Chapter 13 #4
He nods abstractedly. “My dad and I were close. I mean, he loved all his kids equally, but he and I… we both love this land, the forest. I was his shadow. I wanted to be Grant Axford when I grew up. And he, uh… he made some not-great business decisions, before he had his heart attack. I didn’t—don’t—know how to reconcile that mess with the responsible guy I knew.
Know. And it’s not enough that I’m fixing the mess, he’s gotta critique the way I’m doing it.
Let me show you how it’s done, Beckett. And I want to say, You were the one who fucked it all up.
He gave me a legacy to protect, but protecting it means losing my relationship with him, and—fuck.
Sorry. I didn’t mean to dump all this on you. ”
I focus on my coffee because… good lord. I’d been trying to sneak out to avoid this kind of closeness, but here I am, reveling in it.
And suddenly, I hate that there’s a list of things we’re not supposed to talk about.
“Beckett, about the easement—”
“Stop.” Serious blue eyes meet mine. “Look, I’ve been thinking about that, and I’m not going to pressure you about an easement anymore. That’s not… any part of what this is.”
“But Axford Lumber still needs access to that land.” I frown. “It’s hurting your business, not being able to access it.”
Beckett shrugs, a nonanswer. “That’s not on you, Griff. You want to keep the property intact and protect your inheritance, to take your time to think about the decision, and I get it. If I’d been thinking rationally, I’d have admitted that from the beginning.”
“But—”
“Look, I’m not saying I’m giving up on the easement.
Not at all. I’m just saying… we’ll let the town council decide.
Or the court. Or, I don’t know, maybe I can work out a deal with whoever you sell the land to when you move back to New York.
” He forces a smile that sits wrong on his handsome face.
“Assuming it’s not Derek Sullivan. I’m saying I want you to make the choice that’s right for you on your own time, okay?
You’ve had enough choices taken away from you recently. ”
My eyes sting, and the mushiness is spreading, suffusing my whole body. “You mean that?”
“Absolutely.” His smile shifts and warms.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “Because what I really want to do, what I’m choosing to do, is offer you a temporary agreement.
You can bring your trucks through Monday and access your land to…
cut whatever you need to cut for right now.
And then, after I’ve talked to an attorney about it, we can reassess. ”
“No,” he argues. “Griffin—”
“You said you’re supporting my choices. Supporting me doing what I want.
Well, that’s what I want,” I say fiercely.
And the second it’s out of my mouth, it feels so right, I wish I’d done this two weeks ago.
I wish I hadn’t been too scared to do it then.
“I know you’d prefer something official, and you don’t want to rely on handshake deals, but I—”
Beckett stands up and holds out a hand. “From you? I’ll take the handshake.”
The moment our palms connect, something electric passes between us. His hand is warm and calloused and steady, and for a second, I can’t let go.
Does he trust me that much?
“Thank you,” he says simply, and the sincerity squeezes my heart just as surely as his hand squeezes mine.
I pull my hand back. “Maybe, um… maybe you should talk to your dad. I mean, I know jack shit about father-son stuff, but… only a fool would care more about a legacy than his relationship with you. And the guy in those pictures—” I gesture toward the living room.
“He looks like a person who loves his son.”
The words hit me as soon as I say them. Beckett’s father cares more about his son than about any legacy.
Unlike Jim, who built me a treehouse but never wanted me to know he was my father. Who left me this inheritance but opted not to have a relationship with me as an adult while he was still alive.
All of a sudden, the kitchen feels too small, too warm. Beckett’s looking at me with concern, and I can see him starting to reach across the table, but I refuse to fall apart.
“I should go,” I say abruptly, pushing back from the table.
“I promised Milo I’d buy him a dozen jars of pickles, if you can believe it, so he can share the health benefits with his new wellness influencer friends.
Which, like, should be against some kind of friendship code, right?
Given how pickles are against my religion?
” I’m babbling brightly, and I can’t stop it.
“Griffin—” Beckett says.
But I’m already grabbing my shoes, fumbling with the laces. “Thanks for coffee. And for… you know. Last night. It was fun. Right?”
He nods slowly. “Sure.”
“But we both know it’s…” My hands flail. “It’s complicated.”
“Right.” Beckett narrows his eyes. “Griff, baby, are you okay?”
Ugh. The baby hits me square in the chest, making me feel warm and terrified at the same time.
“Yeah, of course,” I manage around a smile that feels like it might crack my face. “I’m always okay.”
I practically run for the door. I hear Beckett say my name again, but I’m already outside in the cold morning air, sucking in deep breaths. Part of me wants to turn back, but leaving feels cleaner. Safer.
Only when I’m halfway down his driveway do I realize that I feel less safe the further from Beckett Axford I get. And the closer I get to Jim’s treehouse—my treehouse—the more the burning behind my eyes intensifies.
I should be happy about the temporary truce, about the job offer, about having some kind of plan again.
But I have no fucking idea what I want anymore.
And I am definitely not okay.