Chapter Fifteen – Chemistry #2
“You’re right. We need fuel,” I said, forcing a smile. “But Dad gets vegetarian with light cheese so we can start to unclog those blocked veins of his. I’ll call it in so it’ll be ready for us to pick up once we clean up.”
“I’ll order it,” Dad insisted. “You two are fixing my mess. The least I can do is buy lunch. My phone’s at Beckett’s. I'll go grab it.”
“Why don’t you stay there and shower. That way I can rebandage your hand before I clean up.” Dad looked like he might object, and I pushed with a tease. “Can’t go into Jack’s smelling like the trash Vader’s been bringing up from the river.”
Beckett stepped in to help, just like he always did. The kidding in his voice was far more successful than mine. “Please, for the love of God, take Vader with you before he brings an entire dump’s worth of garbage up.”
I glanced gratefully at Beckett when Dad’s lips twitched. He tossed the gloves onto the table and whistled for Vader. The dog bounded up from the river with yet another mangled pinecone—proud, oblivious, happy in a way that made me jealous.
“Let’s go get a treat, boy,” Dad told him. Vader’s ears shot up. He dropped the pinecone and tore out of the yard toward Beckett’s place. My father trailed behind him with a tired determination that made my throat sting.
“Your dad’s pride is hurting him more than his hand,” Beckett said. “You continuing to baby him is only going to make him feel worse.”
Even though I knew he was right, I still couldn’t stop myself from snapping back, “Don’t tell me how to handle my dad.”
I turned back to the partially dismantled porch and picked up one of the drills Beckett had been using to undo the screws on the joists. I attacked the next set of screws with a vengeance, ignoring Beckett when he came to stand behind me.
“If you keep taking your frustration out on that screw, you’re going to strip it,” he said, raising his voice over the noise of the drill.
“I’ve got it.”
The next thing I knew, his arms were around me, and he was yanking the drill from my hand. The motion tossed me off balance, and I slammed back into his chest. He stabilized us by widening his legs on either side of my hips.
I ignored the ever-present flare at his touch and hissed, “Back off, unless you want to owe me another romance book.”
Instead of stepping away, Beckett took my hand, placed it on the drill trigger, and then moved our hands together toward the next screw. “You have to be a bit gentler. Patient. You can’t go at it all fierce and determined, my Maisey-girl. Sometimes, slow and steady really does the trick.”
It shouldn’t have been suggestive—we were unscrewing a bolt, for heaven’s sake—but it was. With his hands on me, his body surrounding mine, and words that weren’t sensual yet held a promise of what would happen if I let Beckett take his time with me, my body lit up.
I turned my head to look at him and found his lips were a mere inch from mine.
Warm and full. Tempting and tantalizing.
My gaze slowly drifted up from his lips to his eyes.
The chocolate had turned dark and molten—a lava cake ready to be consumed.
His breath hitched, but he didn’t move. Neither of us did.
The drill stopped.
In the silence left behind, birdsong filled the air, joined with a few pitiful croaks from the frogs down by the river. A car engine revved before heading off. A phone rang in the distance.
“You have a bit of…” Beckett had removed his gloves, and now he ran a bare finger along my cheek before settling it on my lips. “You have the sexiest lips I’ve ever seen.”
My heart slammed into my ribcage at the words. Harsh. Fierce. Aching.
“Catching a taste the other day was like stealing moments with a goddess.” His voice was so deep, so full of lust and want and need that I’d have to be dead not to discover a return craving surging in me.
“You’ve got our roles reversed, Fireball,” I said, proud when my voice didn’t reveal the depth of my longing. “If anyone is going to be a deity in this scenario, it’s you.”
His lips quirked upward, an amused light sparking in his eyes.
“You’re right. You’re not a goddess.” I refused to let his words hurt. He hadn’t meant them the way my childhood would have me believe. Beckett had been the first person in my life to insist I was beautiful. “You’re more like a saint.”
I cringed at the word, Chelsea calling me Saint Maisey ringing in my ears. By the time she’d started using it instead of Cornlette, I’d learned enough about my sister to realize it was a disparaging nickname and not a sweet one.
