Chapter 14
With my second cup of steaming coffee in my hands, I curl up in the armchair next to the front window, my eyes falling to the stack of boxes against the wall.
I knew it was a bad idea to box everything up when I first found the treasures in the crawl space, but I needed to dedicate time to truly go through everything. This was our family history. Journals, letters, and mementos from people long gone.
Going through everything while renovating meant something wasn’t going to get the attention it deserved, and Mark was already frustrated with how long the rebuild was projected to take.
Boxing everything up was the only smart choice, but five months later and outside of moving the boxes into the house, I haven’t touched them.
Standing from the chair, I make my way to the stack, gently setting my cup on top of a box. My heart rate picks up as I pull a box open and I can’t understand why.
Maybe that’s not entirely true. History has always been the one subject to grab my attention and hold it, but to have the chance not to learn just about history, but one that directly impacts me and my life is a whole new ballgame, one I can’t wait to enter.
The chime of my phone from the coffee table startles me, making me jump. I glance over my shoulder, deciding if it can wait or needs my attention immediately.
If I were anyone else I’d let it sit, but I’m not anyone else and it’s possible there’s a problem on the property or with one of the guests.
Grabbing my coffee, I move away from the boxes and take my place back on the armchair by the front window.
Aiden
I hear you aren’t coming to dinner tonight and you didn’t go for your run this morning. What’s wrong?
I roll my eyes at the text in our sibling group chat and contemplate ignoring it, but knowing my brother, he’ll be at my door demanding answers if I don’t respond soon.
Nothing’s wrong…how do you know I didn’t go for a run?
It’s been months since I’ve missed a morning run and I was already regretting it, but the exhaustion finally caught up with me.
Not only did I miss my alarm and sleep until sunrise, but I laid in bed for almost an hour after I woke up. It’s now almost ten o’clock and I’m still in my pajamas, lounging around the house. Something I haven’t done since I was in high school and even then it was a rare occurrence.
The regret about bailing on dinner tonight is a different story.
I couldn’t even blame my mom for it. I expected a guilt trip from her, but all I got was a liked message and response from her telling me to feel better.
Maybe what I really should have expected was that she’d pull my brother into it.
The master of finding out everyone’s secrets.
Wyatt
Come on, Mads. Aiden knows everything. Haven’t you learned that by now?
Aiden
I had coffee with Beckett this morning and never saw you.
You were next door and didn’t stop by?
My eyes immediately move to the window, wondering why he’d miss his Sunday morning with Jackson to have coffee with Beckett.
There are a lot of valid reasons Aiden doesn’t let people into his circle. Things I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. For Aiden to pick someone over his limited time with Jackson is big. It’s something he only does for work. Which makes me wonder, was coffee this morning personal or professional?
Wyatt
Yeah, dude. That’s not cool.
Aiden
I had a callout. Didn’t have time.
Wyatt
Wait. Why were you having coffee with Beckett?
I’ll never admit it to him, but I’m glad Wyatt asks the question, because I’m desperate to know the answer and I’ll never hear the end of it if I do.
Aiden
What? I’m not allowed to have friends.
Wyatt
Oh, buddy. If you could have heard the noise that just came out of my mouth. If I’d taken that sip of coffee…it would have been the perfect spit take.
My oldest brother has a heart of gold, one he keeps locked up tight in a fortress built with layers and layers of scarred walls. A fortress he tries valiantly to keep everyone except his son out of.
There was a time Aiden was the friendliest one out of all of us.
He’s always been the smart one and the responsible one, but he knew how to have fun and was a friend to everyone he met.
It’s not that I don’t understand why he changed, but I wish he could see past all the scary parts and remember what a joy life can be.
If not just for himself, then for his son who’s already been through more than any three-year-old should.
Aiden
Beckett’s a massive celebrity living next door to our sister. You think I’m not going to keep an eye on him?
Wyatt
He’s Ryan’s best friend. You think Ryan would be friends with someone who’d hurt our sister?
All right. Let’s move on. I’m more than capable of taking care of myself, but I appreciate the concern.
Aiden
You still haven’t said why you’re missing dinner and didn’t go on your run.
I’d be shocked if there isn’t more behind Aiden’s easy subject change, but I know my brother and unless he’s ready to share his secrets, they’ll never be revealed.
My eyes move back up to the stack of boxes and I decide to give him some of the truth.
I’m finally taking everyone’s advice and taking a day for myself. The only reason I step out of the house today is to spend time with Meadow and Oakley. Otherwise, it’s 100% me time.
Wyatt
GO MADS!
I’m proud of you!
Aiden
Well, I’m not gonna argue with that. Love you, sis.
Surrounded by dozens of journals from women long gone, I don’t hear the thunk of the screen door falling shut or the sound of footsteps on the hardwood floor. It’s the weight of a hand on my shoulder that finally pulls my attention from the words in front of me.
It’s reflex that has me grabbing the hand and twisting with all my might. From my seated position on the ground, I don’t have enough leverage to do any real harm, and I’m grateful for that when I finally see who it is.
“Oh god.” I release my grip and jump up, spinning to see him better. “I’m so sorry, Beckett.”
“It’s fine,” he releases on a gasp. “Geez, you’ve got a good grip.” His chuckle is forced and when he winces as he probes at his hand, I worry I’ve caused serious harm.
“I-I didn’t…” I stumble over my words having no idea what I want to say.
His hands are his livelihood. I’ll never forgive myself if I hurt him.
