Page 8 of Seven Summers Ago
He does a one-eighty, his expression stricken with indignation, but just as quickly as it came on, it fades just as fast. “Welp, I’d like to say this has been fun. Let’s do it again in seven years for the next memorial, shall we?” He plucks his surfboard from the sand and stalks past me toward the pathway.
I watch him for a moment, partially paralyzed because of his behavior and partially working up the courage. “Beck?” I call after him.
He stops but doesn’t turn around, instead he glances over his shoulder to gaze at me.
“Why haven’t you signed the divorce papers yet?” The question comes out past the rising lump in my throat.
But he doesn’t speak. Instead, he smirks, and anger builds inside my chest like an expanding bubble ready to pop. “It costs a fortune each time my lawyer sends them to you,” I argue.
With an arched brow, he says, “Something tells me you can afford it.”
I don’t get sucked into playing this game by disagreeing with him. “That’s not the point.”
He approaches me again with purpose, the sand kicking up behind him, and narrows his eyes. “Fine. Why now?”
Releasing an uneasy sigh, I follow it by muttering, “It’s been almost seven years. If not now, then when?”
His chestnut-brown eyes are dark as they skate over my face. “Nah, try again.”
I pinch my lips together. “What?”
“Tell me the real reason.”
I hesitate at first. I’ve never wanted to hurt Beck. He was my favorite person once. But the truth is, we hurt each other. Neither of us left the relationship unscathed. But the even bigger truth is that we ended before I ever left Golden Harbor.
“I’ve met someone,” I say softly.
He struggles to look at me and it damn near kills me. His head drops to his chest like a bobber in the water. For a moment, I regret saying the words out loud. But then Beck does what he always does when he’s hurt but doesn’t want to feel it. He deflects.
“Well, congratulations. All your dreams have come true. You’re welcome, by the way.” He makes an exaggerated show, like he’s bowing. Whipping around, he takes off down the pathway again, his surfboard clutched underneath his arm.
But I don’t let him off the hook that easily. I hurry to catch up to him, my heart pounding fast and hard in my chest. Becausethat’s what Beck does to me. He gets my emotions racing at a hundred miles an hour. He makes me angry. He makes me want to fight. There’s no one who pushes my buttons more than him.
“Are you kidding? You expect me tothankyou?”
“I don’t expect you to, but if you wanted to, it wouldn’t hurt,” he mutters.
“Ha!” I blurt out in amusement. “It’snothanks to you. You know I worked my ass off in cosmetology school, between the pain and flare days and ER visits. It took me a year longer than everyone else to finish. Then I pinched and saved and started my own business. I moved to an entirely different state and had to start my life over. Alone.”
“Hey!” He spins around and points a finger in my face. “That was your choice, honey. Don’t you ever forget that.”
“How could I? It was the last thing you said to me after I left.” Intense emotion rises inside of me and tears burn in the corners of my eyes.
“Good. Just so we’re clear.” He reaches what I assume is his truck. A shiny, newer Chevrolet. He’s upgraded since his old lifted four-door with meaty tires.
“Crystal.” I glare at his back. “As long as you remember that you’re the one who wouldn’t leave this place. You’re the one who couldn’t sacrifice…I don’t even know what…this”—I gesture in the air—“to come with me.”
He wrestles his surfboard back on its rack. “Don’t talk to me about sacrifices. I had to stay and take care of Milo. You know that.”
The reminder of his little brother softens my heart some. Since I’ve had Charlie, I’ve changed. Maybe all those years ago I would’ve been different had I known what it was like to take care of someone, to have someone rely on you.
“Whatever,” I mutter.
“But you know what?” he says, like we’re still in the middle of having a conversation when I’ve already checked out. “I think what it comes down to is why wasn’t this place enough?” He throws up his arms. “Why wasn’tIenough?”
We stare at one another, and the affliction shining in his eyes makes my heart feel as if it’s about to crack inside my chest. I didn’t expect Beck to be holding all of this in so many years later. Honestly, I expected him to have moved on by now. Or maybe I just hoped.
“It wasn’t about you,” I whisper past the agony swelling in my throat.
