Chapter 13
Beckett
“Jamey, pour me another.” I yell at the bartender and owner of the small bar in Honeysuckle: J’s Bar and Wings.
“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” his concerned eyes hold mine. An older man now, pushing late sixties, but I remember him without the grey in his beard, wearing cowboy boots and a hat, yelling in the stands with Holden during my rodeo days.
I shrug, “I am not paying you to be my therapist, J. Pour the damn liquor.”
He huffs, grabbing the bottle of Jim Beam and pouring my whiskey glass full.
With every sip, I am ruining my chances with my sponsorship. But hell, I am a long way from Las Vegas and my agent, too. What they don’t know won’t kill them, but it might kill me either way.
After leaving the lawyer’s office, I walked down Main Street to get away before my anxiety took over. That meeting was too much for me; a sensory and emotional overload that was on the verge of making me spiral—and when I spiral, I have no control.
I have yet to open my envelope from Mrs. Taylor and I don’t know if I ever will. Do I care to know why she did what she did? Do I want to allow it to trigger me into a fight or flight? Because that is exactly what it will do.
My inner child, who begged the gods to allow this family to adopt me, is screaming at me right now.
I don’t deserve this gift.
I left them.
I broke their hearts.
And this is what they do for me?
They allow me an equal share with their blood children for their entire legacy. Their ranch?
Mr. Holden’s favorite place in the entire world was that piece of land and property.
And yet I ran away from them all.
I pick up my glass and down it entirely.
My mind replays the smell of her scent, the look as her eyes dilated when I backed her up against the wall.
Lacey is no longer the little girl I remember when I left and damn it if my dick doesn’t think it needs to be inside her.
If it wasn’t for the anxiety pumping through my veins earlier, I just might have locked my lips on her and fucked her right in that conference room.
Marcus could have stayed and watched for all I cared.
What is it with this girl? She used to annoy the ever-living shit out of me.
“Beckett, do I need to call you an Uber?” Jamey asks coming to the bar and taking my glass, “I won’t serve you anymore. Go home and sleep this off. Whatever you are in here for, you won’t find answers.”
I groan, “What? No welcome home, Beckett King?”
He chuckles, “Not like this. Son, you are better than sitting here and drowning in pity. You made something of yourself. Whatever it is, go deal with it before you end up dead.”
I glare up at him, “Still the same ole Jamey Adams I see.”
“And I watched you grow up, Beckett. I know the hell you dragged yourself out of.” He picks up his phone typing away on it. “I got you an Uber heading here. Where do you want them to take you?”
I huff as the room starts spinning, “I guess Scars Fucking Creek.”
Jamey’s eyes widen, “The Taylors’ place?”
“YUP.” I say loudly with a pop of my lips.
* * *
After stumbling out of the Uber and finding my way up the steps of the farmhouse, the sun is setting, and no one is in sight.
The Uber would not have made it down to the cottage, so I had the driver drop me off at the main house so I could go in and piss before walking to the cottage that I now own and a warm bed.
Remembering I have house keys, I jiggle in my jeans pocket to find them, taking an embarrassing amount of time to find the one that is for this door.
It’s oddly quiet as I step inside and cross the threshold.
“Hellurs?” I slur shutting the door behind me.
Lacey’s truck is in the yard, but I don’t see her anywhere.
Walking to the half bath that is by the kitchen, I don’t even bother shutting the door before I unzip my pants, whipping my dick out to take a piss.
I swore I was about to soil the entire back seat of that Uber if the fucker drove any slower.
Flushing the toilet, I zip my pants back up and walk over to the kitchen sink to wash my hands. Blinking a few times until the extra faucet vanishes from my vision, I reach to turn the water on.
“AHHHHH!!” I hear a scream behind me making me jump out of my skin.
I turn around in time to see a freshly showered Lacey, in horse print lounge pj’s, and her hair wrapped up in a brown towel.
“Jesus, Beckett,” she says, clasping her hand over her chest, “Freaking announce you are here when you come in.”
