18. Brooke
Brooke
I was too forward. I shouldn’t have put my arm around Beck’s waist for the picture. He wasn’t ready for that. It’s clear as day on his face when I touch him and he stiffens like a starched collar.
I drop my arm and try to break the tension.
“Oh, you know each other?” I ask, because I am an idiot who cannot put two and two together.
Beck’s face is granite. I only know him at a surface level right now, but I know him enough to see that the light in his eyes is gone. It’s like he’s running, or hiding, or maybe both.
“Yeah, you could say that.” The petite woman with impossibly straight and shiny long black hair and perfectly manicured nails scoffs. Her brown eyes narrow as she looks Beck up and down in a predatory way. I don’t like it one bit.
“Beck?” I whisper.
His eyes snap to mine, and he sighs. “Addie,” he says, looking at me but addressing the woman. “This is my friend, Brooke. Brooke, this is Addie.”
I bristle at the word friend , then blink. This is Addie? The woman Beck wanted to marry. The woman who planned a wedding with him and left him at the altar.
I mentally do a calculation of how I physically compare to her, and I come up short.
Though everything in me wants to be rude, I stick out my hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Sometimes I hate having manners. It would be so much easier if I didn’t know I needed to treat everyone with kindness and respect. For better or for worse, the Golden Rule has stuck with me from years of Sunday school and sermons.
Addie shakes my hand briefly. “So, you two are friends?” she questions.
That’s weird. Why isn’t she asking Beck?
She laughs, a tinkly, airy sound with no mirth, as I look to Beck for an answer.
“Oh, don’t bother trying to get Beck to talk.
He doesn’t do that. It’s up to you to give me the scoop on”—she surveys the awkward space between Beck and me, and smirks while she waves her perfectly manicured fingers—“whatever this is.”
Beck’s Adam’s apple bobs.
My heart beats in double time. This man is strong and confident, and just saved a woman’s life earlier today . Yet, here he is, on a rock ledge, and this woman has reduced him to rubble.
Anger bubbles up from my stomach.
How can one woman do this to a man? How can a woman beat a good man down like this?
“Actually, Addie.” I make sure to say her name, giving her a clue that I know a bit about her. “We’re on a date. And we’d love that picture now.”
In what might be the most unhinged moment of my life, I stand on my tiptoes, put my arms around Beck’s neck, and lean in to kiss his cheek. While I’m by Beck’s ear, I whisper, “Don’t let her get to you.”
He startles and turns to face me, brushing our noses together.
“Thanks,” he whispers in return.
I smile, then quickly sink back down to my heels, slip my hand into Beck’s, and hold my other hand out for my phone as I stare Addie down.
Addie’s narrowed eyes and tight-lipped frown would have clued me in to the kind of person she is, but even more so, the words she speaks reveal the true colors of her heart.
“Good luck with that , honey.” She sneers as she places the phone in my hand.
The that being Beck, apparently. I resist the urge to roll my eyes.
I pocket my phone and tug Beck’s hand, leading him back to the trail. I’ve always been a take-charge type of person, and I was hoping I wouldn’t have to be with Beck, but he remains silent for the walk back to his car, and I can’t think of anything to say.
Parked next to Beck’s old truck is a shiny black SUV with a luxury brand decal on the back. I bite my lip to stop myself from saying anything because that car—it has to be Addie’s.
Beck ignores the vehicle next to his truck and silently opens my door before crossing in front of the truck and climbing into his own seat.
He sits, silent for a breath, as he stares straight ahead at the edge of the parking lot, then puts his arm around the back of the passenger seat, turns his head, and backs out of the parking space.
Thoughts fly through my head at a mile a minute, but the only one I would actually say is the one that sticks in my throat.
Whatever just happened at Long Point, no matter how uncomfortable that situation made me, Beck is hurting, and I can’t bring myself to say, So that’s the woman who left you at the altar? Good riddance .
The tension in the truck is too much, and without realizing it, I begin to pull on my hair.
Beck’s eyes are firmly planted on the road when he breaks the suffocating silence. “You shouldn’t do that.”
“What?” I try to meet his gaze, but it’s stubbornly fixed ahead.
“Your hair.”
I pull my hand away, staring at it as if it has a mind of its own.
“Oh,” I breathe. “I just—I do it when I’m nervous. I don’t even realize I’m doing it some—”
I break off in mid-sentence as Beck makes a sudden turn into a small church parking lot.
He shifts the truck into park before scrubbing a hand over his face.
The calloused skin of his palm makes a rasping noise against the softness of his freshly shaven face.
He looks at me, brown eyes meeting mine with a plea for understanding in them.
I give him a small smile and nod, watching as he fights for words.
“I…” He sighs. “That’s Addie.”
I sit in quiet expectation. He has something more to say—I can see it in the set of his jaw, the way he’s holding his shoulders.
“She … uh … she and I…” He turns to look out the driver’s side window so I can’t see his face anymore.
His pain is palpable, and I want him to know he can share it.
It’s instinctive, putting my hand on his arm, but he must not have expected it because he turns back to me, and I’m surprised by the tears in his eyes.
“Addie changed. I knew her as a kid. She’s Ben’s younger sister, and we … always liked each other. I don’t know what happened, but there were … signs that we weren’t really a good match. And I forced it because everyone expected us to get engaged and married and have seven kids.”
I blink back in surprise. “You’re blaming her leaving you at the altar on you ?” I ask before I’ve comprehended how insensitive that question is for a first date.
Beck’s brow furrows into deep creases. “No. Yes. Maybe?” He sighs. “I just wanted you to know that I was part of the problem.”
I squeeze his arm. “I don’t know anything except what I’ve been told about it, and based on what I saw just now, I don’t think you were the problem, Beck.”
He looks into my eyes with such mournfulness that I’m tempted to climb over and kiss him until he cheers up, but I am not going to do that.
Instead, he opens his mouth, closes it, and begins driving the truck out of the church parking lot. Beck doesn’t say a single word for the rest of the drive.
The clock on the dashboard says one p.m., and I’m disappointed when he turns into Meemaw’s driveway, but I also understand. From what I’ve gathered, Beck hasn’t seen Addie in years. It was a lot for me to process, let alone for him.
Beck extracts the keys from the ignition before he blinks two long, slow blinks. “Brooke. I’m sorry.”
I shrug. “It’s ok. You couldn’t have controlled when and where she showed up.”
Beck curls his lower lip under his top teeth. “No, Brooke. I’m … this isn’t going to work.”
“What?”
“I can’t date you.”
Alarm bells ring.
This is a breakup speech. And after one date. I’ve reached a new low.
The anger that bubbled up earlier at Addie didn’t dissipate; it’s still there boiling under the surface.
“Don’t you dare give up.” I hurl the words at his face, and he shrinks back away from the voracity in my voice. “You don’t have to date me, but you certainly don’t have to let her hang over you this way anymore.”
I slide my phone out and flip to the picture Addie took of us, pushing the screen close to his eyes.
Surprise registers on his face as he takes in the image of us on Long Point.
My arms around his neck, hands clasped loosely together, and his own hand resting on my upper arm as our noses brush together, framed by the breathtaking scenery behind us.
It’s an image worthy of a postcard or a save-the-date wedding magnet.
In the heyday of Facebook profile pictures, this one would have been a winner.
“Don’t give up,” I admonish again, and then I hop out of the truck before he can say another word.