20. Chapter 20
Chapter 20
BECKY
I couldn’t believe Weston said all that about debt last night. Oh dear . I’d have to make sure he never found out about my financial challenges. The thought of disappointing Weston felt unbearable. Thankfully, the courier hadn’t made an appearance since speaking to Weston that time. But perhaps that was just because of the weekend. I’d have to remain vigilant now that it was midweek.
I cracked open my front door, only to step back as a book landed with a thud at my feet. Juggling my Bible under one arm and a steaming cup of coffee in the other, I stooped to retrieve the unexpected intruder. As I flipped it over, a fluttery sensation tickled my heart—a note was clinging to the cover. “Thought you might enjoy this. Thank you for all the delicious meals. - W”
Delight and surprise surged through me. Weston? Gifting me a book? The very next one in the series I was reading. When did he have time to do this? I bit my lip and smiled.
I hugged the book to my chest, my mind replaying our recent interactions. Every shared glance, every casual conversation now seemed charged with a new significance. Was this his way of showing he cared? The idea made my stomach do little flips of excitement.
With a newfound spring in my step, I closed the door behind me, the book now a treasured companion in my hands.
Settling into my favorite porch chair, the soft rays of the morning sun kissed my cheeks. I hoped to catch Weston for our usual chat as he returned from his morning exercise. I couldn’t wait to thank him for my gift. If I remembered his schedule correctly, today he’d be cycling.
I sipped my coffee, needing its magic to awaken my sleepy brain as I immersed myself in the sacred words of my Bible. My forced retreat from the incessant hum of social media had been a surprising blessing. I found I had more time and desire to read God’s Word. I thought I’d miss the likes and comments from my followers. I did at first. Yet, in a beautiful twist, the Scriptures spoke to a deeper part of my soul, filling a void I hadn’t realized was so profound.
Today I desired to read more, learn more. I wanted to know Him. Thirty minutes later, I sat there with my Bible open in my lap, meditating on the verses I had just read when a series of hoots and beeps coming from the gate rudely interrupted my thoughts. My heart leaped in my chest. Could this be my dreaded courier?
On instinct, I scrambled to hide inside my cottage. My empty mug almost becoming collateral damage in the process. I locked the door for good measure and waited with bated breath. This was ridiculous. I was determined to handle money differently when I returned to Atlanta.
After two long minutes of relentless honking, curiosity got the better of me, and I took a cautious peek. What if it was an important guest of Weston’s? I figured if I stealthily moved along Gray’s house wall and concealed myself behind the bushes, I could get a good look at the gate without being seen. My hands shook slightly as I unlocked my door and tiptoed towards the largest bush and peered through its leaves.
To my surprise, standing by the gate, was a woman dressed in a floral summer dress. I breathed a sigh of relief; she was clearly not the courier. She stood next to a black SUV. Her red hair was perfectly styled, and she carried herself with a confidence that made me a tad envious. I watched as she pressed the buzzer again, her expression growing slightly impatient. Now, more curious than ever, I decided to find out what she wanted. I quickly ran my fingers through my hair to tidy it, then stepped out from my hiding spot, shielding my eyes from the bright morning sun as I approached the gate.
The woman turned towards me; her face lighting up with relief. “Oh, hi! Is Weston at home?” she asked, her voice melodic and sweet.
I tilted my head, sizing her up before replying, “Nope. He is out cycling. He should be back soon, though.”
She laughed, a soft, understanding sound. “Oh, Weston. He is so dedicated to his sport. He’s been under so much stress lately; I hope he’s not pushing himself too hard,” she said, her eyes filled with sympathy.
Who was this woman? And why did her presence instantly spark jealousy in me? I tried not to let my animosity show as I internally assessed the situation. The way she talked about him, the sympathy in her eyes—it was as if she knew him on a personal level. A wave of unease washed over me, and I wondered... was there something between Weston and this woman? Weston didn’t belong to me.
“I’m Demi. I was just dropping off some paperwork for him. Do you think I could come in and wait for him? I’d love to give it to him directly,” she said, her gaze hopeful.
I forced a smile, pushing away the irrational feelings of jealousy stirring inside me. I yearned to handle the situation with grace, yet what came out of my mouth was, “Not to worry, I can give it to him for you.”
“Oh,” she said, slightly taken aback. “Alright. Let me just get it from the car.” She retrieved the paperwork and passed it through the gate. “Just... uh, tell him Demi says hi, would you?”
“Of course,” I replied. I waved goodbye to her, feeling a sense of relief as she walked away.
Irritated with myself for feeling so happy to see her leave, I turned my thoughts inward. All that time with Weston over the weekend had left an impact. Not to mention his thoughtful gift. It seemed Weston had quietly and unexpectedly carved out a space for himself in my heart. I tried to convince myself it was a bad idea to have feelings for a guy who was so very different from myself. He obviously wanted to be alone, but nothing could quell the sudden craving I had to see his face and hear his voice .
Yet, as the time passed, my eagerness to see Weston morphed into a faint whisper of concern. Why hadn’t he arrived yet? Compelled by my worry, I made my way to the main house, hoping perhaps he had arrived unnoticed. But he wasn’t there.
Dread pooled in my stomach. He never returned so late. What if something had happened to him? I paced the lawn, wondering if it was too soon to report a missing person, when I heard the crunch of gravel near the gate. A mix of hope and concern propelled me toward the noise. As I rounded the corner, I gasped at the sight before me.
There Weston stood. The sight of him brought a rush of panic to my chest. He must have fallen. The most noticeable gash was just above his eye, with dried blood having made a track down the left side of his face and blending subtly into his stubble. Along his left arm, a series of minor grazes were visible, standing out against his tanned skin.