I steady myself on the counter—swaying a little—still a little too drunk to not be obvious, “I-Dd-Did.”
She throws her hands up, “You got to be fucking joking. Are you drunk?”
I shake my head with a fat grin, “NOPE.”
She tries to hide her giggles, but one slips out. Ugh, why does that sound make my body tingle? It could be the liquor running through my veins, too.
“Hey, you look sexy in that get-up.” I walk toward her, only stumbling a few times.
“I am sure I do,” she rolls her eyes. “Why are you here and not the cottage?”
I shrug, “Too far. Uber dropped me here. I had to piss.”
I can’t tell if her eyes are saying she is laughing at this situation or angry at me. “Okay, well, Carson and Briggs are gone with the other cowboys tonight, doing a camp out. So, you can stay here and sleep on the couch.”
I nod. Don’t fucking ask me why, no words are coming to me right now.
“I’ll go get you some pillows and a blanket.”
She walks off down the hall, opening a side closet door, and reaches up inside before coming back with a large thick cream blanket and a few pillows.
I don’t miss the little show of skin when her arms go up and so does the fabric of her shirt, her hip bones making their appearance and wanting to be nipped.
Fuck’s sake. Get a hold of yourself, King.
“Have you read your letter?” she asks me as she is making the couch up for me as a bed.
I shake my head, “Not sure if I will.”
“Well, I read mine. I encourage you to read yours.”
She steps around me, but my arm snakes out to grab her just in time. “Is it going to break my heart, Lace?”
Her eyes are locked on my hands around her waist, but quickly her eyes find mine. “I think it might mend it.”
I let go of her with a deep sigh. “It’s been broken for so long, I don’t know if it’s fixable.”
She looks at me with eyes filled with curiosity.
“Anything is fixable, Beckett. You have to want to fix it.” She smiles at me before turning the light off, only leaving the overhead oven light on in the kitchen, “Goodnight. Please be back in the cottage by morning. I don’t want to start my day with a pissed off Carson. ”
* * *
Fifteen years ago
Graduation
Carson plays with his tassel on his graduation hat, making me chuckle—the boy cannot be still more than a few seconds—the stands are filling up on the football field with families and friends of the graduates around us while the sun is slowly setting, giving the sky a beautiful array of orange and purple behind us.
We are dressed in our maroon school colors, and the stage before us is set with a few chairs for faculty, a podium, and magnolia blooms on each side of the stage. While low music plays throughout the stadium’s PA.
You did it, Beckett King.
Your parents were high school dropouts, and here you are receiving your diploma today. With almost a 4.0 GPA, too.
“Party tonight?” Our friend, Nick, leans over a couple girls beside us, making them giggle, and they eye us, too, eyebrows raised, waiting on our response.
“Yeah,” Carson smiles. “Cottage at the ranch, but wait until after nine to show up, my parents should be asleep by then.”
They all nod, understanding. I laugh; the cottage is our favorite spot to get into some trouble.
Parents, grandparents, siblings, and more keep filing in, claiming seats on the bleachers surrounding us while our class of 2010 at Honeysuckle High sits in our designated seats on the field.
Carson was not supposed to be sitting next to me, but we smooth-talked our teachers into switching last minute.
“Hey, there’s mom, dad, and Lacey.” Carson waves at the stands. Their smiling faces wave back at us. Mrs. Taylor holding a handmade sigh that says, “CONGRATS CARSON AND BECKETT”. I fight back tears; it hasn’t been lost on me that my own parents were missing from the stands.
Not that I expected them here, but man, wouldn’t it have been nice to hear, “I am proud of you for doing better than us and getting your diploma.”
I thought parents were supposed to want better for their children than the life they had.
At-least I know I can always count on the Taylors to be here for me; their presence in my life is the only constant thing I know.
“Welcome to this year’s 2010 Graduating Class Ceremony.
” Our principal stands at the front of the stage with a microphone, smiling at us below.
“I am proud of each of you.” I don’t miss the long eye contact he spends on me.
“We will begin the ceremony momentarily. Thank you all for coming and supporting this exciting day for these kids.”