22. BECKETT
BECKETT
I lie still, counting the slow, even rise and fall of Quinn’s back. Every time she breathes, I think I’ll hear the answer I want. But the room stays stubbornly quiet—the kind of quiet that presses through my ribs, knocking the breath out of me.
I haven’t slept a wink, just laid awake thinking, planning, regretting.
Her hair fans the pillow, smelling divine and looking soft to the touch. The sheets smell like sex, and I can still feel the echo of her aftershocks as she clenched around me. I should be satisfied. Instead, I’m hollowed out with a question I can’t shake: how do I not remember?
I replay that night in my head, and all I get are flashes.
Lots of laughter, the bonfire, too much whiskey, and of course her presence that night.
But the thing that matters most—what should have anchored me to that night—is gone.
It’s like someone took a razor and ran it clean through the memory, leaving the edges ragged.
Shame crawls under my skin and settles behind my sternum.
It’s a low, greedy animal that won’t let me be still.
I recall how it sounded when she said it, the way her voice trembled on the word remember, and my gut twists.
No wonder she’s always hated me, but now a part of me hates myself more for not remembering.
If I had remembered, held on to that night the way she did, maybe I would have seen her differently sooner.
The sky is only just starting to pale when I finally make my move.
Her lashes flutter with each dream, her mouth parted in the faintest sigh.
She looks younger, softer, as though none of the weight she carries when she’s awake has ever touched her.
I can’t stop myself. I lean in and press my lips to her temple, slow and reverent, like a man asking forgiveness without words.
She stirs. A wrinkle forms between her brows, and I smooth it away with a kiss to her cheek, then another at the corner of her mouth. Her lips twitch—half-asleep, half-aware.
“Beck?” Her voice is hoarse from sleep.
“Morning, sunshine,” I whisper against her jaw, letting the stubble of my chin graze her skin. “I need you to get up.”
Her eyes crack open, confusion swimming in them. “What time is it?”
“Early.”
“Since when are you a morning person?” She groans and buries her face back into the pillow.
I chuckle, nipping at her shoulder until she squirms. “It’s just for today. I have a surprise planned. Come on.”
Her eyes peek open again, suspicious but caught in the pull of my grin. “Beck Morgan, if this is one of your dumb stunts—“
“Not dumb.” I tug the blanket gently, coaxing her up. “Just this once, trust me.”
She sits up slowly, her hair a tumble of silk around her face, looking at me like she’s trying to read the truth in my eyes.
For the first time in a long time, I let her see it—all of it.
No games, no swagger, no deflections. Just a man who’s terrified of losing her and desperate to show her why he shouldn’t.
That’s what makes her sigh and swing her legs over the edge of the bed. “Fine,” she mutters, even as her mouth curves against her will.
Ten minutes later we’re slipping quietly out into the predawn chill. The air smells of dew, horses, and something sharp with promise. Two saddled mounts wait by the fence, steam curling from their nostrils as if they’re in on the secret.
Quinn stops dead. “You saddled them already?”
“Told you,” I say, sliding my hand to the small of her back. “Surprise.”
The leather creaks under me as I swing onto the saddle, but it’s Quinn’s silence that makes my chest tighten.
She mounts with ease, the way only someone raised around horses can, and for a moment I’m caught watching her—the curve of her spine, the way her hair spills loose in the dawn light.
She doesn’t notice me staring. Or maybe she does, and she’s letting me.
We set out at an easy trot, hooves muffled on damp earth. The ranch is still sleeping, the world pared down to the mist curling off the fields and the low hum of crickets giving way to birdsong. Every breath I take feels sharper, like the air itself is trying to burn this memory into me.
Quinn rides ahead for a stretch, her silhouette cutting clean against the paling sky.
I can’t stop looking at her—the sunrise itself bows to her, painting her in gold.
My chest aches with the weight of last night, with the memory of her voice telling me something I can’t ever take back. The shame gnaws at me like a raw wound.
