25. Chapter 25
Ihated that my canvas was a mirror. I tried not to meet the eyes of the girl in the reflection. She had a blotchy mask around her red-rimmed eyes, and the light had been snuffed from her irises.
I tried to go through my ritual as much as possible. I knotted my hair in its same low bun. I shuffled the same playlist I always used for calligraphy projects. I tried to trick my mind. It’s just me doing another project.
But it was no use. Everything had changed.
The only good thing about this heartbreak was that I didn’t have the bandwidth for nervous energy. What was the worst that could happen? Misspell a name? Omit a table? Not write perfect h’s?
None of that mattered. Not when my heart had been torn like wet paper and then left in my chest to mold.
An hour into lettering, my phone rang. My fingers ached for a break, but I scowled when I saw Wesley’s name on the screen. I answered, shouldering it so I could roll some relief into my wrists.
“Hello?” My swollen, waterlogged sinuses made it sound as though I’d caught a cold.
Thankfully, Wesley either couldn’t hear the difference between my regular voice and my I’ve-been-ugly-crying-since-sunrise voice, or he simply didn’t care. “Emily, I saw you were able to get some of the reconfigurations done that I asked for. Thank you for taking the initiative.”
Okay, off to a good start. Maybe he’ll let me keep my job. Or, at least, let me come on with the janitorial staff. I could scrub toilets if it meant I didn’t have to sleep in my Prius.
“Sure,” I said, “no problem.”
“I also wanted to see if you could head a Zoom meeting with a team from corporate so we can start process modeling on the newest project.”
“Today?” I asked. My mind felt less like a brain and more like two marbles, a paper clip, and half a stick of gum. I pulled back to look at the time. It was four thirty-three already. “When?”
“At five.” He seemed unbothered by the idea of giving me twenty-seven minutes to prep for a meeting I didn’t know about until now. I eyed the mirror. I’d only completed a quarter of it.
“Wait.” My mind reeled. If he wanted me to lead a meeting for an upcoming project . . .“So, I’m not . . . fired?”
“God, no.” He said it as though our last conversation wasn’t about insubordination and how he’d practically have to sacrifice his firstborn to keep us on board.
“What about the forms? HR hasn’t sent me anything over.”
“Surely Beck has spoken to you.”
The strained silence served as an answer.
“Uh-oh. Trouble in paradise?” He chuckled, then stopped abruptly. “Beck quit this morning. I tried to talk him out of it, but he wouldn’t listen.”
Wesley kept talking, but I couldn’t make sense of the words he’d strung together. Beck had quit?
For me?
Or to get away from me?
Both scenarios had my heart cinching painfully again.
“Anyway,” Wesley said, “this is good news for you. You’ll be taking over his role as a senior analyst.”
I waited for his words to conjure a spark of happiness, a mote of excitement. But nothing came. This future seemed colorless in comparison to what I’d had: practicing calligraphy and being with Beck. This was the keto version of the dessert I really wanted.
I couldn’t go back. Not to Emily Lane’s old life, where I worked all the joy out of my day and didn’t allow time for anything else. How could I, after I’d had a sample of what my life could be?
“That role should have been mine from the beginning,” I said, surprising myself with the levelness in my tone.
Wesley scoffed. “Yes, well. A good deal of politics goes into hiring,” he said, a mean edge to his voice. “Be glad you don’t have to deal with that side of things.”
The grass isn’t always greener . . . a small voice tried to warn me.
Fuck that.
“I won’t be dealing with any side of The Arlow Group. I’ll put in my official two weeks when I return on Monday.”
“Emily, let’s be reasonable.” He sounded panicked. “I can’t lose you too.”
“Sorry. I’ve got the rest of my troubled paradise to enjoy.”
I hung up, feeling like Genie when Aladdin finally wished for his freedom. Before the cuffs of Excel barely had time to hit the floor, I was out the door.
I needed to find Beck. Maybe I was bold. Maybe I could be the girl he thought I was.
