“I live here. Grace…”
Beats took a step forward. I took one back, shooting death rays from my eyes. He halted in place, smart enough to read the signs of a woman scorned. He lifted his hands in front of him like he was suddenly under attack by a rabid dog.
“Wait, are you pissed?” he asked. “You look pissed.”
“Um… you know,” I clenched my teeth. “I’m not super-duper happy with you right now.”
“I can see that. I’m just really confused,” he said, taking a tentative step forward.
I crossed my arms in front of me, accentuating the frostiness his actions had created between us. “You and me both.”
Beat shook his head, still seemingly trying to wrap his head around getting caught in his lies. “What are you doing here?”
“Checking to see if it was really you. Funny story—for the past seven months, I thought you were dead, but no, you’re actually very much alive. Good for you, douchebag.”
“Oh shit, Grace, no. I can explain.”
“No need. I’ve seen all I care to.” I turned to leave but then thought better of it. “Actually, no. You don’t get off that easy. Not that you care, but I’ve spent countless hours of my life worrying about you, and all this time you’ve been fucking fantastic. How awesome for you. Now, please excuse me, I’m going to go flog myself in the town square.”
We both stood there a second, staring at each other in silence, and then I watched a smile slowly spread across his face. “Does Los Angeles even have a town square?”
The tension in my body instantly eased. “I… honestly don’t know. But I suppose I could flog myself in the mall parking lot, too.”
“I definitely think that seems more on brand for you,” he agreed, and that charm I’d fallen head over feet for came roaring back.
“Ah, Beats.” I flattened my palms on his chest and pushed him. “Why’d you have to be such a disappointment? If you didn’t want me around, you could’ve just told me to get lost. At least I can respect that.”
“Because I didn’t want you to get lost. You were right to be worried about me. Something happened that night after I left your car. Something bad.”
He pointed to a scar above his eye that definitely hadn’t been there before. I unfolded my arms and took a step closer, touching my finger to the scar. Anger instantly transformed into concern. My beautiful drummer boy was no longer a douchebag. Hallelujah! “What happened?”
Beats launched into a retelling of that night and its aftermath. I was shocked to learn of his two-week hospital stay, followed by a months-long stint in a rehabilitation clinic. There were certain things, certain mannerisms and hesitations that convinced me I wasn’t getting the whole story, but it didn’t really matter. The results were the same. He’d been severely injured, and while he was lying in the hospital fighting for his life, I’d lost my faith in him.
“It wasn’t that I didn’t want to call you, Grace. It was that I couldn’t. I lost everything. The money, my buckets and sticks, the clothes you washed for me. Your number.”
“I thought…”
“I know what you thought,” he said, sliding his fingers along my forearm in a move that sent my shivers tripping all over themselves. “But I wouldn’t do that to you. I just wouldn’t.”
“I had a bad feeling that night. I should’ve trusted my intuition and insisted on driving you to the hotel.”
“Motel.” He grinned.
“What?”
“I don’t think you realize they don’t mean the same thing, Grace. Hotel and motel.”
I blinked, unsure what he was talking about. “You rent them for the night. What’s the difference?”
“Like two, three hundred dollars. Never mind. Anyway, it wouldn’t have mattered whether you drove me there or not. They would’ve picked me off the next day or the day after.”
“You’re saying they targeted you?”
Beats instantly backtracked, becoming flustered. He shoved his hands in his pockets. “No, I… it was just thugs…”
He was lying. I wanted to probe him about it, but I’d just found him again and didn’t want to push him away.
“Okay,” I said, laying my hand on his to reassure him. “It doesn’t matter. I’m just so happy you’re okay, Beats. Hey, wait, can I call you Rory?”
