Time passes.
My walls begin to crack.
I’m sure the moon moves across the night sky at my back, but I don’t know for sure because my eyes are blurry from crying so damn much. I have no idea how much time has lapsed. And now that my tears abate, now that silence has descended around us like a smothering pillow, the realization of what I’ve just done hits me full force. Shame follows quickly on its heels. I’ve got a moment of desperation where I know I need to salvage my dignity, but no idea how to go about doing that. I squeeze my eyes shut, uncertain where to set my feet beneath me on this ever-shifting ground, and try to pull away from him, but he just holds me tight, not allowing me to escape.
Emotionally or physically.
“Please, let me just go home, Becks.” I don’t even recognize the strange whimpering voice that comes from my mouth. The sounds of a person on the brink of losing it again.
“Not gonna happen, Montgomery.” He presses a kiss to the side of my head. “You’re not going anywhere.”
We stand there in the darkened room. At some point, he shifts us to the couch. He’s seated, with my body cradled across his lap—butt between his parted thighs. I don’t know how we got in this position, but I know that not once has he loosened his hold on me. It’s almost as if I’m a scared jackrabbit he’s afraid will bolt the minute he releases me.
And he has good reason to think that.
I find an odd comfort in the silence for once. I’m concentrating so hard on not crying—on not thinking about tears—that I find it hard to think about anything else: Lexi, Becks, living without feeling.
Dying.
I find consolation in the rhythm of our chests resting against each other’s, from the physical contact that allows me to steal his warmth and use the reassuring beat of his steady heartbeat to soothe my aching soul.
And my mind must be so exhausted from the ridiculous display that I put on at the club that at some point, I succumb. So for the second time in a week, Becks sits with me as I fall asleep.
This time I just happen to be in his arms.
Chapter 14
It’s the unfamiliarity that wakes me.
My eyelids are swollen, and it takes me a minute to realize where I am. I hear the slow, even breathing against my ear, feel the light smattering of hair against my hand, and I am suddenly aware of my breasts pillowed against Becks’s bare chest. I take a moment to gather my bearings, the stillness of the surroundings making every little motion and sound from him magnified in my head: the weight of his hand under my tank against my naked back and the softness of the throw he put over my shoulders but that has since fallen and is now pooled at my waist.
Embarrassment hits me first. Then an influx of dread at falling apart when I wasn’t alone. The witness to the raging chaos in my psyche wasn’t the neutral walls of my bedroom but rather a real person this time. Someone who experienced my roller-coaster ride from needing something to help me forget to holding me so the broken pieces of me wouldn’t completely fall apart.
A part of me is relieved, but at the same time, I’m also more worried than ever. Someone finally knows that I’m not handling this all as flawlessly as I’ve tried to portray. It’s all been a facade to cover up the turmoil within me. Rylee’s seen some of my slips, but I reined them in to lessen her worry with everything she had on her plate. My parents have seen it only in bits and pieces because they lost their child too, and I can’t have them worrying about the other one. Danny’s been so far down the bottomless well of his grief that solace isn’t something he has to offer. So I’ve held all of the pain deep within me for so long that tonight it must have festered up until the poison needed to escape.
And now Becks knows. He knows that perfect Haddie isn’t so perfect. I’m a powder keg of emotions that any little thing might cause to ignite. I’m not as stable as my take-no-shit attitude conveys. I’m vulnerable and a mess. I’m weak and irrational. And needy. And goddamn it, I hate being needy.
But he stayed. He held me tight and didn’t let my tirade deter him. As I lie here, I try to wrap my head around what that means and how I feel about it.
And I’m just not sure how I feel. So I focus on the tangible. The warmth of his body against mine. The sounds and scents and sensations of being physically close to someone again. I’m so used to that empty feeling, the one that strikes me anytime I’ve done that morning-after-skip-of-shame-out-the-front-door to subdue the emotions raging inside.
So I allow myself to revel in everything; since he’s asleep, I’m not being watched, scrutinized, or figured out. I can just enjoy the innocent moment because I deserve to feel this, to get the chance at normalcy with him.
I’ve conditioned myself so well over the past year that the thought—even though it’s only to myself—causes anxiety to take hold of my body. And I need some distance from the sudden ache in my chest. Becks’s breath alters momentarily, but it falls back into rhythm by the time I’ve scooted away and sat on the coffee table a few feet from the couch. Out of habit, I wipe whatever is left of my makeup from under my eyes and then reach for the fallen blanket and wrap it around my shoulders.
I lift my eyes to take Becks in. He has a pillow folded under his neck, one arm stretched up over his head and the other resting across his bare abdomen. But it’s his face that captures me. Those assessing eyes of his are closed—dark lashes fanning against tan cheeks—and I can study him for a change. Stubble dusts his usually clean-shaven face now, and with his lips pursed in sleep, the lines that usually frame them are nonexistent.
Staring at him without the constant pressure to guard against the feelings that must be transparent in my eyes, I can’t help but acknowledge what a truly great guy he is. Old-school in some ways. Yet he’s without the drama of the bad boys I’m usually drawn to and definitely offers more stability. He’s kind and caring and patient in all things emotional when most men I’ve dated are out the front door the minute the first tear falls.
Even though he is the ironic best friend’s husband’s best friend, he is the perfect epitome of what a forever guy should be.
And then it hits me like a spank on my ass. A fact so staggering that I don’t quite know how to process it. I rise from the edge of the table on shaky legs and walk with an unsteady heart to the windows overlooking the street below and the dark beach a few city blocks beyond. I try desperately to focus on the hustle and bustle of the city’s nightlife. I contemplate how this condo isn’t what I’d expect from Becks—I’d pictured porch swings and open land somewhere in the fresh air—and realize how little I really know about this man, who’s slowly capturing my heart. Trying to divert my attention, I think about everything I don’t know about Becks rather than the one thing I know for sure.
Chills race over my flesh, and my heart thunders. The thought staggers me momentarily, my hand pressing against the glass for figurative stability, but I know I shouldn’t be surprised. What the heart wants, the heart takes … even when it knows its owner won’t allow it.
I’ve fallen for him.
I let the notion wash over me, trying to figure out where to go from here when I’ve said love isn’t an option I would allow myself. And I’m not sure how long I’ve been standing there when I hear a soft chuckle from the couch. It startles me because my emotions are so scattered that I can’t face him just yet. I need to cover up my heart, which I’m currently wearing on my sleeve like a tattoo, before I can speak to him.