler crosses his arms at the same time Cam extends his for a handshake.
“I’m going to see what I can find out about my mom,” I say, attempting to break the tension, but the guys don’t take their eyes off each other.
Ignoring the little puffing-of-the-chests ritual, I approach the woman behind the desk and present my ID.
“Hi, my mother, Elin Beckham, was brought here last night, er, this morning,” I correct myself. “I’d like to check her out, actually.”
“Oh?” Behind her wide-frame glasses, the woman’s brows raise and her eyes widen.
“Yes. If you could just bill me for one night, I can pay now.” I brace myself for the cost.
The woman, Dahlia, according to her name tag, is silent as she turns to her computer. Only the soft click of her nails on the keyboard can be heard. That, and two men huffing down my neck.
“It looks like the bill has been taken care of, Ms. Beckham,” Dahlia says.
“What? I haven’t even seen a bill yet.”
She peers up at me. “According to our records, the cost of a thirty-day stay for your mother has been paid.”
Dumbfounded, all I can do is gape at her for a moment. “And my mom agreed to this?”
“Yes,” she confirms. “I can have someone bring you to her now if you’d like.”
I nod, then turn to the two men behind me.
“How?” I choke out, turning to Tyler, who must have covered the cost. “Did you—” I’m so shocked I can’t form the words.
With a tilt of his head, he shrugs.
“I can’t—I don’t—” I stutter. “I can’t pay you back right now, but I promise I will.”
“Don’t worry about it, Beck.” He slides his hands into his pants pockets. “Consider this my apology.”
And with a silent salute, he turns on his heel and strides for the door.
Before I have time to process what’s happening, a tall, skinny man appears and offers to escort me to see my mother. They only allow one person at a time, so Cam takes a seat in the lobby, but not before kissing the side of my head.
I’m led to a living space that looks like it was ripped from the pages of Architectural Digest . My mother is sitting on a brown leather sofa in front of floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook a man-made lake with a fountain. She looks thinner than when I last saw her, though I can’t be sure because she’s wearing a flowing long-sleeve linen pants outfit.
On the drive over, I imagined I’d have to play the role of adult, per usual, but seeing her after all this time provokes the instinct to be the child. I crumple in her arms as exhaustion spills out of my pores. She doesn’t let go as we settle into the sofa. When I pull away, I examine the side of her head.
“Are you okay?” I ask, eyeing the bandage at her temple.
With tears in her eyes, she nods.
I allow myself to relax against the cushion. “What happened?”
Trembling, she explains how Frank broke up with her. Something about her being too needy and nagging, and to be honest, I don’t follow the whole jumbled story. After she texted me, she took some pills (she doesn’t mention which) and walked to a bar a few blocks from her house. When the bartender cut her off, she hopped off the barstool, and that’s when she slipped and hit her head on the bar. She doesn’t remember much after that, but she was told that the bartender called an ambulance. She ducks her chin and wipes at her eyes when she admits that she doesn’t remember being brought to the facility .
“But I’m going to stay.” She clears her throat, and an instant later, an employee magically appears with a pitcher of water infused with cucumber and mint. “The whole thirty days. I promise.”
Wiping the tears falling from my eyes, I hug her again. “Thank you, Mom.”
I don’t know what’s to come. I don’t know whether she’ll stay sober and get her life back on track, but it’s a step in the right direction.
Cam is on the phone when I return to the lobby but quickly pockets the device when he sees me.
“How did it go?” He studies my face, brow furrowed, and wipes at my cheek.
“Good, actually.” The way the weight lifts from my shoulders when I say the words is such a relief. “She’s going to go through with the program.”
“That’s great news.”
I nod. “Let’s take off. I can drive you back if you’re tired, but I think I’m going to stay in LA until she’s released.” That would keep me here until mid-August. “I’m not sure what will happen after she finishes here.”
“Actually…” He guides me through the automatic doors to wait for the valet. “Hotel Connelly has a location here. We can stay as long as we need to.”
“In Palm Springs?” I whip around to face him, feeling a little dizzy at the discovery. I may need to sit down. Or throw up.
“Yes. I’ve already cleared it with my folks. You can write your book, and I can do some marketing work for the hotel while your mom gets better. ”
My heart soars at the prospect. Throwing my arms around him, I kiss his neck. Twelve hours ago, I was in panic mode. Now, though, an overwhelming sense of calm washes over me. I have a healthy new partner, and my mom is finally in rehab.