I push my horse forward until I’m riding beside her. She glances over, a faint smile tugging at her lips despite the sleep still clinging to her eyes. “You dragged me out here just to watch the sun come up?” she teases, voice softer than usual.
“Maybe.” My throat feels tight, but I force the words out. “Or maybe I wanted to see it with you. Just you.”
Her smile falters and turns thoughtful. She looks away, out over the rolling hills, where the first edge of the sun finally breaks free. Light spills over us, gilding her hair, her skin. She gasps quietly, and I swear it’s the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard.
I don’t look at the sunrise—only her.
The silence between us isn’t awkward this time. It’s thick with everything unsaid. With what I need to tell her before it swallows me whole.
“Quinn,” I murmur, my voice rough.
She turns to me, eyes wide, expectant.
But I can’t say it here. Not yet. My plan isn’t finished, and she deserves more than a half-choked confession on horseback. So instead, I nod toward the rise ahead. “Come on. There’s something else.”
By the time we crest the ridge, the sun is spilling across the valley, drenching the world in amber light. Quinn reins in beside me, brow furrowed as her eyes catch on the blanket spread out under the old oak tree with an unopened basket right in the middle.
She blinks, then looks at me. “You planned this?”
I dismount first, boots hitting the ground with a soft thud. I nod a little sheepishly as I tug the reins free. My horse noses the grass, uncaring, while I glance back at Quinn. “It’s nothing fancy. Just thought you might enjoy a cup of coffee as we enjoy the sunrise.”
Her lips twitch, fighting a smile. “Coffee and… what’s in the basket? Don’t tell me you baked.”
I chuckle, shaking my head as I lift it open. “Oh, how I wish. I had one of the housekeepers make us some of your favorite pastries.”
Quinn swings down from her horse, and the sight of her walking toward me damn near knocks the breath out of my lungs. She kneels on the blanket, running her fingers over the edge as if she’s testing whether this is real.
“This is… romantic,” she says finally, glancing up at me through her lashes.
My chest tightens. “Is that a problem?”
Her smile softens, and it hits me harder than any punch I’ve ever taken. “No, Beck. It’s not a problem. I just never thought you had a romantic bone in you.”
“Maybe I was just waiting for the right girl to bring it out of me,” I retort as I settle beside her, close enough to feel the warmth of her body but not quite touching.
She smiles at my words but doesn’t say anything else. I reach into the basket for the flask with the coffee, the smell of it mixing with her scent—something sweet and sharp that I’ve come to crave.
She takes the mug I hand her, fingers brushing mine, and my resolve nearly crumbles right there. Because this—her, here with me—it’s the closest thing to perfect I’ve ever had.
I swallow hard, looking at her over the rim of my cup. My throat feels like gravel, but I know I can’t keep holding back.
“Quinn,” I begin, voice low. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
Her eyes are on me, steady and expectant, and suddenly the coffee tastes like nothing. My palms itch and my tongue feels heavy. But if I don’t get this out now, I’ll choke on it forever.
I set my mug down, leaning forward, elbows braced on my knees. “Quinn, last night, when you told me about Landon’s birthday…” My voice falters. Hell, I can barely force the words out. “I swear to God, I don’t remember, and that’s not an excuse—it’s a failure. One I’ll regret the rest of my life.”
Her lips part, but she doesn’t interrupt. That’s worse, because her silence makes me confess deeper.
“I’ve thought back, over and over, trying to drag the memory out of my drunken haze, but it’s just gone.
And the thought that I hurt you by forgetting, that I made you feel like you didn’t matter—“ My throat closes up. I rake a hand through my hair, exhaling hard. “It’s eating me alive. You deserve a man who remembers every second. Instead, you got me.”
Her eyes bore into mine, and the ache in my chest sharpens.
