Page 87 of The Trouble with Love and Ink
I could relate. Every thought of him wrenched my heart tighter still. Until I cried so hard I gasped for breath. I didn’t know how I would ever laugh or even smile again—knowing I hurt him so deeply. That I’d hurt Beck, the guy who believed in me enough to lie to his sister, the one who’d scraped his knees to keep me from hitting the ground.
I sank to the floor, hugging my legs. There I stayed, sobbing long after the water had started running cold.
It wasn’t until I pulled on clothes that I heard the voices outside. I leaned my head against the door, straining to hear what the ruckus was about. They spoke in Spanish, and it didn’t seem to be any kind of emergency, only voices of irritation.
I leaned back, ready to crawl into bed, when someone responded in English.
“I know, I’m very sorry. Lo lamento.” I knew that deep voice. My fingers fumbled on the lock as I rushed to free the chain. “I’m sorry. I’m just looking for—” I swung the door open as Beck lifted his hand to knock on a door a couple down from mine. “Someone.”
His features relaxed into relief when his eyes met mine.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, not because I wasn’t happy to see him but because my mind was working to catch up with Beck standing right in front of me.
He took a step forward and paused. Beneath the yellow lamplight of that stale motel, I could read the conflict there. It was in the crease between his eyebrows, the slight pucker of his lips. Even conflict looked good on him.
“I got your note,” he said, holding the scrap of paper as proof. “I’m sorry I didn’t make it to you in time. I was at dinner with my dad and didn’t return until after you left. I tried to call you, but—”
“My phone died,” I cut in, wanting him to know I hadn’t purposefully ignored his calls.
He swallowed. “Victoria told me where you were staying, but she didn’t know the room number,” he said, indicating the door he’d been about to knock at.
I eyed the long line of doors behind him and wondered how many he’d already knocked on.
“It’s a three-hour drive. Why would you do that?” I asked, tears already blurring my vision of Beck. “And why were you at dinner with your dad? Were you asking him for a job?” Beck just looked at me, those intense eyes trying to read me through my questions and emotions. “I know you quit The Arlow Group.” My voice trembled as I answered for him. “But you can’t work for your dad. You told me that.”
He shrugged. “We’re going to make it work.”
“You didn’t have to quit,” I insisted.
“I told you I’d take care of you,” he said. Those words cracked me open.
“But—” I exhaled because vocalizing it was hard. “I hurt you.”
His jaw set, and he looked down. “That doesn’t change how I feel about you.”
I stepped toward him, unable to stand that forlorn look on his face. “Beck,” I rasped, “I am so sorry. But you have to understand. I saw you and Reagan.”
He straightened at that, his eyes meeting mine again. “She kissed me, Emily,” he stated matter-of-factly, not a hint of defensiveness in his tone. “I told her I wasn’t interested.”
“I know now. Victoria said as much.”
“I came up to tell you what happened right away, but you were already packing your bags.” His eyes softened. “You really thought I would do that to you? After we’ve both been cheated on?”
I couldn’t look him in the eyes while mustering the courage to say all that had been running through my mind. “Are we even something that can be cheated on?”
The question seemed to wound him further. “We hadn’t put a title on it, but I thought we were . . . something.”
“Beck—”
“You don’t have to explain yourself.” He put out a hand. “I didn’t come here to try and convince you to get back with me. I never got a chance to apologize for making you feel like someone you’re not. So, I’m sorry.” And he looked the very picture of remorse. “I was trying to be encouraging, but I missed the mark. I never meant to pressure you to be someone you aren’t. That’s the last thing I want for you. I just needed you to know that.” He gave me the saddest smile as he backed away. “Night, Lane.”
He turned, but my voice made him freeze. “Beck, stop!” Panic gripped me. I couldn’t let him go. What if I never saw him again? The idea carved a hole in my already worn heart. “If I don’t feel like myself with you, it’s because I’m more competitive.” I laughed wetly, thinking of our days in the pool and at the office. “I’m bolder. Happier.” He turned back around, and his eyes were a physical weight on me. “You make me feel like a more vibrant version of myself.” I was prattling, but I couldn’t stop. My feelings were tripping over themselves on the way to my mouth, all of them desperate to be heard. “I’ve been terrified my life will spin out of control if I don’t have a tight enough grip on it, but I’ve realized I’d rather lose control than lose you because . . .” I wet my lips nervously. “Because I love you, too.”
“You love me?” he said, breathless—like I’d knocked the wind out of him.
“I know it’s unfair for me to say that after—”
Beck stopped my words by erasing the distance between us. His hands slid to the back of my head, pulling my mouth to his. He kissed me as though his lips could chase away all the hurt.
