Chapter 13 – Beck
BECK
The sound of my phone chiming and vibrating in unison wakes me from a dead sleep. Panic tightens across my shoulders, and an instant dread fills me all the way to my feet.
Milo.
Before my eyes have a chance to register and fly open, I fumble around on the nightstand for my phone. My hand bumps into my water bottle and then the lamp and it topples over. Shit.
I catapult in bed, blinking my eyes open, but it does little for clarity.
Besides the faint light slicing through my blinds from the moon, it’s dark in my bedroom.
Swinging my legs off the side of the bed I quickly retrieve the fallen lamp before I finally clutch my phone in my hand and squint at the screen. But it’s not a text from Milo.
My shoulders drop as a small sigh escapes my parted lips. Yet the name reflected on my screen has a similar reaction and my shoulders are right back up again.
Rosie.
Until three days ago, Milo had been my only concern. My only responsibility. But now there’s Charlie. I swipe to open her text.
Rosie
Please don’t hate me forever
It’s now that the time on the screen finally resonates. Two o’clock in the morning. What the hell? I scrub a palm over my face and release a muffled groan.
We can talk in the morning
I toss my phone back onto the nightstand, but it chimes almost instantly.
“Dammit, Rosie,” I growl aloud, my throat dry and scratchy. Running a hand through my hair, I clench my teeth while I reach for my phone again.
Rosie
I hate myself enough for the both of us. But if you hated me too, I’m not sure I could live with that
Are you okay?
Rosie
No. I’m so sorry! For everything. If I could take it back I would!
I rise to my feet and pace in my darkened room, the old wood floor groaning under my bare feet. Where is this coming from? Middle of the night texting?
Are you drunk?
Rosie
Maybe a little
Great. So she’s drunk texting me.
Go to sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow.
Rosie
I can’t. Not until I know you don’t hate me
I toss my head back and groan. How am I supposed to reply? I don’t hate her. I could never hate her. But am I still pissed as hell at her? Yeah. And I probably will be for a while.
She likely won’t remember talking to me. But it’s a text conversation—it will be there for her to see tomorrow.
I don’t hate you
But if you keep me up any longer I might
I have to be up in a few hours for work
Rosie
I’m sorry
I drop back onto my bed, exhaling a gravelly sigh and closing my eyes. My phone chimes again, still in my grasp.
Rosie
Tell me something Beck?
What?
Rosie
Tell me how I’m supposed to un-love you?
My eyes widen and I sit up slowly, my mind and dick suddenly wide awake. I reread the text. She still loves me? I rub a hand over my head a few times while my mind spirals. I will regret the words I’m about to type. But if she can be vulnerable, then so can I.
When you figure it out, let me know. I’ve been trying to un-love you for seven years
Rosie
Does that make us sad and damaged?
Probably
Rosie
Tell me something else?
Will we ever be able to move on with anyone else?
I don’t know
Rosie
Goodnight Beck
Goodnight Rosie
But it’s not going to be a good night. Because after a text exchange like that, there’s no way sleep is happening tonight.
Milo beats me to the job site, which is unusual. I bring him a coffee from Seashell Bookshop as a peace offering. Not that I need it. Milo is habitually late. Or cuts out early. Must be nice to have your big brother as your boss. If he were any other employee, his ass would’ve been fired long ago.
I park my truck in front of the peach-colored cottage off Oceanview Blvd. A painting crew is already here doing finishing touches on the exterior trim around the windows. I hop out and retrieve the to-go cups, bumping the door closed with my hip.
Typically, working on a jobsite with another crew irritates the hell out of me, but Jessie and his guys work hard and stay out of my way, so I don’t mind.
Jessie pokes his head out of the back of his van and flashes me a peace sign as I pass.
I lift my chin in greeting as I make my way around the front of the cottage.
The power saw screams, but it’s music to my ears.
It means Milo is actually working instead of on his phone networking with music professionals.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m his biggest fan.
