Page 109 of Heartsmashed
Good grief, I couldn’t even give them the lie that he wasn’t feeling well. My brothers really had given them details.
“I’m going to drown them in the mud pit,” I said.
“You’ll do no such thing. We’ve already paid for their dinners.”
I cracked a smile at that, but it quickly faded.“He’s giving me space.”
“You asked him to leave?” Mama said.
“Well…no.”
“Did you want him to?”
I felt the need to fidget, to run my hand through my hair, but they both still had hold of my arms.
“Sawyer?”
I blew out a breath and looked toward the door again. “No. I didn’t want him to leave.”
Mama gave my arm a squeeze. “Honey, your brothers told us enough for us to know he hurt you.” I nodded, and she continued, “And enough to know Beckett didn’t come here intending to become important to you.”
I bit my lip and looked down, because that part was what kept tripping me up. Beckett could’ve walked away at the hotel. Or when I’d picked him up in the city. Or after the first night or after the hot tub, or literally any moment, but he hadn’t. He’d chosen to stay.
Not because he had to or because a fake-boyfriend contract said so. He’d chosen me.
The memory came out of nowhere—during our ride, Beckett and I had talked about family, about being chosen, about how much that mattered. At the time, I thoughtIwas the one tellinghimsomething.
But…
“He lied,” I said.
Mama nodded, listening but saying nothing.
“How do I know if I can trust him?”
“That’s nothing you’ll find out in this ballroom,” Mom said.
I frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means…today reminded me of something I already knew: love doesn’t mean never making mistakes. It’s what you do after you make them that matters.”
Mama rubbed my arm, nodding along as Mom continued.
“Beckett gave you space because you asked for it, but if his leaving feels wrong, then maybe you should go tell him before he does.”
I was surprised at how simple a choice she made it sound. I looked between them both, my moms, who had just stood up in front of everyone and chosen each other again with no guarantees except the ones they kept making. My parents, who had built our family not because they had to, but because theywanted us—chose us, loved us through every messy, dramatic, ridiculous version of ourselves.
Including this one, apparently.
“What if…” I licked my lips and tried again. “What if I find him and I still don’t know what to say?”
Mama gave me a gentle nudge. “You’ve never let that stop you before.”
I bit the inside of my cheek to hold back a laugh.
“I’m scared,” I admitted.
“Because you care,” Mama said.
