Chapter 2 – Beck
BECK
“You know it’s perfect,” Milo states, stepping back and observing the freshly painted siding as the sun lowers behind Dottie’s cottage.
I tug the brim of my hat down to shield my eyes from the sun ricocheting against the powder blue while I study it. This paint color wouldn’t be my first choice. But it’s what Dottie wanted. And I made her a promise.
The color, along with being back at the cottage, has me daydreaming about past lives. Mine and Dottie’s and how they were intertwined. My gut pinches at the memories.
I shouldn’t be surprised she chose Rosie’s favorite color. It’s a popular shade for our small coastal town. It will make resale easier.
“I’m not a house painter.” I shrug. “But I guess it will do.”
“Well, I’m not one either. But thanks for letting me help out lately. I really need the extra cash.” Milo gives me a grim smile and starts loading my tools into the back of my Chevy truck.
I’m not sure “helping out” is the correct term when he’s been working full time for me for three years. But I let him live in his dream world. “How’s the new album coming along?” I ask my little brother as I fasten the ladder in place.
“It’s almost done. Getting some good hype already. Sounds like people are excited for it.”
I hand him a corner of the drop cloth and take the other. “That’s great. I’m proud of you.”
“Yeah,” he mutters, blowing the curls out of his face. “Save it till after we release.”
I roll my eyes. Milo is worried about nothing. That kid was born with talent others pay big bucks for and spend years trying to replicate. He was made for the spotlight. Definitely not for this small town.
“It’s gonna go viral. Pretty soon you’re gonna be the one helping me out and loaning me money,” I tease, folding the drop cloth and tossing it into the truck.
“Right. Like you’ll need money. You’re not only the best contractor in town, you’re the only one. I’d say you’re set.” He climbs into the passenger side.
Simple living is the only reason. While some locals clung to their homes and land as big investors from LA started buying everything up, I sold mine and bought a smaller place across town where it’s cheaper and less populated.
I glance up at the cottage one more time. The muscles across my shoulders tense as the memories pile on top of each other. Rosie and I spent a lot of our relationship inside those walls. It’s where we fell in love.
But that was a lifetime ago.
I duck my head and slide in behind the steering wheel. It takes me a second or two to get my bearings before I start the engine.
“You okay?” Milo asks.
“Fine,” I mumble.
“You thinking about Dottie?”
I was. But more, I was thinking about Rosie. I’m a glutton for punishment. Because going down memory lane is a bad idea. “Yeah,” I half lie.
“I know you spent a lot of time over here. With her…and Rosie.” He almost whispers her name. Like it’s a bad word and he’s afraid to piss me off.
“I did. She’ll be missed.” I say it matter-of-factly and give him a pointed look before backing out of the driveway, so he knows I’m done with this conversation.
“Beck—”
“Hey,” I interrupt, “what do you say we call it quits for the day and go to Tacos by the Beach for an early dinner and a beer?”
Milo checks the time on his phone. “Dinner? This is even early for your geriatric ass,” he teases.
I’m only three years older than he is. But most days, he doesn’t let me forget it. As if I could; I’m the responsible one out of the two of us. The one who had to grow up too fast. Who had to take care of him when our parents were getting smashed or were too hungover to function.
Our childhood turned me into a bitter person for too many years.
It consumed me. Until our parents finally cleaned themselves up and got sober a few years ago.
Mom moved across the country and started a new family.
Dad moved to the island and bought a bar with an apartment above it.
Wonder where I get the glutton-for-punishment trait.
“I mean, I was gonna say my treat, but I can drop you off at home instead,” I mutter.
Milo lived with me up until I bought my place, then he and his band buddies pooled their money together to rent a small condo only feet from the beach. When they aren’t practicing, they’re surfing.
“No, no, I’d love dinner and a beer.”
I chuckle. Knew that would change his mind. He’s a starving artist. Spends all his money on guitars and recording studio sessions in LA.
I drive down Main Street and pull into the parking lot behind Tacos by the Beach. It’s busy already, but not surprising for a Thursday. Ladies’ Night. Milo and I sit at the bar. It’s easier this way. No fussing with a server and no making eye contact with him if he wants to talk about Dottie again.
Or worse—Rosie.
We order a few tacos and one beer each. I won’t be someone who encourages or supports excessive drinking. I won’t be an enabler. Not when it’s in our blood.
“You think Rosie will show for the memorial?” Milo asks when we’re halfway through our dinner.
My stomach corkscrews and it’s an instant loss of appetite. It takes extra effort to finish chewing my bite and swallow it down before speaking. “I’d be surprised if she didn’t.”
“I guess the more important question I should be asking is, do you hope she’ll show up?”
Grinding my molars together, I can’t look at Milo when I answer. “I hope Rosie does what Rosie thinks is best. She always does.”
“You know I’ve always sided with you. It was selfish of her to leave the way she did. No goodbye even. But…you could’ve gone with her.”
“I couldn’t and you know it,” I growl back.
The bartender flicks his attention our way before returning to pulling drinks. Milo leans closer to me. “Hey, don’t put this on me. I was nineteen. I was old enough to take care of myself.”
