Chapter Seventeen – I Hate Love #2
“That boy has always been no good,” Dad said. “Didn’t like him when he hung out with Chelsea, and I sure as hell didn’t like finding out he’d taken you to homecoming.”
Surprise kept me from responding as we made our way out to my truck. Dad had been gone so much I hadn’t even realized he’d known about the dance.
“What did the weasel want?” Dad asked once I’d pulled onto the street, heading back home.
“He wanted to know if you’d given any more thought to selling the house.”
“I did think about it. The house has never been the same without your mother in it. She took such good care of it, and I’ve let it deteriorate. She’d be disappointed in me.” His voice turned thick and scratchy. “But then there’d be nothing left for you when I die.”
My stomach cramped at his words.
“You’re not dying!” I said vehemently. “And I don’t want anything from you. Not the house. Not money.”
He reached over and patted my arm as I drove.
“I may not be dying today, sweetheart, but I am going to die. I should have stopped smoking a lifetime ago.” He looked out the window, drifting for a moment to a faraway place.
“Maybe if I had, she wouldn’t have…” He shook his head.
Grief and regret spread across his face.
The amount of pain he showed took my breath away, leaving me unable to respond yet again.
“Anyway,” he continued, “since the fire, I’ve been thinking about it some more.
Maybe I should sell the place so you don’t waste any more of your money on it and me.
I could use whatever’s left from the sale to move into one of those new-fangled retirement homes.
You know the ones where there’s a nursing staff if you need it.
I don’t want you having to care for me in the end like you did her… ”
His voice cracked, and the pressure in my chest grew.
“Dad—”
He talked over me, “That’s not negotiable, Maisey. I failed you back then. I won’t fail you again.”
My vision blurred, and I had to blink violently to hold back the tears as I pulled in behind Beckett’s SUV.
Turning off the engine, I glanced over at my childhood home and wondered if maybe it would be better for him to sell.
If he moved into a retirement community, he’d have other adults around for company, and depending on the type of community, he might not have to cook or clean.
If his dementia worsened or he had another stroke, there’d be professionals available to assist him.
But it meant letting go of the last of Mom’s memories. Could either of us really do that?
As we got out of the pickup, I pushed over the lump in my throat to say, “It might be a good idea, but you don’t have to make that decision today. And we definitely should finish the repairs, otherwise you’ll never get the full market value for it.”
“That little weasel offered me top dollar as is. But if I sell our home, it won’t be to someone who’s going to tear it down and put a dozen more on the land your mother loved.”
At least on that, we agreed.
When we got to Beckett’s front porch, he was already at work on the door. He’d wiped some of the paint away with paint remover and was sanding it with a ferocity that spoke to his state of mind. It didn’t seem like any of his anger and frustration had eased in the time we’d been away.
“Pizza’s here,” I said.
“I’m not really hungry. I want to take care of this first. At least get a coat of paint on it.”
He looked up from his work to take me and my dad in, and as if sensing the heaviness that lingered around us, his brows drew together. “Everything good here?”
Dad considered Beckett for a moment. “You tell me? Are you really taking care of my girl? Because I don’t see a ring on her finger, even though the entire town is yapping about your engagement.” Dad looked at the front door. “And to make matters worse, you’ve got someone taking aim at you.”
Beckett’s brows lifted, and it took him a beat too long before he came up with an adequate response. “I wanted Maisey to pick out her own ring.”
He’d told Stoney it was getting sized, which had just been to shut the man up, but we were going to keep getting the question. If mom’s jewelry box hadn’t disappeared, I could have used her ring.
Dad shook his head as if in disgust. “I thought you were better with the ladies than this, Beckett. No matter what they tell you, a woman doesn’t want to pick out her own ring. It’s more romantic knowing you picked one out while thinking of her.”
When neither Beckett nor I responded, Dad’s expression changed, an amused twinkle appearing in his eyes.
“I’m gonna take this pizza inside while the two of you discuss that and whatever else is brewing here.”
Once he’d stepped past Beckett into the house, Dad turned and winked at me before heading toward the kitchen with a whistle that sounded a lot like Chicago’s “Hard To Say I’m Sorry.”
It made me want to both laugh and cry, knowing Dad was giving us space to make up after a nonexistent argument.
I hated not being honest with him about what was going on between Beckett and me.
But even if we’d been in a real relationship, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to make up the way Dad had insinuated, not knowing my father was on the opposite side of the house and assuming we were doing just that.
Beckett put the sander down and looked up at me from where he was kneeling. “I’ll get you a ring.”
I lowered my voice so my dad wouldn’t hear and said, “It’s stupid to spend money on one. Just let everyone think the same thing you told Stoney, that it’s at the jewelers.”
“For months?”
Months. I kept forgetting I was in this for months. Not just a day or two or a week. It would take months for the chief to retire and the city council to hire a replacement.
I’d be living with Beckett for months.
That did horrible things to my pulse. To my stomach. To my core.
How was I going to survive this when I’d nearly offered myself to Beckett twice in a matter of two days? When I’d nearly accepted his plea in the backyard, simply because I wanted to know what it was like to be consumed by him?
As if his thoughts had also journeyed to the same place, Beckett’s eyes turned molten, and the electricity leaped to life between us, zinging through the air like lightning waiting to spark.
His jaw tightened, and he picked the sander back up. “I’ll get you a ring,” he grunted out. “But right now, I need to fix this damn door.”
I pressed a hand to my stomach, guilt flickering in over the desire. The first note had clearly been left for me, which meant the second likely had been as well. Someone had ruined his beautiful door to leave me a nasty message. “I can help. I don’t know what to do, but you could tell me.”
“Thanks, but fixing it will let me work out some of my…anger before it blows.”
He wouldn’t look at me, and the knots in my stomach grew more knots. Pretty soon, there’d be a whole family of knots living in there.
But I also knew, from the way Beckett had hesitated over the words, what he needed to work out wasn’t just anger.
Because I understood those feelings, I let him get back to work while I did exactly what I’d wanted to do this morning—I avoided Beckett for the rest of the day.