“Oh no, what happened?” I was now shaking from the pent-up worry.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he said as he leaned his bike against the house.
“It looks terrible. Let’s go to the hospital.” I grabbed Weston’s uninjured arm and tugged him toward his truck, but then I remembered I couldn’t drive. “Never mind, I can’t drive, but I’ve perfected calling an Uber.” I switched directions to the house to get my phone.
“No, I’m fine. I just need some wound closure strips and I’ll be right as rain.”
“I’ll be the judge of that. I’ll help you clean it, but if I think it needs stitches, then we are going to the hospital whether you like it or not.”
Weston laughed, and I breathed a sigh of relief. It couldn’t be too sore if he was laughing. Still, it looked so gory. “What happened?” I asked, realizing he hadn’t told me. We walked side by side toward the house.
“A car clipped my back wheel, and I took a tumble, but I’m fine. My helmet and arms took the brunt of my fall. This kind of stuff happens from time to time.”
“Oh no. And your bike? Is it broken?”
“It’ll need a service, but I’ve got several bikes. I can just use a different one on Saturday.”
“Okay. You gave me a fright coming in looking like this. Come on, I’ll help you.”
We entered the house and I looked to Weston for direction. “Gray mentioned there’s a first aid kit somewhere in the kitchen. Could you please find it?” he asked. His voice carried an edge of discomfort that pulled at my heartstrings .
I quickly located the kit and moved back into the lounge. I motioned for Weston to perch on the sofa’s armrest, wanting to be at the right height to tend to the wound above his eye. Standing right in front of him, I felt a surge of awareness at our proximity. My hands trembled slightly as I began the delicate process of cleaning the dried blood away.
“Why do you do this?” I asked, hating seeing him so hurt.
He chuckled weakly, “I don’t exactly plan on having accidents, you know.”
I rolled my eyes, an affectionate smile on my lips. “No, I mean, why do you train for this race? You mentioned the other day that you’re not even looking forward to it.”
Weston fidgeted, his gaze drifting away from mine. I noticed the tension in his jaw. “It’s hard to explain,” he began, his voice a mix of calm and underlying pain. “It’s about my cousin Jared. We weren’t close until his life took a nosedive in high school. He got mixed up with the wrong crowd, and things just spiraled out of control.”
I saw his expression darken, his eyes clouding over with memories. Without saying a word, I kept tending to his cuts, offering him the space to unravel his thoughts.
“My Aunt Clara had come to me,” he continued. “She implored me to reach out to Jared, to use whatever influence I had. I was three years his senior, immersed in my own world of athletics and college, navigating the murky waters of grief after losing my dad. The idea of rescuing someone who seemed so lost was daunting—I was no hero, just a guy trying to keep his own head above water.” He sighed, a sound that seemed to carry years of burden. “But I had something to offer. I invited him to train with me, Ironman style. He looked up to me, and surprisingly, he said yes.”
Listening to him, my heart grew heavy. His entire posture radiated sorrow, and deep down, I had a foreboding sense that his story would end in heartbreak.
Weston looked into my eyes, as if to gauge whether I could handle more. He must have thought I could because he kept talking, “Training together, we became close. I never imagined that I would need his companionship more than he needed mine. He became my confidant, helping me confront the grief of losing Dad. Our runs became my therapy, and his escape from a life headed nowhere good. For a while, it seemed like despair was loosening its hold on me, like God was granting us both a second chance. Hope seemed tangible. But then…”
His voice wavered. I stopped treating the cut on his forehead and, almost instinctively, my hands rested on his broad shoulders. The warmth of his skin penetrated the fabric of his shirt, connecting me to the strength and vulnerability hidden beneath.
Weston cleared his throat and continued, “But during our first race, Jared suffered a heart attack and passed away. They later discovered he’d used steroids, sourced from some reckless friend. But the how and why of his death... it’s insignificant, considering that he’s no longer here.” His voice broke slightly. “Competing in this race feels like a tribute to Jared. He never got the chance to finish it.”
Tears gathered in my eyes as I listened to his heart-wrenching story. My heart filled with a blend of deep respect and aching sadness. “Oh, Weston,” I breathed out, my voice wavering under the weight of my suppressed emotions. “I never knew. I’m so, so sorry about Jared. About everything you’ve been through.” I searched his eyes—those stormy seas of unvoiced pain and resilience. “I can’t even imagine the burden you’ve shouldered.”
His hand lifted, gentle and unexpected, brushing the tear from my cheek. “Please don’t cry for me,” he whispered.
His tenderness, so at odds with the rugged facade he often presented, made my heart flutter. For a moment, we just looked at each other, the air between us charged with a raw, unspoken understanding. The world seemed to pause, and in that stillness, a desire to comfort him filled me. To share his pain and lighten his load.
I tentatively placed my hand over his. “Weston, I wish I could change the past or take away your pain.” I took a deep breath, searching for the right words to reach him. “Grief... it’s such a deeply personal thing. But do you think it’s what they’d want? For you to live for them instead of for yourself?”
He frowned slightly, a question in his eyes. “What are you saying?”
“I mean, you want to be an engineer, but you won’t change careers because of your dad. And this race, you do it for Jared, but he’s not even here to appreciate the wounds. I’m no expert on this, but somehow, I don’t think God would want you to live solely for the memories of those who have passed away. You kind of told me that the other day. Aren’t we supposed to be living for God?”
I waited for him to speak, but he remained silent, his gaze lost somewhere only he could see. My heart thumped loudly, fearing I’d said too much.
“Forget I said anything,” I blurted, stepping back and causing his hand to fall away. I instinctively covered my cheek, trying to soothe the ache left by the absence of his touch. “Seeing you come through the gate looking so hurt—it scared me. That’s all.”