Unease slithers up my spine, and nerves fire at me from all angles.
Holding my chin up high, I clear my throat as I join the group. “Excuse me for the interruption, but I was hoping I could borrow Beck for a moment.”
Beck looks at me with blatant gratitude and relief, and my nerves flitter away knowing I’ve made the right call.
“Who might you be?” a man with a deep voice asks, and I don’t need to turn my head to know who articulated the question.
Beck slides his arm around my waist, purposely hauling me in close to his side. Not a single person in this circle misses it, and I grow uncomfortably warm in my skirt suit. “That is none of your business, and we’re leaving.” Beck practically fires the words at his father, and I inwardly cringe at the look of fury that flares in Mr. Colbert’s eyes. It doesn’t last long, but I saw it.
“I know you,” an unfamiliar woman says, narrowing her eyes at me in instant suspicion. “I saw your picture in the paper last year. You were in that car accident with Garrick Allen.” Her gaze drops to where Beck has his arm curled around my waist, and I want the ground to open and swallow me. “Aren’t you Garrick’s girlfriend?” She arches one manicured brow, and the movement looks weird on her botoxed skin.
“I am Garrick’s girlfriend,” I say. “I’m here to support Beck because we’ve both been through similar experiences and become good friends.”
“I thought the Allen boy was dead,” Carlton Colbert says, picking at an imaginary piece of lint on his suit jacket.
“He’s still alive,” I say, working hard to keep my tone pleasant. “He’s in a coma.”
“As good as dead then,” the asshole says.
A strangled sound slips from my lips of its own accord.
“Father.” Beck’s clipped tone contains considerable warning. “That is insensitive, and an apology is in order.”
Mr. Colbert drills a derisory look at his son before schooling his features into a neutral line. “I’m just saying what everyone is saying behind closed doors. It’s a terrible tragedy, of course, but denying reality is only preventing the inevitable. Look why we’re here today? Can you honestly tell me the outcome won’t be the same for the Allen kid?”
“He’s not a kid,” I retort, losing control of my emotions. “He’s twenty-two, and you don’t know a single thing about his situation. Last I checked, you weren’t a neurosurgeon either. There are several examples of people coming out of yearslong comas from all around the world. Garrick is not dead yet, and it’s rude of you to say anything of the sort. As his girlfriend, I am deeply offended by your hurtful comments.”
“Says the woman tucked into my son’s side.” He chuckles, looking around at his cronies, and a few of them join in.
Heat climbs up my throat.
“Anything you’d like to tell us? Or should I just call Ivy Allen-Golding-Smith and have a private chat in her ear?”
ChapterFifty-One
Stevie
“You should just go over there,” Hadley says, noticing I’m not paying attention to the movie we’re watching. It’s been hard to concentrate on anything in the three days since the funeral when there has only been radio silence from Beck. I’m still upset over the horrible things his father said to me, but I’m trying to let it go. He’s an asshole. All those people were assholes, and they don’t deserve another second of my headspace.
“I can’t just show up and barge my way in.” Slouching against the corner of our couch, I hug my knees harder to my chest.
“Sure, you can. Beck gave you a key for a reason. You’re worried about him, and he’s not answering your calls, so go over there. I’ll come with you if you like.”
I glance at my watch. “It’s late. He’s probably sleeping or writing.”
“It’s Saturday night. I doubt he’s in bed at ten.”
“Maybe I should just let it go.” I dig my nails into my thighs. “This friendship is already getting complicated.”
“Don’t buy into the bullshit those rich pricks threw at you. The people who matter know the truth. Beck is a good friend to you, Stevie. They are judgmental, narrow-minded idiots. Don’t let them take him from you. The only way I’m even considering going backpacking with Mike in July is because I know you’ll have Beck. I trust him to have your back while I’m gone, and I don’t say that lightly.”
“Maybe he thinks our friendship is too much trouble. Perhaps that’s why he hasn’t reached out to me since he dropped me off on Wednesday.”
“I don’t think that’s it at all. He’s embarrassed his father was so nasty to you, and he probably thinks you want distance from him.”
“He can’t think that when I have called every day and left several messages. This is the first Saturday night in weeks we haven’t hung out.”
There is no reason for Beck to be at the hospital anymore, so I’ve resumed my solo garden trips. But it’s not the same. It no longer offers me the serenity it once did. Now, sitting in the memorial garden alone exacerbates the hollow ache in my chest. It’s so freaking lonely without him.
