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Beckett smiles as he reaches for my hand, tugging me closer. He presses a chaste kiss to my head before stepping back. “I wish—”
Pressing my finger to his lips, I cut him off again. “Let’s not make this harder than it needs to be. I promise, I understand. This is on me just as much as you.”
“If only being in agreement made it easier.” Beckett frowns and I can’t help but laugh.
“If only. But at least it’s not as hard as if we weren’t.”
“I guess.” He blinks slowly as a car drives past, shifting my attention to his rental parked across the street.
“You better go. I’m sure you have a flight to catch. Thank you for making my Christmas better.” Thank you for making my world better. “I’ll never forget our time together.”
“Me either. Goodbye, Lily.”
“Goodbye, Beckett.”
Not “see you soon.” Goodbye.
Beckett walks backward a few steps before turning around and jogging to his car. He offers me one more sad smile as he slides inside, and then a few seconds later, he’s gone. Along with any belief I had that love conquers all.
Because as sad as it is to say goodbye, falling in love with a man I can’t have is a hell of a lot worse.
Chapter Twenty-One
BECKETT
My chest burns as I drive away, but I don’t look back. Nothing good can come from that. Lily was right to think I have a flight to catch. Only, I haven’t even rebooked it. So instead of doing what I should be doing and driving to the airport, I head toward my childhood home, needing to get one last thing off my chest.
Mom’s in the hallway when I push through the door, catching it before it slams against the wall.
“Beckett?” She stills, her brows creasing in concern. “Why aren’t you in San Francisco?”
No matter where I live, and how long I’ve lived there, Mom never refers to it as my home. To her, Clairmont is my home. And for the first time since I left, I’m starting to understand why.
“I never left.” I casually shrug and walk farther into the house, waiting for the barrage of follow-up questions.
“Why? What happened? Did you miss your flight? Are you feeling okay?” I stop mid-stride, turning to face her, and deliver my question without any emotion.
“Did you know about Henley and Atlas? Is that what you were alluding to yesterday?”
Mom’s head dips slightly. “I didn’t know for sure. But I guessed.”
“Did you also guess that she was the Vegas bride and that they were still married?”
From her quick intake of breath as she lifts her gaze, I have my answer, and a stab of guilt hits me in the chest.
“What happened?” she asks, gesturing for me to walk through to the living room, and I do as expected, but don’t sit. I can’t. Pacing feels much more natural.
“I stopped by Henley’s this morning and Atlas was there. Turns out, they’ve been sneaking around behind all our backs.” My anger returns and I blow out a breath. “She’s the one in the photo. He—”
“Hazel mentioned you and Atlas had a talk.” Mom interrupts my rant. “I thought you worked through the distance between you.” Her voice softens as though that statement is enough to melt my bad mood.
“We did.” I perch on the edge of the couch, staring at the rocking chair across the room.
“And…”
“We were good. But—”
“That’s good. I’m glad to hear it. I’ve always hated thinking you ended your friendship because of what happened to me.”
