Page 92 of Changing Lanes

A sadness for the two young kids they used to be takes over and I feel terrible for judging her for just wanting better. Isn’t that what we’re all after?

“When her husband lost his job, she called to see if we were hiring.” I didn’t even think to look for a ring. Oops. “He’s been with us for a few months now while she works at that new rec center,” he stops and spins to look at me, not exactly meeting my eye, “as a swim instructor.” He steps closer, dropping his voice and our eyes finally connect. “If something’s bothering you, all you gotta do is say it. We got you now.”

I suck in a short breath. Why does it hurt to hear that?

I already have a family. One that needs me. All of me. Beckett’s a package deal, as am I, and neither of us is looking for that kind of commitment. I’m still working on fixing my own. I can’t risk taking on anyone else’s. Not right now.

I’ve been saying that all along and it’s starting to feel like nobody’s listening—not even me.

Ignoring his claim and how it makes me feel, I ask, “Did you really buy all that gear for those kids?”

And Marc? Since when is he kid-friendly? I’d assume kids would be scared of him, but that little girl looks almost smitten with my mysterious roommate as he tightens the strap around her back.

Beckett doesn’t say anything at first as he guides one of the jet skis closer to the sand he left me standing on. With his strong back stretched tight, he shrugs, muttering, “They needed it anyway.”

That’s it? They needed it, so he provided it. He saw me upset about something and he took care of it. Just like my motorcycle.

Beckett grew up without the love of his original caretaker yet he’s constantly trying to take care of those around him. When he doesn’t even have to. When he probably shouldn’t. What have I done to earn his consideration so far?

Once he’s situated on top, he holds a hand out to me and it’s like he’s asking me for so much more than a ride on a jet ski.

I shake my head, trying in vain to get my heartbeat under control, then remove my clothes and toss them onto a nearby rock.

Down to my bikini, I pull myself on behind him, letting his hand fall away.

This is the most skin-to-skin contact we’ve had besides the brief interaction this morning and we both sit motionless for a minute, letting our bodies become acquainted again. It’s then I realize how different today could’ve gone had our talking not gotten in the way. Beckett’s mouth, as talented as it may be at times, is still the one thing that can ruin the mood like a stomach bug on a cruise ship—fast and without mercy. Except, I don’t think that’s what he meant for this morning in his bed.

It doesn’t matter though. It’s for the best. It has to be. Things were getting heavy between us, even if it felt like the exact opposite at the time.

“So, what do you think? Can I take you out or what?”

Cruz.

Again, Beckett made me forget about everything else.

“What’s he talking about?” Beckett presses, looking over at Cruz approaching the shoreline.

“A date.”

His entire body goes rigid as he cranks his head to face me. “You’re not actually going to go out with him, are you?”

My eyes search his before dropping.

“Maybe.” It comes out as a whisper but feels like a scream. A scream for help. What do I do?

Coty, oblivious to the tension, wades out to us, handing over life jackets.

Cruz is waiting for an answer but I can’t make the words come out. I know I should just accept and get it out of the way. There’s no risk of anything between Cruz and I turning serious, so why can’t I just say yes? Now that it’s out in the open it should be easier to take Cruz up on his offer but why does the thought of going through with it make me feel sick? That alone is enough to go out on the date. I need to break out of this bubble forming around me. The bubble that won’t let anybody in or out, except for Beckett. Whether the bubble is my doing or his is irrelevant, it just needs to pop sooner rather than later.

Angela, watching Coty with a smile pulling at her lips, takes glances over at Marc still helping to get the kids situated. How has she adjusted to the protective cocoon those three have her in? From what I’ve seen she’s made it work to her advantage, benefitting from the tight-knit family they offer, and flourishing into a complete boss babe in her own right despite her tragic upbringing. She, at least, was able to find love within the walls they reconstructed to include her.

But she helps them. She’s a part of their group. An important part that makes them stronger. I’m just this. This disaster of a girl who has no idea where she’s going or how the fuck she’s getting there. My real family is in utter shambles, arguably at my own hands. Who’s to say I won’t do the exact same to theirs?

Closing my eyes tight, I ask, “Does Thursday work?”

If the friend zone had a designated day and time, it’d be Thursday afternoon. Nobody falls in love on a Thursday afternoon. Hopefully my forehead will be completely healed by then, too. I’m ready to get back to my regularly scheduled programming. To my reality full of dead ends and crushed dreams. Away from the false hope of what this weekend showed glimpses of.

This is all too much. They are all too much. Beckett is too much.