Chapter Fifteen – Chemistry
Chapter Fifteen
Maisey
CHEMISTRY
Performed by Kelly Clarkson
TWELVE YEARS AGO
HIM: Was your mom mad that you got in past curfew?
HER: She didn’t even know. It was Chelsea who met me at the back door.
HIM: Next time, I’ll set an alarm. That way, if Shakespeare bores us to sleep again, you won’t be late.
Moments passed.
HIM: Maise?
More moments slipped by.
HIM: You okay?
HER: Why do you still read with me? I mean, I’m so grateful you helped me when I was little. I’d never be the reader I am now without you. But there’s no reason to read with me anymore.
HIM: I can’t like hanging with my friend, doing something we both enjoy?
HER: What sixteen-year-old boy really wants to spend his Friday night reading Shakespeare in a treehouse with the kid next door?
HIM: Did Chelsea say something? Is this her getting in your head? I like reading books. You like reading books. What does it matter where we do it? You know better than to listen to her.
HER: She’s just worried about me. That’s what big sisters do.
HIM: The only person Chelsea is ever worried about is herself.
PRESENT DAY
I couldn’t decide if I was a cowardly chicken or a woman hiding in self-preservation. All I knew was that I’d been dodging Beckett since dinner last night. The little episode in the cove and Kurt’s words had sent me into a tailspin.
Like a reel on repeat, I kept seeing Kurt’s worry as he’d said, “You love Beckett, and my son loves you, but he has issues he hasn’t worked through yet. I’m afraid if you two do this now, it’ll end badly for both of you. It’ll prove his point about relationships rather than heal them.”
And when I’d started to reply, he’d cut me off, saying gently, “Don’t get me wrong, sweetheart, the two of you belong together.
I’ve known it since you were little kids and couldn’t be separated.
I couldn’t be happier to have you as my daughter-in-law.
But I don’t want either of you to get hurt because you haven’t taken care of your own house before merging them.
That was my problem with Liza. I hadn’t fixed the damage left behind by Camila, and it sent her scurrying away. ”
Beckett had returned from the snack bar before I could respond, which was for the best. Because I wouldn’t have been able to tell Kurt the truth—that this was all temporary.
That while Beckett and I loved each other, he’d never wanted me like a man truly wants a woman.
Not as a girlfriend. Not as a wife. Not as the mother of his kids.
The heat in the looks Beckett sent me lately was new, but I wasn’t na?ve enough to believe it meant he’d suddenly decided he loved me.
If anything, he might be considering a friends-with-benefit situation, but that would be as bad of an idea as a real relationship would be.
Because I didn’t need much more than a nudge to fall completely and utterly in love with him.
And if I did, when this arrangement ended, I’d never recover.
Truth was, Kurt was right. Beckett and I carried too much baggage to make anything work between us.
The situation in college with the frat boy who’d taken my virginity had forced me into therapy.
Believing he’d actually wanted me, only to find out he’d slept with the plainest girl he could find all for initiation points, had nearly shattered what was left of my soul.
But it had also made me see how desperate I’d been to be loved. To be the center of someone’s world.
So I’d sought help. And I’d done the hard work to put the worst of my childhood wounds behind me. But they’d been cracked open this week by Chelsea’s visit and Dad’s situation.
It was a struggle to keep my eyes wide open and my heart sealed shut. But the deal I’d made with Beckett wasn’t going to end in forever any more than the time with the loser frat boy had.
With my emotions still raw this morning, I hadn’t been any more prepared to face Beckett than I had been last night, so I’d stayed away as long as possible. I’d kept to my room until Dad was ready to go next door with me, simply so I had a buffer.
When Dad came into my room in jeans and a T-shirt that still smelled like smoke, my guilt leaped to the surface. I should have stayed home yesterday and done some laundry instead of galivanting to the lake and stirring pots I knew better than to stir.
“Let’s start a load of laundry before we go next door,” I told Dad. “Everything you own smells like burned plastic.”
He sniffed his shirt and grimaced.
“I don’t need you to do my laundry, Maisey. I’ll start it when we get back. Right now, I want to get out there before Beckett does all the work himself. I see he already had a dumpster delivered. Make sure he knows I’ll pay for it.”
I followed him out the front door, wondering exactly what money he thought he’d use to pay for anything when his checking account barely had a few dollars left.
