So very much.
And I need to stop thinking about sex and intimacy when I’m here with another man who has come to mean so much to me.
I clear my throat and empty my thoughts of all things sexual. “What did Brielle’s dad say tonight?” I ask as I lie tummy down on the rug in his office, fixing dried flowers onto my stencil design.
Beck’s creative streak is brushing off on me, and I’m experimenting with different ideas for things I can do with dried flowers. It’s such a shame to watch flowers wither and die. Making art with flowers before they perish is one way of preserving them.
I was inspired by Presley Kennedy’s framed pictures. She doesn’t sell them anymore now she’s married to one of the infamous Kennedys. She has family commitments, and she also owns a tattoo business with her brother-in-law, Austen, which keeps her busy. I guess she doesn’t have the time anymore, which is a shame, because her pictures are beautiful.
“Earth to Byron Stanley,” I quip, and Beck lifts his head from his screen. I know he’s finished his wordcount already, or I wouldn’t have disturbed him.
Sometimes I come over early on a Saturday when he’s still writing. I refuse to interfere with his work, so I always shove him back into his office, insisting he’s not to come out until the words are written down. I need the next book like yesterday, I always tease. I potter around, getting dinner ready, listening to music or a podcast on my AirPods, or sprawling on his very cozy couch and reading.
It's remarkable how comfortable I feel here. How it’s already like a second home. We even gave one another keys to our places, something the old me would have overanalyzed to death.
“What did you ask?” he inquires.
“What’s going on with Brielle?”
“It’s finally happening.” He fixes me with a sad smile.
“Aw.” I push up to my knees and abandon my picture. Brielle’s dad, David, has been gently coaxing his wife along this path for months, so we knew it was coming. But knowing, accepting, and handling it are entirely different things. “How are you feeling?”
Beck leans back in his chair, swiveling it around before crossing his long legs at the ankles. “It’s an overdue decision and the right one. This way, everyone can try to move on. To properly grieve and heal, but it still sucks.”
“Yes, it does.”
He stares abjectly into space with a haunted look I haven’t seen on his face in some time. On instinct, I get up, cross the space, drop to my knees before him, and stretch up to hug him. Beck’s arms go around me instantly, and I rest my head on his chest as we embrace. The steady beat of his heart under my ear is a welcome symphony as is the familiar scent of his cologne.
In some ways, it feels like I’ve known Beck for years, not just a few months.
It’s as concerning a thought as it is comforting.
“Will you come?” he asks after a few minutes of amicable silence.
Easing out of his embrace, I sit back on my heels and peer into his handsome troubled face. Pain shimmers behind the warm chocolaty depths of his big eyes. “To the funeral,” he clarifies.
“Of course. If that is what you need.”
“I do.”
“Then, I’ll be there.”
* * *
Brielle’s funeral is well attended, and the church is packed. Not surprising when you consider who her father is. I’m sitting in the second row with a stoic Beck. He hasn’t said much, but I think my presence is offering him some peace. He hasn’t let go of my hand since we slid into this pew.
I briefly met his sisters outside the church. Sarah, the older and taller of the two women, is twenty-three, and Esther, the younger, petite one, is twenty-one. I land slap bang in the middle of them age-wise. They both look alike with their dark-blonde hair and big hazel eyes, but I don’t see a huge resemblance to their older brother. Beck’s dad sits in the pew in front of us, offering support to his best friend. I didn’t miss the inquisitive look cast over his shoulder in my direction. Neither did Beck. His hand automatically tightened around mine.
At the graveside, I notice a few stares leveled in our direction. Beck is gripping my hand like a lifeline, so there’s no way I’m letting go, but the nosy looks from strangers are making me antsy.
The entire thing makes me uncomfortable.
Garrick is on my mind a lot today.
It’s impossible not to think about him.
Impossible not to wonder if his funeral will be the next one I attend. The thought has brought tears to my eyes more than once today.