It’s not his fault. And he’s right; I can’t blame him. It was my choice to stay. But it was her choice to leave. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. Besides, it’s been seven years. Why start changing it now.
“I was no good for her. Just a painful reminder. You know she deserved more than I could ever give her.”
“But, Beck—”
“That’s enough,” I bark out, whipping my head to face him.
“That’s enough,” I repeat, but softer now.
We’ve been over this a thousand times. A thousand different conversations about a thousand different scenarios on how our relationship could’ve gone.
But ultimately, we end up right back here. “It’s in the past.”
“Fine. I’m done.” Milo holds up a palm in surrender.
Even if the past has the possibility of rearing its head soon, I’m choosing to live in denial for as long as possible. If Rosie should show up for Dottie’s memorial, maybe we won’t even see each other. It’s a nice thought I have no choice but believe.
Milo’s friends pour into the restaurant as we’re finishing our dinner.
I leave him with them to head home. I’m tired.
The job for Dottie’s cottage was big. And we were on a time crunch.
Originally, she had her upstairs converted from two bedrooms into one big one.
But she wanted me to build the walls again and change it back into two bedrooms. It was smart.
A three-bedroom would be an easier sell than two.
Besides the work upstairs, all the windows downstairs needed to be replaced. Which meant replacing some of the siding and trim and painting the entire exterior. Dottie wanted me to do all the work, said she didn’t trust anyone else. I was flattered, but the deadline was tight.
Dottie hired a real estate agent before she passed, and they wanted the house ready to list at the start of summer.
We’d done it. Even if we had to work around Dottie while she was at her weakest following her stroke.
She was gracious the whole way through, said she didn’t mind at all.
If anything, she’d been grateful for the company.
The latter made me angrier with Rosie. Where’d she been these past few weeks?
Instead of going home, I pull off Main and turn down Dottie’s street. I park my Chevy in the gravel between her driveway and the pathway to the beach. It’s idiotic. Like I’m not only forcing myself to feel these bottled-up emotions, but like I want them.
I shut off the engine and hop out of my truck.
Peering up at the cottage, it’s dark and quiet.
Peaceful. That’s what Rosie loved about Dottie’s.
She’d grown up in a busy home where her parents worked a lot and traveled often, and where she and her illness were given no grace.
Then she came here. And for the first time in her life, she was free to learn how to live in the body she’d been given.
Sadness washes over me and I shake my head, releasing a rumbled sigh.
I yank off my work boots and pants and toss them inside my truck.
After rummaging around in the back seat, I find my wetsuit and wiggle it on, glancing over my shoulders as I do.
Besides the moon and the row of lamps lighting the pathway to the beach, it’s dark. My phone chimes from inside my truck.
Jack
Are you free to meet up at The Sandbar for a beer?
I’m beat
Raincheck?
Jack
Tomorrow?
I have a date
Jack
No shit?
It’s shocking to me too. That I got the nerve to ask and that I asked in the first place. I can’t remember the last time I went on a real date.
Maybe it was the shitshow with Stella’s cousin, Daisy.
I never should’ve agreed to the date in the first place.
We were too good of friends and too much alike.
But Stella had been persistent. And after she let it slip that Rosie was dating a rich suit in Seattle, I told her to set up the double date.
After a desperate and embarrassing makeout session, Daisy and I decided to just be friends.
Unlatching my surfboard from the roof rack, I haul it under my arm and start down the pathway to the beach.
I hadn’t planned on surfing tonight, but I have an itch that needs scratching.
And it was either this or going home to jerk off in the shower while fantasizing about the same woman for the thousandth time.
The tide is going back out, elongating the beach. The ocean glows from the full moon’s reflection. I still can’t decide if I prefer seeing it like this or in the daylight when the seagulls are flying overhead and the surf shines golden from sun.
I don’t get to the beach at night much these days.
Even if it is a matter of feet from most places in town.
Golden Harbor is growing. Lucky for me, my construction business is growing too.
My specialty is framing new houses and remodeling and preserving what’s already here.
I don’t typically take on work outside of my wheelhouse, but I did it on Dottie’s cottage as a favor.
She was a longtime friend. Some might even call her family.
My brain switches to Rosie. Much like it does whenever I think about Dottie. If it weren’t for her, I would’ve never met the love of my life. But who meets their soulmate at sixteen and stays together forever?
Jogging into the waves, I set my board in and hop onto it, lying flat on my belly.
I scoop my arms through the water and paddle fast and hard.
Pushing images of Rosie away with each stroke.
Her green eyes glittering when I made her laugh, her beautiful auburn hair splayed across my chest, her hips spread while she straddled and thrust against me.
After I catch a few good ones, the water engulfs me once and that’s enough for me—I’m done. I prop my board in the sand and drop down beside it to catch my breath. Surfing settled the heaviness in my chest, but my mind is still too busy, whirling with endless thoughts of what might’ve been.
“Beck?”
My shoulders tense as I jerk my head to glance over my shoulder. It’s been so long since I heard the sound of my name from that mouth you’d think I’d forgotten it. But no, you don’t forget the voice of your soulmate.
Or…your wife.
Narrowing my eyes, I clamber to my feet and try not to stare at her when I finally find my voice. “Hey, Rosie.”