35. Brooke
Brooke
I am not scared of petty women. I’m not afraid of women who are overgrown mean girls.
I’m not frightened by bullies. I never have been.
But there is no doubt in my mind that Beck’s mom is petty, an overgrown mean girl, and a bully, all in one.
Sure, I’m angry because she made it very clear that all I am in her eyes is a passing floozy.
Mostly, though, I’m angry at how she treated Beck, and weirdly, I’m not angry at all.
Words are hard for him. And instead of clamming up completely like I half expected him to, he defended me. If there’s anything more attractive than a man standing up for a woman, I’d like to know about it because nothing else comes to mind.
Beck breathes heavily once we’re behind the shed and locks eyes with me. An entire world of emotion swirls through his gaze, and I’m debating kissing him again (because I want to, not because I have a point to make), when Logan’s voice floats out of the shadows.
“Your mom is still … like that?”
Beck’s head snaps around until he finds Logan lurking in the corners. “Yep,” he says, and there’s a lifetime of frustration in the single syllable.
Logan purses his lips and shakes his head. “Addie?”
“Yep,” Beck says again.
Logan steps forward into the light. “I’m sorry, man.” He claps a hand on Beck’s shoulder. “Don’t let them ruin your life.” He looks slyly at me and winks. “And Beck, I will be needing my employee up front in ten minutes.”
Beck gives one slow nod as Logan walks away, but he doesn’t break eye contact with me.
It’s intense, and I don’t know if I should run for the hills or stay exactly where I am and see what this attractive man who cares enough about me to declare his love to his terrible mother is thinking.
I’m unsteady, and that’s rare for me. Rare, and somewhat thrilling.
I take a half step backward, and my back bumps into the wall of the storage building.
Beck takes a half step forward, and I lean toward him in response. His arms land on either side of my shoulders, his hands braced against the back wall. “Brooke,” he whispers. “I am so sorry.”
And then he takes control and leans in for a sweet kiss.
It’s not hurried or passionate. It’s soft and gentle, and it makes me want a lifetime with this man.
He breaks the kiss and presses his lips right on the scar at the corner of my eye.
When he’s done, he pulls away, and his liquid brown eyes meet mine.
“So that’s your mom?” I ask, because I’m undone, and I don’t know how to break the tension of what’s building between us. I don’t want to break it. I want to stand on the precipice and jump with Beck and trust that no matter where we fall, we’ll land together.
“Y-yeah,” Beck stammers as he drops his hands to his sides. “She’s not very nice, but I haven’t ever cut ties completely because she paid for so much of my education. And she’s my…” He squeezes his eyes shut.
“She’s your mom,” I say.
He opens his eyes, and I see the sorrow in them, the hurt that this woman has inflicted on her own child, and the love that Beck still has for the woman who birthed him despite everything I just saw.
“Yeah,” he says roughly. He steps back, out of my space, and I find myself unappreciative of the new distance between us.
Thoughts swirl in my mind like water circling a drain, but one has to be asked. “What does Addie have to do with your mom?”
Beck kicks a pebble with his shoe. “My mom really appreciated Addie’s…” He frowns. “Genetics.”
“What?” That answer is strange.
“She liked the thought of grandchildren … looking a certain way.”
“Oh.” I’m a balloon, and those words just depleted me of all helium.
The self-doubt that I shoved aside claws its way back out of the place I thought I’d buried it.
Addie is beautiful, model-esque, and I’m not.
I’ve always had a ‘girl next door’ type of beauty, not the ‘sells makeup in magazines’ type.
“No, Brooke.” Beck’s eyes widen and he shakes his head. “Addie is not more beautiful than you.” Somehow, he sees it. He sees the anxiety I hide, and more than that, in just a few dates, he knows me.
The sincerity in his eyes makes me almost believe him. But there are still objective truths.
“Yeah, but I have pink hair,” I whisper.
Beck leans down toward my ear. “I don’t think that’s genetic.”
In spite of everything—the heaviness of what I’ve been dealing with regarding Meemaw’s declining health, the fact that Beck’s mother just appeared and attempted to bully me and him out of a relationship, and that Beck found me crying in a storage shed before work, and that I am at work—laughter bubbles up.
Beck smiles and pulls me in for a hug. He leans his cheek against my head, and I allow myself to rest in the certainty that this man is unlike any other I’ve met.
This man is the one. It’s a strange fact of the heart, but just like you can’t see the air you breathe, you know it’s there.
I can’t see the love I’m feeling, but I know it’s real.
Maybe it’s a primal instinct, maybe it’s years of awful casual dates that I had hoped would turn into a serious relationship, but now that I’m wrapped in the strong arms of a man who loves me without a shadow of a doubt, there’s nothing else for me to say except to whisper the words he hasn’t heard from me yet.
“I love you too.”