Chapter 20 Beckett
BECKETT
Ishould go in today. But I don’t want to. I don’t want her to feel abandoned any more than she already does.
I call in and let them know to reach out if anything happens. I want to be with her.
My chest is all tied up with knots. I wish it were guilt over what we’re doing. Over how I was betraying my best friend in probably one of the worst ways you can.
I feel awful because the look on her face yesterday killed me. Watching her sit in the corner by herself while everyone else conversed. Watching all the happiness be ripped away from her, the moment Lottie made the one comment made to Sloane, about herself.
My chest ached; all I wanted to do was pull her into my arms and hold her tight and keep her safe.
It’s what I should’ve done. She deserves someone who will love her out in the open. Not just behind closed doors.
I want to be that person for her. I have no idea what we’re even doing. She leaves in September, and then what? We just pretend like this never happened?
I’m scared. I’m falling for this girl, and I don’t know what to do. She leaves, and I’m just supposed to go back to normal? Just supposed to look at Briar like I haven’t been doing things with his daughter behind his back for weeks?
I can’t risk compromising the only steady relationship I have over a what-if. He’s been my friend for most of my life, never once wavering from my side, no matter what life decided to throw in our direction.
But watching her implode last night.
Listening to her cry after we went to bed when she thought that I’d fallen asleep.
That in itself was almost enough to say fuck it.
We lie in my bed as I watch her sleep. The soft morning sun coming in through the windows lights up her features.
Her hair draped over my pillows, her face buried into my chest, the little dusting of freckles on her cheeks even more prominent in the morning light.
I brush my finger over them softly, counting every one of them.
She’s so perfect, and I have no idea why she’d ever want someone like me.
When she wakes up, her eyes are a little puffy and bloodshot, but for her sake, I pretend not to notice.
“Good morning,” I whisper into her hair, and I feel her whole body relax as she lets out a sigh.
“Morning,” she replies. Mocha lets out a little woof from his spot on the edge of the bed.
“Stay here, I’ll be right back,” I whisper. She nods, snuggling back into the blanket as I take Mocha outside to use the bathroom.
I watch him run around the backyard through the kitchen window while I make her some breakfast.
Hopefully, as a start to make up for yesterday.
I toast her favorite gluten-free bagels and top them with a thick layer of cream cheese. I slice some avocados, layer them on the cream cheese, and squeeze just a little bit of lemon on top.
By the time breakfast is almost ready, Mocha scratches on the door, and I let him in. He runs to the laundry room, and I hear him aggressively slurping up as much water as he can. And a few seconds later, he’s chomping on his food.
I would make Sloane a matcha. I know how she likes it, with vanilla, a little honey, and some cinnamon, but I have no idea where to even start with measurements. So I pour some coffee into a mug, put some sugar into it and some cream, and decide it’ll have to do.
“Here you go,” I say, coming back into the room. She’s curled up in the fetal position, and she looks like she’s in pain.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, setting the food and drinks down, kneeling down next to the bed.
“Period cramps,” she whimpers.
“Oh…” I trail off. I’d never had to deal with that before.
Ok, think all the way back to 5th grade. What did they teach you? What do you know?
“Do you have tampons and stuff?” She nods. That’s good, I wouldn’t know the first thing about how to buy those. But I would if I needed to.
“Ok, what do you need?” I ask, sitting on the bed next to her and rubbing her lower back.
“Mmmm,” she moans, slowly stretching out as I continue to rub her lower back.
“I just need to not be a woman anymore,” she whines.
“Well, that’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?” I regret the words as soon as they come out of my mouth. She glares at me over her shoulder.
“Sorry, I’ll just shut up and rub your back,” I mumble.
“Good idea,” she sasses.
I rub her back until she’s lying face down on her stomach, no longer scrunched into a little ball.
“I’m going to go run you a bath. Eat some of the food and drink the coffee, it will make you feel better,” I say, kissing the top of her head and turning towards the bathroom.
I turn the water on hot and fill it with some of the bubble bath stuff that has found its way under my sink.
“Let’s get you in here,” I say when she’s done with her bagel and coffee. She nods, and I help her into the bathroom.
“I’ll be downstairs,” I say, kissing her head and shutting the door behind me.
