18. Becca
EIGHTEEN
BECCA
Tyler rolls his eyes and starts to walk away when I ask for two and a half carats instead of three.
“You are getting me a ring, right?” I ask. “And soon. I need money to pay my vendors next week.”
“Yes, I’ll get you a damn ring,” he sighs.
I resist the urge to grab his wrist, instead trying to stop him with my words. “Better get all your attitude out now. In two days, you’re going to have to act like you love me and pucker up for everybody to see.”
He freezes before turning on his heel and walking back my way. “I’ll act like it. I can make it convincing.”
“Yeah?” I rise and close the space between us, pace by pace. I tip my chin up. “Prove it.”
Tyler’s eyes flit down to my lips and back to my eyes, over and over like he’s considering whether or not he can stomach this. Shaky exhales stream from his nose and his lips start to quiver.
He’s not going to do it. I shake my head. “Chickenshit.”
I turn to put some much-needed distance between us when his hand snakes across my lower back, hips slamming into each other as he binds us together again. Tyler glares down at me, the muscle in his jaw jumping as he grinds his teeth. “You’re her best friend,” he grits out.
“Was,” I correct him.
“You made her the way she is,” he adds, and his hand trembles on my back.
I draw myself up taller. “Is this why you’re so pissy with me half the time? How long are you going to tell yourself that lie? I’m not going to stand here and let you blame all your problems on me when I’m trying to help your sorry ass.”
“Well, I don’t need your charity.”
My jaw shifts forward and back. I could get a good upper cut in at this angle. Though punching him might feel good, it won’t help my situation.
“Like it or not, Tyler, I need you, and you need me. But what I really need, more than anything, is for you to figure out how to deal with your shit before everyone in this town catches on that you can’t stand me.”
His brow creases and he looks like he feels bad. His gaze dips between us before he gnaws his lip. “I’m sorry.”
I’m generally known for being tough as nails, made of iron or rubber or something that keeps bad shit from sticking to me.
But all the times Tyler turned me down come floating back up when he says those two little words.
It’s accompanied by his thumb stroking my lower back where he still holds me, his palm dampening my shirt there.
I feel pathetic for what I’m about to say. I hate myself for it before it even leaves my lips.
“If you’re sorry, then kiss me.”
Tyler’s demeanor softens more, and I realize he’s not sorry. He feels sorry for me.
I don’t do pity. Not for me. I’ve spent my life doing anything I can to not be pitiful, and I’m not letting Tyler Davis make me feel pitiful in my own house.
I wrench out of his grasp. “Chickenshit.”
My heart pangs. There’s that tiny, buried deep part of me that wishes this marriage would be romantic too.
He tolerated me when we were growing up, but we had those few moments where it almost felt like there was something more there.
I wasn’t blind to the fact that my brother’s best friend was cute, but I’ve never been able to pinpoint what made me call him when I got into a sticky situation.
His quiet steadiness? His gentle strength?
On that one night, he got me out of a bind and calmed me down the best way he knew how at that time. It was a Herculean effort to seem like I wasn’t affected, like that was just another episode of The Chronicles of Wild Becca, but I’d been genuinely scared.
And I felt truly taken care of when Tyler swooped in, swinging a baseball bat and demanding to know where I was.
I was too proud to admit any of it beyond a breathless “thanks” once we were a few minutes down the road away from them, Tyler continually checking the rear view on his LeBaron to make sure no one was following us.
If any other man had pulled off on a back road with just me in the car, I’d have had my pigsticker ready to take ‘em down. But I felt safe with Tyler.
He didn’t say anything. He just reached into his glove compartment and held up a plastic baggie with some weed and rolling papers. My hands were cemented between my thighs, an attempt to keep him from seeing how shaky I was.
It was downright erotic watching him roll that joint in the dashboard light.
Deft fingers crumbled the weed and sprinkled it into the paper, a confident, practiced movement as he curled it tight into a pretty spliff.
His tongue darted out once, twice, three times to wet the paper and seal it shut before he twisted the end to light it.
He leaned to pull a lighter out of his pocket, holding the joint with his lips stretched over his teeth.
His face was cast in firelight, then he took just enough of a puff to get it going before handing it off to me.
His voracious eyes watched me pull the joint between my lips and let the smoke out, dissolving the intense emotions of everything that just happened.
That situation could have gotten really ugly for me, but Tyler showed up.
I wanted to cry, but I didn’t do that. Though I guess if I were ever going to in front of him, that would have been the time.
