“You busy this weekend?”
“I work tomorrow,” I say, giving him a look. “Which you should know since you made the schedule.”
“I mean Sunday.”
I sift through my mental calendar: sandpaper, coffee, swearing at a pile of lumber. “Garage clean-out. It looks like a hardware store exploded.”
“Perfect.” He brightens in a way that makes me instantly suspicious. “Could you swing by the apartment and check the washer? I don’t want Beckett hauling laundry to the laundromat anymore,” Jaxon asks, a pleading tone in his voice and fucking puppy dog eyes. And Alex thinks he’s a Daddy?Psh! Please.
I don’t want Beckett to have to keep going to the laundromat either. I know that can get expensive.
I nod my head. “Yeah, do you want me to look at the window and floorboards while I’m there?”
Jaxon breaks out into a toothy grin. “If you could, that’d be great. Marcus and Jacob are throwing a birthday party for one of the kids Alex feels a close connection with at the shelter. It’s all being thrown together last minute.”
“Did anyone ask Olly to make a cake? I had one at The Diner the other night. It was so good. You know he would,” I ask.
“Jasper said not to worry because he was handling the cake.”
“Oh, really,” I muse.
Jaxon holds up his hands. “I chose not to ask any more follow-up questions. Plus, I don’t want to upset the order of the universe right now. Olly just brought me fresh toffee bars.”
“Smart man,” I say and immediately scan the room. Jaxon’s been known to hide said pastry items instead of sharing like Ollytoldhim to.
“You won’t find them, so don’t even try. Now, when I talked to Beckett, he said he’d be home all day, so anytime is fine.” Jaxon leans in close. “Have you been able to figure out why he came home?”
“No,” I say, and my jaw tightens before I can stop it. “But something’s up. Spencer says he’s been on edge. Just the other day, I heard him on the phone with this Lucas kid from California. He was pretty upset when they hung up.”
Jaxon leans back in his chair, worry etched on his face.
“Look, I’ll see what I can find out this weekend. But maybe he’ll tell us when he’s ready. Have you talked to Finn?”
“Finn says it’s not his story to tell.” Jaxon huffs. “Great for loyalty, useless for intel.”
I hesitate before adding, “I overheard Beckett tell Finn that Lucas might come stay for a few weeks.”
“Maybe this is good. What do they say? Keep your friends close but your enemies closer? A look into their friendship will give us some clues.” Jaxon tilts his head. “Do you know what kind of friendship they have?”
My hackles rise at the thought. “I have no idea,” I mutter, too fast. The little flare of jealousy hits ugly and obvious. I scrub a hand over my face. “Doesn’t matter. It’s his life.”
The last thing I need is to think about Beckett with whoever the fuck this Lucas jerk is.
I really need to get a hold of myself. Sometimes I worry I’m crossing a line with Beckett, and none of this is any of my business.
I know something’s going on, though, and growing up, I was always taught that we look out for our friends and family. Beckett is part of this family, and he’s a… friend.
He’s kind and caring. He was there for Finn when he neededsomeone. He’s a hell of a chef. And he has never once asked anyone for anything in return.
He deserves to have someone care if he’s okay.
“Ugh,” I groan in frustration, resting my head in my hands. My kitchen table is covered in different recipe books, making it look like a bomb went off.
I had dreams, ya know? Big dreams. I was destined to be a high-end chef. I wanted to create pristine dishes with a unique flair, or so I thought.
I quickly realized I hated it. I mean, what the fuck was I even cooking? Sorry, but if I’m eating steak and potatoes, there had better be more than one baby potato on the plate, and the steak better be bigger than my fist… clenched, because a whole hand is more along the lines of a food coma.
Beckett,this is not the time or place to think about fisting…
