44. Beck
Beck
It’s seven fifty-seven p.m. I know I said I’d pick them up at eight, but I’m pacing with the feeling of dread that accompanies social interactions where Addie could show up. The annual dance at Billy’s isn’t a secret, and she’ll see Ben leaving. If there’s even a whiff of drama, she’ll be there.
Anticipation and anxiety are driving me crazy. I slide into my shoes, practical boots with enough comfort to dance, and jam my hands into my jeans pockets as I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror behind the front door. I look good.
The hair gel has made my copper hair tidily messy, the hint of stubble growing in on my jaw makes me look rugged, and the soft flannel shirt popped over a plain black t-shirt fits the part of a dive bar having a locals-only dance.
I take my hands out of my pocket and run them through my hair one last time, trying to get it just right. If anything, it doesn’t work, and now a piece sticks up at an awkward angle. I try to force it down, but it’s determined to stay up.
My eyes track to the crucifix by my door.
I swore I wouldn’t date anyone after Addie, but here I am, headed out on a date with June’s ruby ring in my pocket.
I close my eyes and take a breath, praying that I’ll know how to move forward, that something will click into place, and I’ll know when it’s time.
My phone alarm rings. It’s eight.
I could stay here and fight with my hair all evening, or I could go pick up my date. It’s an easy choice because all my heart wants is to see Brooke.
I slam my front door shut, hoping to leave the anxiety monster behind.
When I knock on June’s door, June answers.
Matt sits stiffly on the floral couch, his blue eyes rapidly searching from side to side as if he’s looking for an escape route.
He’s wearing jeans and a bright blue quarter zip with a gym logo on it.
The B’s in Beast and Bastion flank a horizontal line, giving it the effect of a barbell.
“Beckett,” June says. “Just wait right here a moment while the girls finish up.” She gestures to the couch, and I sit next to Matt.
“Hey, how’s it going, man?” I ask.
Matt starts to say something and then stops. For a moment, I’m concerned he’s had a stroke, but then it’s my turn to lose focus.
Brooke and Melanie walk down the hallway to the living room, arm in arm. Melanie is pretty enough, sure, but my eyes cannot focus on anything but Brooke.
Her dress shifts and flows in the slight breeze of the fans that June keeps running in the heat of the day.
It’s light and flowy and ethereal, and also her .
Tiny pink flowers—roses, I think—are printed all over the dress.
The hot pink heels make her stand almost equal to my height. She is, in a word, breathtaking.
Breath-stealing would be more accurate. She has stolen my breath with her beauty, and it takes every ounce of control in my body to snap my jaw shut as I behold her.
“Hi,” Brooke says from across the room.
June leans against a doorframe, watching me and Matt as she winks at me.
The gentle lilt of Brooke’s voice is enough to snap me into action. I stand and cross the room to her, and honestly, I’m not sure what I intend to do, but June interrupts with, “Be a gentleman, Beckett.”
Instead of what I want to do, which is to let my physical attraction for Brooke take over, I stop short and grasp her hand, bringing her knuckles to my lips and pressing a kiss against the rough lines of her skin.
Her breath hitches.
“On my honor, Miss June,” I say, “I’ll be a gentleman.” June gives a single nod before turning her attention to Melanie and Matt. “Young sir!” she exclaims. “You can do that when you’re married.”
Matt hops away from where he was practically making out with Melanie.
“Sorry, Meemaw,” he says in contrition.
Melanie flushes, but then she giggles too.
“Is everyone ready?” I ask.
When everyone affirms that they are, I lead the way to my truck, keeping Brooke’s hand tucked in mine.
Because parking at Billy’s is difficult on a good day and this dance brings the locals out in droves, I offered to drive.
Not to mention the fact that Matt’s Michigan license plate would stick out like a sore thumb tonight.
He seemed to do the math himself and agreed it might be better for me to drive.
Matt and Melanie squeeze into the back seats of my old truck while Brooke hops into the front. As we drive to Billy’s, Melanie keeps up a constant chatter about how excited she is to dance and what her favorite dances were in high school and then at her sorority in college.
