He drew a gaze up from my skirt and over my chest to settle on the almost-healed bruises and scabs on my chin. “As you’ve always said, I’m not your type.”
“And what a helpful reminder that is.” I gave him a tart smile and tried to pull my hand back but he held tight. “Beck.”
“I appreciate that you’re not breaking up with me,” he said, still focused on my chin, “though I have to admit I don’t have the foggiest fucking clue whatishappening.”
This was like ripping off someone else’s bandage. I hated it. “I know there are a load of big, messy things happening in your life right now and everything is up in the air but I can’t define your feelings for you, Beck. I think you should spend a few nights in your own bed. Just sort out what you want so we can have fair expectations for each other.”
He pushed a hand through his hair. “Can’t I just tell you right now that I don’t want this to end?”
“Yeah, no problem. Except for the part where you told me a literal minute ago that you couldn’t stay here.” I gave him aplease cut the bullshitface. “It sounds to me like you need to get a handle on all that.”
“And when I do?” His words were crisp, cool. That tone ran contrary to the utterly adorable fact that he was zipping between complete shambles and the unshakeable belief that he’d find true north and serve it up on a platter before noon.
“And when you do, I’ll welcome you back into my bed. At the very minimum, I’ll let you watch me take a bath.” I leaned toward him because I couldn’t tolerate all this brood and gloom. “Even better, I’ll let you help me take a bath. That was fun, wasn’t it? Really, I need you to tell me because the memories are all upside-down.”
“For fuck’s sake, Sunny.” He pinched his brow like I was very tiring.
I grinned.
“This is how well-adjusted adults work through things,” I said, happy to sink back into the groove of incessantly bothering him.
He didn’t let up on the brow. “I didn’t realize either of us were well-adjusted adults.”
“We can still dream big.”
“Can I stay on your sofa while I’m doing all this emotional juice-cleansing? It’s not your bed and I did promise your parents I’d keep an eye on you.”
“Invoking parents isn’t the way to go with me,” I said. “You can do better than that.”
I was aiming for levity but it didn’t land that way and I could see Beck visibly closing in on himself. The temperature between us dropped to freezing and I wondered if this was what my iceberg had felt like to him. If this was his iceberg, what was it made of? Who—or what—did he resent so hard that it froze over?
He tipped his chin toward the house and dropped my hand. “I’ll walk you inside.”
He held the car door open for me and gripped my elbow as I found my balance on the uneven sidewalk but he didn’t say anything as he followed me into the house. Instead of coming inside and inventing reasons to linger, he sat on the floor in the entryway with my dogs.
He talked in low, hushed tones, saying, “I won’t see you for a few days. Sooner if I can swing it but I’ll need you to be on your best behavior until then. You know what I’m talking about, Jem. Scout, you’re in charge. Take good care of your mom. Remind her to eat and drink water, and put her to bed when she needs it. Bark extra loud if she tries to get on a bike—anything with wheels, really. Howl if you have to. I promise, I’ll hear you and I’ll bring the juiciest meat my chef can find as a reward. Protect your mom for me, okay?”
I turned toward the kitchen under the pretense of making a cup of tea, but the truth was, I felt like I was being pulled apart from the inside out. I didn’t know if I could do this. Distance seemed like the answer in this moment but there had to be a better way than sending away someone who cared so damn much he didn’t even recognize it as caring.
From behind, arms wrapped around my waist. He dropped his forehead to my shoulder. “Just tell me, Sunny. Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you. Please.”
I let him hold me for a long, painful moment. I closed my hand around his wrist, felt his pulse thrumming under my fingertips. I didn’t want him to leave. I didn’t want to take a break or force distance between us when everything was so good—save for the tiny issue of him having no idea what he wanted from me, from himself. From right now and from the rest of his life.
“Go to work, Beck,” I said. “Focus on money and oysters for a little while. Go shuck something. It’ll do you good.”
chaptertwenty-nine
Sunny
Today’s Special:
A Whole Loew Reign of Terror, Served Chilled
We thoughtwe knew all about Beck’s bridge troll tendencies. We were so naïve.
On the day he’d left me at my doorstep, Beck went to the oyster company and did exactly as I’d suggested: he shucked oysters all night. He didn’t speak a word to anyone and that was the truly terrifying part of it all. He barely even looked up long enough to see the orders coming in.
Bethany reported this to me from her seat at the Small Point bar, where she sat all night, reading spicy books and flirting with Mel. Being the incredible friend she was, Bethany made sure to tell me on several occasions that Beck looked “distraught and also delicious” and watching him shove a knife into a rock-hard shell and work it open over and over again qualified as some kind of fishy porn. Apparently the rolled-up shirtsleeves and flexing forearms combo was a thing of miracles, and while she supported me wholeheartedly, Beth had some questions as to whether I was serious about dying on this hill.