“Madison, it’s my own fault.” His hand comes to rest on my bicep, squeezing lightly while his eyes stay trained on mine before he continues. “I shouldn’t have touched you without making sure you heard me.”
His words are so sincere, as if he’s taking full responsibility for the fact I just hurt him.
“I was so focused—”
“I know.” His hand falls from my arm and this time there’s a glint in his eyes to accompany the laugh.
The way my shoulders instantly fall with relief would be comical in any other situation.
“I called your name a few times when I realized you were here and not at your parents for dinner. I thought that was a weekly thing?”
My eyes move over Beckett, wanting to make sure he’s truly okay before responding. “It is. I decided to take the day for myself.”
His brows shoot up. There should probably be some bigger emotion coursing through me at the idea this man who’s known me for less than two weeks understands how big my statement is. But all I feel is comfort.
“Good for you,” he mutters. “I don’t think I’ve seen you take a single day off since I got here. Honestly, I think the only times I’ve seen you do something for yourself are your morning runs.”
“That’s not true. I was at dinner last week.”
His head tilts and his brows lift for a completely different reason. “Does that count as time for yourself?”
Shifting my weight from foot to foot, I let my eyes fall to the journals on the coffee table. I want to disagree with him, but I can’t. How does he know me so well after nine days?
It’s not that we don’t see and talk to each other—he lives right next door and is in my house everyday playing the piano—but it’s a few minutes here or there, not deep hour long conversations.
“Hey.” Beckett’s hand reaches into my line of sight but pulls away before he can touch me. “I don’t mean anything by that. I know what it’s like to be dedicated to your work. There’s no judgement.”
My gaze lifts to meet his and the urge to look him up strikes again. I don’t know how long it takes to release an album all the way from inception to release, but I imagine fourteen in twenty years is not the norm.
“Do you love it?” The words are so soft I’m surprised he hears them, but the way his body jerks tells me he heard them as if I shouted them.
Beckett glances at the piano and studies it for so long I wonder if I should take the question back. “That’s a loaded question,” he releases on a deep sigh, turning to meet my eyes.
“You don’t have to answer that,” I rush to say. “I honestly don’t know why I asked. It’s far too personal,” I add as I bend to the coffee table, closing the journals I was reading before he came in.
“Madison.” Beckett bends, gently grabbing my hand and stopping me before I can continue. “That’s not what I meant,” he whispers, standing to his full height, pulling me with him. “I just meant it’s not a simple yes or no for me, and I don’t know where to start.”
“Exactly. You should just ignore me.” I move to focus on the journals again, but Becket’s grip on my hand stops me with a gentle squeeze.
“Come here.”
He doesn’t wait for me to respond and gently pulls me onto the couch with him, his body angled toward mine as he starts.
“I think music has always been a part of my soul. I know that sounds crazy but some of the stories my parents have told prove how true that is. They actually put me in piano lessons when I was four after I made a scene at a school recital for one of their friend’s kids. ”
“What’d you do?” I ask, leaning back into the cushions.
Beckett’s quiet for a moment, the tension on his face lifting slightly at whatever he’s thinking about.
“Nothing crazy, but at the end of the recital, after all the kids had joined their families, I somehow ended up at the piano on the side of the stage and started playing.” He chuckles, his eyes lighting with joy at the thought.
“It wasn’t good, but it was better than a four-year-old without any experience should be. ”
“It was good enough for your parents to put you in lessons.” I chuckle and can’t help but wonder if it’s something he remembers or something he’s been told about so many times it’s ingrained in him that way instead.
“I guess that’s true,” Beckett concedes.
Silence falls around us, and Beckett’s gaze moves back to the piano. He shifts in his seat, opening and closing his mouth a couple times but nothing comes out.
I have no idea where he wants to go with this, but I know piano isn’t the only instrument he plays.
“When did you pick up guitar?”
“When I was about nine, but I also started drum lessons when I was six.”
I’ve seen him with his guitar and have imagined him at my piano on more than one occasion. The idea of this man playing the drums? I’m not sure I’m ready to admit how tight my thighs clench at the thought.
“How many instruments do you play?” I ask in bewilderment.
“Well, that depends on what you mean by play.” I can only imagine the look on my face at the laugh that escapes Beckett. “When it comes to my concerts and recording, I only play the piano, guitar, and banjo, but when I’m writing, I work the drums, harmonica, and fiddle as well.”
“Six seems like a lot.”
“That’s not counting the ukulele or tin whistle. And I recently started learning the bagpipes.” The way he throws those in like it’s not a big deal he plays so many instruments amazes me.
“I guess that answers the question of if you love it,” I murmur, my eyes moving toward the window.
There isn’t anything for me to see, the sun having set a couple hours ago, but I know what exists outside that window better than I know myself. But what’s been driving me to learn this land and business? And do I truly love it like I thought I did?
“I don’t know. I could argue it’s more of an obsession built on avoidance and control over anything else.” The sound of Beckett’s deep voice pulls my attention back to him, and the pain in his eyes is like nothing I’ve seen before.
“Beckett…” My words trail off. I have no idea how I’m supposed to respond to that. I want to ask what he’s avoiding, but I don’t know if I have the right to ask something like that.
“When I started making music, it was my favorite thing.” His words are void of emotion, and I wonder where his thoughts have gone, his tone not matching the things he’s saying.
“I loved it with every fiber of my being, and when I found my agent and signed on with a record label at eighteen, I was over the moon.” His gaze falls to his lap and the next words are said so softly I wonder if I was supposed to hear them. “But nothing stays the same forever.”