Page 77 of The Trouble with Love and Ink
He looked past me, and I could see the memories flashing behind his eyes.
“She was daring. The kind of kid who would slide down the banister in nothing but her underwear during a dinner party. Or would shoot spitballs at paintings in restaurants when the adults were too busy talking.” A smile broke out across his face. “But she was also the biggest tattletale when it came to the little things—one of us taking her bouncy ball or calling her stupid or not giving her a turn on the Wii. She would never rat us out on the things she should have, though—the things that could get us in serious trouble.
“For instance, one time, she and Victoria were pretending to be Ninja Turtles when Victoria pushed Poppy over a planter’s box in the garden. Poppy landed wrong and broke her wrist. I watched the whole thing. When the nanny ran over and questioned Victoria about what she did, Poppy insisted she tripped. Swore she did.
“Another time, I did batting practice in the house. I got carried away, and the baseball shattered my dad’s favorite art piece—a scalloped glass bowl by David Chihuly.”
I winced.
“Yeah. My father saw the pieces in the hall and looked a second away from having an aneurysm. He would have skinned me alive if Poppy hadn’t shuffled forward, ball in hand, tears in eyes.” He gave a short laugh. “The anger rolled right off him like water off a duck. He gathered her in his lap and gave her a stern, ‘Poppy, you could have been hurt. We’ve talked about this. You can’t play ball in the house.’” Beck laughed, shaking his head, and I laughed with him. “My dad acted differently with Poppy, more tender than with Victoria or me. And I don’t say that for sympathy or in a woe is me, my dad doesn’t love me, kind of way.” He shrugged. “Poppy coming into the world changed him. And her leaving did too.”
Something twinged in my chest.
“Sorry,” he muttered. “Off topic.”
I squeezed his hand. I’d take what I could get. “Anyway. You would have loved Poppy.”
“I think I already do,” I said quietly.
But I was falling for her brother too, and that really scared me. Beck’s words of encouragement, the way he held my hand and tried to keep my mind off things—it was all simple. So simple. But it meant everything.
I could see a future with him at my side on my worst days: when I’d be sick or in pain or scared or a sobbing mess. I wanted it—him being there. And I found myself wanting to be there on his worst days, too.
When it all boiled down, wasn’t that what everyone needed? An anchor when life tore at you with hurricane-force winds, ripping the shingles off your sanity and security. Someone to say, I’m not letting you go. No matter how ugly things get.
I worried about how quickly I’d let my guard down on this trip. I’d unlocked the treasure box holding my heart and left it wide open for Beck to take.
This is risky, my brain tried to say.
But my heart was too busy to listen to trivial things like logic while in Beck’s hands.
The doctor finished the twenty-eight stitches, bandaged me up, and gave me a fresh tetanus booster for good measure. Then we got to go home—home being the resort.
In a weird way, the hospital stay had served as a sort of escape from what awaited us: Wesley’s call. Madison’s new intel. It all piled back on during the cab ride to the resort. Beck also seemed to be wading through it, staring out the window for most of the drive, absently chewing his bottom lip.
“Beck, what are we going to do?” I finally asked.
“About Wesley?”
“About Wesley. About Madison. All of it.”
He sighed. “We don’t know if Madison is a problem yet.”
“She’s going to give Victoria my real name.”
“You don’t know that.”
I gaped at him but then clamped my mouth shut. Because he didn’t know why Madison would love to watch me die in an avalanche of my lies—that it was in the name of friendship. Her bestie wanted Beck back, and she’d do anything to tip the scales. I swallowed, not able to relinquish that bit of information to Beck. Not willing to risk losing him to Reagan.
“Call it a hunch,” I said.
“And if she does, we’ll explain everything to Victoria. It’s a weird position, but you’ve proved your worth as a calligrapher. I don’t know why she’d be mad.”
Because people don’t like being lied to, I thought. But I didn’t press the issue because Beck had moved on.
“And I’m not going to let you lose your job. I’ll explain to Wesley. Tell him I pressured you to come if I have to.”
“No, Beck.”