Just as Victoria had said, Beck either wasn’t in the suite, or he wasn’t answering the door. He also didn’t answer his phone, but I came prepared. I took out the stationery and pen I’d taken from the lobby. Using the wall as a desk, I wrote my note:
Beck,
I really need to talk to you. I’ll be in the Sunset conference room until about seven tonight.
-Emily
I slipped the note under his door, releasing it like a dandelion wish.
I finished the last name on the mirror with a sigh of relief. Then I sat back on my haunches, feeling a full thirty seconds of triumph before looking at the time: eight minutes past seven.
Beck wasn’t coming. Of course, he wasn’t.
I used my phone’s remaining four percent battery life to secure an Uber for the three-hour trip back to my motel in San Jose. Numb legs moved me to the door. A numb mouth made small talk with the driver. Numb fingers unlocked the room at the motel. A numb heart refused to acknowledge what I’d done, what I’d lost.
Feeling gross from hours of travel, crying, and the marker on my hands, I turned on the faucet for a steamy shower, hoping to scourge the day from my skin.
But with the heat of the drops, in the solitude of the shower, my feelings began to wake back up—prickling and then sharpening.
My own words echoed in my mind. I don’t feel like myself when I’m with you.
I hurt him. Beck. The same guy who’d made a playlist because of me. The one who brought me dinner when I’d been overwhelmed with work.
And then I thought about his tight grip when we danced. That freckle on his throat. His curls. Those sleepy eyes. How he let me cry on his shoulder during a rainforest hike. The way he slipped out every Thursday to secretly teach babies how to swim.
He was a good guy. A great guy. And I’d hurt him. I couldn’t get that last look he’d given me out of my head—like I’d ripped his heart out and stomped on it.
I could relate. Every thought of him wrenched my heart tighter still. Until I cried so hard I gasped for breath. I didn’t know how I would ever laugh or even smile again—knowing I hurt him so deeply. That I’d hurt Beck, the guy who believed in me enough to lie to his sister, the one who’d scraped his knees to keep me from hitting the ground.
I sank to the floor, hugging my legs. There I stayed, sobbing long after the water had started running cold.
It wasn’t until I pulled on clothes that I heard the voices outside. I leaned my head against the door, straining to hear what the ruckus was about. They spoke in Spanish, and it didn’t seem to be any kind of emergency, only voices of irritation.
I leaned back, ready to crawl into bed, when someone responded in English.
“I know, I’m very sorry. Lo lamento.” I knew that deep voice. My fingers fumbled on the lock as I rushed to free the chain. “I’m sorry. I’m just looking for—” I swung the door open as Beck lifted his hand to knock on a door a couple down from mine. “Someone.”
His features relaxed into relief when his eyes met mine.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, not because I wasn’t happy to see him but because my mind was working to catch up with Beck standing right in front of me.
He took a step forward and paused. Beneath the yellow lamplight of that stale motel, I could read the conflict there. It was in the crease between his eyebrows, the slight pucker of his lips. Even conflict looked good on him.
“I got your note,” he said, holding the scrap of paper as proof. “I’m sorry I didn’t make it to you in time. I was at dinner with my dad and didn’t return until after you left. I tried to call you, but—”
“My phone died,” I cut in, wanting him to know I hadn’t purposefully ignored his calls.
He swallowed. “Victoria told me where you were staying, but she didn’t know the room number,” he said, indicating the door he’d been about to knock at.
I eyed the long line of doors behind him and wondered how many he’d already knocked on.
“It’s a three-hour drive. Why would you do that?” I asked, tears already blurring my vision of Beck. “And why were you at dinner with your dad? Were you asking him for a job?” Beck just looked at me, those intense eyes trying to read me through my questions and emotions. “I know you quit The Arlow Group.” My voice trembled as I answered for him. “But you can’t work for your dad. You told me that.”
He shrugged. “We’re going to make it work.”
“You didn’t have to quit,” I insisted.
“I told you I’d take care of you,” he said. Those words cracked me open.
“But—” I exhaled because vocalizing it was hard. “I hurt you.”
