Chapter 23
Beckham
Ellerystares up at me. Her resolve is wavering. I know she wants to believe me, but her walls are back up and twice as strong.
“You said that once before,” she says quietly. “That you weren’t going anywhere.”
I told Hawk that words wouldn’t be enough. I was right.
“Tell me how to trust you again,” she pleads, “because—god help me—I want to. But, how do I know these aren’t just more pretty lies?”
The sharp pain in her voice slices right through me. She’s right, after all. I did do that. I said those same words to her, only to turn around and take them back. So instead of arguing or pleading my case, I take her hands in mine and squeeze them gently. I take a moment to enjoy the feel of her skin against mine, especially after thinking I would never get to be this close to her again.
Then I surprise her with a question of my own.
“Will you let me show you something?” I ask.
She blinks in confusion. “I—what?”
Taking a deep breath, I continue, “There’s something I’ve been working on. A project. One I’d like you to see, if… well, if you let me show you.”
Her brows furrow. “A project.”
“Yes. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I promise it will make sense.”
If anything will show her what she means to me, this one thing will. I hold my breath, hopeful—until she starts to shake her head. What little optimism I’ve been clinging to dies.
Her lips part.
I brace myself for the rejection.
Then she surprises me with, “Okay.”
“Okay?”
She nods. “Okay. Yes, I’ll go with you.” This time, she is the one squeezing my hands, letting me know this is real. “I have no earthly clue what’s going on, but you have officially piqued my curiosity.”
“Okay.” Fuck. I sound like a broken record.
But she agreed. She said yes. And right now she is watching me with something like hope in her eyes. That hope spurs me into action. Not wanting to give her any time to change her mind, I hold her hand securely in my own and tug her along behind me, leading us through the house, out the front door, and toward my SUV like a bat out of hell.
Her surprised laughter carries in the breeze. The musical sound thaws some of that icy fear that has been choking me for days.
As soon as we are both settled in our seats, I take off toward home.
“So,” she says after a minute or two, “are you going to tell me anything?”
“No. It’s, uh…” I cringe slightly, then push on. “It’s a surprise.”
When I look over at her, she has gone rigid. She is staring down at her hands, and I know she is thinking of the last time I said those words. Part of me worries I will be paying for my mistakes for the rest of our lives.
My hand reaches for hers over the middle console. Threading our fingers together, I say her name softly, then wait for her to look up. “Stay here with me, okay?” I ask. “Please. I only meant that it’s better to show you.”
Her breath comes out in a rush. Then she nods.
We finish the rest of the drive in silence.
I feel Ellery’s eyes on me when I direct us through the Briar Patch entrance, then again when we pass the turn that would take us to Simon’s house. When we finally reach my driveway and I put the SUV into park, I turn to find her watching me in confusion.
“Uh, Beckham?” she asks, glancing at the house and back again. “Hate to tell you, but I’ve been here before.”
“True.” My lips curve into a rueful smile. “But I’ve made a few changes since then.”
I get out of the vehicle and round the hood. Once I’ve opened the passenger-side door, Ellery slides out and takes my hand. Together, we walk up the steps and onto the wraparound porch.
Moment of truth.
After I unlock the door, I hold it open to let her through first. Then I follow behind. She slowly starts to walk around the main living space. Most of the changes I made out here are small. While her keen artistic eye takes everything in, I stay out of the way, content to just watch her. All the while, I am hoping that she picks up on the things I want her to see.
Only moments later, her gaze snags on a gallery wall of photos I put up over the living room couch. I hear her sharp intake of breath. She stops in front of the myriad of frames, taking time to slowly peruse each photograph.
“You always loved the photo wall at Simon’s house. The ones your parents put up.” I shift awkwardly from one foot to the other. “I wanted to put something like that in here.”
“These are all pictures of us,” she breathes.
They are. I had prints made of some of the photos we took on our phones from that weekend in Hilton Head. One photo has us standing arm-in-arm on the beach. Another one is just her, dancing in front of a bonfire in that coverup that drove me crazy. Yet another photo shows us snuggled up together on the back porch of the beach house.
I included plenty of other imagery, too. Some of them are candid shots of Ellery, Simon, and me as kids. Others are family portraits, ones John and Sara insisted I take part in (even before I moved in with them). There are snapshots of fishing on Lily Pond, celebrating birthdays, or any other of the hundreds of memories I hold close to my heart.
Quietly I step up to her side. She has one hand in front of her mouth and a sheen of wetness in her eyes. Her gaze is glued to one family portrait in particular, where the two of us—seventeen and eleven—are hanging off each other wearing goofy expressions. Sara and John are laughing in the back while Simon stands next to us, fully clothed, soaking wet, looking extremely put out.
With a gentle nudge to her shoulder, I say, “There’s more.”
She blinks up at me in a daze. Then she nods.
Taking her free hand in mine, I lead us over to an alcove on the lake side of the house. This space has been transformed into a cozy reading nook. One massive window overlooks the water and is framed on either side with inset, floor-to-ceiling shelves. Underneath, I constructed a built-in window seat. One of those deep-set, thick-cushioned ones that are big enough to sleep in and covered in throw pillows in colors and patterns I had a feeling she would like.
Just as she starts looking at the display of books, she realizes what I wanted her to see. With a gasp, she says, “Th-these are all my favorites! Wizard of Oz… Little Women… Grimm’s Fairy Tales…” She lovingly glides her fingers along each book”s spine. “Beckham, these are amazing.”
“I wanted to make sure you have plenty of material,” I say with a shrug. “If you ever wanted to read in here, I mean.”
“What is all this?” she asks.
Instead of answering, I clear my throat and then tilt my head toward the back of the house. “There’s more.”