I was so stuck in my thoughts and shaken up that I dropped the joint, burning a hole in the seat of his precious baby LeBaron.
“Shit! Sorry!”
Tyler just laughed and took the joint from me, wiggling out of his jacket and putting it around my shoulders. “Let’s go outside.”
Then we lay on the hood of that thing, backs against the windshield, staring at the sky.
Between that and the time he probably got my best friend pregnant while he was watching me in a wild group session, there will always be a hint of a flicker between us.
Wouldn’t it be nice if marrying him meant I was just settled? I wouldn’t have to go trolling at the Legion to try and find somebody to pay attention to me. There’s almost no chance for love in this marriage with how much Tyler hates me now, and I’m not exactly his biggest fan either.
Maybe I can have one last fling before the ring to have a good send-off to however many years of celibacy this might create.
Ugh. Celibacy. How does that word have “cel” in it like it’s something to celebrate? It’s a nightmare, but one I’ll take on if it means I get to keep this farm and do Ernest proud.
The man who will decidedly be giving me no sex stands before me, hands hanging limply at his sides. I guess I’m choosing violence tonight, because I hit him with the big guns.
“Would you take her back?”
The way his pupils shrink tells me he knows exactly who I mean. He leans an elbow on the counter and scrubs a hand over his face. “That’s not fair.”
I shake my head. “We need to clear this up before we go through with anything.” I pause, breath caught in my chest. If he’d still take her back, I don’t know if I can marry him.
CJ hasn’t spoken to me since she got pregnant with Ellie, but I can’t steal her man in good conscience. “I wish she hadn’t cut me out.”
He screws up his face. “You said something terrible to her. It ruined her.”
“Now who’s not being fair?” I ask, lifting my chin. “All I did was tell her to get help.”
Tyler’s mouth hangs open. “What?”
“I told her to get help. I offered to help her get help. To go through it all with her.”
He shakes his head, looking at his hands like they’ll have the answers. “You told her she’d be a bad mom. You told her she had options.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “I did say that. She was so sick, and I didn’t want her to hurt Ellie. I know she ended up cleaning up her act while she was pregnant, but that was a strong possibility.”
Tyler swallows and looks at the ground between us. “You offered to go through it with her?”
“Yes. And then she decided to be stubborn—”
“I don’t know anyone else like that,” he interrupts.
I tip my head at him but it is kinda funny. One point to Tyler. “She shut me out completely. I think she wasn’t ready for all of it, so she cut me out.” I gnaw on my lip. “I tried with her, Tyler. I loved her. She was my best friend.”
“I know you did,” he says quietly. “We all did.”
“I still miss her,” I admit.
“I do too. Parts of her. Who I hoped she could be. But it was pretty bad toward the end. It was almost better after she left, which sounds shitty to say.”
I shake my head and lift a shoulder. “I get it. That must’ve been really hard.”
He shifts his jaw back and forth. “I had to give her Narcan. More than once. It’s,” his throat works, “tough to see that.”
“I’m sorry.” I shake my head. “I know she didn’t mean to end up like this. It’s not her fault. Not really.”
“I know. But two things are true. It’s both not her fault and a fact of reality. Addiction took over everything.” He thumbs toward the stairs. “I have to look out for her. And Ellie has a better chance without CJ around. She’s got a better shot with . . .”
Tyler looks pointedly at me, then back at the floor. Every part of my body feels like it just got heavier. I know being a mother figure to Ellie is part of this deal. I’m intimidated, but willing to rise to the occasion. “And what about you?”
He lets out a deep breath. “I couldn’t take her back. The trust is gone. It won’t ever be there again.”
I nod and chuckle.
“What’s funny about that?” he asks.
“About that? Nothing. What’s funny is I’ve been so worried I’m stealing her man by marrying you.”
A sad smirk curves his lips. “I tried, but I don’t know if I was ever hers to have.”
My thoughts start to swirl. What does that mean? Did he not love CJ? Or is he pulling one of those “I’m unlovable” acts?
He looks at the clock on the stove. “I should get to bed. But . . .” He messes with his mouth, possibly chewing on this thought. “I’m glad we cleared the air. Thanks for bringing it up.”
I open my arms. “Hug it out? And don’t act like I’m covered in bees?”
He chuckles and steps into my hug, giving me a squeeze and running a hand up and down my back. “I’m not that bad.”
“Yeah, and I’m not the devil incarnate.”
He barks a laugh. “Don’t lie to me, Reba. You’re still raising plenty of hell.”
I pull out of our hug and tweak his cheek. “You deserve some hell, grumpy bear.”