“I don’t want to be a saint or a goddess, Beckett.
I’d trade any and all claims to those titles for a single night where I could be anything but a saint.
To experience, for at least once in my life, the kind of life-altering passion and sin that prevents any thought, any plans, any worries from sinking in. ”
I inhaled sharply. My words were the opposite of what I’d said to myself yesterday. I’d said I wanted more than a night of sin. But what if this was all I was able to get from him? What if Beckett could give me the passion that had been missing in my real life…for one single night.
The rumble that grew from the depths of Beckett only lit the already simmering fires. Only fueled my desire to have him wrapped around me, over me, in me.
“Do you know how much of my soul I’d offer up to be the person who handed it to you? To be the person who gave you not just one night but a multitude of nights of sin and sex?”
My eyes fluttered closed. I couldn’t stand looking at him when he said such beautiful things. Things that spiked all my secret dreams and wishes. It hurt too much.
His finger slid across my mouth. Slow. Sensual.
“Ask me, Maisey. Ask me to give it to you.” It was a beg. A dangerous, delightful plea.
If I asked, if I let us both give in to the enormity of the chemistry that spun between us, I’d give too much of myself to him.
More than he already owned. Because one night would never be enough, and I would have traded it for the last piece of my heart that still belonged to me. I’d hand it over and have nothing left.
My phone trilled in the side pocket of my yoga pants. Loud and insistent. It was my generic ringtone, so it wasn’t anyone I knew. But it could be the insurance company or the water damage restoration company, arranging to pick up the fans they had drying out the house.
Regardless of who it was, they’d ruined a beautiful, tantalizing moment.
Or saved me from another regret.
When I opened my eyes, Beckett was still focused one-hundred-percent on me. The plea he’d issued remained in his heated look, demanding an answer. One I couldn’t give.
When my phone stopped ringing, it buzzed with a text message.
Finally, Beckett dropped his arms and stepped back, and I had to use what remained of the porch to stop myself from falling over.
His throat bobbed, gaze dropping to my mouth and back, but his voice was stable, no hint of the beg in sight when he spoke. “You should get that, and then why don’t you go clean up while I finish this last section?”
I couldn’t answer, but I did manage to step away from him and the porch as I pulled my phone out and unlocked it.
At first, I thought it was spam.
UNKNOWN #: I can’t believe you!
I almost didn’t respond, but I was suddenly tired of stepping away from every challenge and every uncertain situation.
Why was I so afraid to take what I wanted?
So what if it was only one night. Beckett would never completely disappear on me.
Things might be awkward between us for a while, but he wouldn’t cut me from his life completely.
And I’d have a beautiful memory to hold onto when I was alone in the dark.
ME: Who is this?
UNKNOWN #: Chelsea. My phone died, but we’re filming today, so I can’t get a new one until tonight or tomorrow.
Leave it to Chelsea to drop her filming into the conversation as soon as it began.
ME: What do you want?
UNKNOWN #: Were you ever going to tell me about Dad? Or the fire at the house?
How had she heard? When Chelsea left Swift Rivers the day after graduation, she hadn’t just left Dad and me—she’d left everyone.
She’d broken up with Randy, dropped all her friends, and marched into the next phase of her life, determined to shed every ounce of baggage before stepping into her future.
But if she’d heard about Dad, she must still be talking to someone.
ME: You made it clear you wanted nothing to do with us when you left.
UNKNOWN #: I was just blowing off steam at Dad. We’re still sisters. He’s still my father. I have a right to know what’s happening. Like the fact he had a stroke and is losing his mind and lost his job. Are you really going to pick up the pieces for him yet again?
ME: First, how did you even hear about any of this? And second, if you mean, am I helping to ensure he has the healthcare he needs and that he has a place to stay while we repair the house? Then yes, I’m picking up those pieces.
I’d never tell her about the mortgage and the fact he’d almost lost the house altogether. She’d never understand me coughing up my savings to help him.
UNKNOWN #: Is this why you got engaged to Beckett? Is he giving you money? Either way, this sounds like another stupid Cornlette mistake. I don’t want to see you get hurt again.