But for now, this is the job that pays his bills.
His time is coming though, talent like his shouldn’t be wasted on construction.
Lucky for me, wood working and building houses are both my passion and my talent.
I’ve been doing it since I was sixteen and started my own business sometime after Rosie left.
My life was spinning out of control, but Jack came along with his nest egg from trading stocks and loaned me the money to get started.
If it weren’t for him, I probably never would’ve done it.
Milo is on the porch, cutting pieces for the island we’re building and adding to the existing kitchen. The cottage is small but with the L-shaped kitchen that opens to a dining room, it has adequate room for an island.
He finishes the cut and glances up at me. “Look who decided to show up for work. Please tell me you finally got laid.” He glances at me with a smirk, brows raised.
I shove the coffee at his chest. “Haha,” I say sarcastically. “I brought coffee.”
Clutching it in his hand, his eyes meet mine, but I tear mine away and face the ocean. “What happened to you? You look like shit.”
“Thanks, Captain Obvious.” I groan and chug my coffee while attempting to focus on the distant waves despite the thick morning fog. “Didn’t sleep much.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“Nope,” I grunt, turning back around. “I want to work.”
Milo shrugs and takes a sip of his coffee before setting it on the porch rail. “I just cut the last piece for the build-out.” He picks up the wood. “The quartz countertop slab got delivered a few minutes ago. I had them put it in the garage.”
I’m only half processing what Milo is saying. Rosie’s words are still swishing around in my brain, along with what I’m going to do about them. If anything.
“So last night Rosie told me she still loves me,” I blurt over the rim of my paper cup.
Milo freezes before he reaches the back door with the cut piece of wood in his grip. “So you do want to talk about it,” he snarks over his shoulder, a smirk on his lips.
“She was drunk texting me,” I continue, still not fazed by his words. Typically I’d call him out on his smart-assery.
But he groans and that rattles me.
“Let me get this straight. She told you she still loves you, over text, and while she was drunk?”
I tilt my head, giving a limp shrug. “Yeah.”
“How is it that you’re the married one but I’m the brother who has more experience with women?”
“Pfft.” I narrow my eyes at him.
“Right.” He drags out the word. “Don’t answer that. I get it, you’re married. But I mean, I hate to say it…”
“Then don’t,” I mutter.
“But it’s not like you two are actually married. It’s just a piece of paper.”
“A legal piece of paper,” I correct with a cold glare.
He leans the piece of wood against the siding of the house, running his palm down his thigh. “Whatever. You know what I mean. You haven’t even spoken for seven years. Hell, she had a kid and didn’t tell you.”
In my head, all that he’s saying makes sense. But in my heart—well, that’s a different story. “Do you have a point?” I grit my teeth.
“Yeah, man, I do. Women text all kinds of stupid shit when they’re drunk.”
I shake my head. “Not Rosie.”
“I love Rosie, but yeah, even your precious Rosie. Her man isn’t here. She was drunk and probably just wanted to get laid.”
My skin prickles as my body heats. “It wasn’t like that.”
“Fine. Maybe not.” Milo swipes his coffee off the railing and puts up his free hand in surrender. “So…what did you say back?”
I adjust the ballcap on my head and tug it lower, feeling some residual regret. “Uh…I may have told her I still love her too.”
Milo’s eyes widen.
“Yeah,” I mutter, then give my head a subtle shake. “Not in those exact words. But something like…I’m trying not to love her.”
“Bro,” he breathes out. “Do you? Still love her?”
I raise my brows at my brother. Now who is the dense one? I never moved on after Rosie left. I haven’t even seriously dated anyone.
“Right,” he replies, tilting his head and putting his cup to his lips. “Okay, well that’s that, I guess. Now what’s your plan?”
“I don’t have one. Not one that includes Rosie. That ship sailed.” I turn and face the beach. The fog is beginning to thin and there’re people running and a kid with a woman building a sandcastle. “The only plan I need to make is with Charlie. Nothing else matters.”
