Chapter 15
BECCA
When the plane finally touches down in Tampa, I feel like I’ve been plugged into an electrical outlet the entire flight. Every time Theo brushes against me, my skin practically catches on fire. I am hyperaware of him, so tuned in that every look, every touch, I feel in every cell of my body.
I have no idea how I’m going to get through this.
I imagine Mom was largely motivated by her connection to Kim. They’ve probably been dreaming about shared grandchildren and extended family vacations for days.
But I’m still surprised she did this without a little more discussion first. She’s never been the mom with her own agenda for my life.
She’s the kind of mom who puts her hands on my shoulders, looks right in my eyes, and says things like, “This is about you, Becca. Nothing else matters but how you feel.”
So how did I wind up here?
I switch off airplane mode on my phone as we taxi our way to the terminal.
It buzzes and vibrates in my hand, lighting up with the notifications I missed during the flight.
There’s a text from Mia, wishing me a very happy, relaxing week at the beach.
Plus an email from my boss about some procedural changes happening at the hospital.
And then there’s a voicemail from my mom.
A long voicemail. I have a feeling I already know what it’s about.
I glance over at Theo, who is busy scrolling through his own phone, then lift my phone to my ear to listen.
Hi, Becca. Don’t be mad. If you haven’t figured out that Theo is on your flight, well, look around.
Because he’s your ride to the beach house.
And he and Kim will be here with us for the whole week.
I know I should have told you, honey. But I’m not sorry I didn’t.
I was just too afraid you’d say no. You’ve been doing great.
Truly. Living so carefully, making the choices you should be making.
But life isn’t always about what we SHOULD do.
I was so relieved when you told us you broke up with Rory.
And it didn’t really occur to me why until I saw the photo of you and Theo at the MS Walk.
Rory never made you sparkle, honey. But your eyes were lit up like a Christmas tree in that photo with Theo.
You looked happier than I’ve seen you in years.
You looked like yourself again. Like a woman who isn’t afraid to live big.
I know you probably have a long list of reasons why giving Theo a second shot is a bad idea.
And some of them might be valid. But just for this week, maybe set them aside and see what happens?
Sometimes the very best things happen when we let go of our plans and just LIVE.
I love you. I can’t wait to see you. I hope you really DID buy that new bikini.
“Everything okay?” Theo asks, and I quickly close out my phone.
I’m weirdly emotional after hearing my mom’s voice.
I don’t know that I would have classified myself as afraid to live big, but something in her words connects and resonates in a way I don’t fully understand.
And that scares me more than I want to admit.
“Yep!” I say to Theo. “Totally fine. Just listening to a message from my mom.”
“You got one too?” he asks.
At the front of the plane, passengers are standing and gathering their belongings. “I’m sure it comes as no surprise that you’re my ride to the beach house,” I say.
He grins. “At least they aren’t pretending this all happened by accident.”
“Not even a little bit,” I say. “Which I have to appreciate. The transparency is nice, if not a little bold.”
I’m suddenly intensely curious what his mother said in her message. But I can’t ask because then he might ask what my mother said and there’s no way I’m sharing.
Theo stands and steps into the aisle, and I point out my luggage. He pulls it down, as well as the luggage of the woman sitting on my other side. She slept through most of the flight, but she’s awake now and can’t seem to stop smiling at Theo.
“You have a good day, ma’am,” he says as he hands over her bag, his Texas Southern more pronounced than usual.
“It’ll be better now,” she says, and Theo tips his baseball cap like he’s some kind of hero in an old western movie.
“Go Jaguars,” someone calls from the back of the plane, and Theo turns to look at the crowd of people behind us. It’s unclear where the words came from, but he lifts a hand in acknowledgement before he moves down the aisle.
I follow behind him, feeling the itch of knowing that somewhere behind me, someone could be watching. Wondering if I’m with him. If we’re together.
I used to love the idea of it. Of being Theo Williamson’s girlfriend. It was always clear he and Carter were destined for greatness. And I loved to bask in the glow, to revel in the feeling of importance because I was the one he picked.
Now, as an adult, I realize how important it is to me that I have my own sphere of influence, my own greatness that doesn’t have anything to do with anyone else. But I’d be lying if a part of me didn’t love the thrill of leaving the airplane with Theo, my suitcase gripped firmly in his hand.