I make my way downstairs, figuring that she’ll be in there for awhile. I pull out my phone and do a quick search for things to help with cramps and period stuff in general.
Once I have a list of things I’ll need, I leave a note on the counter with some pills and water, letting her know that I’ll be right back and that there is a heating pad in the laundry room.
I slip on some shoes and a hat before grabbing my keys, telling Mocha to look out for our girl. I get into my truck and head to the store.
I get a whole variety of different things at the store, and grab some stuff for what someone called a Shark Week Basket. Which actually has nothing to do with Shark Week.
When I get back into the car, I realize that I have time to stop by the cafe she likes to pick her up a chocolate croissant and a matcha.
When I get home, she’s still upstairs in the bath.
So I dispose of the note and quickly get the basket ready.
A journal, some stickers, some Polaroid film, a fuzzy blanket with matching socks, a random romance book, some of her favorite snacks and treats, a few candles, and the last thing, two matching hoodies, one for her and one for Mocha, that I’d figure she’d love.
Not everything fits in the basket, so instead I just put what fit, and arranged everything else to look nice. I put the food in the fridge for me to cook later, and then I grab her drink and the croissant, heading upstairs to check on her.
“Baby?” I question softly, knocking on the bedroom door.
I hear a groan, and I softly open the door. She’s curled back up onto the bed, and Mocha is snuggled up with her.
“Did you get some medicine?” I ask, and she nods without opening her eyes.
“That’s good,” I say, walking farther into the room, noticing that she’s wearing one of my tees.
It’s not until I’m standing right next to the bed that she opens her eyes to look at me.
“B,” she whispers, her bottom lip trembling as she looks at what I have in my hands for her.
Oh man, if she’s going to cry over a twelve-dollar order, she’s going to lose her shit when she goes downstairs and sees the counter.
“How are you feeling?” I ask as she slowly sits up, her hair still a little damp and messy. She looks gorgeous.
She shrugs, and Mocha moves so that he’s in her lap. She takes the drink and bag from me, a small smile forming on her lips as she takes a sip.
“It’s…perfect, how did you get it right?” she asks, and I kiss her forehead.
“Because I see you,” I whisper. She lets out a sad sigh and just looks at the drink and the croissant in her hand.
“No one’s ever gotten my order right before,” she whispers, like me paying attention to her is the biggest deal ever.
And maybe it is to her, since she seems to be trapped in a world where people only care about the version of herself that she puts online.
I’m not really sure what to say, because I’m not sure if saying anything will make it better or worse, honestly.
“Now might not be a great time, but there’s something downstairs for you,” I say. Her head jerks up, and her eyes find mine.
“There is?”
I nod. She gently shoos Mocha off her lap, holding the drink and treat to her chest like she thinks it might disappear if she sets it down. I grab the plate and mug from breakfast and follow behind her as she walks down the stairs.
She gasps when she gets to the bottom and can see the counter.
She slowly walks toward it like she’s not quite sure if she can believe it or not.
She sets her drink and croissant down as she looks at the spread, standing there for a long time before she turns and throws herself into my arms.
I catch her easily. Her arms wrap around my neck as her legs wrap around my waist.
It takes me a second to realize that she’s crying. Her body trembles against mine as I hold her close to me.
“It’s amazing, thank you so much,” she says through her tears as I walk us into the kitchen, Mocha running circles around us.
“You don’t have to thank me, baby,” I say, setting her down on the counter and standing between her legs.
“You are incredible, Beck,” she says, cupping my cheeks and kissing all over my face.
“You’re the amazing one.” My hands rest gently on her hips.
“What do you wanna do today? We can stay in and watch a movie, or we can go out and do something if you’re up for it.
I figured I could make us some surf ‘n turf for dinner, and then we can just cuddle and watch movies all day. I can rub your back or your belly. I read that orgasms help relieve cramps, so maybe if you’re up for it later, we can see if that myth is true or not,” I whisper against her neck, gently sucking on her skin.
“I just want to stay in your arms all day long. And just kiss you and hold you and tell you how amazing you are,” she gushes, making me smile softly at her.
“You don’t have to tell me any of those things, baby. You deserve all of this and so much more,” I say, picking her up and letting her wrap herself around me as I carry her over to the couch, laying us down on it. Mocha jumps up and joins us.