“Oh, goodness, Beckett Loew?” My mother went to him, scraping a glance from head to toe and grabbing him by the biceps. “Honey, I haven’t seen you in years! Look at you, all grown up!” She paused, held him away from her. “What on earth are you doing here? Last I heard from Lance, you were living overseas somewhere.”
Beck glanced at me, the fragment of a smile warming his eyes. I returned that smile though I was relatively certain it was more of a droopy-faced grimace. Thank you, narcotics.
And that was all it took for my parents to glance between us a few times and whisper-yell, “Ohhhh.”
If I’d put any planning into this introduction rather than arriving here after an ambulance ride, I would’ve carefully considered how I framed all of this for them. Especially since they’d never met anyone I was dating. That was mostly the result of my romantic life being something of a tumbleweed bumbling around Death Valley but also a fair amount of my family being a noisy, boundary-less lot.
Also, I would’ve spent some time on how I’d present the evolution of Beckett from Lance’s best friend to my—well, to mine.
“Lance’s friend Beckett?” Dad asked, his bushy dad-brows furrowed while he did the math in his head. I saw it the second he arrived at eight, the number of years between me and my brother. The years between me and Beck. I watched as he grappled with that number, turning it over and around in his mind until he came to some conclusion that left him looking like he was trying to swallow a peach pit.
“The same one,” Beck replied, still calm as could be. He wasn’t choking down stone fruit today. No need. Where anyone else would’ve been panic-sweating and swearing under their breath, Beck had the balls to look like he was having fun. “It’s good to see you again, Edouard.”
“And you’re—” Dad wagged a finger between us. Stared at the hand on my shoulder.
“We are,” Beck said easily. “I promise to take very good care of her as she recovers. I won’t leave her side.” He glanced down at me. “Not for a minute.”
There was some kind of threat in there, and probably a sexy one, but I was too fluffed up to do anything but toss an unsteady thumbs-up and say, “Yep.”
My mother’s lips quirked into a bewildered smile. “Oh. Well. I had no idea. That this was going on. You didn’t mention anything, Sunny.”
Before I could say something about requiring some personal space in my life and the need to respect my privacy and boundaries, Beck said, “That’s probably my fault. I’ve been a little greedy with Sunny’s free time.” He met my gaze with one of those smug grins that made me a little murderous. “And she has been busy this summer. The café has really taken off.” He reached over and lowered my hand, which I’d left suspended in the thumbs-up position. Like a dork. “You should head over there now. Sunny’s partners will want to know how she’s doing and I bet they’d love to show you around.”
“Oh.” My mother cleared her throat. Her turn with the peach pit. “Well. I thought we’d stay and—”
“You’ve had a long trip, Darcie.” The gentle way he cut her off at the turn was art. It could’ve been an internet meme. “You came all the way from Vermont. The Green Mountains, right?”
“We’re there for the summer, yes,” she said. She looked around like she wanted to drag the first person in scrubs she could find in here and regain control of the conversation. “But we live only about forty-five minutes away. It’s no problem at all. We know what Sunny needs. We’ve been down this road plenty of times.”
If I could’ve rolled my eyes, I would’ve. And I would’ve hated myself for it because my greatest grievance was that my parents wanted to swaddle me in safety and never allow me to wander more than an arm’s length from them. So terrible, my parents caring about me.
“I’ll take Sunny home,” Beck said. His words were warm, friendly even, but the finality in them was like hitting a stone wall. “Her phone didn’t survive so you’ll have to call me until I’m able to get a replacement for her. I’ll be the one to keep you updated.”
He palmed his phone and sent a message to my parents after they rattled off their numbers. I stared up at him with hearts in my eyes. When I’d asked him to jump in front of the train for me, I figured he’d diffuse a bit of the chaos. Maybe turn down the panic. I never thought he’d turn off the panic altogether. Even if I’d had a crystal ball and the most intuitive tarot cards in the world, I never would’ve guessed he’d volunteer to be inundated with their check-ins and questions.
“I still want to hear from the neuro attending,” Dad said, his hands back on his hips as he ducked his head into the hall.
“I’ll update you after they come back around,” Beck said. “We’re going to let Sunny rest now. I’ll walk you out.”
I nodded my way through a long round of goodbyes and watched as Beck guided my parents out of the emergency room as if he’d been training his whole life for this moment. If I asked him, he’d probably brush it off and say something absurd about frying bigger fish before breakfast, but I’d been waiting years—decades!—for someone to know exactly what I needed and give it to me. Toknowme.
Yeah, I’d asked. Begged, if we wanted to be extremely technical. But the real magic was that he answered. I’d asked and he answered all the way, and I felt that in my chest like a spilled cup of coffee, hot and inevitably messy and just a damn catastrophe as I raced and failed to contain it.
* * *
After a whole squadof orthopedic interns learned how to apply a cast to my extra special fracture—and they gave me a gorgeous rainbow swirl because I’d decided long ago that if doctors were going to learn on me, I was going to have fun while they did it—the neurologist performed the whole concussion protocol song and dance as if I hadn’t memorized that number years ago. Every time I saidYeah, I get it, Beck cut me off withQuiet downandI am going to hear every word of this.
The hospital offered up a pair of scrubs since my clothes were a pile of scraps and Beck had to help me into them like I was a toddler. He crouched at my feet and rolled up the pant legs, muttering to himself the entire time. I didn’t know what he was saying and I was too tired to care.
I asked him to take me home, to my house, and Beck agreed when I’d mumbled without context, “My dogs.”
He insisted on carrying me from the car to the front door, and then to the couch in the living room. A small portion of me wanted to argue about that simply because I didn’t need Beck thinking he could get his way all the time. The larger and more heavily medicated portion of me didn’t give a fuck.
“You don’t have to stay here.” I watched as Beck took stock of my kitchen, opening the fridge and cabinets, examining apples and plums, lifting the lid on a takeout container. “I’m sure you want to get back to the oyster company for dinner service.”
“I don’t think so,” he said.
“The dogs will be here,” I went on. “And Meara can come over when she’s finished at the café.”