“It’s a solid thought. But I know you, and the love you have for Rosie isn’t going to just go away. Especially since you’re going to have to see her more often, ya know, because of the kid.”
I spin back around to face him. “I don’t have a choice,” I say, anguish crawling up my throat. “She’s marrying someone else.”
We make eye contact and Milo’s gaze hardens. I instantly feel like a dick. But Milo and I aren’t just brothers. We’re best friends. And if you can’t snap at your best friend without it rolling off their back, then you weren’t really friends to begin with.
He clamps his mouth shut, knowing when to stop pushing me. He picks up the wood again and opens the back door, pausing before going inside the cottage. “I hate to point out the obvious yet again, but she can’t marry someone else if she’s still married to you.”
I watch him go before I move to the railing. Setting my coffee down, I grip the edge and inhale a deep breath, holding it for a few seconds before releasing it. I do it again. In and out. The wood beneath my hands bites at my palms.
The ocean mist touches my face, and I open my eyes and inhale and exhale one more time.
My gaze drifts to the water and I study the waves as they crash onto the shore, my spiked nerves diminishing.
My brain is telling me that I need to sign the divorce papers that have been sent to me countless times over the past year. But my heart is telling me to hold on.
Hold on for what though, I don’t know.
We finish the build-out on the kitchen island and get the countertop mounted and I call it a day. The painters couldn’t get to it until tomorrow and we can’t wait. Besides having a calendar packed full of jobs, I only have a few days to spend with Charlie before she returns to Seattle.
Milo’s got back-to-back voice lessons tonight, so I send him home while I clean up and put away our tools.
He’ll be distracted the rest of the week.
He’s booked a recording studio in LA at the end of the week for a single he hopes to release on Spotify.
The following day he’s got tryouts for some new reality TV show for musicians.
After I slide in behind the wheel of my Chevy, I pull up Rosie’s contact info on my phone and blow out a breath before I hit the call button.
She picks up after only the first ring. “Hey? Everything all right?”
“Are you free tonight?” I ask into the phone, then quickly correct myself. “I’d like to see Charlie. If that’s okay?”
“Yeah, sure. She’d love that. What did you have in mind?”
I back out of the driveway. “I gotta head home and shower first. But how about dinner?”
“Dinner?” There’s concern in her voice.
“Yeah, like ‘kid dinner,’” I clarify. “Pizza, chicken nuggets, tacos?”
“No,” she blurts. “No tacos, please.”
“Okay, Charlie doesn’t like tacos—noted.”
“No, no, she does. But Stella and Daisy took me to the margarita and taco bar last night, and let’s just say as good as the tacos were going down, they weren’t so good coming back up.”
I chuckle. “Got it. Makes sense. Okay, no tacos.” Also makes sense why she drunk texted me too. “There’s the pizza place downtown, Golden Pie’s. Remember it?”
“Of course, yes.”
“I’ll pick you both up in about an hour.” I drive to the end of the street and wait to pull out into traffic until we end our conversation.
“Hey, um…Beck? Did we talk last night?”
“Talk?” I tug the brim of my hat down, watching the few cars zoom by too fast for our small town. “No.”
“Huh…” Her voice trails on the other end of the phone.
Part of me wants to tease her over this, but it’s not really all that funny. “But you did text me last night.”
“I did? Ack. Sh…crap.” She corrects herself and the sound muffles on her end of the phone. “Oh…oh…no. Gahh, Beck, I’m so sorry.”
“Guessing you’re reading the texts?” I press my head back against the headrest and squeeze my eyes shut tight.
“Yep, and that’s humiliating.”
My stomach burns that she’s not taking ownership of her confession. Because what’s my excuse? I didn’t have a lick of alcohol yesterday.
“Can we please forget that ever happened?” she whispers.
“Sure,” I mutter in the phone before ending the call and pulling out onto the main road, my tires squealing.