Chapter 5 – Rosie
ROSIE
When Charlotte was born, I started only drinking socially. And I don’t drink more than a glass or two of wine. Especially since West and I began dating. He splurges on the expensive stuff and one glass is all it takes for me to get a little tipsy.
But something about being back in Golden Harbor, at the Sandbar, and surrounded by my old friends has me loving the taste of cheap beer and losing track of how many I’ve had.
Stella reassures me Jack is only having one and will get me and Charlie back to Dottie’s safely.
It’s a good thing because every time I see Beck’s stupidly handsome face, I have another drink.
It’s more stupid than handsome. But even still. It’s his face. Here, right before me and no longer only haunting my dreams.
Since Beck’s date ditched him, Stella thought it would be a great idea to invite him to play a game of pool with us.
But one game led to two, and now three. The entire time, Beck and I have managed to only exchange a few words.
But the tension in the air is as thick as early morning fog blanketing the ocean.
“Your turn,” I call to Beck while he’s propped on a stool grimacing with his arms crossed.
He stands and shuffles past me. “Yeah, yeah, chill. Don’t get your panties in a wad,” he grumbles, his gaze moving over my face with distaste.
“Too bad that’s not possible. Because I’m not wearing any panties,” I taunt, not backing down. The alcohol is doing its purpose and not only taking the edge off the pain radiating in my low back, but also giving me a sense of bravery.
His brown eyes widen and his jaw ticks. I almost let a smile slip, but I won’t give him the satisfaction that this banter between us is amusing me. He glances away and I exhale a sigh. If he looked at me any longer, I wouldn’t have been able to resist saying something else.
As Beck readies his shot, he spins his hat backward and the action has me spinning with it. My knees weaken and I’m caught off guard. This simple act has me suddenly feral for a man I’m not supposed to have feelings for anymore.
My gaze moves over his body slowly. The way his back arches, it’s not hard to notice the muscles that take shape as his shirt stretches.
His bicep swells as he grips the stick and leans across the pool table.
I don’t know what he’s been up to all these years while I’ve been away, but he’s definitely doing something to keep himself fit.
I bite my lip as I continue studying his features, tilting my head to admire the way his backside still fills out a pair of jeans nicely. His brow lifts while he concentrates. It’s the same, but somehow different. Because Beck isn’t the boy I fell in love with and left. He’s older. He’s a man now.
He straightens and turns to face me, and I feel exposed. I draw in a breath and the corner of his lip curls up.
But he doesn’t call me on it. “Your turn,” he quips.
Squinting my eyes, I scrutinize him. But I don’t overthink it. The alcohol is numbing my senses, and I won’t allow myself to.
I grab my stick and shuffle closer to the pool table. I’m about to attempt a strategic shot when Milo Stone enters the bar.
He gives me a wide smile from across the room as he makes his way over.
“Rosie Stone,” he greets before wrapping me up in a hug I don’t feel like I deserve.
“Milo. Hey…it’s good to see you.” My words come out muffled in the crook of his neck. I don’t bother correcting him that I’ve been going by my maiden name since I left.
“I was hoping you’d come.” He releases me but still holds his smile. “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised the first place I’d run into is The Sandbar with Beck.”
“Whoa,” I say, quick to correct him. “I’m not with Beck. I came with Jack and Stella. Beck just happened to be here.”
Milo chuckles. “Sure. Whatever you say. And that’s why you’re playing pool…together.” He raises his brows, unconvinced.
“It’s true. In fact, Beck was here on a date.”
Milo’s smile fades. “For real? You didn’t mention anything about a date.”
“I don’t tell you everything,” Beck mutters. “You’re my little brother, not my therapist.”
“Bet you don’t tell Dr. Sam everything either,” Milo shoots back.
I swing my attention to Beck, my chest tightening. “You have a therapist?”
Beck rolls his eyes. “Don’t start feeling some kind of existential guilt or something, he’s just busting my balls. Of course I don’t see a therapist.”
“Oh.” I bite the side of my lower lip, unable to stop my brain from feeling remorseful. Like I have somehow contributed to Beck seeing a therapist when he never would have before.
Milo fist-bumps his shoulder. “So a date, huh? Who with?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Beck grumbles.
“You’re not still seeing that cougar from LA, are you?”
I can’t help myself; I snort out a laugh.
“The woman with the legs…who Jack set you up with?”
“Like I said,” Beck growls, giving his brother a death look, “doesn’t matter. It’s over with.”
“Well, what do you say, Rosie. We should get a beer and catch up,” Milo suggests.
Getting a beer with Milo Stone feels all kinds of wrong. Milo was just a boy when I left. He can’t possibly be old enough to drink, let alone with me.
“I think Rosie has had enough to drink,” Beck states, his tone grating against my skin.
I shoot him a glare. “You’re not the boss of me,” I bite out.
“No. Maybe not. But you are my wife.”
He holds my eyes captive. I want to be angry with him. But the way he said “my wife” has my emotions and my body reacting in a traitorous way. My skin buzzes and sends a signal between my thighs in an electrifying wakeup call.