His jaw set, and he looked down. “That doesn’t change how I feel about you.”
I stepped toward him, unable to stand that forlorn look on his face. “Beck,” I rasped, “I am so sorry. But you have to understand. I saw you and Reagan.”
He straightened at that, his eyes meeting mine again. “She kissed me, Emily,” he stated matter-of-factly, not a hint of defensiveness in his tone. “I told her I wasn’t interested.”
“I know now. Victoria said as much.”
“I came up to tell you what happened right away, but you were already packing your bags.” His eyes softened. “You really thought I would do that to you? After we’ve both been cheated on?”
I couldn’t look him in the eyes while mustering the courage to say all that had been running through my mind. “Are we even something that can be cheated on?”
The question seemed to wound him further. “We hadn’t put a title on it, but I thought we were . . . something.”
“Beck—”
“You don’t have to explain yourself.” He put out a hand. “I didn’t come here to try and convince you to get back with me. I never got a chance to apologize for making you feel like someone you’re not. So, I’m sorry.” And he looked the very picture of remorse. “I was trying to be encouraging, but I missed the mark. I never meant to pressure you to be someone you aren’t. That’s the last thing I want for you. I just needed you to know that.” He gave me the saddest smile as he backed away. “Night, Lane.”
He turned, but my voice made him freeze. “Beck, stop!” Panic gripped me. I couldn’t let him go. What if I never saw him again? The idea carved a hole in my already worn heart. “If I don’t feel like myself with you, it’s because I’m more competitive.” I laughed wetly, thinking of our days in the pool and at the office. “I’m bolder. Happier.” He turned back around, and his eyes were a physical weight on me. “You make me feel like a more vibrant version of myself.” I was prattling, but I couldn’t stop. My feelings were tripping over themselves on the way to my mouth, all of them desperate to be heard. “I’ve been terrified my life will spin out of control if I don’t have a tight enough grip on it, but I’ve realized I’d rather lose control than lose you because . . .” I wet my lips nervously. “Because I love you, too.”
“You love me?” he said, breathless—like I’d knocked the wind out of him.
“I know it’s unfair for me to say that after—”
Beck stopped my words by erasing the distance between us. His hands slid to the back of my head, pulling my mouth to his. He kissed me as though his lips could chase away all the hurt.
Someone in the parking lot slammed their door, reminding us we weren’t alone. Beck backed me into the door, lips still on mine. He snaked a hand around my waist to twist the handle then swung us inside. The door clinked shut, and Beck pressed me to it. He braced one of his hands against the door and slid the other across my hip. I sighed, letting myself melt into him.
He kissed along my jaw and then down my neck, only to bury his face there. He took a long inhale before speaking. “I’m glad you feel all those things with me. But one day, I hope I’ll make you feel safe too,” he said tenderly, then placed the softest kiss on my collarbone. “Because all I ever want to do is take care of you.” He planted another kiss on the bridge of my nose before looking back into my eyes. “I hate that this trip has ruined that image for you.”
I immediately thought of him pulling me out of a snake’s path, letting me cry on his shoulder, skinning his knees to catch me, and holding my hand in a hospital. The memories came tumbling forward all at once. I shook my head. “Beck, no—”
“I hate that you’ll be going back to The Arlow Group with Wesley knowing about us,” he continued. “That I talked you into lying to him.”
I smiled. “Luckily, I’ll only be there for another two weeks.” Beck had gone to move a strand of hair behind my ear, but his hand fell to my shoulder at that. He pulled back, eyebrows drawn as if he thought he hadn’t heard me correctly. “I quit too.” I laughed, delighted to have shocked him. “I’m going to give calligraphy a real chance. Maybe we can even salvage what Hailey started with Lettering Lane.”
The sight of Beck’s smile, reaching all the way up to his eyes, seized my heart. “Emily Lane, you amaze me.”
Then his mouth was back on mine as he lifted me. I wrapped my legs around his waist, squeezing him tight. The rest of the world dissolved, like sugar on the tongue.