“More?” she echoes in disbelief.
“I have one last thing to show you. The most important thing.”
Even though she is obviously on sensory overload, she lets me take her hand again. Together, we walk toward a closed door near the reading nook. Then I stop.
Motioning her inside, I say, “Go on ahead. I’m right behind you.”
After a moment’s hesitation, she turns the knob and steps over the threshold. Her gasp is loud enough that my pulse ratchets up in response. Good or bad, I’m not sure.
Following Ellery inside, I close the door behind us. While I wait, I watch her closely, wanting to catch every reaction she has to the art studio I built just for her.
“This spot has the best lighting in the house,” I mention when she stays silent. “I thought about making it a sunroom in the beginning, but… I think it was always meant to be this.”
Her back is to me while she explores a large easel that is set up facing the floor-to-ceiling windows. She stops for a moment to enjoy the view of the lake outside. One wall is completely covered in shelves to store art supplies—I made sure to include her favorites there, too—and space for drying wet canvases.
Everything is light and airy, with neutral colors except for some artwork on the walls. I stayed minimal, not wanting to detract from the room’s purpose, and not wanting anything to be a distraction. The art I chose to display shares the same theme as the other surprises.
They are all her favorites.
“Monet’s Water Lilies,” she murmurs. “Van Gogh’s Almond Blossom. Degas. O’Keefe.”
“Lena helped a lot with the artwork.”
“Are those—” She stutters to a stop in front of several frames. “Are those my sketches?”
Yeah, I may have asked Lena to borrow Ellery’s sketchbook for me. I made copies of the sketches I loved most or ones that Lena told me were Ellery’s favorites. But she is too talented, and there were too damn many to fit on the available wall space. I was forced to narrow them down before having each sketch professionally matted and framed.
I only hope I picked the right ones.
Ellery quickly turns away from me, facing the windows so I cannot see her face. She has gone completely still. Her hands are fisted at her sides. Cautiously, I close the distance between us, stepping up behind her.
“Elle?” I ask uncertainly.
Her silence is the only answer I get.
Shit. I need to say something to salvage this. “I, uh, I just wanted you to have a space of your own to create. Somewhere to inspire you.”
“W-why?” Her voice comes out in a croak.
“Because I want you in my life, now and forever.” I run a hand through my hair and pause, wanting to make sure I choose the right words to say next. “I knew I needed to show you that I mean it. The best way I could think to prove myself was to make you a permanent part of this place. Especially since you already have a permanent place in my heart.”
She is hunched forward, arms wrapping tightly around herself.
“Please say something,” I beg.
Then her shoulders start to shake.
Alarmed, I reach out. But she is already moving, whirling around and launching herself into my arms. She buries her face into my chest. Sobs start to wrack her body. I feel them like a hot poker to the chest. Her arms cling to my neck while my arms wrap around her waist, tethering her to me while she releases all that festering emotion.
It takes a while for the storm to calm. When it does, she slowly untangles herself from me and slides back down to the ground. I reach up to wipe away the tears drying on her cheeks. She stares up at me, blinking away the remnants.
Her face is puffy, her eyes are bloodshot, and her nose is bright red.
And she is still the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.
“I-I love you,” she stammers. “S-so much.”
Her voice is still wobbly from crying, but the words are clear. They wrap around me like silk bindings, soft but strong, and my heart clenches so hard in relief that it takes me a moment to find my breath. When I do, it comes out as a sigh of relief.
Ellery lifts her hands to my face, pressing her palms against my cheeks, and I lean into the welcome pressure. I cover her hands with my own, not wanting to lose this connection. My eyes drift closed. When I open them again, I hope she can see the love shining in their depths.
“Ellery Brooks,” I say with conviction, “you are the love of my life.”
Her answering smile lights up even the deepest, darkest parts of me.
Gathering her up into my arms, I move us into the living room. Once I reach the couch, I lower myself onto the cushions with her in my arms. She repositions herself on my lap so we are eye-to-eye.
For a moment, I just stare down at her face—an imperfectly perfect work of art. Sunlight dances in her hazel eyes. I want to press my lips to each freckle dotting her nose and cheeks. I take a moment to breathe her in, a scent that is a little bit sweet, a little bit spicy, and all her own. My desire to taste her, to mark her, is starting to drive me to distraction.
“This is happening?” I ask. Part of me is worried that I’ll wake up, and this will all have been a dream.
“Yeah. I guess it is.” The pure joy on her face is a balm that soothes the hurt of these past several days.
Suddenly I remember something else I need to tell her. I brace myself, then say, “I talked to Simon.”
Her eyes flare. “You did? What did he say?”
“He said he’s happy for us.” My face breaks into a wide grin and Ellery looks a bit awestruck. “He also thinks we’re good for each other.”
She shakes her head in disbelief. Then, suddenly, she tips it back and laughs. I quickly join in, and it takes a minute for us both to calm back down. “About damn time,” she says cheekily. Then she snuggles into my front and starts to play with the fabric of my shirt.
The absolute rightness of this moment settles over me like a warm blanket.
Mine.
That tiny word, full of possession, hits me right in the solar plexus.
Ellery is mine. Every single inch of her, inside and out is mine. All her dreams, her fears. Every laugh. I crave it all. Even the tears, so long as they aren’t caused by me. So long as I am the one who dries them.
And I am hers. She owns me completely, body and soul. At one time, that realization would have scared the shit out of me. I wanted nothing to do with love. I wasn’t that sort of man, the wine and roses type, or one who dances underneath the stars.
Not until her.
When Ellery looks up at me like she is right now, full of trust, desire, and joy, I know that I can be that man. I want to be that man. And I am happy to spend the rest of our lives proving it.