Brooke catches my eye and raises her brows at the mention of Melanie’s sorority experience.
Melanie is nice enough, and the more I get to know her, the more the pieces of who she is make perfect sense.
It’s not that there’s anything wrong with sororities, it’s just that it all fits so neatly into the box that is Melanie.
I pull into the dirt space that is Billy’s parking lot and try to find a spot among the throng of other double-parked vehicles.
Thoughts of how the women in my truck are so different from each other run rampant.
Melanie fits into the parameters of the box I’d expect her to, but Brooke, on the other hand, isn’t what I expect.
Truthfully, I love that about her. Her take-charge personality isn’t because she’s controlling, it’s because it covers up her anxiety.
Brooke’s pink streaks of hair are in some sort of braided crown on her head, while the rest of her blonde hair flows long and loose past her shoulders. She’s got her phone in her lap, and when it buzzes, she picks it up and smiles softly.
“What’s got you smiling?” I ask after I pull into a spot and cut the engine.
“This.” She shows me a picture on her phone. It’s a black-and-white sonogram with a white area circled, and text interposed that says “baby.”
“It’s Paige. She had her appointment, and everything looks good.”
I know I’m a doctor, but I have always found it odd that women show pictures of their uteruses to each other with baby news.
Must be some uniquely female urge that I don’t understand.
Despite the fact that it is weird to show a picture of your uterus to your friends, I am happy for Paige and Connor.
Paige and Connor seem like they’ll be great parents—warm, loving, kind. All the things my mom was not.
“Is she feeling better?” I ask.
“I’m not sure, I’ll ask her.” Brooke types out a message and hits send. “Are you ready to dance?”
“Who’s having a baby?” Melanie croons.
“My friends Paige and Connor,” Brooke says.
“Wait, really?” Matt interjects. “I haven’t kept up with them much, but really ?”
“Yes, really.”
“That’s awesome. Connor’s a good dude. I wonder if he’d like to do some dad bod training with me.”
“Uh. Matt, isn’t dad bod not the kind of training you do?” Brooke asks.
“Exactly,” Matt says. “Dads don’t have to buy into the message that they don’t have time for themselves just because they’ve got a baby.”
“Who are these people, exactly?” Melanie interjects as she hops out of the truck.
“We worked with them at a summer camp a few years back,” Matt supplies. “Connor’s a good guy, and I’m happy they finally got together.”
“We were both at their wedding,” Brooke adds. “Matt got to seat all the little old ladies and collected butterscotch candies.”
“Uh … okay.” Melanie quirks a brow. “You like butterscotch candies?”
“It was a different time in my life, Mel,” Matt says, shooting Brooke a stern look over the top of Melanie’s head.
The telepathic twin communication has me wondering what more to the story there is, but Brooke clears that up.
“Matt had a crush on Paige when we started working there.”
Matt’s scowl tells me Brooke knew exactly what she was doing by lobbing that nugget of information into Melanie’s ears.
“Yeah, well, that went away when it became obvious she only had eyes for Connor.” Matt’s eyes narrow at Brooke for a half second before he grins mischievously. “And I’m pretty sure Brooke had a crush on Connor too.”
I tip my head to the side and study Brooke. She glares at her brother and shrugs. “Yeah, he’s nice and attractive. But like you said, he was meant for Paige, and she was meant for him, so that went away real fast.”
That makes sense. I’ve met Connor. He’s a nice guy.
Very, very tall, and he uses more words than I do, and I suppose he’s objectively handsome, but something about Brooke and him doesn’t seem right.
That crush would have been one-sided and not have worked.
Like pickles and gummy worms—delicious on their own, but not something you put together.
These thoughts are weird, but I’m willing to let them go.
Tired of thinking about Brooke’s crush on another man, I turn to her, catch her hand, and smile. While she may have had a crush on Connor, I’m the one who’s dancing with her tonight.