19. Lyla
Lyla
I thought Beck in black leather chaps was hot? I was fucking kidding myself. Because the sight of Beck standing at the grill with his jeans and t-shirt partially covered by an apron is enough to make me drop my panties right here. I steel myself as I spot the rest of the Hollis family.
“Well, look who finally decided to join us for dinner,” Wade booms as I near the group. They’re seated around a wooden picnic bench covered in a red checkered table cloth. Skye and Nash both offer me friendly smiles.
“It smelled so good, I couldn’t resist,” I say, but I wonder if I can even eat any of it. As if reading my mind, Beck looks up from the barbecue, holding a flipper in one hand.
“I have a vegan patty here for you,” he says.
I don’t know why, but something about him doing these little things for me makes my chest pinch.
The carton of oat milk he makes sure is stocked in the fridge, bringing coconut whipped cream for my dessert, going out of his way to get me a vegan patty.
None of my other boyfriends back in the city could even remember I didn’t eat meat.
They’d make a reservation for dinner at the fanciest steakhouse, nothing but cows on the menu.
Or, the worst one, the guy who thought it would be nice to get me a birthday cake with cream cheese icing.
I couldn’t eat the dessert at my own goddamned birthday party.
I used to shrug it off, and make excuses like it’s the thought that counts.
Having Beck remember and go out of his way to make sure I have something I can eat? It does something to me that it shouldn’t.
Beck turns back to the grill, and flips my vegan burger patty, and then he switches his flipper out for a different one that he uses to flip the beef burgers. His biceps flex, the muscles rippling like cords under his tanned skin as he methodically turns them over.
My cheeks burn, and I blame it on the abnormally hot June we’re having. Critter bounds around the yard, sniffing the grass happily, as I sit next to Skye. She wraps an arm around my shoulders, hugging me into her briefly.
“I’m so glad you came, Ly,” she says.
“Me too,” I answer, picking up the pitcher of sangria and pouring it into my glass. I hope it’s strong, since I have to sit here watching the grill master, with the sleeves of his t-shirt accentuating his thick biceps, forearms flexing as he flips each patty.
He’s wearing an apron for fuck’s sakes. I kind of wish I could see him in nothing but that. It’s the same kind of fantasy I’ve had about his chaps.
“So, how was your day, Lyla. Do anything exciting in the city?” Wade asks me.
I get the feeling that their weekly family dinner has a structure, and they start with this, everyone catching up and sharing any news. I like that they’re including me in it, and a warm feeling spreads behind my ribs.
“It was good,” I answer. “And no, nothing exciting.”
Even though I didn’t actually go to the gyno, I don’t particularly want to talk about anything related to that experience with everyone over sangria and barbecue. But I notice Beck flash a sidelong glance in my direction, the corner of his mouth twitching for a split second.
“It must be nice going back though, after some time away,” Skye chimes in.
I nod, swallowing a sip of my drink. The white wine is crisp and light, and it’s flavoured with frozen peach slices. I wonder if that was also Beck’s doing.
“Yes and no,” I answer truthfully. “It was also really nice to come back.”
Now Beck’s mouth tilts upward into a full-blown smile, something I have never seen him do. Not fully. Not wholeheartedly.
“Beck Hollis, are you smiling?” I tease.
When he turns around, it’s gone, and he places the plate of patties on the table, mine on a separate one.
“The burgers are ready,” he says.
I squint back at him skeptically. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Beck liked hearing that I was happy to be back in Sage Valley.
Everyone digs into their burgers, and the table is quiet for a few minutes before Nash pipes up.
“So, how are you finding working with this old codger?” He tilts his head towards Beck.
Skye laughs and shakes her head. Beck glares at Nash sitting next to him.
“Beck’s a big teddy bear, actually,” I say, and Beck’s glare shifts over to me. I flash him a wink, and I swear that the small patch of skin that doesn’t have stubble, turns pink.
“Who knew?” Nash sounds surprised, but he leans over and nudges his brother with his elbow. “Nah, we love him. But let me know if he causes you any trouble.”
“Lyla can handle herself,” Beck grumbles, and his quiet and steady defence of me sends heat rushing south.
I can’t quite put my finger on it, but something about Beck’s unwavering, even-keeled nature is comforting to me.
It’s like being around him, my own emotions become steadier, quieter, less… explosive.