Cam insisted we bring our luggage today. Now I’m wondering if he planned this all along. Thank god the two of us are so attached to our laptops. In my haste, I may have forgotten a thing or two, but that little piece of technology goes with me everywhere. As long as we’ve got Wi-Fi where we’re going, we’ll be set for work for the next month.
We check into our hotel room—oh, excuse me; our penthouse suite—and find a late lunch waiting for us inside. A little bit of everything: hamburgers, waffles, chicken nuggets, french fries, salad, and enough fruit to feed the entire population of a small island, as well as bottles of sparkling water and iced green tea.
After stuffing our faces while watching reruns of The Office on the sectional sofa, Cam excuses himself to shower.
Now that my belly is full and my adrenaline is deflating, the California king in the largest bedroom (of three) is calling my name.
The door to the bathroom is cracked, and the sound of running water acts as a lullaby. Before I let it ease me into slumber, I fire off a text to my aunt and uncle, and Millie, then settle in. I remove my hair clip and set it on the table next to where Cam’s phone is plugged in. The screen comes to life when a text notification pops up. While I’m not trying to be nosy, my eyes can’t help themselves. I think it’s human nature.
The notification banner shows a preview of a text from Ezra: You paid for her mom’s rehab? You’re ? —
What the hell?
I thought Tyler covered the bill.
Flying off the bed, I yank the phone from the charger and barge into the bathroom. At the commotion, Cam wipes the fog from the shower glass and squints at me.
Holding up his phone, I take a step closer and straighten my shoulders. “What’s this about?”
“I can’t see anything.” He turns off the water, and when he opens the shower door, I can’t help but drink him in. But I shake off the hit of desire that bombards me each time I’m met with the sight of his perfectly wet body.
He reaches across me for a towel, dripping water onto the shoulder of my kimono. After wrapping the towel around his waist, he takes his phone and calmly examines the evidence. The frown deepens.
“Is it true?” I demand. “Wait, are you not mad that I snooped at your messages?”
“No. I have nothing to hide,” he says, leaning his hip against the counter.
“Obviously you hid this from me!” I mirror his position so we’re face to face, one hip propped against the vanity.
“If you’re trying to pick a fight, it’s not going to work.” He sets his phone to the side and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “I wasn’t trying to hide it from you. I was trying to do it anonymously. There’s a difference.”
“But you can’t—” I scan his face. “How?”
“My inheritance.” He lifts one shoulder.
“What do you mean your inheritance? I thought you gave it up.”
He adjusts the towel around his waist, the muscles of his chest and abs rippling as he does. “I did. But my parents had a talk, and my dad reconsidered.”
“When did this…” I trail off and run through the events of the last twenty-four hours.
“When you were in the shower this morning. ”
I grasp his hand and hold it to my chest. “I’ll pay you back, I promise.”
“No.” He pushes off the counter, towering over me, a flash of determination crossing his face. “You won’t.”
“But that’s a lot of money.”
“A drop in the bucket.” He takes half a step closer and cups my jaw.
For the millionth time today, tears obscure my vision. He opens his arms, and I dive into his chest without hesitation and drag my nose across his chest, breathing in his scent.
“Did you just sniff my armpit?” he laughs.
I don’t pull away. “I’m making a memory.”
It’s said that a person’s sense of smell has the power to trigger emotion and memories. I never want to forget how I feel right now.
It’s not enough that I’m pressed against his bare skin; I want to be in his skin .
“Tell me, what do I smell like?” He sighs. “Please say like peppermint and pipe tobacco .”
“You did not just reference The Parent Trap while I’m having a moment,” I giggle.
“I did,” he laughs back. “Why were you sniffing my armpit?”
“I told you. I’m making a memory.” While I didn’t mean to sniff his armpit specifically, I inhale again, though this time much more dramatically. He smells of the hotel’s body wash: orange and bergamot.
“I can’t believe you’re smelling my armpit. You’re so?—”
“I love you.”
He goes rigid for an instant, then angles back, fixing his wide-eyed expression on me. There’s a fierce sort of sparkle glinting in his irises. “What?”
Draping my arms over his shoulders and threading my fingers at his nape, I pull him close, until his lips hover over mine .
“I love you, Cam,” I breathe.
His full lips are warm as he devours mine. When I part my lips in invitation, he slides his tongue inside greedily, drugging me with his taste. There’s a savage intensity to our kiss, a divine ecstasy.
Just as I shiver in delight, he pulls away. “I love you too,” he whispers into my soul. Then he seals his vow with another kiss.
I tug on his towel, loosening its hold.
And suddenly, I’m not so sleepy.