Chapter 20
BECKETT
I’ve known Clover long enough to know when her pretty little smile is fake as fuck.
Right now, it’s fake as fuck, but she’s putting on a hell of a show for Lennon.
I raise a brow at her in question, but she shakes her head no quickly, and I nod.
We will talk about it in a bit. While she’s distracted, I see my daughter shove her spoon right into Clover’s ice cream.
“Whoa, little thief. You can’t go stealin’ other people’s ice cream,” I start. “You have your own.”
“It’s gone, and I wanted to try Lovey’s ‘stachio ice cream. It’s green even though she promised it don’t taste like boogers.”
Clover’s real laugh bubbles out of her. “It’s fine, Beck. She can try it, but only to prove it is definitely not booger flavored.”
I sigh. Between the two of them, trying to get either one to do something is useless.
My girls are stubborn. Scratch that— Lennon is stubborn.
Clover’s not mine, and I need to stop thinking in phrases like that.
I had my chance. I fucked it up. I can’t expect her to jump right in, as though nothing happened all those years ago.
I groan internally at how fucking stupid young me was, trying to push her away instead of having an honest conversation with her.
After we finish our ice cream, we decide to stop at the park across the street for a bit. I gently suggested it, knowing how hopped up on sugar the kid is right now. She will need to burn some of it off.
“Try to stay out of the mud,” I call after Lennon as she runs towards the monkey bars.
Clover and I sit on a bench and watch her for a few minutes in silence, and I can tell we are both making sure she’s safe.
It makes me feel weird inside. I’ve had a couple of not-too-serious relationships since Hannah bounced, but I’ve never let any of them get too close to Lennon. It’s better for everyone that way.
Seeing someone else care about my kid, though, that’s not my family or someone I’m paying by the hour to care about her . . . it’s wild. It’s something I didn’t know I was missing out on.
After we are both content with Lennon’s situation, I lean back on the bench, cross one leg over the other, and casually drape an arm around the back. I act like it’s just to stretch out, but I know it’s bullshit. I just want to be near her. If she notices, she doesn’t call me out on it.
“So,” I say, dragging out the word. “Everything good?”
She huffs out a sarcastic laugh. “It’s me, Beck. Of course, everything is, in fact, not good.” She sighs and leans back too, and my heart picks up when I realize she's right in the crook of my elbow. I could just wrap my arm around her and pull her to me.
“The piece of shit slumlord said I can’t go back,” her voice brings me back to the present.
“What?” I ask, baffled. “What do you mean?”
She groans. “Apparently, when they came to fix the water, they discovered it had been leaking for a very long time. There’s mold all in the walls, and it’s been declared unlivable.”
“Shit,” I exhale, rubbing my forehead. I don’t move the arm behind her, though. I’m not moving until she does.
“Yeah,” she sighs. “Shit.”
The silence stretches for a while as she takes some steady breaths. I softly rub against her shoulder with my thumb, quietly letting her know I’m here. Clover doesn’t like to be weak in front of anyone, if she can help it.
“He said I could go get my stuff,” she says, her voice trying to be cheery.
“Yeah?” I ask. “You wanna go grab it? Lennon should be tiring out in a minute, anyway.”
I know I should be bummed for her because it seemed like she was really excited about her little cottage when she was telling me about it a couple of days ago, but all I can selfishly think about is the fact that I get more time with her.
“If you don’t mind,” she responds, leaning into me briefly to pull her phone from her pocket.
She unlocks the screen and begins tapping at the speed of light.
I don’t want to be nosy, and my curiosity is answered quickly.
“I’m texting Brynn now to see when she will be back.
I can probably stay with your parents until she’s back, or go to the hotel. ”
If this were a sitcom, you’d hear the brakes squealing sound on my train of thought.
“Now you don’t have to go and do all that,” I start, but she interrupts me.
“I’ve already overstayed my welcome by days, Beck. You’ve got shit to do, and I’d just be in the way.”
When I open my mouth to respond, I’m stopped by someone else talking.
“Clover?” A man’s voice says. We both look up to see a sweaty guy in what Brynn calls “hoochie daddy shorts”, no shirt, and rocking some trendy fuckin’ mustache. Well, most of a mustache. Mine’s way fuller. Why the fuck am I concerning myself with how much facial hair this dude has?
“Clover Kerrington,” he says, followed by a low whistle. “Damn girl, it’s been forever,” he says cheerfully, not even acknowledging that I’m right here.
Clover smiles politely and puts her phone back in her pocket. “I’m sorry,” she chuckles. “It’s been a long time, and we’ve all changed a lot . . . I can’t quite place you.”
Hoochie douchey laughs. I hate him.
“It’s me, Weston.”
I wasn’t wrong. I actually do hate this guy.
Clover’s smile drops briefly, but she recovers quickly. I’m not sure why she’s being nice to this prick. “Wow, you’ve definitely changed a lot,” she says awkwardly, trying to be nice. Her body is tense, and she shifts uncomfortably. She wants out of here.
“You have too, but you still look fantastic,” Weston responds, his beady little eyes roaming down her chest for a moment. The man must have selective vision, because my arm is literally around her shoulders.
I tighten it up around her, pulling her closer into me.
“Ah, right,” I say, making my voice sound as happy as I can. “Weston Briggs. I think the last time y’all saw each other was . . . ” I pretend I’m thinking about it. “When was it again, Clover Jane? Was it the night that I kissed you for the first time?”
Clover catches on quickly, also pretending to mull it over.
“You know, Beckett, I think it was. The night of my birthday, right after he broke up with me at prom, and you picked me up because this motherfucker left me without a ride.” She looks from me to him, smiling a bright ‘fuck you’ smile at him.
I’m so fucking proud of her for standing up against him after he left her so broken.
He becomes visibly uncomfortable, the color draining from his face. He clears his throat and starts stuttering out some bullshit string of excuses about being drunk from the spiked punch, his friends dared him, whatever.
I’m tired of his voice. I stand to my full height, holding my hand out for Clover. She accepts it, and I pull her up right against my chest.
“I wanted to beat your ass,” I tell him.
“Lucky girl here convinced me you weren’t worth it, and she was right.
You fucking up allowed me to realize what had been in front of me my whole life.
” I wrap my hand around the back of Clover’s neck and pull her to me, kissing her right in the middle of the park, as my mom would say: in front of God and everyone.
When I pull out of the kiss, she’s left standing there dazed, her mouth slightly open, lips and cheeks both pink. She doesn’t look at hoochie douchey; she just stares up at me. He’s just as flustered, but in an awkward way.
“Thanks, bud,” I say, clapping him on the bicep, probably a little harder than necessary.
I wrap my arm back around Clover’s shoulders and start walking down the sidewalk.
“Come on, kiddo, we gotta get home,” I holler in Lennon’s direction.
She runs up to us and slips her hand into Clover’s naturally, telling her all about the worms she saw under the slide.
When I shut the doors after helping my girls up into the truck, I look back. Weston’s nowhere to be seen.