“I can’t undo it. But I can promise you this—“ I shift closer, searching her gaze, needing her to see I mean it. “I’ll never take you for granted again. Not one laugh, not one touch, not one damn sunrise. You have my word.”
Her lashes flutter, but she stays quiet. My heart hammers, my pride burning away until all that’s left is the truth.
“I’ve fought this for too long,” I admit, voice low and rough. “But I’m done pretending. I’m in love with you, Quinn. I don’t want anyone else—just you.”
The words hang between us, heavy and terrifying, but also the truest thing I’ve ever said.
The silence is brutal. Her eyes don’t leave mine, but she gives me nothing. No frown, no smile, not even a twitch of her lips to let me know where her heart is.
The longer it drags, the more my stomach knots. I can hear the damn horses shifting in the distance, birds cutting across the sky, even the wind whispering through the grass, but not her voice. Not the answer I need.
My palms are slick. I want to reach for her, but what if she pulls away? What if I’ve just wrecked everything by speaking too soon, too raw?
“Quinn…” My voice is hoarse. It comes out begging. “Say something. Please.”
Her lashes lower, then lift again—she’s searching me for cracks. She’s calm, unhurried. It feels like a slow death, watching her decide my fate while I can barely sit still.
I drag my hands down my face and mutter, “Christ, I knew I should’ve kept my mouth shut.”
That’s when she finally speaks, voice soft but firm. “You don’t get to run now, Beck. You put it out there—you don’t get to crawl back into your silence.”
My chest tightens, hope sparking, but her gaze hardens just enough to keep me from breathing easy.
“How do I even know this is real? That you’re not just caught up in the moment, saying what you think I want to hear?”
The doubt in her tone guts me. I lean forward, desperate for her to see I mean every word. “Quinn, look at me.”
Her eyes flick up, wary, guarded.
“If this was just about heat, or about chasing the next high, I’d have walked away a long time ago.
I’ve done that before, with women who didn’t matter.
But you—“ I choke on the words, but I force them out anyway. “You’re the one person I can’t walk away from.
You’re in my head when I wake up. You’re the reason I’m trying to pull myself together.
You think I’d be losing sleep over anyone else? ”
Her lips part, but no sound comes.
I shake my head, my voice rough, almost angry at myself for letting her doubt it. “Don’t ever question if I love you. I sure as hell don’t deserve you, but it’s real, Quinn.”
For a moment, the world stills between us, and I can see her defenses wavering, even as she bites down on her lip like she doesn’t want to believe me.
Her gaze flickers over me, searching, as though she’s testing the weight of every word.
Then she leans back, arms folding, her voice trembling but firm.
“Love isn’t enough, Beck. Not with you. You’ve hurt me, more than once.
You’ve been reckless with yourself, and with me.
If I say I love you back, it means you have to prove you’re the man I can trust with it. ”
The words cut, but I nod, swallowing the shame that rises up. “I’ll prove it. I’ll do whatever it takes.”
She studies me for a long moment, then softens, just barely. “Then do it. Pull yourself together. Be the man who deserves what you’re asking me for. Because I can’t—I won’t—settle for less.”
I reach for her hand, my thumb brushing her knuckles. “I will. I swear it. Just… stand by me while I do.”
Her hand squeezes mine back, hesitant but sure enough to make my chest ache. “I will, but don’t make me regret it.”
She leans lightly against me, her head brushing my shoulder, and the contact alone is enough to quiet the storm I’ve carried all night. I don’t push for more—I just breathe her in, steady and grateful.
We sit in silence as the horizon breaks open, the kind of morning that makes you believe in fresh starts.
But beneath the peace, shame lingers. The memory of her voice confessing what I forgot, what I stole from her by not remembering, burns like a brand. I can’t undo the past, but I can damn well make sure she never questions her worth to me again.
Her fingers slide into mine, a simple, quiet claim. She doesn’t look at me, but she doesn’t let go. And that one small act is enough to tell me she hasn’t given up on us, so neither will I.