Fifteen minutes later, we’re on a very crowded train riding to the rental car center at the Tampa airport. Unfortunately, my former seatmate is also on the train, and he’s eyeing me up and down in a way that makes me want to crawl out of my skin.
I take a step closer to Theo, and the train jostles me straight into his chest.
He must sense how I’m feeling, because his free arm wraps around my waist, tugging me into his side, and it stays there. “I’ve got you,” he says, his voice low. “That guy’s a creep.”
The contrast between how it feels to have this man touch me, hold me, versus how it felt to have another man simply look at me is jarring, and I make a vow to myself that if I ever have sons, I will raise them to be safe men. Honest. Good. Respectful.
I let myself melt into Theo a little more, lifting one hand to his chest and pressing it against the soft fabric of his t-shirt. I probably shouldn’t, but he smells so good. And he just feels so strong, so steady.
I like being a woman capable of taking care of myself. And I’ve spent several years living on my own, driving to new cities, working at new hospitals.
I’ve learned how to walk in dark parking garages without turning myself into a target. How to sense the intentions of men who would do me harm. But there’s something to be said about standing next to a good man, about trusting, just for a moment, that he’s got my back.
Theo’s thumb slides up and down my side, only a whisper of a touch, but I feel it all the way down in my toes. “I would really like for him to stop staring at you,” he says. There’s a note of possessiveness in his voice that makes my blood heat.
I’d like for the guy to stop staring too, but I can’t say I mind standing this close to Theo. No matter how much I probably should mind.
I don’t know how long the train ride is.
Three, maybe four minutes? But by the time we ease to a stop outside the rental car center, every nerve ending in my body is awake and ready for duty.
I’m so aware of Theo. His warmth. His scent.
The rhythm of his breathing. I can feel his heartbeat under my palm, and it feels a little fast. Or is that my heartbeat?
Mine is definitely fast. I have no idea what’s happening—I just know that I can’t look up. I can’t make eye contact with Theo because if I do, he’ll see how much I like this. How good it feels to have his arm around me.
The train doors slide open, and Theo positions his duffle on top of my suitcase, extending his free hand to me. I take it, weaving our fingers together. “Just until we’re away from him,” he says, tilting his head toward the other man.
I glance over my shoulder as we move toward the rental car counter. The man watches us for a brief moment, but then he turns and melts into the crowd heading the opposite direction.
Maybe it would have been nothing.
But I’m so glad I wasn’t alone. That I didn’t have to find out.
We stop next to a sleek black counter across from an attendant wearing a double-breasted suit and cuff links. The company has a name I don’t recognize, but I quickly gather from the available context clues that this is some kind of premium service.
I lean over to Theo while the attendant taps on his keyboard. “I take it you didn’t reserve the economy option? No mid-sized Kia for you?”
He looks down at me and grins. “The job has some perks.”
Fifteen minutes later, we’re driving away from the airport in a Porsche Cayenne.
So … yeah. Perks.
“How do you feel about a more scenic route?” Theo asks as he pulls onto the highway. “It might lengthen our trip a little. Maybe two hours instead of one?”
“I don’t know, Theo. This car isn’t very nice. Are you sure it’ll make it an extra hour?”
He smirks. “You just forfeited your right to have an opinion. Scenic route it is.”
Once we’re winding our way down the coast, the sparkling gulf on our right, a warm, salty breeze blowing through the windows, I can’t regret Theo deciding for me.
This feels like a vacation. Windows down. Music blasting. A stupidly gorgeous man in the seat next to me. It’s ridiculously hot outside, but I don’t even care.
Maybe Mom is right. Maybe I have forgotten how to live big.
“You seem to know this route,” I say to Theo. As far as I can tell, he isn’t using GPS.
“I do,” he says as he slows and turns into a dusty gravel parking lot of the tiniest, most rundown restaurant I’ve ever seen.
“When we were kids, Carter and I went to a hockey clinic every summer in Tampa. After it finished, our parents flew out and picked us up, then we always drove south to Anna Maria for two weeks of vacation. No hockey allowed. It was usually the longest we ever went without putting on skates.”
“How did I not know this about you? You made the trip every year?”