Chapter 26 – Beck
BECK
It takes Rosie several minutes to get over the shock of what just happened. I don’t know what I was thinking. I probably wasn’t thinking at all. Which isn’t like me. I usually overthink things. I’m not reckless. I’ve never been able to afford to be reckless.
“Hey, where’s your phone? We need to try to dry them out.”
“Shoot. I forgot.” She frees hers from the back pocket of her jeans.
I yank mine from my front pocket. It’s soaked. And I’ve got nothing dry on me.
“I’m sure I’ve got a sweatshirt in my rig. That’s about it.”
She’s frantically running her palms over her phone, but they’re still wet too.
“C’mon, let’s go to my truck. We can put the heater on and try to dry them out. And you can put my sweatshirt on.”
She sets her phone down onto the dock. “I can’t leave. Not yet.”
“But Rosie—”
“I’m not leaving until I spread Dottie’s ashes. That’s what I came here to do.” She gives me a determined look, her jaw clenched.
“Okay.” The urn is resting on its side on the dock. I pick it up and give it to her. No more games.
She doesn’t look at me when she accepts it. I don’t blame her. It’s my fault we’re in this mess.
Unscrewing the lid, she unzips the bag that holds the ashes. “It’s funny,” she begins. “I didn’t want to be alone while doing this, but I didn’t have anything planned to say out loud.”
“That’s okay.” I lower myself down, dangling my feet over the calm water. “You don’t have to say anything.”
After a few moments, Rosie sits next to me. “Isn’t that weird?”
“I think…by you coming here and doing this, that’s enough. You’re doing what she asked.”
“Not everything she asked.”
When I glance over my shoulder to look at her, she’s staring at me. Our eyes meet and I don’t know what to say. I’m so afraid to say the wrong thing. The last thing I want to do is upset her. Again.
“Just because she asked, doesn’t mean you have to do it. You gotta make your own choices. This is your life.”
She rolls her eyes and flicks her attention away. “My life.” She exhales a breath. “That’s funny. Because all my life I feel like I’ve been living for other people.”
“All your life? That doesn’t really seem fair. Who were you trying to please when we got married? Me?” I wince, not sure I want the truth when she answers that question.
“Fine. I guess not all my life. Because that decision was for me.”
My heart expands in my chest, fighting against the wet shirt. “And you wanting a divorce…Is that decision for you too?”
“Now that’s not fair.” She shakes her head.
“You’re right. Sorry.” But I do want to have this conversation. Even if now isn’t the right time. Our time is running out quickly. “But I guess to get remarried, you kinda have to divorce me first.”
Her eyes flick up to mine and we hold a shared gaze of sadness and maybe remorse too. “I guess.”
I nod and return my gaze to the glistening water as the sun lowers.
From my peripheral, Rosie is waving her hand in the air, ensuring it’s dry before she reaches inside the urn and pulls out a closed fist of ashes.
She holds it tight, outstretching her arm and hovering over the water’s surface for a few moments.
At last, she opens her hand, spreading out her fingers and letting the ash drift into the ocean below.
While Rosie repeats the same process again, my mind sifts through memories of Dottie. Most of them from when Rosie and I were dating in high school, spending time at her cottage. Some after we were first married and spent Sundays with her at the beach or having lunch after church.
A few pop into my head from after Rosie left.
When Dottie would call me to come over and fix something.
A leaky faucet, a running toilet, a broken cabinet knob.
Dottie was independent. I don’t know if she really needed me to tend to those things or if she just missed having me around.
But I never questioned it. Because I missed her too.
Rosie is even more mad at me than usual. Apparently, I’m to blame for her missing the last ferry of the day, even though she’s the one who stayed on the island too long. But I will take full responsibility for our clothes and phones getting wet.
As Rosie tries calling Stella after we climb inside my truck, I rummage in the back seat for one of my work sweatshirts. I find one and give it to her before turning over the ignition and blasting the heat despite it being warm outside still.
“Hey, Stella?” Rosie speaks loudly into the phone. “Can you hear me?”
Stella’s voice is muffled on the other end. I grasp the hem of my wet T-shirt and peel it over my head. The instant warmth from the heater hits my bare skin. Rosie glances my way, her eyes traveling across my chest and my abs. I catch her gaze with mine before they dart away.
“Stella? Yeah, how’s Charlie?” She kicks off her sandals.
“Good, that’s good. Listen, you’re not going to believe this.
But I missed the last ferry. Yeah, I know.
Thank you. But I’m so sorry. No”—she glances at me again—“not alone,” she mumbles.
“It’s a long story. I’ll fill you in tomorrow.
Since it looks like I’m stuck here for tonight.
