Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
BECK
Someone's banging on the front door. I shoot out of bed and stumble down the stairs. I pull the door open to find Uncle Paul. He stares down at me and taps his watch.
“Time’s up, Beckett.”
The wind is knocked out of me. I can’t breathe. I thought I had another two and a half months. No way do I have the money to buy him out. He’ll sell his share, and then we’re fucked.
He taps his watch again, and I hear it. A bell clanging. Like a timer going off. Like—
I bolt up in bed. It’s my phone. I blink at the screen with my heart practically at my tonsils. But when I see Hattie’s smile across the screen, the vital organ lands right back where it belongs.
It’s 12:24 a.m. I still have two-and-a-half months. And my girl is calling.
“Thank fucking God.” I swipe the screen and put the phone to my ear. Blaring music replaces the ringing. “Hattie? You okay?”
Before she even responds, I remember it’s her sister’s bachelorette party.
“Hey Beck… I’m sssposed to ask you a question?” Her words are like untied shoelaces. I grin. My girl is drunk. She told me she didn’t like alcohol, but she must’ve made an exception for the party.
“What question, honey?” I flop back onto the pillow, knowing a drunk dial from Hattie will be way more fun than sleeping, given my fucked-up dreams.
“You sssay… you can sssay no. And you don’t… you don’t even neeeed a suit. That’sss ssstupid. You can say no… Say no, okay?”
Nearby but almost inaudible over the music, I hear another female voice. “Don’t tell him to say no. Just ask him.”
“Ssssh! Mar-ga-ret—” She turns her sister’s name into three clunky syllables. “Beck’s my boyfrien… boyfriend… Don’t inter… interfere.”
She sounds a little ticked. And possessive. My smile is almost feral.
“Do you wan—” She hiccups. “Do you want… to be my… my date… for the wedding? You have a farm to… farm… so you don’t have to—”
“Yes.” Who cares if it’s a few hours I won’t be on the harvester or in the distillery? This is the first time Hattie’s asked me out, and I’ll be damned if I’d turn her down. I’d never turn her down. “Hell, yes, I’ll be your date for the wedding.”
She sucks in a gasp. “Really? You’d… you’d do that?” Her voice shifts to a hissed whisper, but it might even be louder than her speaking voice. “It’s going to be sooo bor—” Another hiccup. “Boring.”
“It will not be boring!” I’m guessing that’s Margaret. “It’ll be a blast. THE BEST WEDDING EVER!” A cascade of screams and whoops blare over the phone.
“‘Ssso loud in here…”
I’m cracking up. “Hattie, sweetheart, what have you been drinking?”
“Nothing but water—” Hiccup.
Every muscle in my body locks. “Wait. What?” If she hasn’t been drinking, then she’s been roofied. “No alcohol?”
She blows a raspberry. “Did you know… that Jello can make you d-drunk?”
Oh, thank Christ.
“You, um, you had some Jello shots?” If she were sober, she’d be able to hear my smile.
“Yep. Three… Wait… no… four. Tasted like strawberries.”
“Four?” Jesus.
“No more than five… I think. Iss like… like the gummies all ov-over again.”
Now I’m laughing but shaking my head. “Honey, those are gonna plow you under.”
“Oh, I’m… I’m plowed.”
She is the cutest fucking thing. The best fucking thing. Five shots in and she’s rescuing me from my nightmares.
I want her in my arms right now.
“You okay?”
I know she’s in safe hands with her sister and the whole bridal party. But her limit’s gotta be different from theirs.
“Hmm… Just wish the floor would stop… rolling.”
“Where are you?”
I hear her lick her lips. And I know. I just know. She’s gonna be sick.
I throw off the covers and grab my jeans.
“The… The… Goose…” I hear her pull away from the phone. “Marg… Margaret… What bird is it?”
Bird?
Judging by the snatches of conversation I hear on the other side of the line, Hattie’s sister is just as confused as I am. Pinching the phone between my ear and shoulder, I drag on my jeans.
“What bird is this room?”
“The Grouse Room,” Margaret and I say at the same time. The club is downtown on Jefferson Street.
Hattie moans a little. “‘Sss about to be… The Gross Room.” She snorts a laugh that turns into another moan. “Think I’m gonna throw up…”
Scuffling sounds and concerned voices warble over the phone. I pluck my discarded shirt off the foot of the bed and step into my boots.
“Hello? Beck?” I’m pretty sure this is Margaret. “You there?”
“I’m here. And I can be there in fifteen minutes.”
“A-are you sure? Hattie just ran to the bathroom. She’s never been drunk—This is my fault.”
I snatch my keys off the dresser and try to take the stairs lightly.
“It’s a bachelorette party.” I keep my voice low so I won’t wake Pop. “If this is the first time she gets drunk, it’s a pretty good reason, right?”
