Page 68 of The Trouble with Love and Ink
I didn’t miss the way Reagan’s eyes blazed at that.
On the other hand, Koontz grinned like an idiot but put his hands up in surrender. “Say no more.”
After gathering supplies and refueling on refreshments, complimentary of the campgrounds, the group headed out with as loud of an exit as their entrance had been.
“Thank you.” Beck's head rolled to the side to look at me.
“You’re welcome,” I said, suddenly aware of how close we lay and without the audience. I sat up.
“Stay,” Beck said, grabbing my hand with gentle, warm fingers. “Unless you don’t want to,” he added, loosening his grip.
I looked at where his hand engulfed mine. “Have you always hated the beach?” I asked when I’d finally found my voice.
“I don’t hate the beach.” Beck sat up, running a hand down his face. “It’s . . . complicated,” he said, voice tight. “Something happened when I was a kid.”
It may have happened a long time ago, but the pain still looked fresh. “You don’t have to talk about it. I’m sorry I brought it up.”
Beck’s eyes found mine. “I want you to know.”
And I understood. There was something about someone looking your pain in the eye and saying, Your ugly doesn’t scare me. I’m not going anywhere. I’d experienced it firsthand with him—more than once.
I swallowed, bracing for what haunted him. “Okay.”
“When I was eleven years old, my family vacationed in Panama. On our last day, my dad ended up having to work, and my mom was taking care of Victoria—she’d come down with a nasty stomach bug. My little sister was disappointed to miss out on our last beach day. So, we snuck out.”
“Little sister? I thought Victoria was older.”
“I’m not talking about Victoria. I’m talking about Poppy.” His voice caught on her name.
In loving memory of Poppy.
The words on the lantern burst into my mind like a camera flash. My hands went to my mouth. The story was darker than I could have imagined. Dread welled in my chest.
“We got in the water,” Beck continued, eyes on the pool now. “And we were having such a great time, I didn’t realize how far we’d drifted out. A wave went over both of us. And I came up laughing.” He swallowed. “But Poppy was gone. I screamed her name until others started helping me search. The police were called, and my parents arrived.”
I could see it. A young, scrawny Beck with his wild hair and sweet eyes, screaming for his sister. The fear he must have felt. The desperation. My heart clenched.
“They didn’t find her body until the next morning, a mile down the shore from where we’d been.”
“Oh God.” I clamped a hand on his shoulder, my eyes burning with the effort to keep from crying. “I’m so sorry.”
“For Victoria, being near the beach, the place Poppy loved most, is like being close to her. For me, going to the beach and having fun without her seems like the worst betrayal.” My hand found his as he continued, “You asked me why I don’t work for my dad. My sister’s death broke something vital in him. Changed him. He was never the same after, and he certainly never trusted me again. And can you blame him?”
“Beck, you were eleven. If he is still holding that over your head, that’s his problem. Not yours.”
Beck squinted at the pool. “He’s trying to make amends. He even offered me a job. I just feel as though nothing I do would be good enough if I worked for him.”
“I hate that you feel this way,” I said, the tears making good on their threats.
I wrapped my arms around him, but Beck repositioned us so he was the one holding me, his head resting on mine.
“I’m not trying to make you sad, Emily,” he murmured. “Most days, I do okay. But as we get closer to the wedding, I can’t stop thinking about Poppy and how she should be here. And I want you to understand. I would love to spend a day on the beach with you, but I can’t. That’s something I’ll never be able to do with you.”
“Your tattoo.” I choked on a sob. “They aren’t carnations or peonies. They’re poppies.”
He nodded, rubbing my back.
I sniffled. “So there really is no secret garden in your backyard?”