I didn’t respond. I wouldn’t let Chelsea get to me. Instead, I tried to puzzle out who was feeding her information about me and Dad.
UNKNOWN #: Beckett is broken. All you’ll ever be is his sidekick.
You’re setting yourself up to get hurt even worse than when he kissed you and you mistook pity for something real.
It’s like you got stuck at age twelve, hiding out in Rivers and using Beckett as cover—the same way you used to hide behind your hair.
Her words were cruel, and yet they also had that edge of concern she always dropped. Enough truth for me to wonder if she really did care and was looking out for me, or if it was just gaslighting at its best.
ME: Just because I’m not like you, trading one boyfriend for another to help advance my career, doesn’t mean I’m hiding.
UNKNOWN #: Everything I’ve done was to get myself out of that town.
And now, I’m reaping the rewards with my acting career blooming and a boyfriend on his way to stardom.
We wrote a screenplay together, and his company, Lost Acres Productions, is producing it.
With us as the leads, we’ll sweep every award in the business.
I have big plans, Cornlette. You wouldn’t know a big idea if it hit you in the ass.
I didn’t bother to respond. I’d never change Chelsea’s opinions of this town or me or the life I’d chosen.
I was surprised when she texted again, and her question made my chest ache.
UNKNOWN #: So is he dying?
She still cared. She might try to pretend she didn’t, but underneath her starlette facade, Chelsea still loved us.
ME: No. He burnt his hand and had a stroke, which caused some temporary dementia. He’s not dying.
But her response ripped away my momentary belief in her.
UNKNOWN #: I bet you nurse him for years until he takes his last breath, just like you did Mom. Make it easier on yourself and just walk away. Leave him to whatever fate has in store. It’s what he deserves.
UNKNOWN #: And look at it this way, when he croaks, your half of the life insurance and house will give you a chance to get out of Rivers.
Anger, grief, and overwhelming sadness filled me as I read her words. The force of my emotions was so strong my hands shook, and I almost dropped the phone. Even Chelsea couldn’t possibly be that heartless. She couldn’t mean just to leave Dad…to what? Die? She didn’t really want him dead, did she?
“Maisey?” I whipped my head up to see Beckett watching me, brows furrowed in concern. He dropped the drill and strode toward me. “What is it?”
I shook my head. I didn’t have words, couldn’t answer if I’d wanted to.
He pulled my phone from my hand, scanning the conversation.
“What the hell?”
My sister hadn’t always been cold and cruel.
My earliest memories of her were full of laughter and love.
I remembered us as little kids, heads bent, coloring together in the kitchen while Mom made cookies.
When a pop song came on that we all liked, the three of us used wooden spoons as microphones and did our best karaoke rendition of it, dance moves and all.
I had dozens of good memories just like that one. Times full of love and joy.
Looking back, I could see that things with my sister had changed once my parents had started spending money on my dental work. Had it just been about the money? Or had she felt slighted? Like she had less of our parents’ time and attention and love simply because they’d been caring for me?
When Mom got sick, Chelsea had all but disappeared.
She’d spent days at a time at her friends’ houses or, though our parents didn’t know it, at her much older boyfriend’s.
She’d left me to care for our mom alone.
It had been mere months between Mom’s diagnosis and her death, and I’d never regret the moments I’d spent with her.
I’d have done just about anything to have had a few more months, a handful of more memories.
Memories I wanted now with our father too.
So, I’d never walk away. I’d do whatever it took to help the dad I loved, failings and all.
Knowing he felt remorse for what had happened in our childhood only proved how important this time together was.
It would give us a chance to heal. To fill the cracks life had smashed into us.
I grabbed my phone from Beckett and shoved it into my pocket. “She doesn’t mean it.”
It was an automatic response I’d spent years offering.
But if anyone knew it wasn’t true, it was the man standing in front of me.
I turned and headed out of the yard with him on my heels. He wasn’t going to leave this alone. He was going to demand I respond. And it pissed me off, because I’d much rather respond to his plea about sex and passion than a question about my sister.
It wasn’t until we were on the steps of his porch that I realized I wasn’t going to have a chance to answer any of it.