“I-I guess.” She still sounds worried. “But we can take her home. You shouldn’t have to come all the way out here in the middle of the night. Hattie says y—”
“I’m coming because I want to.” Another understatement. Getting really good at those.
I want to be the one Hattie calls when she needs a ride home. I want to be the one to make sure she’s safe.
No way in hell I’d rather someone else do it.
“You just hold her hair back until I show, and I’ll take it from there.” I shut the front door behind me as quietly as possible.
Margaret snorts. “The last thing she wants is me touching her right now.”
That tracks.
“Fair. Then just make sure she’s safe until I get there.”
Margaret doesn’t say anything at first.
“And… how do I know she’ll be safe after you get her?”
I stop dead two strides from my truck.
The moon is full and high, spotlighting me in the night. The crisp air brushes my hands, my neck, my ears. A breeze scrapes through dry leaves in the pecan trees.
And as certain as I am that I stand under the moon on a cool, fall night, I know down to my core that I would never harm Hattie Mercier.
“I’d step in front of a bus before I’d hurt her,” I say, and damn. Saying it? Meaning it? Easiest thing in the world. “And, honestly Margaret, if you hadn’t asked, I’d be concerned.”
Even over the noise in the club, I think I hear Margaret suck in her breath.
“I’ll be there in fifteen.”
“W-we’ll be outside.”
And when I pull up twelve minutes later, they are. Hattie, with her forehead pressed to the green cast iron streetlamp out front, is flanked by two women. And Margaret—the one with the costume shop bridal veil—hovers close but doesn’t touch Hattie.
I double park and swing out of my truck, eyes on my girl.
“Hey, party animal,” I tease gently, stepping close. I want to pull her into my arms, but I wait for her signal.
She lifts her head from the streetlamp, tilts back a little too far, over-corrects, and then crashes into my chest.
I wrap her up tight. “Gotcha.”
“Good… catch,” she mutters into my collar, swaying slightly. But I’m not letting her go anywhere.
I make eye contact with Margaret over Hattie’s head. I see the family resemblance. Don’t get me wrong, Margaret is pretty. She’s beautiful. But if she’s a work of art painted in watercolors, Hattie is the masterpiece in oils. Her beauty deeper, richer. More substantial.
Clutching my girl to me in one arm, I offer my free hand to her sister.
“Beck Olivier.”
Margaret gives me her hand and we shake. “Margaret Mercier,” she says and then smiles. “Soon to be Milton.”
“So I’ve heard,” I say, grinning. “Looking forward to it.”
“Glad you’ll be able to join us.”
“Eve… even though it’ll be—” Hattie hiccups. “Boring.”
Margaret rolls her eyes while the woman behind her laughs and shakes her head.
“Beck, this is my friend Camille.”
I nod at her.
“Need us to help you get her into your truck?” Camille asks.
And rob me of the chance to hold Hattie?
“No, thanks. I got her.”
“He’s real ssstrong,” Hattie mutters. She lists into me, and I know if I weren’t holding her up, she’d be on the pavement.
Margaret frowns at her sister and bites her lip. “You sure you’ve got this?” she asks, her voice dropping. “We can call it a night. I—”
“I’ve got this. I promise.” I nod toward the club. “Go back inside with the rest of your crew. You only get one bachelorette party, right?”
A smile softens her face. “It’ll just be the one for me.”
Hattie has told me all about Margaret and her fiancé Merrick. She’s made it clear they are her heroes. That they are completely devoted to each other. This is Margaret’s one and only bachelorette party. She should get back to it.
I nod, smiling. “We’ll hit a convenience store to get some electrolytes in her system, then I’ll get her home.”
“Good idea.” Then Margaret holds out her hand. “Give me your phone. I’ll program my number. You can text me when she’s home.”
I don’t hesitate. Whatever makes Margaret feel comfortable trusting me with her sister. Her phone pings as she hands mine back. She checks the screen and nods with satisfaction.
“Make sure you text me within the next thirty minutes. Got it?” And even though her words are softly spoken, there’s a firmness to them I don’t miss.
“Got it.” I pocket my phone and kiss the top of Hattie’s head. “Ready, Hattie?”
She nods, mumbling a slurred “Yesh” against my chest.
I get her into the truck and buckled in, glad the traffic on Jefferson is light and the cars that have pulled up behind me have been able to go around. Margaret and her friend watch us the whole time.
When I get behind the wheel and put the truck in gear, I wave, and I’d bet money they stand outside until my taillights disappear.
“Honey, where do you live?” I make a right onto Garfield Street and head for the Circle K on University.
Hattie mutters something I don’t catch.
“What’d you say?”
She leans against the passenger side door and groans.
“Do you need to be sick again?” I ask gently, signaling to pull over just in case.
“No… Juss… don’t wanna… go home.”
I kill my blinker. “You don’t?”
She moans again. “My mom… will… freak—”
“Then come home with me.” I don’t give it a second thought. “I’ll take care of you.”