We skirted around the bright-red dumpster in Dad’s driveway and headed into the backyard, where Beckett was at work with a chainsaw, cutting apart the destroyed deck.
He wore safety goggles, work boots, jeans, and a T-shirt that was already clinging to his back in the early morning heat.
He had his baseball hat turned backward so the brim would be out of his way, and his biceps flexed as he cut through a board, the muscles on his back rippling with effort.
He was sexy as sin, and all I could do was stare.
Every warning bell I’d told myself to listen to disappeared as heat shot straight to my core.
Thankfully, before Beckett caught me drooling, Vader distracted me by galloping up from the river with a stick in his mouth and his tail wagging. He dropped his prize at my feet and shook, the water spraying all over me.
I laughed. “What do you got there?”
He barked and nudged the stick with his nose. I picked it up and threw it as far as I could, which wasn’t far. It ended near the old chicken coop. The coop was in worse shape than the house itself, all but collapsing in on itself after nearly eleven years of being ignored.
Beckett turned off the saw, pulled his goggles down below his chin, and said, “You start throwing that stick for him, and you’ll spend all day at it.”
He tossed a blackened board into a pile he already had going.
Dad grabbed it with his good hand, balancing it over his shoulder and heading for the front yard and the dumpster.
I watched him, worried. His apology last night had simultaneously soothed old hurts and torn them back open.
Just knowing he felt bad about the way he’d left us to handle life without him was a salve.
But it didn’t mean I wanted him to sacrifice his health to prove he wasn’t doing it again.
Vader came bounding back, proudly presenting me with the same stick. Beckett intercepted, taking the stick and throwing it way past the coop and the tree swing.
“That’s it, dog. We’re done. Go chase squirrels,” he said.
Vader took off down the slope leading to the river.
“And don’t bring back another cat!”
The dog barked, but it sounded like a laugh.
When I went to grab one of the piled-up boards, Beckett halted me. “You got gloves?”
I shook my head.
“I figured. I put a couple extra pairs over there.”
He waved his hand to a folding table where he’d set up an orange water cooler, a stack of cups, and some other tools. Beckett had been hard at work this morning while I’d been hiding in my room.
Another round of guilt hit me.
“Thank you,” I choked out. When he started to walk away, I put a hand on his arm, saying, “Beckett…about yesterday.”
He shook his head. “We were both out of sorts. Let’s just leave it.”
The knot returned to my throat. My life felt like I was mid-pirouette on Titan’s back, and if I took my eyes off the horizon for one second, I’d fall flat on my ass. I wasn’t sure I could pull any of this off—helping Dad or Beckett—without losing myself in the process.
But at least the manual labor would keep me from obsessing over it.
Beckett went back to the saw, and I grabbed a couple of gloves and met Dad as he came back around the house, handing him a pair. He took them with a thanks, but then struggled to get one over his bandaged hand. When he winced, I took it from him to help.
“You really shouldn’t be doing this,” I said quietly. “You’re still recovering.”
Dad was somber, steel in his tone as he said, “If you’re here, then I’m here.”
I blinked back the tears that threatened and whispered, “Okay.”
We spent the morning tearing apart the burned porch, sorting what little could be saved and tossing the rest. Vader kept sprinting between the river and the house, proudly delivering one soggy, pathetic “gift” after another—a filthy tennis ball, an empty soda can, even an old fishing pole.
Each new offering made Beckett swear under his breath, though the corners of his mouth twitched like he almost wanted to laugh.
By the time we were down to the joists, the sun was straight overhead, and the heat was almost punishing. Even with water breaks, Dad had gone pale and shiny with sweat, and my shoulders ached.
“I think you two are done for the day,” Beckett said, frowning as my dad wiped his forehead and leaned heavily against the side of the house.
“Let me see your hand,” I murmured, tugging off his glove. The skin was torn and bleeding. He’d been trying so hard not to use it, but I’d seen him slipping, lifting boards when he thought I wasn’t looking. “You should call it quits, Dad. We can’t risk an infection.”
“You going to stop too?” he asked.
And I hesitated, not wanting to leave Beckett alone, cleaning up after my family.
“You know what I could use?” Beckett said, trying for lightness. “Pizza. Jack’s meat lovers. Why don’t you two go grab it while I finish the last couple of boards?”