Chapter 38
The scent of dust and cardboard surrounds me as I continue to pack up my belongings at Beckham’s house. When I moved out of my last apartment, I was diligent about keeping everything organized. Not this time. Now, I want to get out of here as quickly as I can. Especially this bedroom. I haven’t even been able to sleep in the bed since Beckham left, resorting to my old ways of sleeping on the couch at night.
“You don’t think he’ll change his mind?” Parker asks as I use my shoulder to prop my phone up to my ear so I can use both hands to pack.
“My daughter gave the man her favorite stuffy, for crying out loud,” I reply. “If that doesn’t thaw his cold, uncaring heart, I doubt anything will.”
“I know, but…” she trails off with a heavy sigh. “I really thought this was the second chance you both deserved.”
“It wasn’t a second chance, Parker. It was a carefully orchestrated manipulation by Grady and Grandma Estelle that backfired spectacularly. I should have known it would never work. Beckham proved years ago that he doesn’t care about me. This farce of a marriage was the reminder I needed.”
“Can you really say that, though? He gave up the vineyard for you. That’s got to count for something. That’s got to mean something.”
“Apparently not.”
Although, I still struggle to make sense of it all. If he doesn’t care about me, if he doesn’t love me, why would he sacrifice the one thing he’s always loved for me? But I can’t cling onto whatever glimmer of hope that one act has left me with, not when the rest of his actions prove otherwise.
“This just doesn’t feel right, Haley.”
“I can’t put my life on hold for someone who will always keep me just out of reach.” I take a long swallow of wine, then continue throwing my belongings into a box. “I’m just pissed it just took me this long to finally realize it.”
“Haley, I’m?—”
“It’s okay,” I interrupt before she can say she’s sorry. I’m not sure I can handle hearing it right now.
“How about this? I’ll bring over some liquor from the bar here at the inn and we can get sloppy-ass drunk.”
I laugh slightly, and it feels good. It’s probably the first time I’ve laughed since Beckham left.
“As much as I’d love that, I’ve learned the hard way that hangovers and kids don’t mix well. I’m in the middle of packing anyway.”
“Need any help?”
“I’m okay. Plus, isn’t Callum there for the weekend?”
“He is.”
“Then why are you talking to me? You should be spending time with your man before he has to head back out again.”
“He can deal. If you need me, I’m there. You know that.”
I push out a tired sigh. “And I love you for it. But really. I’m fine. Promise.”
“Okay,” she concedes reluctantly. “But if you change your mind or want to go toilet paper Beckham’s yard, I’m your girl.”
“I know you are. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
I end the call, then set my cell on the dresser. After another large gulp of wine, I grab a new box and head into the giant walk-in closet. Beckham’s clothes still hang on his side, although I’ve noticed more and more of his things disappear over the past few days.
I have to push down the lump building in my throat when my eyes fall on the suit he wore on our wedding day. A bittersweet ache fills me as I remember how incredible he looked in it. And the way he admired me as he called me his wife for the first time before kissing me…
I shake off the memories. Remind myself it wasn’t real.
At least not for him.
Setting the box on the floor, I stalk toward the shelves at the far end of the closet. I start pulling down box after box of shoes, packing them as quickly as possible so I can get out of this room. Out of this space that holds so many memories, despite the short amount of time I’ve lived here.
But as I reach for a box toward the back, it slips from my grasp, heavy enough to catch me off guard. When it spills open onto the floor, I see why it was so weighty. Instead of shoes, it’s filled with hundreds of envelopes, the papers yellowed with age, some frayed at the edges.
My pulse increases as I gather them up, seeing Beckham’s name, address, and inmate number written in my flowing girlish handwriting.
Lowering myself to the floor, I open one of the already-torn envelopes and pull out a letter on delicate stationary. As I unfold it and begin to read, tears prick at the corners of my eyes.
Dear Beckham,
I’ve been out of the hospital for a month now. And you’ve been away for a month. I still can’t bring myself to say where you are. In my mind, you left for college like you planned and are having the time of your life. You’re going to parties and learning that signing up for that 8 AM math class probably wasn’t the smartest idea. And you tell everyone about your girl off at a different college. How you can’t wait until the long weekend next month so you can go see her.
It’s a bit of a pipe dream, isn’t it? But it’s what I tell myself to get through the day. Maybe I’m in denial. Maybe I should just face reality, but I hate what happened.
Hate what you’re going through.
Hate that it’s my fault.
I don’t blame you for not replying. If I were in your shoes, I probably wouldn’t want a reminder of my biggest mistake. But writing you these letters has been the one good thing in my life. It’s helped me cope with, well…everything.
I don’t care if you never write me back. I’m going to keep writing to you.
I just wish you’d write back.
Wish you’d forgive me.
Wish you’d forgive yourself.
Yours,
Haley
I run my fingers over the faded paper, the words I once wrote to Beckham causing a myriad of emotions to stir within me. They’re words I didn’t think he read. Not only did he read them, he saved them. Even all these years later.
“You sprayed the paper with your perfume.”
I jump to my feet at the unexpected voice, sucking in a sharp breath when I see him standing in the doorway of the closet, clutching Fred in his hands.