“Okay…” Stella interrupts by stepping in between us and I find myself gasping for a full breath. “I think it’s time we got going.”
“Already? But Milo just got here,” Jack argues.
“I can take Rosie back to Dottie’s,” Beck suggests. My mouth pops open, ready to argue, but then he continues. “There’s some things we need to talk about.”
Stella looks at me, her dark brows raised in question. Confusion mixes with the alcohol and causes my brain to overload. Part of me wants to go with Beck. He’s connected to every memory I have in Golden Harbor.
But in my current state, I fear I will say something I’ll regret. Or hell, do something I’ll regret. I don’t trust my consciousness to make choices for me in this state.
When I glance down to compose myself and shake away this strange desire for Beck, the weight of the sparkling diamond on my finger is the reminder I need. “It’s fine, Beck can drop me off on his way. I need to get some sleep. Big day tomorrow.”
Stella gives me a hug, but before she lets me go, she whispers into my hair so only I can hear. “We’ll bring Charlie home soon.”
My mind snags on Charlie’s name. Is tonight the night I tell Beck about his daughter? Or will it be better when I can form coherent thoughts and sentences? Do I wait until Dottie’s memorial, or tell him afterward so we don’t cause a scene?
“Thank you.”
Beck says goodbye to Milo, and I follow reluctantly. At the door, he opens it and ushers me out first. I roll my eyes as I pass. Whatever that feeling was for Beck, it’s fleeting. Chalk it up to alcohol and muscle memory.
The night is clear, the sky dark and spanning with bright stars. Despite the blanket of warmth in the air, I cross my arms. “I may have agreed to you driving me home, but I never agreed to talking.”
“Fine.” He bends, sticking his head in my personal space and forcing me to make eye contact with him. “Then I’ll do the talking and you can just sit there and listen. How about that?”
“Ugh.” I drag out the word on an exaggerated groan.
He opens the passenger door for me. My gaze scans the bold black letters on the side of his truck before I climb inside: Stone Construction.
My stomach drops. I want to be hurt at the realization that when Beck finally accomplished his dream job, I wasn’t around to witness it.
“You actually did it. You started a construction company?” Grabbing on to the handle, I grip it, and when I pull myself up, pain shoots through my entire core, landing in my butt.
I audibly hiss and he props a sturdy hand underneath my elbow, helping me inside with the kind of care and gentleness I remember well.
“How?” I exhale a low breath. “With what money?” I narrow my eyes, my legs still hanging out the door. “Are you selling drugs or something?”
Beck barks out a laugh and it rumbles in my chest. I purse my lips. “You’re not the only one who made something of themselves, ya know?” He shoves my legs inside the truck. “Some of us didn’t have to leave Golden Harbor to do it.” He shuts the door and stomps around the front to the driver’s side.
“I didn’t go to Seattle just to start a career,” I argue after he slides in behind the wheel. “I needed a change of scenery. I needed to start over.”
“Yeah, I don’t need the reminder,” he bites out.
“I thought you wanted to talk?”
“I did.”
“Then, about what?” When he doesn’t speak right away, my brain goes to Charlie. My stomach flip-flops and a wave of nausea washes over me. Does he know?
“Tell me the truth.”
“What?” The word struggles out.
“Why did you really come back to Golden Harbor? Why come back now? When things are finally going good for me? Are you trying to screw with me?”
When my stomach settles and realization sets in that he doesn’t want to talk about Charlie, my eyes go hard. “Despite what you think, Beck, not everything is about you.”
“Pfft. I’d never think that. Nothing is ever about me when it comes to you.”
This hurts. And it’s not true. When I told him it was too hard for me to heal in Golden Harbor, I begged him to come with me. “You know why. I came for Dottie’s memorial.”
“And that’s it?”
“That’s it.” The lie slips out easily.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Fine. Don’t believe me.” I turn my head and focus my attention out the passenger window at The Sandbar’s neon sign flickering.
“If I find out I remodeled Dottie’s cottage for you to live in…”
“Ha!” I scoff, whipping my head back in his direction. “Don’t you worry. I have no plans of staying in Golden Harbor.”
“Good.”
As he finally shifts into drive, I hesitate at first, but finally manage, “But, Beck…”
“That’s all I needed to know,” he interrupts.
It’s less than a five-minute drive to Dottie’s cottage but we spend it in uncomfortable silence. Beck doesn’t even have the truck in park when he says, “I’ll see you tomorrow. At the memorial. Good night.”
I push open the door, climbing out slowly, my body already grumbling.
It’s going to retaliate for drinking. I fear it will not be a good night, but rather a night hugging the porcelain goddess.
Just one of my many endometriosis symptoms. Sometimes all it takes is one beer and I’m sick.
Or I can be sick with no alcohol at all.
“See you tomorrow.” I shut the door and shuffle toward Dottie’s cottage. The headlights from Beck’s Chevrolet shine on the back door. I don’t turn back around to glance at him. Not even when I get inside and the lights fade as he drives away.