32. Beck
Beck
Lyla has been suspiciously quiet the whole drive home to Sage Valley.
The first hour she spent with her eyes glued to her phone, but the last hour she stared out the window, not uttering so much as one word even as we passed by the World Famous Gopher Hole Museum. There were no jokes, not even a huffed laugh, nor a hint of a smile.
Something is wrong.
Something is seriously wrong, because if Lyla ever has a problem, she’ll let you know.
Lyla doesn’t hold back her emotions, at least not anymore. She tried for a brief period of time, but over the last few weeks I think I managed to convince Lyla that her ability to feel and communicate her feelings is one of her greatest strengths.
She’s even helped me open up, a feat I never thought anyone would be able to accomplish. I admire her for the way she moves through the world, allowing all of her feelings and experiencing them all.
So, this version of Lyla? Completely shut down and closed off? I don’t fucking like it.
I turn in when we get to Wild Sage, the truck bumping down the gravel driveway. I drive past the main house so I can drop her off closer to the guest house. When I throw the truck in park, neither of us make a move to get out.
“Talk to me, Trouble,” I say evenly. “What’s going on? You’ve been quiet the whole drive home.”
I don’t know what I’m expecting Lyla to say, if I’m expecting her to burst out in tears, or start yelling, but I’m prepared for anything, her whole range of emotions.
I’m not prepared for the way she chews on her bottom lip as a tear rolls down her cheek. Nor am I prepared for the way she refuses to meet my eyeline.
My shoulders drop. This is about me.
“I don’t want to talk about it, Beck.” Her voice quivers with sadness, and something else. Restraint.
She’s speaking as if she’s defusing a bomb, as if all of her focus and concentration is homed in on not exploding. I get it, she’s working on her composure. But I thought our relationship was different. I want her to be fully herself with me. No holding back.
Lyla reaches for the door handle and gets out of the truck, reaching in the bed for her weekend bag. I follow suit so I can catch her before she goes inside, before she closes the door on this and I no longer have a way in.
“What happened?” I ask, reaching out for her, but she pulls back from me, reeling as if my touch physically hurts her. A sharp pang stabs at my chest. I would never do anything to hurt her. “Tell me. What is it?”
She looks up at me with shrink-wrapped eyes. “If I say anything now, Beck. I’m going to get upset and angry, and I won’t be able to take it back.”
“Then get upset. Get fucking angry. I can handle it, Trouble. I can handle you. So if you have something to say to me, let me have it. But don’t, for the love of god, shrink yourself just to make me comfortable. That’s not what we are.”
She rubs her fingers between her brows and lets out a steadying breath, not as if she’s trying to calm herself down, but as if she’s gearing up.
Good. I meant what I said when I told her I wanted all of her.
All the beautiful and wonderful things about Lyla, but all the parts she hides away because she thinks they’re ugly.
They’re not ugly. Nothing about her is.
Lyla is the most stunningly gorgeous woman I have ever met, even when she’s burning like a wildfire, hot and furious.
“Okay, fine. Here it is.” She looks up at me, her eyes like molten amber. “You’re a sell out, Beck.”
Her words hit me like a ton of bricks, leaving me winded and unable to respond. I open and close my mouth a few times but no words come out. She must have seen the text come through this morning. It explains the sudden change in her demeanour.
It’s not what she thinks, but I don’t have a way to explain it that makes it better. The reality is, I was considering selling out. I was thinking about selling all of it, and how much lighter my burden would be if I didn’t have all of this to manage.
“I wanted to know what we could get for it, that’s it,” I explain, but Lyla is already shaking her head, her brows bunched together like she still doesn’t understand, like she’ll never understand.
“It doesn’t matter. Intention is different than impact,” she says, her voice rising and cracking with her mounting emotion.
“I thought you were someone with integrity, that you knew your own mind and weren’t swayed by people’s opinions.
I thought you’d do anything to stand by the people you love.
But even considering selling the ranch? Jesus, Beck. I don’t think I ever knew you at all.”
Tears stream down her face as her chest heaves, and my heart cracks in two.
I would give anything to take it back, to never have entertained the idea of selling the ranch in the first place.
All I want is to reach out to touch her, to hold her, to show her how badly this is breaking me, because words have never come easy for me, and they have never been enough.
I don’t know how to express myself like she can.
“I only reached out to them because you told me to look at every viable option. Selling was a viable option at the time. But it’s not anymore, Lyla and I see that now.”
Lyla looks as if I struck her, a fresh wave of tears flooding her eyes.
“Don’t you dare use my words against me, Beckett Hollis,” she spits my name as if the very words on her tongue have burned her.
“I may say a lot of shit, and a lot of things without thinking, but I always speak from my heart. I say what I mean, and I mean what I say, even if it sounds crazy. In the moment, I will always speak my truth. Right now, my truth is that I feel betrayed, like I’ve had yet another home pulled out from under me.
You and Wild Sage. To think I was just starting to feel like Wild Sage could be it for me. That you could be it.”
Fuck. Her words land like an anvil on my chest, stealing my breath. I knew Lyla was still upset about Austin selling their family home, and I ripped the wound wide open again.
“Lyla–”
“I got the job, Beck,” she says, her voice softening as if she knows the words will already be enough of a blow. “They offered me a job back in the city, and I’m taking it. I’d be stupid not to, and you’d be stupid not to sell off at least some of the land and make a killing.”
“Lyla, please–” I stammer and anger bubbles up in my throat at my goddamn inability to fucking speak.