“She sure can,” Nash laughs. “I saw the video of her giving that CEO a run for his money. So I should probably be asking you if you’re okay.”
My head whips around as my eyes snap to him. My stomach drops, and panic shakes me from the inside out.
“What did you just say?” I snap.
“The video of you from the day you got fired,” Nash explains. “We should put you on a bull. I bet if you dressed it down like that you could talk it out of bucking you off.”
My head is spinning. That day was humiliating, mortifying, the worst day of my life, and I am only now finding out that there’s video evidence circulating on the internet for the entire world to see. Including Shirley and anyone else that is remotely considering hiring me.
My eyes burn, tears collecting on my lashes. I sniff back my emotions and wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. I won’t cry here. I won’t overreact.
I glance around the table to gauge everyone’s reactions, but no one is showing anything on their faces.
No one except for Beck. His gaze is trained on me, watching me as I cover up my own feelings.
The normally level-headed cowboy practically has steam coming out of his ears.
His jaw works, the muscles in his cheek flickering as he grinds his molars together.
“Delete it, Nash,” he growls.
Nash turns and looks at him wide eyed. “It’s not my video, that’s not how the internet works.”
“Then have it taken down. Whatever you have to do, get it taken down.”
“Beck, it’s okay,” I say, letting out a steadying breath. “I can deal with it. I’m a big girl.”
Beck is obviously still seething but for my sake he takes a long sip of his beer instead of saying anything more, his mouth popping off the top of the bottle.
“Yeah, I mean it’s not like you can go around firing everyone who looks at Lyla wrong,” Nash jokes.
“He had it coming,” Beck argues. “You know he did.”
I’m struggling to catch up, having only just recovered from the first shock of the evening. I glance back and forth between them.
“Nah, you’re right. Dylan was a shithead. I’m glad he’s gone. Good riddance, fucker.”
Beck gives a chuckle at that, but I’m still whirling from the information.
“You fired Dylan?” I balk. “What the hell for? For his wet t-shirt remark the other day?”
Beck gives me a contemplative look. “Among other things.”
“Don’t mess with Lyla Morgan.” Nash lets out a whistle. “Or else you’ll have both Bonnie and Clyde coming after you.” He gestures between us both.
“Speaking of which,” Wade jumps in. “You better give that boy a healthy severance. He’s already come whining to me about it.”
Shit. I had no idea Beck was going to react so poorly to that whole interaction. I would have… I don’t know what I could have done. I could have tried to cover my tits better or something I guess.
“I’ll give him what he’s owed,” Beck says. In the grand scheme of things, I guess the severance won’t matter when we’re saving money not paying his salary.
“On a lighter note,” Skye says in her singsong voice, “do you have plans for your birthday, Beck?”
She nudges me under the table with her leg, and the tension in me loosens as I remember what we have planned.
“If you two are planning something, cut it out,” he grumbles. “You know I hate my birthday.”
I stifle a laugh as I glance down the table at Wade, who flashes me a wink.
Beck is sitting at my kitchen table again, his large and looming frame taking up every inch of space in here. It’s his presence though, and the way Critter looks so small as Beck cradles him in his lap that takes all the air out of the room, that pulls me toward him like a vacuum.
I’m sitting close enough to him that my arm brushes against his, and electricity crackles between us every time we touch.
Things between us feel… weird. Like there’s this tension that neither of us want to acknowledge, but it’d been winding tighter and tighter with every little moment of connection.
Part of me wants to blame it on Beck, he’s been acting strange since I arrived.
On one hand, he pushes me away and seems to want nothing to do with me.
But over the last few weeks, I’ve seen him do little things that have made me question him entirely.
Things like bringing me my favourite dessert, covering me up with a blanket and letting me sleep on his couch instead of walking home, and defending me at the dinner table tonight.
I’m relieved no one asked much more about the video, I don’t want to think about it and I certainly don’t want to see it.
I don’t need to. I remember exactly what happened that day.
Not exactly my finest moment, and not one I care to relive.
I think everyone was afraid that if they continued talking about it, they’d have hell to pay.
The thing is, Beck defended me without even knowing what happened. I never told him why I was fired. And maybe he wants to save face, if everyone knew he hired a complete and utter train wreck slash maniac, then how would that reflect on him?
Still, there’s a part of me that wonders if there’s more to it, if Mister Poker Face hasn’t been showing his hand. Not outright, just a reflection in dark glasses.