Chapter 8
BECKETT
Clover had every right to lose her shit on me. When I asked about leaving Lennon with her, it came out much douchier than I intended it to. She always has a way of getting me riled up; her anger lights mine, and I know that’s toxic.
There was a time when it wasn’t like that.
I shake my head, droplets flying from my hair.
Thunder rumbles in the distance and the wind picks up again.
It’s not the time to think about that. It will never be time to think about that.
Last night when she was crying, it about broke my heart.
All I could see was her at nineteen, crying in my driveway as I pushed her away.
I was so cruel. I had my reasons, none of which are reasonable.
Now that I look back, I realize I was a fucking idiot.
She confessed she was in love with me, and instead of pulling her into my arms and telling her she was the one who lit up my life, I forced myself to laugh at her.
I got about five miles down the road before I pulled over and got sick on the side of the road, then went to a buddy’s and drank until I couldn’t see straight.
That’s the night I decided I would never hold Clover back.
I run through the chores that absolutely need to be finished and go around to all of the pens and barns, making sure everything is secure.
Locking latches, closing gates, and making sure everyone is dry, fed, and watered.
I remember Mom saying their road was flooded, so I drive up to my gate to check out what the creek looks like.
I’m obviously not going to let Clover take a rideshare in this weather; I don’t trust anyone enough to drive her safely.
The creek isn’t flowing as calmly as it usually does. It’s raging. It’s been replaced with a quick, strong current of water . . . so strong that it’s completely wiped out my bridge.
No one’s getting in or out.
For fuck’s sake. Telling her is going to go so well.
* * *
When I get back to the house and open the door, I’m met with the sound of Lennon squeal-giggling. Clover is making monster noises, and I hear my mom’s voice in the background. Did she call my mom?
The smell of pancakes slams into my nose and my stomach grumbles loudly, reminding me that I didn’t eat this morning. I’m running on caffeine and cortisol.
“Looks like you girls did it! Great job. I hope this rain stops so I can be at the next pancake party!” My mom is saying over a video call as I round the corner.
The girls wave at her and say they love her, and Clover mouths “thank you” as they hang up.
Both of them are covered in flour. So is the counter, the utensil drawer, there’s an egg yolk on the floor and an almost empty carton of milk balancing dangerously close to the edge of the island.
My body tenses up immediately at the mess. I take measured breaths.
I know that it’s ironic that someone who deals with literal barnyard animals and their messes gets anxiety when his house is even a little bit messy, but I do.
Lennon’s eyes light up when she sees me. She runs at me full speed, clinging to my legs.
“Daddy!”
The look in Clover’s eyes is the exact opposite of Lennon’s. She is still pissed from earlier, and she has every right to be. I need to find time to apologize to her.
“We still had a pancake party with Gram!” She says, pulling on my hand to take me to the kitchen.
“You did, did ya?”
She nods and bounces on her toes, holding her arm out to present their work to me.
Now I’m in the messy kitchen.
There are three stacks of pancakes on three separate plates, piled high with perfectly burnt bacon and mountains of scrambled eggs.
“We made strawberry banana pancakes, since they are your favorite,” Clover says softly. She takes two of the plates to the farm-style dining table and sets them down. She’s already poured three big glasses of cold, fresh orange juice.
“Y’all eat up,” she tells us, and Lennon and I don’t need to be told twice. We sit down at the table and I lean over to start cutting Lennon’s pancakes into pieces for her, but it’s already been done. Huh. She reaches for the syrup, and I help her pour it.
I notice that Clover’s seat still stays empty. She’s in the kitchen, cleaning up.
“Hey, I’ll be right back, okay, kiddo?” I kiss Lennon on the head as I get up.
I make my way to the kitchen and lean back against the counter, grabbing Clover by her wrist gently to get her to stop what she’s doing. I tug her in front of me.
Her eyes are red-rimmed. Damn.
“Hey, Clover Jane. Come eat with us.”
She sniffles, and it looks like she’s trying to suck her tears back into her eyes.
“I will, I just want to clean the kitchen real quick. I hoped to have it done by the time you got back, but we got caught up and lost track of time. I know you like things to be clean.”
“Did Mom put you up to this?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“What? No, of course not. Lennon was upset about not being able to have her pancake party. Mary does make some damn good pancakes, and I didn’t want Lennon to miss out on spending time with her, so I thought a video call might help.
” She swipes the rest of the egg yolk with a paper towel and tosses it into the trash.
“I’m sorry about this morning, Clover. I didn’t mean for what I originally said to come off the way it did.”
“No, you were right,” she says quietly. “My life is a mess. I don’t have a home, or a job, or anything. I really expected Brynn to swoop in and save me.” She washes her hands and dries them with a kitchen towel.
“I’m stressed, and that’s not an excuse. I don’t know what you’ve been through the last thirteen years. I had no right to try to judge you.”
I pull her towards me and wrap my arms around her. God, it feels so fucking natural to have her right here.
“WHY ARE YALL HUGGIN'?” Lennon shouts from the dining room table, her mouth full of pancakes.
“I was a bit of a butthead to Clover this morning, and I want to take responsibility and tell her I’m sorry.”
I give Clover a quick squeeze before turning her around and gently pushing her towards the table.
We sit down and start eating.
“Did Dad hurt your feelings?” Lennon asks Clover quietly.
I’m not sure why I expect her to say no, maybe because I know that everyone else would, not wanting to get her involved.
“Yes, he did,” Clover admits truthfully.
“Sometimes, people will hurt your feelings, and it’ll last a very, very long time.
Sometimes, the hurt goes away fast. This is one of the little times where it just stings a bit.
It’s important that we talk about those feelings, though, so the other person knows that we are hurt and they can work to be better. ”
Lennon considers this. “Has Dad hurt your feelings in a big way before?”
A lump makes residence in my throat as Clover’s eyes meet mine sadly when she answers.
“Yeah, Lenny. He’s hurt my feelings in a big way before.”
Lennon’s eyes blaze in my direction before she looks back at Clover, leans over to her and whispers loudly.
“Then we won’t tell him he’s got flour all over his clothes.” She says.
The little shit.
I look down, and she’s right. A flour imprint the same height as Clover is pressed into my shirt. I can’t help but laugh, and so does Clover.