I’m not sure. But if you need anything for Charlie, there’s a key to Dottie’s under the flower pot on the porch. ”
“Ugh.” I throw my head back against the headrest. “Seriously? Because no intruder would ever think to look under a flower pot,” I mutter under my breath.
“I have to go and figure out what I’m going to do. But I will be on the first ferry in the morning. I’ll try to call later so I can tell Charlie good night. And, Stella? Thank you,” she says before hanging up the phone.
“I thought you said Golden Harbor is a safe town?” she quips.
“Yeah, but that’s like rolling out the welcome mat.”
She shoots me a glare and I fire one back. Rosie and I are like oil and water these days.
“Can you look away so I can take my shirt off?”
“Oh, you mean like how you looked away when I took mine off?” I smirk. But she’s not amused. I roll my eyes and turn to face the window. “Fine. Happy?”
After a few moments of rustling, she sighs. “I’m good now.”
When I turn back around, I find her drowning in my Stone Company sweatshirt. And damn. She looks hot dressed in my clothes. A fantasy of her dressed in nothing other than this materializes in my mind.
Her branded with my name.
And now I can’t think of anything sexier. My mouth waters and a shot of arousal jolts in my groin. I swallow. “Any better?”
“A little. Thanks. Now, can you take me to a hotel or something?”
“We can stay at my dad’s place.” I’m already driving in that direction.
“Your dad’s? You mean…the bar?”
“You don’t have to say it like that. He has an apartment above the bar. So no, you’re not gonna have to sleep in a bar.”
“Are you sure he won’t mind?”
“He’s my dad. What’s he gonna say? No? Dude owes me more than a night on his couch, don’t ya think?”
She’s quiet next to me, biting her lip while she taps on her phone.
When we reach The Thirsty Turtle, I park near the back steps that lead to my dad’s apartment. We hop out and I round the front of the truck to the passenger side and gather our wet clothes in my arms.
“I’ll throw these in the wash for tomorrow, but we’ll have to bum some clothes from my dad for tonight.”
“Oh yay, a Willie Nelson T-shirt, can’t wait,” she mutters, rolling her eyes.
I chuckle, because she’s not wrong. That’s my dad’s wardrobe. “At least it will be dry.”
“Yeah.” She bites her lip.
“What’s wrong?”
“Why don’t you head up and fill your dad in. I need to make a phone call.”
I lift my brows. “The boyfriend?”
“Fiancé,” she corrects.
“Right. Fiancé.” I take a few steps backward, holding the wet clothing against my bare chest. “Good luck.” I spin and jog up the stairs, running through my own conversation I’m about to have with my dad.
I knock a few times on the door before trying the handle.
It turns and I push a shoulder into it and step inside Dad’s apartment.
It’s small and lacks enough windows to let much natural light in.
There are a few lamps scattered around. The hint of a seafood scent is attempting to be masked by a lit vanilla candle.
“Hey, Dad?” I call, “You in here?”
He shuffles into view from the hall that leads to the bar downstairs. “Hey, son. What are you doing here? And what happened to your shirt?”
“Long story. We missed the last ferry. Mind if we crash here for the night?”
“We?”
“Yeah.” My eyes dart around the apartment. “Rosie and me.”
His brows shoot up. “Oh. Well, talk about a turn in events.”
“No, no. No turn of events. Rosie was here spreading Dottie’s ashes. We missed the ferry. That’s it.”
“Mind explaining why you’re all wet?”
“Uhh…”
“That would be your son’s fault,” Rosie says from behind me.
I spin around and she’s peering around me, taking a step and approaching Dad with her hand out. “Hello, Mr. Stone. It’s good to see you again.”
“Likewise, dear.” He takes her hand but yanks her in for a hug and she stumbles into him.
My heart shifts in my chest.
“Your son here thought it would be a good idea to go swimming. Our phones too.” She holds hers up. “Now I’m only catching half of a conversation.”
“Well, that was stupid, kid. C’mon, give me your phones, I’ve got some rice.”
“That doesn’t actually work,” I mutter under my breath.
“Does too. I’m a fisherman, you don’t think I’ve dropped my phone a time or two? Give them here.”
We both do and Dad retrieves a bowl and a bag of rice from the cupboard.
“Mind if I do a load of laundry?”
“’Course not. Need to borrow some dry clothes too?”
“Please,” Rosie says sweetly.
“I have to say, if someone would’ve told me that you two kids would end up at my place for the night, I would’ve told them to go fly a kite.” He sets his hands on his hips and glances back and forth at us. “But here you are. At my place, soaking wet, spending the night together.”
“Not together,” both Rosie and I blurt in unison.
Dad chuckles. “Uh-huh. Sure.”