“I’ll need to put you down as a reference, and I hope that whatever has transpired between us won’t impact your professional opinion of me,” she says in a clipped, almost robotic way that’s unfamiliar to me.
It’s like she’s talking to any other client or boss she’s had in the past, not the man she’s fallen in love with.
I know she feels the same things I do, she said so herself.
I fucking love you too, Bossman.
I grew to like the nickname, it felt like a term of endearment. Now though, I want to erase every time she’s ever said it from my mind if it would prevent her from viewing me as just her boss now.
Based on the set of her jaw, the harsh look in her eyes, I think the only thing that could change her mind is rewriting the past.
“Of course, Lyla. I would never say anything that would reflect poorly,” I say. The thing is, even as Lyla stands here breaking my fucking heart, I don’t have anything bad to say about her. I love her, and I will always love her, even if she can no longer love me back.
“Okay, well, good.” Lyla backs away from me and toward the guest house. “That’s all I have to say, Beck. You got it out of me, all of this messy emotion. Do you feel better now? Because I sure as hell don’t.”
Then she opens the door, and disappears inside.
Shutting me out completely.
I haven't seen Austin anywhere since I got home. Not even as I worked down at the barn finishing up some chores that him and Nash never got around to this weekend.
I was hoping to talk to him, come clean. I figure it’s best to get the fact that I let myself fall in love with his sister off my conscience, whether she still wants to be with me or not.
Being around Austin will be hell for me with this secret between us. I’d never be able to live with myself. But then, there’s also the possibility that his reaction will be even worse now that I’ve not only fallen for her, but I’ve hurt her, too.
My heart drops as I remember the look on her face, the look of hurt and betrayal that crossed her features that I was responsible for. I told myself I’d never be the one to hurt Lyla but more than that, I promised Austin I’d take care of her, too.
I’ve failed at all of it. I’ve failed the ranch, despite all the work Lyla and I have put into it.
I head out to the pasture and click the back of my tongue, calling Willow over to the fence. She trots over, excited to see me, immediately nuzzling the pocket of my denim jacket. I pull out some treats I keep in there for her and she gobbles them up out of the palm of my hand.
“What do you say we go for a ride?” I ask her, even though I know she’s always game for a ride. One that’s just for us, where she can run free.
The sun paints the mountains in sunset colours by the time I get her saddled up, and we ride until it disappears behind the horizon. There isn’t much time between when the sun disappears completely and when darkness falls over the prairies, so I turn her around and head back toward the barn.
Unfortunately, the ride didn’t clear my head the way I hoped it would, or the way riding normally does, and my brain is still a fucking mess by the time I get back and clip Willow up to take off her tack and brush her.
I pick up the curry comb out of the bucket and get to work, still mentally unpacking everything that happened today.
I’m completely lost in thought, which is why I barely notice that Austin has walked in behind me. He doesn’t say anything, which is odd. He goes over to Bandit’s stall, grabs a shovel and starts mucking it out. A little more forcefully than usual, I notice.
I don’t say anything either, because I’m not in a particularly talkative mood, so the silence is welcome. Until Austin kicks over a metal bucket and sends it flying in my direction.
“What the fuck, man!” I say. Willow spooks at noises like that, and she takes an uneasy step forward and nickers. He should know better.
“What the fuck? What the fuck?” Austin is almost shouting now, and when I look up at his face his eyes are shrouded with anger. Anger that I know for certain now is directed at me. “Were you ever going to tell me you’re fucking my sister?”
Shit.
“Might want to be more careful next time you go gallivanting around with Lyla in a neighbouring town. You do realize I have friends outside of Sage Valley, right?”
Double shit.
That weekend was incredible, perfect in every way up until Lyla found that stupid fucking text on my phone. Now every memory of it will be tainted, a reminder of how royally I’ve fucked my life up.
Austin finding out about this not from me is quite possibly the worst way this could have ever gone down. Years of loyalty, of honesty, of brotherhood are swirling down the drain before my very eyes.
“Austin, I can explain,” I say, doing everything I can to keep my tone measured and even.
“I don’t want your explanation. Lyla is and has always been off-limits around here,” Austin spits.
“That’s not even the worst part. Had you come to me first and told me about all this I might have considered it.
But you fucking lied to my face for weeks.
You played it like you were looking out for her, defending her in front of the guys, firing Dylan and all that bullshit.
All because you were the one gunning for her. ”
“That’s not–” I start, but Austin cuts me off, taking a few steps toward me with his pointer finger extended in my direction.
“I can’t believe I ever called you my best friend. My fucking brother.”
His words go straight for the jugular of the impossible standards I hold myself to, and they cut deep. Still, they don’t hurt as much as watching Lyla walk away from me earlier, the uncertainty that I might never get her back.
“I love her, man,” I say, my voice shaking. “I’m in love with her. I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to start shit without really knowing. But I would do anything for Lyla, you know that. All I want is to make her happy.”
Austin’s jaw ticks, the muscle in his cheek flickering. At his side, I notice his hand flexing, curling into a fist and then uncurling.
“What can I do to make this better, Austin? Do you want to punch me? Huh? Fucking punch me. I know you want to.” I point at my cheek, jutting my chin toward him to give him the opening I know he’s looking for.
But Austin doesn’t take the shot. He reaches up and scrubs a hand down his face, shaking his head.
“It’s not even fucking worth it,” he mutters, walking out of the barn and leaving Willow and me standing there alone.