Page 86 of Beg Me

“Then, fine. You can go. But be smart and stay away from the water.”

“Okay.”

“And if I call⁠—”

“I gotta answer!” he says, already out of sight. “I know! Thanks, Dad! Love you!”

The door slams, effectively ending our conversation.

I stare at the spot he just left, thinking we need to talk about patience and respect. Yet a smile touches my lips. The kid’s so new here and yet he’s being asked to do things with other kids every day. Small-town living is good for a little boy. Let him live.

The quickness of my answer jolts me when I think about it because this was the fastest response I’ve ever given him when it comes to things like this. There was a slight hesitation, mostly because he’ll be around water, but I gave him my approval in record speed. Is that because I’m more confident in myself or I trust him more? I don’t have a clue.

I sit on the edge of the bed and grab my phone, checking it for messages from Markie. She’s been at Audrey’s all day, helping prep for the wedding tomorrow. The updates have been fairly steady, most of them raising suspicions that they’re doing more gossiping and goofing around than putting up floral displays and balloon arches. But I can see her joy in being with her friends in the words she sends. That’s really all that matters. And while I love this for her, I selfishly hate it for me.

Because the happier she is with them, the less likely she’d consider leaving them—leaving Sugar Creek, for me.

Markie: You know how they say that if a couple can build a house together that they’re able to work through anything?

My fingers fly over the keys.

Me: I’ve heard that.

Markie: I’m adding to that wisdom. If two friends can decorate a wedding venue together, they’ll stay friends forever.

Me: Why? What’s going on?

Markie: Astrid is … well, you know her. She’s Type A+++++++++++++++. And Gianna is about a Type C- on a good day. Things here are getting froggy. They’re currently arguing whether bows have directions.

Me: I don’t think they do. Or is that wrong?

Markie: Look, I see both sides but stayed out of it. And I almost slipped into the middle of how you center something but caught myself just in time. Gianna is satisfied with “eyeball center” and Astrid almost had a stroke.

Me: For what it’s worth, eyeball center works most of the time.

Markie: Yeah, unless you’re Astrid and carry a tape measure in your purse.

Markie: Astrid just said, “We’re getting off schedule.” Then Gianna fucked up by saying that she didn’t know we had one. I’m now being summoned to a scheduled meeting. Wish me luck.

Me: But aren’t you guys about done?

Markie: I wish. There’s only one meeting I’d like to schedule, and it’s with you, in a locked room with closed blinds and an empty house and kitchen table. Again.

Me: What can I say? I’m a dream maker.

Markie: I challenge you to prove that when I get out of here.

Me: Challenge accepted.

I consider putting an expiration date on my offer to hurry her home, but I’m afraid she’ll actually do that. She needs to be there.

My phone rings, and Miles’s name pops up. The sight of those five letters constricts my chest. I shouldn’t answer.

I don’t have enough information to not answer. Markie didn’t share what her brother said to her, and I’ve never explicitly asked. But, damn, I want to know.

“Oh, fuck it.” I accept the call. “Hey.”

My knee bounces like it does while I’m waiting outside Brewer’s office at the Royals facility. Whatever the reason for the conversation, it’ll probably end up fine. But there’s always an off chance that it doesn’t go well, and my body likes to be primed to fight or fly, I guess.