“I didn’t even care that some of the guys teased me about it. Your letters were the only thing that kept me going,” he admits, his voice filled with raw emotion. “I looked forward to them every damn day, Haley. Read them over and over again until I fell asleep with them under my pillow, pretending I was falling asleep with you.”
I wipe away the tears moistening my cheeks. “Why didn’t you write back? Why did you refuse to see me whenever I tried to visit?” I suck in a quivering breath. “Why did you ignore me when I showed up the day you were released?”
He pulls his lips into a tight line as he briefly looks to the ceiling. It doesn’t escape my notice that he squeezes Fred even tighter. Just like Maggie does whenever she’s scared.
“I couldn’t, Haley,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I wanted to. I just…” He steps toward me. “You had a bright future ahead of you. I was a convicted felon. I didn’t want to bring you down. I figured if I didn’t write you back, if I refused to see you, if I made you think I didn’t care about you, you’d forget about me and have the life you deserved. I didn’t want to ruin your life more than I already had.”
“I told you. You didn’t ruin my life, Beckham. You gave me life.”
“Maybe. But at the time…” He shakes his head, agony and regret covering the lines of his face. “When I saw your lifeless body on the pavement…”
He steals a glance at my leg. The scar that was once prominent has faded, but it’s still there. It will always be there. A reminder of everything we’ve been through.
“Even before that night, your dad wanted me to stay away from you because he thought I was bad news. That I’d ruin your life. And in that moment, I realized he was right.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“It was, Haley. You didn’t fall off that deck by accident. I was so angry that I couldn’t think or see straight, and you paid the price. So I made a promise to myself that I’d do whatever was necessary never to ruin your life again.” He clutches Fred tighter still. “And now… I’m fucking petrified that I’ll keep ruining your life. That I’ll ruin Maggie’s life. It’s what I do. What I’ve always done. I have a criminal record. No one should want to be with me. No one should love me. I don’t deserve it. Don’t deserve you. And I certainly don’t deserve Maggie.” He draws in a deep breath as he looks at Fred.
“But as I was sitting in my ridiculously quiet townhouse with the walls distressingly vacant of Maggie’s art, I realized something. Or maybe Fred helped me realize something.”
“What’s that?” I ask somewhat timidly.
He focuses his gaze on me. “Maggie was willing to risk being scared for me.”
A tear slides down my cheek, my heart expanding at how amazing my little girl is.
“Maybe it’s time for me to risk being scared for her. And you. Please tell me it’s not too late for us, Haley.” He hesitates, swallowing hard. Then he chokes out, “I love you.”
“What did you say?” I ask.
He takes a deep breath before closing the gap between us and placing a warm hand against my cheek.
“I love you, Haley. And I hope you still love me. Hope I haven’t completely fucked this up. I was just…scared. Still am. I’m scared of hurting you. Scared of hurting Maggie. Scared of not being enough for either of you. Scared you’ll wake up one day and realize what a colossal fuck up I am. But I’d rather be fucking petrified with you than live another day without you.”
Neither one of us says anything for several long moments as his confession rings out around us.
Then a slow smile curves across my lips as I drape an arm over his shoulder. “Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
His muscles relax as he inches closer. “Loving you is probably the easiest thing I’ve ever done. You make it easy.”
“Better be careful, or I might just find you tolerable again.”
A low chuckle rumbles from his chest as his mouth hovers over mine. “We wouldn’t want that now, would we?”
“Certainly not,” I reply breathlessly, anticipation coiling through my veins.
“Should I say something to make you find me insufferable again?”
“Definitely.”
“Okay.” Licking his lips, he places a hand on my hip and guides me backwards out of the closet. “I hate how much life you’ve brought to this house in the past few months. Hate coming home to the sound of you and Maggie singing and playing.”
He nuzzles my neck, his teeth lightly biting my skin.
“I hate having to share our time with you,” I pant. “You’re a horrible addition to our little family.”
“I also hate the fact that my former bachelor pad is now covered with amateur drawings.”
“It must really be inhibiting your ability to get laid,” I retort as he peppers kisses along the column of my neck.
“You have no idea. It’s been absolute torture.”
He pulls back as my legs hit the side of the bed. The playfulness in his expression mere moments ago is gone. Instead, there’s a look of peace and serenity.
“Do you know what I hate the most, though?”
“What’s that?” I ask shakily.
“I hate how much I love you. How much I want to stop taking it one day at a time and go all in on you.” He cups my cheeks. “On us.”
I swallow hard, the intensity in his stare unraveling me.
“So what’s the verdict?” he asks softly. “Do you find me intolerable again?”
I hoist myself onto my toes and skim my lips against his. “Incredibly so.”
“Good,” he whispers before pressing his mouth firmly against mine.
I melt into him, all the tension that’s plagued me since he left evaporating as I surrender to him. To us. To this love. And as he swipes his tongue against mine, I feel him surrender to it, too.
Even better, I feel him do the one thing I didn’t think he ever would.
I feel him forgive himself.
No more guilt. No more regret. No more blame. Instead, we allow ourselves to be the perfectly imperfect couple we’ve always been.
Who needs perfect when we have something real?