I cannot go there.
It feels like too much of a betrayal for those kinds of thoughts to even be lurking in the back of my mind, let alone to admit them. So, I’ll happily drown in denial and cling to our friendship because I cannot lose Beck.
It would destroy me.
I think he feels the same way and that’s why he hasn’t broached the subject.
I didn’t tell Hadley or my therapist what happened that day at the pool because I know they’d make me confront my reaction and my hidden feelings, and I can’t do it.
Every so often, Beck says something or does something that hints at his feelings for me, and it sends equal jolts of joy and pain to every nerve ending in my body.
So we exist in this weird space, where we coexist happily and peacefully as best friends, still doing everything together, where rarely a day goes by when we don’t see one another, while ignoring the deeper undercurrents that are never far from the surface.
All it would take is one crack, and they’d burst free.
I live in fear of that day and pray it never comes.
Beck’s gaze lowers to my hands, where my fingers are frantically rubbing the poppy ring on my left hand, and he quickly pulls his other hand out of mine and looks away.
It hurts.
Every time I hurt him, I hurt me too.
Which is why we must stop doing this. We need to keep it friendly and easy-breezy, and then no one gets hurt.
“You say the sweetest things, Beck.” I finally acknowledge his words. “I’m so glad you’re one of my best friends.” I stretch up and kiss his cheek, pretending I don’t smell the familiar minty spicy smell emanating from his warm skin. “Now, go mingle with your adoring public. We’re having the speeches and cutting the cake in twenty minutes, and then the party can begin in earnest.” I hired a local DJ to spin the tunes and a bartender to serve drinks. We’re staying at Mom’s tonight so neither of us has to drive.
“Aye, aye, boss lady.” He salutes me with a smile fixed on his face as he wanders off to talk to more readers.
I watch him get submerged in a crowd of older women, smiling to myself as they stare at him with dreamy eyes and shower him with attention.
Beck thinks he owes me, but I owe him so much more.
I am driving again thanks to him. I have put back on most of the weight I lost, and I credit him with reigniting my love of food. My passion for flowers and planning my own business is back, inspired by his writing career and how happy fulfilling his dreams makes him. Thanks to therapy—something I only agreed to because of Beck—I am sleeping better and working through my issues and residual guilt from the accident.
For the rest of my life, I could do numerous things for Beck, and it still wouldn’t bring me close to repaying him for everything he has done for me.
“Hey, Stevie.” Hudson approaches with a glass of white wine from the bottles Hugh donated for the party. “You look like you need this.”
I whip it out of his hand, and he chuckles. “Thanks. I’m parched.” I drink a few mouthfuls, feeling some of the stress ease as the crisp peach-flavored wine glides down my throat. Any time I smell peaches now, I’m reminded of the farm in France, and it always brings a smile to my face.
“I like seeing you happy,” Hudson admits. “I like seeing color in your cheeks again and some of that old Stevie swagger returning.”
“I’m not sure happy is the right word,” I truthfully admit. “I’m as happy as I can be knowing Garrick is still in a coma.” I glance at the ink on my wrist with a painful pang in my chest. “I haven’t seen him in five months, and I hate I have to rely on memories and photos to picture his gorgeous face.”
“I wish we’d been able to do something about Ivy. It’s disgusting how you were cut out of his life.”
I shrug. “There’s a special place in hell reserved for people like Ivy and Pepper. I fully believe that.”
“He’d be happy you’re moving forward, Stevie. It’s all any of us can do now.”
All that’s left unsaid lingers in the air like a bad smell. It’s been seventeen months since the accident. Seventeen months since Garrick last opened his eyes, and the inevitability of his future seems more and more determined with every passing day.
“It’s so unfair this happened to him,” I say. “He had his whole life mapped out. He barely got to experience it.”
“I know. Out of everything, that’s what gets to me the most at times. He was struck down before he hit his prime. He had so much more living to do.”
Mom frantically waves at me from the top of the room. I knock back the rest of my wine and hand the empty glass to Hudson. “I’ve got to go. It’s time for the speeches and to cut the cake.”
